Murder in the Winter (8 page)

8

All of us walked out the front door. Half went to the
left. Half to the right. Each of us stayed next to the inn and walked around
the building until we met the other group. I led one group, George the other.
Only my breath preceded me. We trudged along through the deep snow, seeing
neither a body nor an escaping human. Our side of the building turned up
nothing. Just as I turned to check out the back side, I stopped. A portly
sergeant brushed against me. He stepped aside and saw what I saw. I had
momentarily forgotten about the footprints heading up the hill to the edge of
the cliff. They seemed to come from the wall of the building. Suddenly we had a
murderer, or fearful lodger, who could walk through buildings. We stood, waiting
on the others. They arrived to see what we’d discovered. They encountered no
evidence of anyone on the elevated island until they met up with us. After a
moment’s discussion, we followed our lone clue. We walked side-by-side, so that
no policeman would be pushed over the cliff by the one behind him. We stopped
two feet from the edge of the cliff, and I surmised the situation. A tree grew
upward not more than six inches from the cliff. I stood there, stunned, as
Officer Davis stepped to the edge of the cliff, leaned forward, and grasped the
tree with both hands. It wasn’t something a sane man would’ve done, but then a
sane man would never have applied for a position with the police department.

As I looked around for someone to notify Officer Davis’s
next  of  kin,  the  young  man  stepped  back  and  said, “Look, Lieutenant.”
Now I wasn’t the only lieutenant there. George was there, too, but Officer
Davis didn’t look at George when he said, “Look, Lieutenant.”

I had no choice but to do what Officer Davis suggested.
To refuse to do so would earn me the nickname Chicken Little for the rest of my
days. Another insane man, this time a chubby one, called out to God for help,
then stepped forward and braced himself against the tree. I looked down and
said, “Well, I’ll be.” While I knew I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t expecting Lou to
tap me on the shoulder and say, “What is it, Cy?” Only the gloves I wore kept
me from scraping my hands on the tree as I fell. A couple of seconds later, my
feet landed with a thud on a ledge, three feet below the edge of a cliff. My
knees buckled, but thankfully my hands still strangled the tree in front of me.
I had survived, and I would live long enough to kill a sergeant. If my head
hadn’t been visible above the edge of the cliff, I would’ve made the sound so
often heard when someone has been pushed from a window of a high rise, a sound
that lasts from the time the victim discovers free flight until he or she goes
splat on the sidewalk below. I wanted my former friend to worry. Instead, I
turned and said the words that scared him almost as much. “Lou, get down here.”

A humble sergeant pointed to himself, as if he was not
the only Lou in our enclave. I smiled and nodded, feeling like Oliver Hardy as
I did so. I could see my partner visualizing who might receive his badge and
gun to remember him by. Lou reached out, wrapped his hands around the tree I
had pushed away from, and wondered what to do next. It would take him longer to
reach the ledge than it did me. No one tapped him on the shoulder. The first
robin of spring arrived before Lou joined me on the ledge. It gave me time to
realize what scene from
North By Northwest
our good Father meant.

Before Lou tapped me on the shoulder as I clutched the
tree and looked down, I noticed two sets of footprints on the snowy ledge.  One
set led to the cliff wall, the other followed the ledge as it sloped downward
and curved around the precipice. After I’d fallen, wiped out a few footprints,
and regained my senses, I realized that the footprints that led up against the
cliff actually disappeared inside an opening that looked much like a cave.  I
surmised that both sets of footprints were left by the same person as a ruse,
hoping to confuse us.

I deduced that I had a slightly better chance of
living if I checked out the footprints leading into the cave rather than ones
that wrapped around the precipice like the grooves on a screw. I braced myself
against the side of the cliff, pulled my flashlight from my pocket, and shined
my light inside the cave. No bullets whizzed by my head. No angry bear charged
to see who had awakened him. I grew a little bolder and stepped into the
opening. I couldn’t see the back of the cave from where I stood. I reported to
the others what I had found and told them I would check to see where the
opening went. I asked George to send reinforcements if he heard sounds of
violence, or if we didn’t return within two minutes. Then, I motioned for Lou
to go first.

The footprints disappeared almost immediately. I suspected
that the culprit stomped the snow from his or her feet, before entering the
cave, provided someone had actually ventured inside. Lou and I had to bend
slightly to step inside. The ground sloped slightly at first, but then leveled
out. After a few more feet, the pathway widened until it resembled a room with
no stalagmites or stalactites to be found. Hard dirt floors and walls and a
cool temperature, but warmer than the temperatures we faced outside.

By the time our time was up, Lou and I had rejoined
the others. We had found three wooden staircases leading upward in various
directions. I asked George for six men, and asked him to lead the others around
the grounds to see if they could discover anything significant.  Not wanting to
be trampled to death, Lou and I stepped inside the cave as each man jumped to
the ledge. Each man leaped more gracefully than the two middle-aged men had. 
I   chalked that up to preparedness.  Each of them knew that he would be
jumping. I had been pushed by an offensive lineman.

I had each man step inside the cave while I addressed
the group. One of the men who joined Lou and me was Officer Davis. It was time
to get even with him for what he had done to me. If he hadn’t beckoned me to
the edge of the cliff, I wouldn’t have found myself in such a predicament. I
instructed Officer Davis and another officer to follow the footprints that
hugged the cliff to see where they went. I motioned for the other men to pair
off and follow Lou and me inside the cave and six flashlights focused on the
path ahead. After a few steps, we stopped in the expansive area Lou and I had
found a few minutes earlier. Nearby, to our left, the first staircase rose from
the hard dirt floor. It was the steepest of the three staircases. Too steep for
Plump and Plumper. I chose two men, told them to take the staircase, but to
proceed with caution and venture forth as quietly as possible. The second
flight of steps sprang from the middle of the room, much like a beautiful
staircase in a stately home. I motioned for the other twosome to mount that
edifice. I stood and watched the first two teams go to work. A few seconds
before, our flashlights had merged. Now, as we headed off in three directions,
the lights more closely resembled a shotgun effect. Satisfied that both
twosomes would accomplish their tasks and report back to us in time, Lou and I
walked the remaining steps to the last flight of stairs. The gradual sloping of
the steps showed me that our climb would be the easiest of the three, but
logistics suggested that we would have the greater number of steps to climb.
Our path led to the far side of the inn. We had no railings to help us climb,
but the climb was as easy as any could be for two men of our magnitude. The
steps headed straight at first, then gradually curved to the left. It got to
the point when we could see only a few feet ahead of us. If we were to meet
anyone on our trek, we wouldn’t surprise them, nor would they surprise us. Even
those less mentally gifted individuals know that bobbling flashlights don’t
travel alone.

Lou and I climbed a few stairs, rested until we could
breathe normally again, then climbed a few more.

I leaned forward with both hands just above my knees.
I stopped wheezing just as I was about to topple forward. I stood up and almost
smiled as I saw my partner in a similar predicament.

Once I could talk, I turned to my friend.

“Hey, Lou, if we get out of here, do you think they’ll
let us in one of those Lamaze classes so we can learn how to breathe while
walking up steps?”

“The way you sounded, I could’ve sworn that you’d already
attended one of those classes.”

“I don’t know how to break it to you, but you didn’t
sound so great yourself.”

“I’ll have you know I breathe just fine as long as you
don’t make me exercise my body any more than God intended.”

“So, it’s all my fault. Listen, buddy, I haven’t
forgotten who pushed me off that cliff.”

“I didn’t push you. I merely tapped you on your shoulder.
I can’t help it if you’re a bit jumpy.”

“We’ll see how jumpy you are. I’ll let you stand on
the edge of the cliff next time. Now, are you ready to proceed?”

As we continued our journey, I thought of my second favorite
form of exercise. Riding an elevator up and down. At that moment, I would’ve
taken my chances on an escalator.

A few days later, we reached a wooden door. The door
had a latch, but the latch wasn’t fastened. I put my finger to my lips to
insure my partner’s silence, and rested my ear upon the door. I heard nothing
from the other side. As far as I was concerned, the door could’ve led anywhere.
I merely hoped that it didn’t open on the bottom of the swimming pool. I didn’t
want to open the door only to encounter pouring water that would push us down
the steps, out the cave entrance, and over the cliff.

I cracked open the door. A sliver of light entered. No
one yanked on the door from the other side. No gun barrel squeezed through the
opening. I opened the door the rest of the way, and Lou and I found ourselves
in one of the inn’s two garages, the one that housed Lightning. I looked
around, noticed that we were alone. Alone with a few vehicles. Immediately, I
noticed a difference in the garage from when I had parked Lightning there the
day before. On Friday, I parked one space over from where someone had parked a
truck. The truck was no longer in the garage. Someone had backed the truck out
of the garage, driven down the driveway, and left the inn. Could it have been
our murderer?

Because Lou was inside when I parked Lightning, he
hadn’t seen the truck, so I let him know that not all the inmates were still at
the asylum. We stood there trying to make sense of the situation. As we did so,
I spotted George and some other men combing the grounds. I motioned to Lou and
we walked to George to tell him our findings, and see if he had anything to
report. As we grew abreast of him, the front door of the inn opened and two men
rushed toward us, two of the men who tackled one of the other staircases. Their
staircase led to the library. There was a button at the top of their staircase.
When they pushed the button, the wall opened just like a door and the two men
stepped into a vacant library. After they moved through the entrance, the wall
of books slid back into place.

As they related their story, a third duo walked around
the corner of the inn. We soon learned that halfway up the third staircase they
encountered a panel and a button. They too pushed a button, and when they did
so the wall slid away and they found themselves looking out at the footprints
that led from the wall of the inn to the edge of a cliff. Realizing that their
job was only half done, the twosome continued on up the stairway and found that
it ended inside a second floor closet. Could it be the one that led to the roof?
Regardless, it explained how someone could’ve sneaked down the second floor hallway,
entered the closet, and walked down the staircase which exited at the corner of
the building. From that point, it was merely a walk to the edge of the cliff, a
drop of three feet, and then a walk up another flight of stairs. Then, someone
could’ve entered the garage in the middle of the night, pushed the truck
downhill, and refrained from starting it and making any noise until he or she
had gained the bridge. But why go to all the trouble of walking out to the edge
of the cliff, when it was easier to walk down one set of stairs and up another
to the garage? Could it be that there were two people making tracks? Or was
someone creating red herrings to make our jobs more difficult? At any rate, a
morning check had revealed that everyone was accounted for except Mrs.
Dukenfield. Could the old lady have flown the coop? Or did someone do away with
her? Maybe someone sent her, truck and all, over the cliff. Eventually, we
would find out.

Another thing bothered me. How could the old lady have
known about the closet? She was a guest. Longworth said he didn’t know her.
Could someone who worked at the inn have made those footprints instead?

+++

Only Officer Davis and his companion were left to be
heard from. Having had enough of the cold, a passel of policemen reentered the
inn. I located Longworth.

“Mr. Longworth, I want to ask you again, do you know
any of the guests who have spent time here this week?”

“None of their names or faces are familiar to me.”

I wasn’t satisfied with that answer. I suspected he
was lying, but I had no way to prove it. I pressed on.

“Mr. Longworth, we are commandeering the library for
an undisclosed amount of time. Two of our officers are out on the property.
When they return, will you ask them to join us?”