Mind-Bending Murder Page 11

  My heart leaped. "Do you have proof of that?"

  "No. I just know you wouldn't go to Bladdersly, number one, and kill someone you didn't know there, number two. That's all I need."

  I pumped my fist in the air and tried to high-five Philby, who was sitting next to me on the couch. The feline führer grunted then turned and jumped off the couch, presumably to torment Rufus the frog some more.

  "But Merry," Soo Jin warned. "You're going to need more than that to prove your innocence. Bryce Vanderzee was here in my office throwing a full tantrum because I wouldn't sign off on you as the killer."

  What was it with this dude? "Thanks for sticking up for me," I said.

  "No problem. I gave him a piece of my mind. No one yells at me about my friends."

  I smiled. Soo Jin and I had had a rocky beginning when she first moved here. The medical examiner was gorgeous, nice, and all-around fabulous. Eventually, we became friends, which is good because she owns two of Philby's daughters.

  "I'm sorry, Merry, but I have to go. I just pulled up to a scene."

  I froze. "Is it connected to the case? Was there another murder?"

  "No. Accidental electrocution on a job site. Ten witnesses saw this guy grab a live wire. But Rex is asking me to be here just in case. Bye!"

  The information Soo Jin had given me helped. It answered some questions, but today was the day I was going to get a few more answers. After chasing Philby away from the aquarium once again, I grabbed my keys and headed out. It was time to go pay a visit to Pastor Buddy Malone.

  I was all of six feet away from my van when a pink-haired, petite young woman came barreling toward me.

  "Merry Wrath!" she shouted. "I've got you this time!"

  I folded my arms over my chest. "Medea. What's with this smear campaign against me? There's no evidence that I killed Tyson because I didn't kill Tyson."

  She sneered, pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. "Oh right! I have an excellent source who says you did murder Tyson!"

  I maintained my stance. I wasn't going to be bullied. "And who would that be?"

  Medea scowled. "My sources are protected, and I'd die before giving them up."

  That was one option available to me, but another murder was the last thing I needed. "Considering the fact that you are talking to someone who you believe murdered a man in cold blood, doesn't that seem to be a dangerous ultimatum?"

  That brought her up short. I could almost see the tiny wheels turning in her brain. Then she frowned. "Don't try your mind tricks on me! I'm too smart for that!"

  Right.

  "Look, Medea, I really have to go. What do you want from me?"

  "A confession would be nice," she asked hopefully.

  I tried not to laugh. "You are never going to get one. Because I'm innocent."

  "We'll see." She consulted a notebook. "Why did you have on a Best Bye shirt? Was that because you were trying to lure Pancratz to the shed by having him think you worked for corporate?"

  That was an interesting theory. "No, I have no idea why I was wearing the shirt."

  She squinted at the notepad as she wrote and said out loud, "Killer has memory loss. Most likely due to early onset dementia."

  "Hey! Don't write that." I pointed at her notepad. "I don't have memory loss."

  Medea broke out in a smug grin. "Aha! You didn't deny being the killer!"

  This was getting old—fast. "Yes, I have. Several times in fact."

  "Intrepid reporter gets murderer to confess!" she wrote, ignoring what I'd just said. "There's my Pulitzer Prize winning ticket to the Big City!"

  "I did not confess to anything. And if you don't stop, I will…" I considered the possibilities…torture? Murder? "I'll sue the paper."

  Medea looked stricken, as if she'd had no idea someone could do that. Without another word, she pocketed her notepad and walked back to her car. How had that happened, and could I pull it off again?

  If the intimidation didn't work, I was not looking forward to the next paper. Who was her source anyway? It didn't matter because Medea Jones had no problem spreading lies about me. Maybe when I was done, I'd sue the paper anyway…just because.

  I sat in my front seat, staring at the Pump & Pawn. I wasn't wearing a disguise because I had a special mission in mind. I was going to accidentally bump into Pastor Buddy Malone. No, I wasn't going to intimidate the main witness. I was just going to talk to him. I was pretty sure I couldn't ask about the case. But I did want to know how he knew Tyson. After all, he told the police he'd seen him specifically that night. As for knowing me, he could've seen me before in Who's There or in the paper or on the news the night I was outed.

  The only problem with my plan was that bumping into him here didn't really seem that impromptu (and not because of the fact I don't go to Bladdersly if I can avoid it). I had an idea that would make it a little more believable.

  Since Who's There didn't have a pawn shop, I figured I'd pawn something here. This was the nearest place. It took me a while to find something pawnable. I'd finally settled on a tiny spy camera from the Cold War. It was a souvenir I didn't really want to part with, even though I had two. But a customer in a pawn shop could change their mind, right?

  I wondered if Mordecai Brown knew who I was. I had no idea what he looked like. Which made this an opportunity to meet him too. It was a win all the way around.

  After a moment, I got out of the car with my purse and started to walk toward the door. It opened when I was still about twenty feet away, and an elderly man in a security guard uniform walked out and right toward me.

  My heart started pounding. This was it. This was where he would freak out at running into the woman he'd accused of murder. Malone could call the cops. The last thing I wanted was Vanderzee dragging me into the station. But I needed to talk to Pastor Malone. Squaring my shoulders, I continued toward him. When I got close, the man looked me in the eye, smiled, and gave me a quick nod.

  "Morning, ma'am!" he said brightly before continuing on his way.

  A shock went through me. Buddy Malone, the man accusing me of murder, had no idea who I was! There was no flash of recognition!

  Buddy Malone had seen me, face-to-face in broad daylight, and didn't seem to know who I was! Wow!

  My mind was still racing through the possibilities. Should I go after him? Confront him? Or would that make things worse? It would probably be better if I didn't since I could bring the sheriff here and have him witness Malone ignore me. That would be much better. If only I'd thought of bringing Carnack with me.

  To say I was thrilled would be an understatement. But it was time to move on to phase two, so I continued on the mission and went inside the Pump & Pawn.

  The place was brightly lit, and by that, I mean blindingly. Rows of gleaming sports equipment faced me like an army. There was a free weights area on my left and two tanning beds on my right.

  Nobody was working out. In fact, nobody was there. From what I'd seen of Bladdersly, people weren't very interested in getting fit.

  "Over here!" A very attractive, fifty-something man with a hint of gray at the temples of his dark hair waved at me.

  The pawn area was in the back. All the way back. Walking past the ellipticals and treadmills made me tense up because I never exercise. I know I should. And someday I would. It just won't be here.

  I finally cleared the area and found myself in what seemed to be a whole new building.

  It had all the hallmarks of a pawn shop, with glass display cases filled with all kinds of things.

  "I'm Mordecai Brown! What can I do for you?" He smiled, and that's when I noticed a taxidermied diorama behind him, featuring a fortune-telling squirrel looking into a crystal ball while a moray eel dressed like Elvis looked on.

  "A beauty, isn't it?" Mordecai must've noticed me staring. "It's a Ferguson original. Those are very rare—I never get one in here."

  "The Fergusons are my sisters-in-law." I smiled. "They'll be glad to hear that."


  Well, Ronni wouldn't. She'd probably burn this place down, find the address of whoever pawned it, and burned his house down too. Then she'd have me locked away, just for mentioning it.

  Mordecai's smile turned into a frown as he studied my features. Then his eyebrows went up. He, at least, recognized me.

  "You're that Merry Wrath Ferguson woman! The one who killed Tyson!" He didn't seem worried or appalled. In fact, he seemed to be curious.

  "I am Merry," I explained. "But I didn't kill Tyson."

  Mordecai grinned, smelling a customer. "If you say so. Hey, weren't you in the CIA or something?"

  Now this was something I didn't mind him knowing about me. "Yes, I was. In fact, I'm going through my things and found out I had a couple of these." I took the camera out of my purse and set it on the counter. "Who needs two spy cameras?" I rolled my eyes.

  Mordecai picked up the tiny camera with care. "Are you pawning or selling? No one buys cameras anymore. But this is special. And with it belonging to a murderer, I can get a very high price on it."

  "Wait, you can?" I was so surprised that I didn't correct him saying I was a murderer again.

  He was turning the little camera over in his hands. "Oh sure. This is small-town Iowa. You couldn't find something like this here. How much do you want for it?"

  This was an opportunity.

  "Tell you what. You can have it in exchange for some information."

  Greed seemed to take control of the man's senses. "Perfect! What do you want to know?"

  "Tell me about the shed out back. The place where I allegedly killed Tyson."

  "Oh." He looked off into space. "I guess I've had it for about twenty years. The Magnolia Girls used it for their office for a while. But they moved out a month or so ago. It's been empty ever since."

  "What's with the Lucky Charms and Boats of the Midwest books?" Okay, it probably wasn't germane to the case, but I did find a copy of that book on Tyson's nightstand.

  Mordecai scratched his head. "I don't know about the Lucky Charms. Maybe some kids broke in or something. They do that a lot."

  I levelled my gaze at him. "Maybe it's because you leave the key in the mailbox?"

  His eyes grew wide. "So that's how you got in when you murdered Tyson! I've been wondering about that!"

  It took all I had to maintain a calm demeanor. "Like I said before, I didn't murder Tyson. And how do you not know that kids aren't breaking in, they're just basically letting themselves in because you leave the key in the mailbox?"

  The confusion on his face seemed sincere. "Huh. I never thought of that."

  I had to ask, "Surely you don't do that for the pawn shop."

  He laughed. "Of course not! I'm not an idiot. We have a combination panel. Makes it easier on Pastor Malone."

  Ooooh! Was he saying that Buddy had some impairments? "Oh. Because he can't see too well, huh?"

  "Nope. He has the vision of an eagle. I've never known anyone with such sharp vision. And at his age!"

  I tried another thought. "Is it because of cognitive issues?"

  Mordecai slapped his hand on the counter between us. "Think again! That man changes the password every week and remembers every time. He has to write it down for me so that I don't forget it."

  Oh, for crying out loud. "Then why did you say it's easier for him?"

  He feigned writing in the air with an invisible pen. "Arthritis. His right hand cramps up."

  Would that be enough to discredit him as a witness? He didn't know who I was. How does someone with perfect vision see me if he doesn't know me from sight?

  Ivan said the tattoo artist thought it wasn't a woman leading Tyson that night. He thought it was a man in a wig. If some young guy could see that from a distance, why couldn't Malone?

  Next question. "Were you here that night?"

  "No. I was checking out an estate sale in Johnston." Mordecai leaned forward conspiratorially, looking left and then right. "Did you know that there's a woman out there who has the world's largest collection of Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson paper dolls?" He pointed to a display case featuring a paper doll of The Rock. He had five different kinds of paper wigs you could put on him. I was partial to the mohawk.

  "I got the whole shebang!" He slapped the counter. "Do you know how big that guy is here in Iowa? Man! I wish she'd had some other memorabilia of him. I could retire early!"

  It was interesting, and I did have some questions, but I forced myself to get back on track. "Pastor Malone was here by himself? Why, if he saw me and Tyson enter the shed, didn't he follow us in to find out what we were doing there?"

  This brought the pawn broker up short. "What do you mean?"

  "This is a pawn shop, and the shed is part of your property, and he's responsible for security. It's a no-brainer."

  His face relaxed into an aha expression. "Oh. That's probably because so many people use that shed for meetings. He probably didn't think much about it."

  He did think about it. At least enough to directly identify me.

  This was new information. "You're joking. What kind of meetings do a man and woman get up to in there…"

  Mordecai smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

  My mouth dropped open. "Are you using your shed as a no-tell motel?"

  "Absolutely not," he said while nodding up and down.

  I leaned forward in spite of the fact that the place was empty. "Is that legal?"

  He shrugged. "Money isn't changing hands."

  Ugh! "So Pastor Buddy thought that Tyson and I were…"

  "I'm not saying that." He nodded again. Then his smile dimmed. He was worrying that he'd said too much.

  "What else do you want to know?" His enthusiasm and patience seemed to be wearing a bit thin. I needed to end this before he figured out what I was doing—even if he was getting the spy camera for free.

  I held up my index finger. "One more question. Did you know Tyson Pancratz?"

  Mordecai rocked back on his heels as he thought about this. "The guy you murdered?"

  Sigh. "I did not murder him."

  "Yeah. I mean, I'd seen him around. Mostly at Elrond's Comics and once or twice at The Opera House. I think Harold was giving him acting lessons or something like that."

  Harold knew him. I should've known.

  "Would you say you knew him more than just seeing him around?" I wasn't really sure he was going to give me too much more. There's a moment when you know your informant is done with you. Beyond that, you're lucky to get anything.

  Mordecai seemed to lose his casual demeanor. "Not really. He was really quiet. Worked at Best Bye. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to put this beauty in the safe while I think of the right words to market it. I'm thinking Ex-CIA Serial Killer's Spy Camera! What do you think?"

  I threw my arms up in the air. "Why do people keep calling me a serial killer?"

  He pointed at me. "Aha! You admitted it!"

  "No, I didn't." I turned to get out of this madhouse, when I remembered something. "You didn't answer my question about the boat books. Why do you only have that book and so many copies?"

  "Figure that out for yourself," he said gruffly. This interview was over.

  I stepped out into the sunshine with a head full of information that I needed to process. I walked over to Elrond's Comics, but the shop was closed. Glancing at The Opera House, my stomach growled, and I realized I didn't want to face Harold on an empty stomach.

  Besides, I needed to write all of this down before I forgot. Back in Who's There, I picked up some fried chicken and took it to Rex's office.

  "Thanks!" Rex smiled as I walked into his office. "Fried chicken! My favorite! What's the occasion?"

  From his desk in the main area, Officer Kevin Dooley sniffed the air and looked at me with interest for the first time since I gave him a snack pudding in the third grade. I'd had two, or I normally wouldn't have shared.

  "Should I take some to Kevin?" I mumbled to Rex as I unloaded the bag.

  "Officer Dooley," Rex c
orrected. "How much did you get? There's enough for the whole station?"

  I shrugged. "You know me. I over-order when I'm starving."

  Rex pulled a paper plate from a desk drawer. He had everything in there because he often worked late. He put a chicken breast and drumstick on the plate.

  "For Officer Dooley," he said as he dumped a scoop of mashed potatoes.

  I snatched the drumstick off, replacing it with a thigh. "Sorry. Drumsticks are mine."

  Rex laughed and took the plate to Dooley, who was now drooling. He came back into his office, closed the door, and sat down to dig in.

  "How's the meddling going?" Rex asked me.

  "We aren't going to talk about it," I said. "I don't want to cross some colleague confidentiality line."

  He pointed a drumstick at me. How did I miss that one? "That's not a thing."

  "Trust me. I'll tell you when I have enough. But not now. I don't want you compromised."

  Rex sighed. "At least tell me you're talking to Jane."

  I nodded. "I should probably call her."

  Actually, she'd call me if she had anything. Right now, I was pretty sure I had more than anyone else in this investigation.

  "So what do we talk about?" His right eyebrow went up.

  "How was that electrocution victim?" I asked.

  Rex leaned back in his chair. "You've been talking to Soo Jin." When he saw that I wasn't going to say anything else, he said, "Just an accident. We had ten witnesses who saw it."

  I really, really wanted to tell my husband the truth about my one and only witness. But something told me I should tell Carnack first. He was the only one who'd have any influence over the case.

  We ate, making small talk about the pets and Philby's obsession with Rufus. When we were done, I got to my feet and started packing up the garbage.

  "Are we on for dinner?" Rex asked as he helped.

  "No. I'm going to see if I can meet up with Jane for dinner," I lied.

  Rex liked this idea. "Good. And by the way, the twins want to have us over for a cookout soon."

  "Okay," I said as I kissed him good-bye.

  In the main room, Kevin had eaten all of the food we'd given him and was now working his way through a box of Ding Dongs.