Bingo You're Dead Read online

  “Not too bad. I think the swelling has gone down. It’s better when it’s propped up.”

  I took that as my cue to push a chair under the affected leg.

  “What were you guys talking about?”

  “You know, guy stuff—baseball, sports, sex.” I felt my face get hot.

  “Figures.”

  “Right.” I hesitated for effect. “Oh yeah, and Perry watched Gus slide down the driveway, and Herb B. is cooking the center’s books.”

  I wish I had a picture of Tippi’s face when I dropped those tidbits of news. I made a mental note to jot down the date and time I made her speechless. I decided to wait for her to say something. This was fun.

  “What do you mean, Perry saw Gus? Why didn’t he say something?” she said finally. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me either.”

  “Herb B. is cooking the books? I mean, I’m sure he’s crooked enough, but I can’t believe he has the brains to pull something like that off. What about the audit we have done every year? What about Gus? He’d have to be in on it, and you’ll never get me to buy that.”

  I explained that Gus had just started to tell us about it when Tippi interrupted us.

  “We can’t let Herb B. know we’re suspicious of anything until we find out more,” I said.

  “Hank.” Tippi jumped to her feet, forgetting the ankle. “Do you think Herb B. could have realized Gus was on to him and arranged his so-called accident? I mean, he wasn’t the least bit surprised or concerned when we told him Gus had gone out in the storm, remember?”

  I remember being so angry with him for allowing Gus to go outside, I couldn’t see straight. It never occurred to me something else was at play, but why would it? I recalled the scene in his office when he panicked seeing me with the financial reports I’d found hidden in the kiln. He’d carried on about confidentiality and immediately shredded them when he got them from me.

  I helped Tippi back into the chair. I guess it was possible the director was involved in Gus’s accident, especially if he really was cooking the books. What I couldn’t understand was how Perry fit into the picture. It was all way too TV-crime-show for me.

  I collected the beer cans and found a discarded plastic bag to wrap them up in. No sense leaving a trail that could lead to our stash. “I’ll take these outside to the trash.” I helped Tippi up. “I’ll take Frenchie back out while I’m at it. Can you make it by yourself?”

  “You go ahead—I’ll catch up eventually.” She made a face. “This ankle needs to heal quick. The cloggers have a bunch of holiday performances lined up.” She waited, and then spoke in a near whisper, “Hank?”

  I leaned in to hear. “Yes?”

  “You be careful. If Herb B. really is up to no good, and if he’s desperate enough to hurt people…” She swallowed hard. “I’m saying, don’t be stupid.” She looked down, and then raised her face to meet my eyes. “The band can’t afford to lose another kazooist.”

  “I’m going to get Gus to tell me why he thinks the bastard is playing with the center’s money. I’ll be discreet.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll tell you everything.”

  Just then Violet came down the hall, her hair frizzed around her face, perspiration running down her thin cheeks. “Hank, why are you letting her stand there? She needs to keep her leg up.” Violet got behind Tippi and nudged her towards the lounge. “Besides, she’s got work to do.”

  Tippi looked back over her shoulder at me and mouthed, help me.

  “Au revoir,” I responded with a wave.

  “Let you go for good behavior?” Applebee said, when I found him trying out samples of some snacks set out for the party.

  “Maybe bad boy behavior?” Mr. Wittekind chimed in, winking.

  “Where’s Gus?” I ignored their remarks.

  The two sobered right up. Mr. Wittekind pointed with a stick of celery, a glob of dip poised to plunge onto his lap. “Last time I saw him, he was in the conference room, working on the laptop.”

  I handed him a paper towel and pointed to the onion dip on his pants. “Taking your cues from Elrod?”

  Wittekind winced and rubbed a spot on his trouser leg.

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” I said, then remembered the dog. “Should probably take Frenchie out first.” I picked an unhappy puppy out from beneath the blanket on the chair beside Applebee. “Be right back.”

  “No running off this time, rat dog,” I said, fastening the leash to her collar. I took her out front so I could watch the plows coming and going in the yard across the way. I could see the salt trucks were loaded up and standing by idling. I hoped our “guesstimate” that we’d be out of here sometime tomorrow wasn’t overly optimistic.

  …

  I shook the snow from my coat and released Frenchie, who bounded off to the kitchen.

  “Hi, Uncle Hank. What’s new?” Marcy skipped up and grabbed my hands. “Wanna dance?” she asked, positioning her stocking feet on top of mine.

  I picked her up and sat her on my shoulders instead. “We’ll have to wait for the party, sweetie. Meanwhile, how about a game of checkers or ‘Go Fish’?”

  As I lifted the child down, a white ball fell out of her pocket.

  “I tried to show you before, Uncle Hank,” Marcy said picking up the ball. “It’s for the bingo game.” She handed it to me.

  I turned the ball around in my hand—O-53. A black X was marked over the numeral 3 so it read O-5.

  “Marcy, where did you get this?”

  “It fell on the floor when you put the Santa suit on Uncle Gus. I didn’t take it, honest.” Her tiny mouth turned down as she tried not to cry.

  “Oh, honey, I know you didn’t.” I picked her up and she buried her head against my neck. “I just need to know where it was when you found it. It’s really important, Marcy.”

  “It fell out of his pocket.” Her words were muffled against me.

  “Fell out of whose pocket?”

  “Uncle Gus’s pocket, silly.” A smile crept back on her face. “It fell out when you took his clothes off.” She giggled and put a small hand over her mouth.

  “Was it just like this?” I showed her the ball with the black X over the 3.

  “Yeah.” She yawned.

  I bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Can I take a rain check on our checker game?”

  “You mean play later?”

  “Right. I have to show this ball to Aunt Tippi and tell her all about how you discovered it. And you know what else, Marcy?”

  “What?” She hopped from one foot to the other.

  “This is a clue. Do you know what a clue is?”

  “Yes, silly. I’m not a baby. I watch Blue’s Clues on television.” She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her bottom lip.

  I had to laugh. “No, you’re not a baby, Marcy. You are definitely a female though, through and through.”

  She did a somersault and skipped down the hall, waving over her shoulder as she went.

  I slipped the ball in my pocket and went to find Tippi. A second bingo ball.

  What the hell is going on?

  THIRTY

  I found Tippi in the dining hall, angrily stuffing plastic fruit into a wicker cornucopia for what I guessed was to be a table decoration.

  “Real nice,” I commented on the salty language accompanying each fruit as it went in.

  “You can take this damn thing and put it where the sun don’t shine, Hank Klaber,” she responded, wielding an ear of Indian corn.

  “Come on, see voo plate.” I helped her to her feet and put a crutch under each arm. “You look like you need medical attention. I shall take you to the clinic, where we will play doctor.”

  I helped her get comfortable on the couch and propped her ankle up on a pillow. “I’m going to round up the guys. I just uncovered some new information, and I want you all to hear it at the same time.”

  I found Wittekind in the lounge, hunched over a plate of
assorted party snacks. “You can pick up where you left off later,” I said, taking his arm. “I have something I need you to hear.” I hurried him toward the hall. On the way, I caught a glimpse of Elrod, who had been soundly snoring in a nearby chair only seconds ago, making a beeline for Wittekind’s abandoned treasure.

  We picked up Applebee and were on our way to the clinic when Sheriff Grange walked in. He looked around at the decorations. “You guys are partying while I’m out freezing my butt off, slippin’ and slidin’ all over this dern town? Something’s just not right.” He stopped smiling when he saw the Schmidt sisters barreling in his direction. “Uh-oh. Help me out, Hank?”

  Mary smirked as she linked her arm through the Sheriff’s.

  “Just stoppin’ in to check on you guys,” Grange raised his eyebrows at Mary, who twined her fingers through his. “Looks like you’re getting ready to do some serious partying.”

  “Why don’t you stay, Sheriff?” Violet said. She moved in on Grange’s other arm.

  “The guys and I want to treat the sheriff to some refreshment,” I said.

  “This way, Sheriff.” When I was finally able to free his arm from Mary’s viselike grip, I led the way down the hall to the clinic.

  Gus was pounding away at the keyboard. Columns of figures flashed on the screen. He stopped working as we crowded in around the small room.

  Wittekind passed beers around to all but Grange, who shook his head when offered. I updated him on the most recent events: Gus’s accident, the incident with Perry and Guenther in the construction site, and finding Gus’s cane with the RV specs and the center financials.

  “Gus, tell the sheriff your suspicions about Herb B.,” I said.

  “Right now, I only have a feeling something isn’t right with the center accounts,” Gus began. “Alice and I…”

  “Alice?” Grange interjected.

  “Alice was assisting me with data entry of all of our expenses and receipts and making sure we had documentation for everything. She’d also enter payroll for staff. At the end of each month, she would do the bank reconciliation and print up the report for Herb B. to present to the Board of Trustees. She used to do bookkeeping for a one-man CPA shop in Cincinnati, handling small non-profit accounts. He really thought highly of her,” his voice cracked. “Anyway, she was a whiz with QuickBooks and a big help to me, particularly with all the remodeling expenses—contractors, materials. It’s become a full time job staying on top of everything. If that weren’t enough, we have this doggone kazoo contest and those receipts and expenses to keep track of.”

  “So what made you think there’s something fishy going on?” Grange said.

  “It was Alice who brought it up. It was a couple of days before she, um,” he cleared his throat, “died. She’d printed out the receivables and the expense reports for the past quarter through September. That’s what you saw me working on, Hank, right before the storm broke.”

  I nodded. “And the printouts on the RVs,” I said. “We figured you were going to write yourself a big check, buy a fancy RV, and head out of Goose Down.” Gus frowned so I added, “Just kidding.”

  “No,” he said. “I never printed out anything on RVs.”

  “Well, somebody did.”

  “Then somebody was in my computer. I remember leaving the room for just a minute to grab a cup of coffee, but I wasn’t gone more than ten minutes. Oh wait, it was more like thirty minutes because I went to the kitchen for coffee and got involved in a conversation with Hazel and...”

  “And you guys think women talk a lot,” Tippi said.

  “There’s something else.” I reached into my pocket. I held up the white bingo ball and turned it to show the O-53 with the 3 clearly X’d out. “Marcy saw this fall out of Gus’s pocket when we changed him out of his wet clothes into the Santa suit. She tried to tell me right away but I was so busy with Gus I blew her off. She brought it up again, which is why I asked you all to meet with me.”

  “It’s like the one we found in Joe’s hot tub with Alice’s body.” Grange looked surprised.

  Just then, Hazel stuck her head in the door to tell Grange a deputy was in the foyer asking for him.

  “Sorry, I’ve got to get back out there,” he said. “But I want to hear this. I’m going to need to take that, Hank,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I found an envelope in the nurse’s desk and sealed the ball inside before turning it over.

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Grange turned up the volume on his radio, buttoned his heavy parka, and adjusted his hat. “You should be able to go home by late afternoon tomorrow,” he added, “if all goes well.”

  “Thank God,” Applebee said and handed out another round.

  “Joe behavin’ himself?” the sheriff asked before he left.

  “I guess so,” I said.

  Grange raised his eyebrows. “Can you keep an eye on him? I guess I could take him with me if there’s a problem.”

  “No, I can manage. It’s not like he could make a run for it.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure?”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m sure of anything, but I’d like Joe to stay here. I might be able to get him to talk to me.”

  “Okay. It shouldn’t be much longer ’til we get you guys outta here. Hang in,” he said as he left.

  “You didn’t tell him about Perry,” Tippi said.

  “I didn’t get the chance.” My head was throbbing. “We should have another go at Perry, anyway. How about it, Tippi? You did get him to open up to you before.”

  Tippi nodded. “I’ll try.” She hesitated before she spoke again. “What if Gus’s’ accident wasn’t?”

  Applebee’s face went gray. Mr. Wittekind seemed puzzled and Gus looked relieved.

  “You know, I never wanted to say anything, but the thought has been nagging at me from the start,” Gus said.

  “You mean somebody tried to kill Gus, too?” Mr. Wittekind said, catching on. “No way.”

  “Well,” Applebee said. “There’s Alice and me, and then Gus. Seems like an awful lot of coincidences. We still don’t have an explanation as to why Perry offered to wait while you moved the car, and then disappeared. Seems pretty fishy.”

  “And now another ball,” Applebee said.

  I finally spoke. “Think about it. If somebody suspected Alice and Gus were on to his...”

  “Or her,” Tippi added.

  “Okay, or her. May I continue?”

  Tippi shrugged in reply.

  “If the perp?” I looked at Tippi.

  She yawned.

  “If the perp thought Alice and Gus were on to the scam and the jig was almost up, he might be desperate enough to do something drastic, such as arrange a couple of ‘accidents.’”

  “I had nothing to do with the money,” Applebee said. “Why me?”

  “A prank? Somebody not part of the original scheme to get rid of Alice and Gus. Just somebody with a grudge who only wanted to scare you a little? After all, you didn’t have a bingo ball on you,” I said, trying to organize my thoughts.

  “Although,” Tippi said, “Gus’s ball had the number 3 crossed out, making it read 5. Maybe there was another ball with a 4 on it, and maybe it was on Applebee but is now on the bottom of the pond.”

  “Why?” Wittekind said. “There couldn’t be that much at stake—could there?”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “Here you all are.” Hazel poked her head in the room. “The party’s starting. Better get to the buffet before the rest of ’em eat it all.”

  We filed out behind her and found the celebration in full swing. I arranged for the five of us to sit together at the end of one of the tables so we could talk without being overheard. Tippi saved our seats while I got her food. As usual, the spread looked delicious. The women must have emptied out the freezer and all the cupboards. My mouth watered as I loaded up Tippi’s plate, then went back for my own.

  Joe was sitting off to the side by himself, so I stopped by to a
sk him how he was doing.

  “How do you think I’m doing?” he answered. He took a big bite of potato salad. “Everybody here thinks I’m a killer. Not exactly a party for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Joe,” I apologized again. “We’ll straighten this out, soon. I promise.”

  He turned his chair away from me and attacked his food in reply.

  I filled my plate and headed back to our table. The candlelight sparkled over the crepe paper and other fall-inspired decorations. Everyone was in a festive mood in anticipation of the end of our confinement. Going out with a bang, Hazel had said. Bad metaphor, I thought.

  Mr. Wittekind poked me in the ribs and, with a forkful of three-bean salad, pointed to the other end of the table.

  Guenther, Herb B., and Perry were huddled together at a table near the door. A heated discussion was underway. When Guenther got up to get more food, I saw Herb B. lean over and say something to Perry, who nodded in agreement. The two men shook hands before Guenther returned to his seat.

  “Whadda ya think that was all about?” Mr. Wittekind said.

  “I don’t know but we need to find out,” I said.

  The four of us turned to Tippi. She shook her head. “Perry’s your brother,” she said to Applebee. “Maybe you should talk to him instead.”

  “You heard him—he’s mad at me. Besides, you’re the one he spilled his guts to once already. Can’t you push him harder?”

  “What do you want to know? I need a plan. Investigators don’t just go into an interrogation cold, you know.”

  “Can you probe into his financial situation? See if he’s strapped for cash? I mean, how does a person make a living playing the harmonica and an accordion?” I asked.

  “He gives lessons too,” Applebee said.

  “Do you know a lot of kids who want to play the accordion? There’s a real fast way to the cool kids lunch table,” I snorted.

  “I’ll figure something out,” Tippi said. “You guys are making my ears hurt.”

  Hazel came around, pushing a cart loaded with bowls of potato salad, baked beans, and turkey roll.