Bingo You're Dead Page 19

  “I had no idea,” Gus said. “She never said a thing to me.”

  “Probably embarrassed,” Grange said. “Besides, she and Joe were an item, and she probably felt guilty about stepping out on him.”

  “So Guenther killed Alice because she wouldn’t be his girlfriend?” I said.

  “No. It was because he learned that she was getting close to finding out he was a dirty rotten thief,” Gus reminded us.

  “Right,” Grange continued. “At dinner, Alice hinted to Guenther how it was ‘interesting’—his word—that Herb B. was having so much work done on his own house at the same time the center was undergoing a major remodel. She confided in him something was fishy was going on, and she intended to find out exactly what kind of scam Herb B. was pulling. Of course, she didn’t know Guenther was really the brains behind the deal.”

  “So he killed her,” Gus said.

  “Right. He overheard her and Joe making their plans for the evening at Joe’s, so he hid in the bushes and when Alice was left alone, he saw his chance and, well, you know the rest.”

  “What about the bingo ball?” I asked.

  “That was an afterthought. He’d picked up the loose ball after his shift one night and stuck it in his coat pocket. After he strangled Alice, he reached in his pocket for his car keys, found the ball, and, well, you know. He liked the effect so decided to use it as his signature.”

  “Like on Criminal Minds,” Tippi interjected.

  The sheriff winced. “Uh-huh.” He looked at Tippi and frowned. “He went on to place them on Applebee and Gus, too.”

  “He’s a real funny guy,” Mr. Wittekind said. “He should be a hit at the death row talent show.”

  We asked Grange a few more questions before he had to get back on the job. He had one more bombshell to drop before he got up to leave.

  “Oh, yeah,” he added. “Guenther’s wife?”

  We nodded in unison.

  “She didn’t run off with the organ guy.” He paused for effect. “Guenther murdered her, too. One of my men got suspicious while he was investigating over at Guenther’s place. He happened to poke around a pile of burned up brush near the barn. When he examined the area more closely, he found scraps of rubber with melted metal clips attached. The lab results showed it was part of a woman’s girdle.”

  “Girdle?” Tippi’s voice rose above the din of the bustling diner. All heads turned in our direction. “What woman wears a girdle in this day and age? We wear Spanx now, much more...”

  “Tippi, can we save the fashion reviews for later?” I said.

  Applebee jumped in. “Guenther’s wife?”

  “Right-o,” Grange said. “The guy’s a real piece of work. When we told him we knew what he’d done to his wife...”

  “But you didn’t know,” I interrupted. “I would have thought he just burned all her stuff when she ran off.”

  “Now you know why you’re not in law enforcement, Hank. If only you’d watch more crime shows like me, instead of those ridiculous old sci-fi movies. I mean, really, what you can learn from The Revenge of the Killer Tomatoes? I’ll never understand your tastes.”

  “You might want to rephrase your last comment, Ms. Mulgrew,” I said.

  Tippi blushed.

  Grange’s mouth hung open but Applebee, Gus, and Mr. Wittekind, who were used to these kinds of exchanges, resigned themselves to wait it out.

  “If I may?” Grange asked.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Tippi just shrugged.

  “When Guenther believed we had the goods on him, he told us everything. Bragged about it, even. He also says he can lead us to the organ repairman. He hasn’t confirmed he killed him as well, but he hinted at it. Wants the prosecutor to make a deal to get him life instead of the needle.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I ran into him at Fernald the morning we heard about Alice. He had his pickup with a tarp thrown over the bed. He told me he had trapped a groundhog and was intending to release it there. Do you think...?”

  “Hank, you may have just blown a hole in the guy’s deal. I’m going to need you to show me exactly where you were when you ran into him that day. I wanna nail the bastard.”

  “Way to go, Hank.” Wittekind pounded me on the shoulder.

  “And to think,” Tippi said, “he’s been in all of our homes. He’s done work for probably everybody at the center at one time or another.”

  “He was out at my place right before the storm. Helped me install a fireplace insert. Damn good worker and doesn’t talk your ear off either,” I added.

  “All the women were crazy about him,” Applebee said. “It was Guenther did this, Guenther fixed that. I can’t count the number of times Mother had him working on one project or another, either at home or at the school.”

  “Guess you can never really know a person,” Mr. Wittekind said.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I said, looking at the faces around the table. “To friends.” I lifted my coffee cup in a toast. The others followed.

  “And more.” I planted a kiss on Tippi’s mouth and tasted her blackberry pie.

  Acknowledgements

  Although the actual writing of a book is a solitary process, the end result exists only because of the love and support of family, friends, pets and others willing to share the angst, handwringing, doubt and the occasional triumph along the way. I wish to thank my family, Bob, Emily, Peter, Carrie, and Phoebe, my fellow writers of the Ohio Valley Writers’ Network, and Diane Gronas for her creative input.

  I hope you enjoyed reading Bingo-You’re Dead. I enjoy hearing from readers and welcome your comments at wittsendpress@gmail.com / www.wittsendpress.com.

  Watch for

  Volume 2 of the series, ‘Murder Is My Game’

  Mah-Jongg is Murder, Fall, 2014