Murder on Dirt Road
By R.A. Jetter & Lance Martin
“Whoa Jerry, where you going?” he yelled, trying to regain his balance.
“Hey Arn. Jump in. I’ll explain on the way.”
Arnie scooted into the passenger seat of the Omomqua County cruiser. He was the epitome of a small town cop. Ex all-star high school quarterback, pro football running back standout that blew out his knee three years into the game ruining any chance of retiring famous and wealthy. At 34, he was big and strong. Muscles built lugging logs at a summer job for his father remained. “What the hell is going on, Jerry?”
“We missed something.”
“What? Missed what?”
“No, not missed. Didn’t look.” I slid the gearshift into low, squealed away from the curb and almost nailed the meter maid. “At all three murders there were two place-settings but only one set of silverware on the table. None in the dishwater… or the trash, remember? One set missing, we never checked to see if any other silverware was missing.”
“So, who cares if a few pieces of cheap silverware were missing?”
“No one. Except it wasn’t cheap silver, these gals had the real thing.”
“Real thing? What you goin’ on about, Jer?”
“Silver… antique. Heirloom quality. Maggie was proud of hers. It was a gift from the King of Prussia.” If I were correct, silver pieces would be missing from the other victim’s homes. I’d venture the male they invited to share their last meal would pawn the antiques sooner or later. When that happened, I’d be ready. Banging a tire on the log stop at road’s edge, I slammed the gearshift into Park, jumped out of the cruiser and bounded over the ditch. If I were the murderer, I’d go out Maggie’s screenless back door with my priceless Prussian plunder, wrapped in the victim’s apron. Hopefully, there’d be a missed clue back there… somewhere. I yelled at Arnie; “Go inside, count the place-settings in the China Cabinet.”
I scoured the back yard. Walked the fence line like a drill sergeant eyeing his men. Scanned nook and cranny. Every square inch got the once over from my laser repaired eyes. But, there were no new clues back there. Nothing hiding in the fence holes, no tracks leading out the back gate in the shadow of yesterday’s snow. I surmised the silver could be buried for later retrieval. We needed a metal detector.
“They’re missing!” Arnie yelled as he rounded the house. “All of it?”
“One salad fork, one dinner fork, one dessert fork. A teaspoon, coffee spoon, a butter knife, and one dessert knife.”
“Hot damn, I was right.” The killer had taken one complete place-setting, but why? I guessed ’souvenirs’. “Arnie, you have a metal detector?”
“Yeah, but Bud’s got it. I can bring it tomorrow. Have to go to the ranch… an’ that’s thirty miles of switchbacks from here.”
That wasn’t going to work, we needed to find the silver today. Tonight. Tomorrow would be too late and there may be another victim by then. “Arnie, we’re going to see old Fritz. Is your gun loaded?” The Chief considered Arnie his own personal affliction, his own inept Barney Fife of Mayberry fame. He usually didn’t let Arnie have bullets… he’d shot at too many things plunging through the woods surrounding our town way too many times. The citizenship complained someone was going to get shot serious-like. Arnie swore those many times he was only protecting the town from Sasquatch. I just figured he saw ghosts — old loggers crushed by a falling tree or drowned in the pond. This town was full of those stories. Nevertheless, right now I’ve got a bigger riddle to solve and thankfully, Arnie’s gun wasn’t loaded. Fritz Hatchett disliked him intently and I wasn’t sure why the Chief hired him.