If It's Monday, It Must Be Murder!

The uncovered walls, the minimal light, were no accident. Wine does not stand up well to bright lights and airless space. An almost inaudible hum indicated the presence of a motor, one barely large enough to keep the air in the room from ‘wetting down’ the labels. A dozen or so double stands of wine racks stood empty now, save for one bottle of Boone’s Whiskey, clearly visible under the light. Just where was the rest of the stock – reputedly some thousand bottles of rare and valuable wine – was a mystery. Let it only be said that certain local and county officials were on unprecedented and exceptionally warm terms for several years after the county bought the deserted mansion, lock, stock and barrel. Accent on the stock and barrel.

On this particular cold and rainy day, exactly one week after Terry Alum’s murder, this single bottle of cheap whiskey lay on the rack at as proper an angle as if it were an Don Perignon ‘63. Beside it, in the otherwise nearly empty room, stood a broken-down, upholstered chair, unbelievably dirty. Next to it, a wheeled scrub bucket, sans wheels and wringer, had been turned over to serve as a table for a stack of dog-eared ‘girlie’ magazines.

Oh, yes. And next to the table lay Jeb Daniels. The late Jeb Daniels.

* * * * *

It was, as Mr. Berra so cogently put it, déjà vu all over again. Cops everywhere. Press underfoot. Education building closed. Uproar. And, at the heart of it, rising like Phoenix from the ashes as no other viable candidate had appeared, and he had not yet been found, the ghost of Tommy Mudra.

Given the information they now had concerning the true cause of Alum’s death, information they had kept close to their collective chest, the police deemed this new death an accident. Old man. Alone. Whiskey bottle. Steep stairs. Poor light. It all added up.

Perhaps as evidence that the evil men do does indeed live after them, like the unloved man before him, in death the dirty old man scored a victory greater than he ever had in life. He had brought unprecedented unity to his former fellow laborers in the vineyard as no one, no one, agreed with the cops.

Unity, however, began and ended with their opinion of the official verdict as to manner of death. While Pete stationed himself outside, directing buses to turn around and return their cargoes, the staff sat over endless cups of coffee in the staff room where Maude Greengage, grasping the heaven-sent opportunity to get rid of her enemy, lay out her not-too-subtle groundwork for the end game.