The Traveling Corpse by Double Edge Press Page A

A.M.
    Â 
    As he filled the coffee pot, Doc mused, “Who
do you suppose it belongs to?”
    â€œAre ya talkin’ about tha shoe?” DeeDee asked
him. When he nodded his head in agreement, she laughed. “I think
it’s a pretty easy thing ta assume that tha shoe belongs ta tha
dead body.”
    Doc realized that his question didn’t sound
too bright. “I guess what I really meant,” he covered, “is who was
the woman who lost her shoe under the stage?”
    â€œNow that is a very good question,” DeeDee
said.
    â€œI haven’t heard or read about anyone or
anybody that’s missing, have you?” asked Art.
    â€œIf there was anyone missin’, we’d have
heard. News like that’d fly ‘round BradLee faster than a kite!”
DeeDee exclaimed. “’Course it jest happened yesterday, an’ it’s
only six a.m. now. Maybe we’ll find out more at Coffee.”
    Annie wondered aloud, “If the deputies didn’t
find the body when they were here, why didn’t the murderer just
leave her where she was when he moved it the first time? It was in
a good hiding place, good enough that those deputies didn’t find
it!”
    â€œWell, probably because inside this warm
buildin’ a dead body would start ta smell ‘fore long,” offered
DeeDee.
    â€œOh, that’s right. We talked about that all
ready,” Annie conceded.
    â€œAnd I think he didn’t want anyone to find
the body,” said Art. “You know, if there’s no body, it’s hard to
prove there’s a crime.”
    â€œThat’s been my problem from the beginning of
‘Our Mystery,” Annie moaned.
    Doc continued Art’s reasoning, “You’re
probably right! And if the murderer didn’t want anyone to find the
body, he had to get it out of the building before it started to
smell.”
    â€œWhat a horrible thought,” DeeDee said,
shaking her head. Her shoulder-length hair swung from side to side.
There was not a strand of gray in it. Her shiny black hair was the
envy of all the gray and white–haired senior women. DeeDee swore
that she never colored it—that she inherited her good hair genes
from a Cherokee grandmother.
    Doc hitched up his denim jeans. DeeDee’s
right; this is all pretty horrible.” Then he said, “Here’s a
thought: Who closes up after Bingo?”
    â€œWe all know that Karl Kreeger’s head of
Bingo,” stated Art, “but Jiggs helps him a lot and so does
Oliver.”
    â€œHerb is in charge of tha kitchen,”
volunteered DeeDee, “an’ tha Ellsburgh brothers are Call Back
Runners like Jiggs. They’re awful good ta help.”
    Art acknowledged that there were so many
Bingo volunteers that it would be very difficult to sort things
out. They needed to narrow it down. “Let’s try to figure out who
might have been the last ones out; who closed up?”
    Doc offered, “Security locks up the clubhouse
around 11 p.m. I have a key because I sometimes need to get into
the kitchen early, but I don’t know who else has keys.”
    DeeDee asked, “Who takes care of all that
money at tha end of tha evenin’? I’d have ta suppose it’s Karl,
wouldn’t ya? That’s an awful lot a money fer jest one person ta
have ta carry home alone! Maybe they lock it up an’ leave it in
that Bingo supply closet over night.” She walked toward the door
set in the wall near the east corner of the hall and jiggled the
handle. “It’s locked,” she called back. “Karl always keeps it
locked. I’ve never even seen inside of that little room. Have
you?”
    The friends looked helplessly from one to
another; no one knew where the money was taken after Bingo was over
each Tuesday night. They just knew that thousands of dollars were
turned over to the Board’s treasurer each month from Bingo profits.
Karl would