“The judge knew I had a higher purpose to fulfill,” said Darius, nodding. “No prison could have kept me away from Ackerman and she knew it. So here I am.” He spread his arms. “Tell Ackerman His Loyal Servant has come. I commend my soul to him—to do with as he sees fit.”
“Mr. Ackerman was killed last night, Darius,” said Chief Alec. “Did you kill him?”
Darius frowned briefly, then laughed. “You’re trying to confuse me. Is this a test?”
“This is not a test. Mr. Ackerman is dead and we’re trying to figure out who killed him. Was it you?”
But Darius had covered his ears and was shaking his head. “Ackerman, Ackerman, Ackerman,” he was saying softly, swaying back and forth.
Chase sighed, and so did Alec. They both got up at the same time, and walked out. In the hallway, Alec said, “I don’t think we’re going to get a lot more out of him right now.”
“He’s not exactly of sound mind and body,” Chase agreed.
“He is the second suspect I like, though. In fact I like him even more than Drood.”
They pondered this for a moment. Like kids having to pick and choose between Reese’s Pieces Peanut Butter Cups or Reese’s Stuffed Chocolate Chip Cookies, it was hard to determine which suspect was the better choice, the robber or the crazed stalker druggie. Finally, Alec said, “Let’s keep him overnight. Have another crack at him in the morning.”
And Chase said that this was a great idea.
As Odelia and Gran were on their way back from the Hampton Cove Star, Dooley and Max napping on the backseat, she got a call from her boss, Hampton Cove Gazette editor Dan Goory.
“Dan. Have I got a story for you,” she said before he could speak.
“I don’t doubt it,” said the aged editor. “And here’s another one: Chris Ackerman’s son is giving a press conference in front of the library where his father was killed last night and I want you there to write up the report.”
“Ackerman’s son? I just saw him. He didn’t mention a press conference.”
“Get me a couple of quotes, Odelia. And take some pictures, will you? This story has legs, I can feel it in my legs.” He disconnected and Odelia promptly performed a U-turn.
“Hey—where are you going?” asked Gran, shaken out of her perusal of the footage she’d filmed so far.
“To the library. Trey Ackerman is holding a press conference.”
“Weird. He didn’t say nothing about no press conference.”
“He probably didn’t think it worth mentioning.”
“Make it quick. I feel a nap coming on.” Gran darted a quick look in the rearview mirror. “Too bad I’m not a cat. Those catnaps are pretty convenient.”
Ten minutes later Odelia parked her car across the road from the library and got out. Max opened one eye but then closed it again when Odelia gave his fur a gentle stroke.
“Sleep, buddy. You deserve it,” she said.
She and Gran crossed the street. “Huh,” said Gran. “That don’t look like Trey Ackerman to me.”
And indeed it didn’t. A young man was standing on the library steps, a few passersby listening intently, and he definitely wasn’t Trey Ackerman.
“I didn’t know Ackerman had a second son,” said Gran.
“That’s because he doesn’t,” said Odelia. “At least not according to Wikipedia.”
“Don’t believe Wikipedia. They get it wrong all the time,” said Gran. “Like that time they wrote that The Bold and the Beautiful had been canceled. The Bold and the Beautiful will never be canceled. At least not if CBS doesn’t want a minor revolution on their hands.”
“… and I will fight to my dying breath for the right to call Chris my dad,” Ackerman’s son was saying. He was a handsome fellow, with wavy blond hair, nice blue eyes and those clean-cut All-American features women fawn over. He even had nice teeth—so nice in fact that Odelia’s tongue surreptitiously slid over her own set of choppers.
“Nice gnashers,” Gran remarked.
“A dentist’s wet dream,” Odelia agreed.
“Forget dentists. He’s my wet dream.”
Odelia thought it better not to head down that road. “So who is this guy?”
“Aren’t you listening? He’s Chris Ackerman’s son.”
“… Chris was a good man. A kind man. A phenomenal writer. And he had an affair with my mother twenty-three years ago that led to an unwanted pregnancy. And even though Chris was too proud to admit it, a DNA test will confirm that I am, in fact, his son.”
“Oops,” said Gran.
Oops was right. Especially considering the fact that satellite trucks from at least three different TV stations came careening down the street. Soon reporters, camera crews in tow, had joined the melee and were shouting questions at the young man.
He enjoyed the attention, for he bared his perfect teeth in a wide smile and then announced, “Yesterday my name was Aldo Wrenn. But today my name is Aldo Ackerman!”
“Aldo Wrenn,” said Odelia. “Google him, Gran.”
“You Google him. I’m busy.”
Odelia glanced at her grandmother and saw that she was filming the whole thing. Then suddenly the old woman lowered her phone and narrowed her eyes. “Say, isn’t that the final guy on those sketches of mine? The ones I channeled for Big Mac?”
Odelia brought out her phone and checked the sketches, flicking through them just like Chase had done before. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said finally. “You’re right. He was at the library last night.”
“Bingo!” said Gran, making a pumping motion with her fist. “Senior Sleuth is on a roll, baby.”
“I thought you were a desperate housewife?”
“I’m changing my MO. From now on I want to be known as Granny Dick.”
“Um… You might want to rethink that, Gran.”
“Why? I’m a granny and I’m a private dick.”
Odelia bit back a few choice remarks. Instead, she said, “Let’s talk to Ackerman’s newest son. See what he says.”
“On it!” Gran cried enthusiastically. TV crews jostled to interview Aldo Wrenn—or Ackerman—but Gran muscled her way through the throng. “Coming through!” she yelled. “Make way for Granny Dick and Grandgirl Dick!”
Odelia ground her teeth. At least Gran wasn’t using her can of Mace on the reporters.
A few snickers and lurid comments later, she reconsidered.
Maybe Gran should use her can of Mace on the reporters.
Chapter 26
I woke up from some type of hubbub or ruckus and opened one eye to take a peek at its source. Across the street, in the library’s courtyard, some kind of scuffle had broken out between a bunch of people carrying microphones and cameras. At the heart of the scuffle I recognized Gran and Odelia, womanfully trying to force their way through the throng to a guy who looked like he could feature as the lead in a Disney Channel Original Movie.
“What’s going on?” asked Dooley, rising up next to me.
“I’m not sure. Looks like Gran and Odelia are trying to pick a fight with Zac Efron and a bunch of reporters are attempting to stop them.”
Dooley yawned and stretched. “Oh, look. It’s Big Mac.”
He was right. Waddling across the street was the fast-food-loving cat.
“Hey, Big Mac!” I shouted. “Over here.”
When he saw us, he gave us a kindly nod of the head, and toddled over.
Odelia had cranked the window down and Dooley and I leaned out like seasoned window-leaners, elbows propped up on the doorframe.
“Hey, buds,” said Big Mac, greeting us like old pals.
“Hey, buddy. We keep bumping into each other.”
“Big Mac loves to go to the library,” said Dooley.