A Clue at Last! – Episode #3

December 1, 2009 on 1:44 pm | In Mountain Biking | 2 Comments

When I stopped by to chat with Lipton at his posh bachelor pad in Longview’s hip Terry-Taylor neighborhood, he was in the livingroom drinking a Pocono Blonde.

A rare vinyl copy of Barry Manilow’s Showstoppers album was spinning on the antique turntable. Manilow was vamping his way through “Never Met a Man I Didn’t Like,” and I was feeling a need for Pepto Bismol. 

I took Lipton’s beer and music choices as a sign of depression.

He offered me a Pocono. I declined. I went to the stereo. Put on Songbird by Eva Cassidy. If we were going to be depressed, Eva was a much better choice.

My cell rang. It was Paul Norris. “Bad news,” he said. “Somebody snatched Muldoon’s cup. He swears it was on his kitchen counter when he went to bed last night. It was gone this morning.”

“Things are gettting serious.”

“I put my cup in a safety deposit box this afternoon,” he said. “That leaves yours, Van Hoose’s and McMaster’s. I recommend that you take precautions.”

I hung up. Told Lipton the news.

He took a sip of the Pocono. Spit the tasty libation into a bowl of pretzels on the table beside his chair. At least he hadn’t lost total control of his faculties.

“Apparently, something is bothering you,” I said.

“Any word from the kidnapers?”

“Not since the ransom demand. I forwarded the message to Dave. He’s scrambling to gather the beers, but it doesn’t look good. He’s got about half of them, but the Chocolate Habenero Stout from Roots is going to be tricky. We drained the last keg when we were down there last week. Dave’s trying to talk the brew dogs into putting together a batch on short notice, but they haven’t committed. Who knows what they’ll want from Muldoon.”

“I’m pretty sure I know who has the cups,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. Waited.

“I think Patterson is the kidnaper.”

“Patterson? He’s not capable of stringing two rational thoughts together, let alone masterminding an operation like this.”

“That’s true, but he’s on a new medication, and I think it’s helping.”

“What makes you think he has the cups? When I called on Saturday, you said you didn’t see him leave the party with Dave’s.”

“Well, I didn’t actually see the cup, but that’s because he hid it.”

“At the house?”

“In his pants.”

“That’s a nasty modus operandi,” I said.

“I didn’t want to admit that I noticed, but when we left the party, his pants were bulging like he was packing a zuchini. I thought maybe the male enhancement drugs were finally starting to kick in, but it’s too much of a coincidence that it happened on the same night Dave’s cup disappeared.”

“What should we do?” I said.

Lipton poured the Pocono Blonde onto the carpet, walked to the stereo, and put on Death Rituals by Six Feet Under.

“I think it’s time to interrogate Patterson.”

I pulled a folded paper out of my back pocket and opened it to display the gruesome image below.

“We’d better hurry,” I said. “This came in the mail today. The bad guys aren’t playing games.”