Ned's car wound down the street, past house after house, until it slowed to a stop in front of a blue colored cottage at the end of a cul de sac. "Here we are. Snevel's house."
It was a picturesque little house on a quiet street. A white trellis covered in thick ivy framed the front walk and an impressive amount of flowers, bushes, and wild grass dominated the landscape, all shaded by large oak trees. It looked like the residence that could belong to any grey haired grandmother, not a possible tar wielding murderer.
Chuck leaned over the front seat to get a better look. "What took you two so long to find him?"
"We found him a week ago for your information." Emerson answered. "We just never got to speak to him."
"Oh?"
"No one's been home all week." Ned said. "Emerson drove by this morning and saw that." He pointed to a rusted out red pickup truck parked in the driveway.
"Someone's home now." Emerson grinned.
"Wow." Chuck giggled. "A car in the driveway? You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?"
Emerson Cod chose to ignore the good natured poke at his P.I. skills. The man named by Oswald Cork as a possible suspect had been M.I.A all week, but now he was back. It was time to get back to what really mattered in Emerson's life—investigating the death of Herman Hawk and collecting a tidy reward—not Olive Snook's unfortunate choice in men. The very thought made him positively giddy.
"Let's get on with this, shall we?" Emerson didn't wait for an answer before throwing open the car door and striding eagerly towards the house. Ned and Chuck scrambled to catch up with him, arriving at his side just as he rang the doorbell. After a few moments with no answer Emerson rang it again, but nothing.
Ned peered in through the front window and tried to see past the lace curtains that hung in them. The house was dark and after Emerson hit the doorbell once more, it was obvious no one was going to answer.
Emerson turned around and took a step down off the porch. His eyes scanned the yard and then came to rest on the red pickup truck. "Look," He pointed at the bed of the truck and its contents. "Fertilizer, a wheel barrow, shovels. I think it's safe to say that Snevel enjoys gardening—if his front yard looks like this then imagine the backyard…."
"And it's a nice day…." Ned nodded, catching on.
"So he might be working out back." Chuck finished.
"Come on." Emerson commanded, leaping off the step. The three of them traipsed through the yard around the side of the house, and as they approached the back yard they were met with quite a site. The back lot was very large, and every square inch was being used. From a garden of lettuce, zucchini and other vegetables that blanketed most of the area, to a parcel of freshly tilled soil ready for planting, trees dripping with apples, and even a fenced in area containing three goats—it was a suburban garden utopia.
"Wow." Chuck gasped, taking it all in. "And I thought our little honeybees on the roof made for an impressive operation."
"You're not kidding." Ned agreed, dumbfounded.
"There's not enough hours in the day to handle all of this, let alone concoct and carry out a bizarre murder." Chuck mused, watching as a butterfly drifted by.
"There's always time for murder." Emerson growled defiantly.
Suddenly, out of the shadows of an impressively large oak tree stepped a young woman. From all appearances she was the mastermind behind the garden that rivaled that of Eden, evident from her dirt stained overalls, dirt stained face, and her dirt stained gardening implement.
"Excuse me?" She spoke up, startling the trio. "Can I help you?" She smiled politely, holding a garden hoe clutched to her chest.
"Hello," Emerson strode forward. "My name is Emerson Cod and these are my associates." He looked over his shoulder; Ned smiled uncomfortably and Chuck gave a little wave. "We don't mean to trespass but no one answered the front door."
"I'm sorry." The woman smiled, wiping her hands with a handkerchief. "I've been busy harvesting some of my crops." She gestured towards two large bushels brimming with brightly colored produce. "What can I do you for?"
"We were hoping to speak with a Richard Snevel?" Ned asked timidly.
"Richard's out of town visiting family. He won't be back for a few days." Suddenly the woman's eyes narrowed and she stopped to take a closer look at them. "Wait a minute," She said slowly. "This doesn't have to do with his student loans, does it?" Her voice was now tinged with a curt, confrontational quality, and her hands tightened around her gardening tool and lifted it in a threatening way. "I told you guys that Richard lost his job and that he'll make a payment when he can. Harassing us over the phone is one thing, but coming to our home is really crossing the line!"
"No, no!" Chuck shook her head emphatically, ducking behind Emerson. "This isn't about student loans."
"Just put the hoe down lady." Ned whispered under his breath.
"This is about the murder of Herman Hawk." Emerson said gravely.
The woman's face fell and lost all color. She lowered the tool and it almost slipped from her hands. "I heard." She said softly and looked away; her demeanor had changed considerably and she was visibly shaken. "That's awful what happened to him."
"How did you know Herman?" Chuck asked, coming forward.
"Richard was his assistant for two years. Herman hired him straight out of grad school. Richard could have opened his own practice—he is a licensed psychologist—but he hoped to follow in Herman's footsteps, so he took a job as his assistant to learn all he could from him. They were very close. Needless to say Richard is now out of a job, and that stress combined with losing Herman in such a terrible way is making me a little on edge." She smiled sheepishly and laid the garden hoe down. "I'm sorry," She stuck out her hand. "My name is Regina Slade. I'm Richard's fiancée." As she shook Chuck's hand a tiny diamond ring glinted in the sun.
"Oh, congratulations." Chuck smiled, admiring the ring.
"Now what do you want with Richard?" Regina asked, pulling her hand away swiftly. Once again her eyes narrowed and her manner turned cold, businesslike. "We already told you guys everything we know about that night." She said brusquely, waving them off.
"They already interrogated Richard?"
"The police questioned him, as they did everyone at the party. I assume that's standard practice." She replied. "But I'll tell you guys again. I was supposed to meet Richard at the party but I was running late. I sell my produce down at the organic co-op and had some last minute work to do, so I ended up arriving there just in time to pick up Richard and come home. Herman was alive and well the last time we saw him." With that the turned on her heel and started to walk away. "Now I've got eggplant to tend to if you don't mind."
"Excuse me," Emerson said gruffly, charging after her. "But we are not affiliated with the police so we have our own questions so ask."
"Oh? Who are you then?" She called over her shoulder.
"I'm a private investigator, and I was told to talk to Richard Snevel by Mrs. Oswald Cork, who has put up a reward for the capture of Herman's killer."
"Are you saying she accused Richard of murdering Herman?" Regina spun around and stopped in her tracks. "I've known Richard since we were kids, and he has never so much hurt a fly! I cannot believe someone would accuse him of murder!" She cried angrily.
"Whoa, hold on a minute." Emerson took a step back. "She didn't accuse anybody. We just talked to her, and when we divulged one of the stranger aspects surrounding his murder she gave us Richard's name."
"Stranger aspects?"
"The killer clucked like a chicken."
Regina blinked in surprise. "Clucked like a chicken?"
"Yes."
"So, are you saying the murder of Herman was a," She paused for a second. "Murder most fowl?" She snorted with laughter, to the surprise of the trio. "Listen, I don't mean to make light of a horrible situation, but what on earth does the killer supposedly clucking like a chicken have to do with Richard? And besides," Her eyes narrowed again in their usual way. "How would anyone know what noises the killer made? It's not like Herman could have told anyone?"
"That's, uh," Emerson puffed out his chest, feigning control over the situation, when in fact he was stumped for an answer. He couldn't say that his associate next to him revived Herman for a little, 60 second post mortem interview. "Classified information. We in the P.I. game have our ways."
"Uh huh." Regina accepted his answer, but still seemed uneasy. After a moment of silence she shrugged. "Well, I guess there could be a reason Oswald named Richard, but it's a bit of a stretch."
"Enlighten us." Emerson prodded.
"Well, maybe it had something to do with his papers."
"His papers?" Chuck asked.
"Yes." Regina crossed her arms; she seemed rather agitated to have to be explaining things, and her words were rushed. "Richard is published in several medical journals. Apparently it's a big thing in the academic world—publish or perish they say." She rolled her eyes. "He wrote and published several papers about animals and the roles they play in mental disorders. It was sort of his niche. Everything from papers on arachnophobia, to his last paper about a group of women in Bali who were convinced they were monkeys."
"Monkeys?" Chuck echoed her. "How fascinating."
"The only reason I could think of for Oswald to give you Richard's name was so he could provide some psychological insight into why the killer would choose to cluck like a chicken." She sniffed defiantly. "Other than that, you're barking—or should I say clucking—up the wrong tree." Regina was once again amused by her play on words and began to walk away from them, towards the side of the house. "I really wish I could help more, but like I said, Richard is out of town so you'll have to take my word for it. Now if I can show you out." She waved for them to follow her without waiting for a reply. It was evident her patience had now worn out and she wasn't willing to discuss this any further.
So, reluctantly, Emerson, Ned and Chuck followed Regina. But while heading back the way they came, Chuck felt her shoe land in something squishy and sticky. Lifting up her foot she saw a glob of something black and gooey oozing from the heel of her shoe. "Excuse me, Regina?" She called out, and Regina stopped and turned around. "What is this?" Chuck asked, her shoe now off and in her hand for a closer inspection. The substance had a strong, familiar smell that she couldn't place.
"Oh," Regina said after a moment of squinting to see what the problem was. "That's tar."
"Tar?" Emerson, Ned, and Chuck's heads snapped in her direction so quickly that they could have popped right off.
"Yes." Regina continued and began walking towards the front of the house once again. She seemed quite unconcerned and didn't seem to notice that Emerson was now glaring at her suspiciously and Ned and Chuck were looking at each other, jaws dropped. "It tends to get all over the yard. Working with it's quite messy." She said nonchalantly. "I use it to mend the holes in my oak trees—it's an old gardener's trick. I get lots of woodpecker's back here and this helps close up the holes and drive them off. Not too many people use tar anymore for this—something about trapping in spores and harming the trees or some nonsense—but it always works for me."
"Oh." Chuck bent down to scrape her heel on the grass. "I've heard of that before actually." She slipped her shoe back on and tottered to catch up with them, careful to avoid any other stray patches.
"Yes, well." Regina kept walking until she stopped at the edge of the lawn by the driveway. "If you still need to speak with Richard I would suggest calling first." She remarked, barely able to contain her displeasure. "Have a nice day." She nodded and marched away, making it clear that she, in fact, wished them no such thing.
"Well, I think we found out killer." Emerson said quietly as they headed to the car, careful that Regina was safely out of ear shot.
"Who?" Chuck asked, slipping into the back seat. "Regina?"
"No, not Regina." Emerson slipped into the front and slammed the door shut, Ned following suit. "Snevel." He paused to take one last look at the house before Ned turned the key and drove away. "But it's pretty obvious she knows something. She's all on edge. You saw how angry she got when she thought we were there to collect student loans—she was about to go all gangsta on us!"
"And the way she refused to talk about the murder." Ned added.
"She did seem, in general," Chuck chimed in. "to be pretty protective of Richard as well."
Emerson rubbed his chin thoughtfully." I wouldn't put it past her one bit to be covering for him."
"Well," Ned said. "We have the suspect, we seem to have the murder, uh, weapon, all over the yard. But we still don't have a motive. Why would Snevel kill his boss and mentor?"
"And more importantly, cluck like a chicken?" Chuck pointed out.
"I don't know. But I am certain when we figure that one out, we'll have our motive."