Chapter 08
Everybody's eyes found the probable corpse at about the same time and then we all looked away, waiting for someone else to mention it. I, for one, limped along the shelves checking the labels of the different bags, buckets, and bottle.
You have my editor to thank for this chapter being so short. In my original draft, I named the various chemicals I found and then described what part they each played in the creation of fentanyl. My editor sent me a blistering e-mail telling me that she had no intention of being a part of a 'Drug Cartels for Dummies' textbook. She was correct, of course, and you—dear reader—missed out on a truly outstanding chemistry lecture.
If you saw the original YouTube version of these events, or even watched that sophomoric dribble that the network aired, I'm sure that you figured out that Mr. Wickle was the villain early on. Honestly, so had we. He was really the only possibility. But we needed to figure out the 'why' and the details.
We were standing in the 'why'. He was making and selling illegal drugs. But there were still lots of details. And that was the cue for the other bookcase door to open to reveal the Black Knight. But without his helmet. So, it was just Mr. Wickles wearing a knight suit…
…and holding a gun.
Although I had been kidnapped, this was my first time at gunpoint. I didn't like it. But somebody had to say something so…
Daphne spoke. "You're not a murderer, Mr. Wickles."
Every eye in the room glanced at whatever was under the sheet on the table across the room. Maybe that was not the best lead.
But the barrel of the pistol began to drop. "No, I'm not." He pointed the gun toward the figure on the table. "I didn't kill him."
It was my turn to talk. "I assume that is Jonathan White of White Trucking Company?"
Wickles laughed. "White Trucking Company. He was a supplier for a Louisiana-based gang that wanted to move into the Riley drug market. I ordered that suit of armor from the museum in New Orleans and specified that they use White Trucking. He packed it full of most of the chemicals he needed but not enough to prosecute if he was caught. He then picked me up and we went to Flounder Cove to meet a boat that had the rest of the chemicals."
Wickles shook his head. "The idiot tried to be all gangster and cut open a brick of powder with a knife and taste it. His partners just watched him do it. He went into convulsions on the drive back and I pulled down that gravel road and back into the woods. Something inside him must have ruptured because he bled out through his rear and died right there.
"I drove here, dragged him into the lab, put the chemicals on the shelves, cranked up the air conditioning, and drove the truck and armor back to the woods. I figured that it would be a long time before anyone stumbled across it. But you came along two days later."
The cranked-up air conditioning explained the cold spot in the hallway. I always like it when things begin to make sense.
The gun, which had been drooping, suddenly lurched up and pointed at us again. "And now I have to become a murderer. All because of you meddling kids!"
That was the first time we heard the 'meddling kids' line. I liked it. We kept it.
Daphne took over again. "So, you got in over your head financially trying to build this building and decided to go 'John DeLorean' and use illegal drugs to make yourself financially whole and continue the dream."
"It was a good dream!" He spoke louder now. I assumed that meant he was impassioned. "I was born here. This is my home. And we have something with this ghost stuff. We could be Rosswell with a nearby beach. Bring in tourist money and make the city grow. Everyone prospers! You understand, Velma. Your parents share the dream!"
"I suppose they do. But we don't have a dead person lying around our house."
"That was not my fault!"
"But what you're planning on doing will be."
Daphne punctuated my sentence. "Forever."
To this day, I don't know if Daphne is religious or if she was just making a play—hoping that Wickles was.
The next part happened really quickly and I may not have the order right. But I heard two quick footsteps, an 'oomph', a deafening gunshot accompanied by an instantaneous buzzing sound just above my head, the sound of a suit of armor crashing to the ground, another gunshot, and then a ringing in my ears from the echoing gunshots which lasted for the better part of an hour.
After the second shot, I couldn't hear above the internal ringing so my immediate memories are like a silent film. I saw Fred, after having tackled Mr. Wickles laying on his back on the floor in his suit of armor with Fred sitting on his armored stomach and punching him in the face. Wickles was not fighting back.
I saw Daphne taking out her phone and making a call.
I saw Shaggy run up behind Fred and grab him in a bearhug to stop Fred from continuing to pummel the defenseless man on the ground.
And I saw Scooby Doo, laying on the ground with his paws over his ears, obviously whimpering. I oddly remember thinking that I didn't know a dog's forepaws could reach that far behind their head.
My hearing was beginning to compete with the ringing and I heard Daphne's voice. "Fred! Get yourself under control! The Sheriff is on his way."
The wrestling match between Fred and Shaggy subsided and Shaggy released his grip. They both stood and Fred put his hand on Shaggy's shoulder. "Sorry. Are you okay?"
Shaggy rubbed a red mark on his cheek. "No problem. I've had worse."
It wasn't the first, or the hundredth, or the thousandth time that I wished that I could interpret human non-verbal communication. Shaggy's statement was simple—five words. But there seemed to be something more to it. Daphne's body language shifted from one incomprehensible pose to a different incomprehensible pose. Then she looked at her phone and made another call.
Since the police were going to be involved (again!), I called my parents (again!). This was not a habit that I would have predicted for myself just weeks earlier.
Given that Crystal Cove was a town with a population of about 40,000 people and a total area of 25 square miles—of which nearly ten percent was water-it took the police a long time to show up. There was a mutual silent agreement among us that no one was going to lift the sheet on the table. There were people who were paid to do such things.
The delay gave us the time to coordinate our lies. The main lie that we told the deputies was that we saw Mr. Wickles going into the chamber of commerce building and followed him in—through an unlocked door—to check on the suit of armor exhibit and whether or not it had come alive. We had gone to his office and found the bookcase door to the lab open and entered. For the rest, we could pretty much stick with the truth.
That version dodged around the whole breaking-and-entering problem.
Even after working all of that out, we still had a couple of minutes on our hands although we could now hear sirens in the distance. Fred was watching Wickles, who was going nowhere. He was physically not up to the effort of arising from a supine position on the floor while wearing a suit of armor. And, even if he were, he was an emotional wreck. He was crying and wailing loudly.
Shaggy was comforting Scooby and reminding him not to talk when the deputies arrived.
And Daphne stepped up next to me.
She stood there silently for long enough to make me a little uncomfortable before asking me "Do you care that I'm rich?"
I had been trained on this by my parents. "Well, the wealth distribution in this country is problematic with ten percent of the people having seventy-four percent of the money and fifty percent of the people having only two percent…"
"I don't mean all of that political mumbo jumbo. I am asking if you, Velma, care that I, Daphne, am rich."
I supposed it would be 'political mumbo jumbo' if you were in the top ten percent, but that didn't seem to be what she was asking.
I thought about it. I cared that she was self-absorbed. I cared that she looked down on me and other people. I cared that she was frequently insulting and mean. But, did I actually care that she as an individual was rich? I am nothing if not succinct.
"No."
"That's what I thought."
EMTs came bursting into the building at that point followed immediately by the deputies. The first EMT into the lab made a beeline toward the cadaver on the table and we made a beeline out of there. I had not yet in my young life seen a corpse up close and didn't want to rush the experience.
Besides, that room was cold.
