In the front yard of Mrs. Miller’s house, Dr. Davis, Sheriff Connor and Miss Lancombe faced each other.

“I doubt Mrs. Harken would have killed the man and mailed herself the head. However, the mailman may have been a jealous rival. I think our next step is to visit the mailman,” said Dr. Davis. “Do you know who delivers here?”

“Carl Randolph,” said the sheriff. “He should be through with his route by now.”

“Excellent. While you're talking with him, Miss Lancombe and I can examine his car.”

“Won't we need a warrant?” asked Miss Lancombe.

“Not to examine the outside, or to look through the windows,” Sheriff Connor said. “If you find something, then I can get a warrant from Judge Reynolds. He owes me some favors. Not sexual ones of course, just the regular kind.”

“Of course,” said Dr. Davis.

“I never would have thought otherwise,” said Miss Lancombe.

“Good,” said the sheriff. He coughed uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

The sheriff’s patrol car pulled into the driveway at the home of Carl Randolph. There was enough room for the police car to pull in behind Mr. Randolph’s car without the patrol car sticking out into the road.
Dr. Davis, Sheriff Connor, and Miss Lancombe got out of the sheriff’s car. The sheriff and the high school teacher walked toward Mr. Randolph’s car.

“Where is it?” asked Dr. Davis.

“Just a few feet in front of the squad car,” replied the sheriff.

Dr. Davis tapped with his cane until he arrived at the car. He reached out and felt it. “This is the trunk?”

“Yes,” Miss Lancombe replied.

Miss Lancombe and Sheriff Connor looked through the windows on opposite sides of the car, while Dr. Davis sniffed around the edges of the trunk.

“I don't see anything,” said the sheriff.

“Me neither,” Miss Lancombe added.

“I think I smell blood, but it's very faint,” said Dr. Davis. “Can we open the trunk?”

“Let's see if we can get Carl's permission,” Sheriff Connor said. “If not, we'll get a warrant.”

The three visitors walked up to the front door of Mr. Randolph’s home. The sheriff pushed the doorbell, and they could hear it ring. A moment later, Mrs. Randolph opened the door. She smiled.

“Hello, Sheriff. How can I help you?”

“Hello, Sylvia. Is Carl home?”

“He's in the shower. What's up?”

“We'd like to look in his car, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Did the judge not get his Playboy magazine again?”

“No, it’s not that. Sylvia, do you know Dr. Davis, the medical examiner?”

“We’ve met, I believe. How do you do, doctor?”

“I do very well, thank you, Mrs. Randolph. I hope we’re not disturbing you?”

“Not at all.”

“And this is Miss Lancombe,” said the sheriff, introducing the third member of the party.

“Susie and I went to school together,” said Mrs. Randolph. “But I’m surprised to see her hanging out with you two. What’s the matter, Susie? Did you get bored at the school? Are you working for the sheriff now?”

“Hi Sylvia,” said Miss Lancombe. “They asked me to go on a little field trip.”

“Did they offer you candy? If they did, you should run.”

Miss Lancombe smiled.

“Is the car locked?” asked Sheriff Connor.

Mrs. Randolph grabbed the car keys from a bowl by the door. She handed the keys to Sheriff Connor. “Here you go, sheriff. Knock yourself out. We’ve got nothing to hide.”

From deep in the house they heard a voice call out, “Who’s at the door?!”

“It’s the sheriff! He wants to look in your car!”

“No! Wait!” shouted Mr. Randolph. “I’ll be right there!”

“Don’t worry about it!” his wife yelled back. “I gave them the keys!”

“NO! Wait! I said WAIT!"

Mrs. Randolph shook her head. Mr. Randolph appeared behind Mrs. Randolph, and walked past her to go out the front door. His hair was wet. The three visitors backed up to give him room.

“What's all this about?” he asked.

“We'd like to take a look in your car,” replied the sheriff. “It will just take a few minutes.”

“Why do you want to take a look in my car?”

“Because a man has been murdered, and you're one of the last two people that we know of who saw him alive.”

Mrs. Randolph came outside too. “Who was the other person?”

“Mrs. Harken.” The sheriff was answering Mrs. Randolph’s question, but he was looking at Mr. Randolph. “We have a witness who states that your husband was in the habit of paying twenty-minute visits to Mrs. Harken when her husband was out of town.”

“What?!” shouted Mrs. Randolph. “Are you cheating on me?!”

“No, baby, it's not like that at all!”

“And you spent twenty minutes with that bitch! You touch me and three minutes later you're asleep, and you're with her for twenty minutes! Sheriff, open that car! Let's see what's in that car!”

Mr. Randolph looked around like he was trying to pick a direction in which to run, but he saw Sheriff Connor put his hand on his gun. Mr. Randolph decided not to run.

Sheriff Connor said, “Would you mind opening the car for us, Mrs. Randolph?”

“No I would not mind. Give me those keys!”

The sheriff handed the keys back to Mrs. Randolph.

“Could you open the trunk first?” asked Dr. Davis.

“Yes I can,” Mrs. Randolph replied. “Twenty minutes. I don't believe this.”

“Baby, they’re lying. It’s not what you think,” pleaded Mr. Randolph.

“It better not be what I think, because if it's what I think then I think you're going to be dead.”

“Sheriff, did you hear that? She just threatened me!”

“I wasn't listening,” said the sheriff.

Mrs. Randolph opened the trunk. It was empty.

“See!” said Mr. Randolph. “There's nothing in there!”

Dr. Davis leaned over the trunk and sniffed. “There is definitely dried blood in this trunk,” he said.

“That’s my blood!” cried Mr. Randolph. “I cut myself while changing a tire!”

“Let me test it,” said Dr. Davis. He leaned toward the floor of the trunk, with his tongue sticking out.

“Whoa! Stop that!” said Mr. Randolph.

Dr. Davis straightened back up. “Are you ready to confess?” he asked.

“No I'm not ready to confess. But I'm not ready to vomit, either.”

“That’s sick,” said Mrs. Randolph to Dr. Davis. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing's the matter with me,” Dr. Davis replied. “When I lost my sight I was able to develop my other senses to higher levels.”

Dr. Davis sniffed the trunk again. “There's not as much blood here as there was where you dumped the body. You cut his head off after you took him out of the trunk, didn't you?”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” said Mrs. Randolph. “You cut off a man's head but you won't help me in the kitchen? What's up with that?”

Sheriff Connor added, “And then he put the head in a box and mailed it to Mrs. Harken.”

“What?! You're too busy to help me with the Christmas presents, but you can find the time to mail a package with someone’s head in it to your skanky slut?!”

“No, baby! It's not like that!”

“Guess what package you're going to be missing when you wake up tomorrow morning?” said Mrs. Randolph, gesturing with her head toward her husband's crotch.

“Wait!” shouted Mr. Randolph. “I confess! I did it!”

Mr. Randolph extended his arms to the Sheriff so that the sheriff could handcuff him.

“I'll sign anything you want! Just get me out of here!”

“Why did you do it?” asked Dr. Davis.

Sheriff Connor handcuffed Mr. Randolph.

“I was jealous, I guess. I was so mad I couldn't think straight. I wanted my afternoon delight. On the curve past the middle school I forced his vehicle off of the road. I knocked him out with a tire iron and I put him in my trunk. I drove down the fire break in the woods behind the middle school and I parked my car. I went back and got that guy’s car. I drove it into the gully on the far side of the fire break, and I covered the car with branches. I opened my trunk and the guy was still knocked out. I dragged him into the woods and I cut off his head with my pocketknife. I put the head in my trunk, and I drove to Richmond and mailed the package from there.”

“You went to Richmond without me?”

“You were at your mother’s.”

“You know Mrs. Harken had other lovers, don't you? At least half a dozen,” the sheriff informed him.

“What? She cheated on me with other people too?”

“Cheated on you? I don't believe this. On top of it all now I've got to go out and get a job. I should've listened to my mother and never married you.”

“I thought she liked me?”

“She hates you. She puts mouse droppings in the cookies she makes for you. That's why I never eat them.”

“Oh, god,” moaned Mr. Randolph.

To the sheriff, Dr. Davis said, “Now aren't you glad we didn't turn this over to the state police?”

“No,” the sheriff replied.

“Me neither,” said Miss Lancombe.

“Aw, c'mon, guys,” said a disappointed Dr. Davis.

“How are we going to fit in the car?” asked Miss Lancombe.

Dr. Davis said, “You ride up front with the sheriff. I'll ride in back with the prisoner. I don't think he'll bother me.”

“I don't want be near you,” said Mr. Randolph. “There's something wrong with you, man. Promise me you're not going to taste me, okay? Sheriff, don’t let this man taste me. That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

Dr. Davis sighed as he felt with his hands along the police car, searching for the back door. It would have been bad form to show it, but in his heart he was very pleased. He’d always dreamed about solving a mystery, and now that particular dream had come true. If he could just solve the Rubik’s cube, he could check off both of the top two items on his bucket list.

Copyright 2015, 2018 Mark James Wooding