Corpse in the Kitchen by D.J. Reid (short books for teens .txt) 📕

if it was his son’s blood but was afraid of the answer. Maybe he’d already guessed the answer.

“Bobby owed a man money he couldn’t pay. Said the man was out to get him.”

Benally took out his notepad. “Know the man’s name?”

Lapahie thought about it. “Johnson. Yeah, Lester Johnson, my son told me.” His eyes moved from Benally to me. “What happened? Where’s my Bobby? Officer Sullivan?”

I sensed that Benally wanted more time before he delivered the bad news. So I asked Lapahie how long he’d been away from the store.

“I needed some supplies from Albuquerque, so I left about ten this morning. I knew it was going to be a slow day. Bobby could handle any customers while I was gone.”

I looked at my watch. It was nearly six. Dusk was gathering.

“You tell your son where I lived?”

“Sure, Officer Sullivan. I even showed him. I told him, ‘You have any trouble, like this Johnson guy shows up or something, you go to Officer Sullivan for help.’” Nice to be wanted. A lot of folks didn’t want a cop living too close.

The bell on the front door jangled followed by the clump of boots. Lab boys again, only Fred Something wasn’t with them this time. Benally asked Lapahie to wait in the front part of the store.

Lapahie shuffled past the two lab techs, who were pulling on latex gloves. “I’ll put up the ‘Closed’ sign.”
Benally, standing in the backroom doorway, asked the techs to wait a couple of minutes before getting started. They grumbled, slipped their gloves off, and pocketed them as they moseyed toward the magazine rack.

Benally turned back to the kitchen-slash-storeroom.
I turned with him. “Think he’s already guessed about his son?”

Benally shrugged, looking in the doorway. “Here’s what I think. Looks like the son fought someone and got knifed in the process.” He gestured to a magnetic knife rack over the counter. “Kitchen’s full of weapons of convenience.”

I picked up the ball. “So this ‘someone’ — let’s say it was Lester Johnson — comes over from Shiprock. He wants to intimidate Bobby, shake him down. They come in here just in case any customers might walk in. Johnson gets rough and Bobby resists. They struggle. Johnson grabs a knife and stabs Bobby in the back as he’s trying to get away. Bobby stumbles down the alley to my place, collapses on my kitchen floor, and dies.”

“I could see it that way.” Benally was nodding. “Bobby gave as good as he got. After Johnson stabs him, then panics and leaves.”

“Bobby was strong. Strong enough to get down the alley to my house after he was stabbed.”

“So?”

“So, what if Bobby Lapahie was strong enough to subdue Johnson.”

“After he was hurt? How do you figure that?”

“Hear me out. If Johnson had been in control, he wouldn’t have let Bobby get away. What if Bobby knocked Johnson out and then came looking for me, just like his dad told him to do?”

“Except you were out and he was in no condition to wait.”

I nodded. “He was spent. He’d lost too much blood.”
Benally picked up the theme. “Meanwhile, Johnson wakes up, doesn’t see Bobby anywhere. Okay, so, no panic. He just gets up and leaves.”

“Without helping himself to the cash in the till?”

Benally thought about that. The register hadn’t been touched. He’d checked.

“Where you think Johnson went?”

“I don’t think he went anywhere.”

He followed my eyes to the bloody handprint on the freezer.

“I think Lapahie’s son put his killer on ice. Literally.”
Benally’s mouth set in a thin line. “I’ll get the key from Lapahie.”

Together we unlocked the padlock and eased back the heavy door. A gust of frigid air escaped and the interior light blinked on. There in the white chill, stretched out between shelves neatly stacked with paper-wrapped venison, was the man we presumed to be Lester Johnson. He was frozen stiff. No pun intended.

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Publication Date: 06-30-2008

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