Free Murder at the Book Fair by Steve Demaree Page B

hardened criminals don't want to
tell you about their grandchildren, and even then they place the blame for
their grandchildren's incarceration on someone else. I call it the That Woman
You Gave Me syndrome that first appeared in Genesis.
    While I did tell the Hammonds over the phone that I was in law
enforcement and I was calling in regard to something that happened at the KBF,
I didn't tell them that the something was a murder, or that the murder happened
on their watch. I didn't know if it happened then or not. I just knew that one
of the authors they took water and lunch to had been murdered either somewhere
in Frankfort, on the way home from Frankfort, or after he arrived home
somewhere outside of Westport, but before he ran into the Ohio River.
    I had no idea if the Hammonds get a lot of visitors out where
they live, but they did think enough of our visit that they offered us water,
coffee, or lemonade. Mr. Hammond went to fetch us something to drink while I
asked Mrs. Hammond how they liked living where they did. I got the feeling that
if they didn't like it there they would live somewhere else.
    I began gently by asking them
about the KBF, and what they did for the event, before I mentioned any authors'
names. I focused on authors in general before I got to dead authors we all
might know. They were shocked to hear that Portwood had been murdered, and more
shocked when I told them it could have happened at the KBF. Neither knew of any
enemies he had, and neither of them seemed to know about his bank account. I
thought they were telling the truth so the words "$50,000" never came
up. Both of them told me they knew Portwood, but never saw him away from the
KBF. Then I asked them about Jake Cartwright. I was surprised they didn't know
him any better than they did Portwood, since he lived in the same county they
did. When I brought this up I learned that Cartwright lived on the other side
of the county. Actually, I already knew this, but I learned that they knew it,
too. The Hammonds said that they liked both men,
and that most of the authors they had met, famous or infamous, were nice
people, and not full of themselves. I figured those who were full of themselves
were invited to inferior book fairs instead. Or not invited anywhere. The only
clue I received from them was when I asked if they spotted anything out of the
ordinary. They said that someone was there posing as a volunteer, but they
didn't think the person had gone through the volunteer training, and maybe was
there for some other reason. Neither noticed the young man, whose name they
didn't know, go near Portwood or do anything out of the way, but he was helping
out on Portwood's row. But then both Mr. and Mrs. Hammond said that they were
responsible for a long row of authors and something could have happened when
they were on the other end. I remembered how long the row was and agreed that
someone could be murdered on one end of a row without anyone on the other end
knowing it had happened unless someone screamed. Of course both of the Hammonds pointed out that there were other
volunteers there too, so they weren't the only ones helping out. I got a
description of the fictitious volunteer, but thirty minutes later I hadn't
gathered any information to make me zero in on any one person. I planned to
talk to some of the authors who sat on the same row where Portwood sat. I would
see if any of them noticed anything out of the ordinary from one of the
volunteers. I still had trouble believing that anyone poisoned Portwood in front
of hundreds of people. If his water or lunch was poisoned, my guess was that it
happened before he received it. I would ask the other authors at Portwood's
table and see who might have handed him a bottle of water. With everyone paying
attention to the people in front of them, I doubted if anyone could tell me
much about what happened to Portwood.
    Neither of the Hammonds knew exactly where Jake
Cartwright lived, but when I gave them the