Mystery at the Bowling Alley

 

          He walked into the crowded bowling alley just like hundreds or thousands of other people do, only he wasn't exactly like them. I mean, who carries a suitcase into the bowling alley. Even if they're going somewhere right afterward?

          I thought it was a little odd but I shrugged it off when Mike called, "Hey Lisa, your turn!"

           As I took up the cold ball and walked forward in shoes that pinched my heels and left my toes swimming, I swung my arm back and, taking aim, flung the ball onto the lane's glossy surface.

          The boom, thundering roll, and eventual clatter of my falling pins was drowned out by similar noises from the lanes around us. It was relatively busy, even for a Saturday afternoon.

          I hadn't watched to see, so my first glimpse of how well I'd done came when I was again facing the lane, bowling ball ready for action. I sighed again, another split. I might as well not even aim when it's a split because it's rare enough that I can get any of the leftover pins, let alone all of them.

          Again I loosed the ball and closed my eyes, letting the sounds become lost in the clamor around me.

          "Not bad," Mark congratulated me. I'd still missed a pin, of course, but at least I'd gotten the other.

          "Thanks."

          Mark always beat me, though sometimes my score came close to his. He was good at it, well, good comparatively at least. Not that that says a whole lot.

          I let him talk me into bowling because he likes it and he sometimes hangs out with me at the mall, so I guess we're even. Sometimes his mom says that if it weren't for me dragging him to the mall he'd never get net clothes.

          Suddenly he leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "You see that guy over there? It's weird, he's just been sitting there, alone, not doing anything for your whole turn."

          It was the same man I'd seen entering with the suitcase and I told Mark so as she wrote down my score, "Could he be meeting someone, maybe?" was my suggestion.

          Eventually Mark just shrugged and got up to take his turn. I told Mark I was going to go get some pop and asked if he wanted any. He teased me a little about trusting him not to rig the score while I was gone and I answered back that he didn't need to because he always won anyway.

          I left our little enclosure at our lane and walked over to the concession stand to buy some overpriced, watered down cola.

          As I walked I passed by the man, there's no other way to the concession stand, I swear he watched me. The whole time I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't pass by too closely and even so I smelled something, I couldn't say what, but it was bad. Actually, bad doesn't even go into it. I've smelled garbage that smelled nicer. Luckily, all I got was a small whiff.

          Mark was waiting for me when I came back with my pop and apparently he'd been watching the suitcase man as much as the suitcase man had been watching me. "It's like he's protecting the suitcase, he stares down anyone who walks by."

          "I don't know why he'd want to; whatever's in it smells absolutely rancid!"

          "Maybe he disagrees."

          "You go smell it and tell me any human could disagree."

          "No thanks, I don't want to get any nearer to him than I have to."

          "Okay then," and I went to take my turn, leaving my cup next to the score sheet.

          After a while we forgot about the odd man and just enjoyed bowling, but we remembered when suddenly the alley's intercom crackled and squealed a message, "Excuse me. Will the owner of the blue Honda in the parking lot, license plate V30 26A please come to the front desk?"

          Of course everyone rushed out into the parking lot to see and when Mark and I got there there wasn't much to see other than a sea of people. But I did notice one thing- the smell! It was the same as the smell emanating from the suitcase earlier and I almost gladly pointed it out to Mark as he quickly covered his nose and mouth. I would have been even more glad if it hadn't smelled quite so awful though.

          And no one answered the call to the front desk; it was like someone had dumped their car there for no reason.

          We didn't spend too much longer there, all we had to do was pay and we figured it was better to be out of there before the police blocked in the parking lot to check out what had happened- word filtered through the crowd that some moron had accidentally tried to park in the same spot as the Honda so we knew there would be police soon.

          Lucky for us Mark had parked near the entrance to the lot so the accident didn't give us any trouble getting out. We decided to drive with the windows up for a little bit though, hoping that we could keep ourselves from the smell of the suitcase.

          "Mark?"

          "Yeah?"

          "When was the last time you saw that guy? The one with the bad smelling suitcase?"

          "I dunno, why?"

          "You think maybe that's why the accident smelled so bad? Maybe he was part of it?" He just nodded.

          We drove back to my house, it was closer and we are always killing time at one or another of each others' houses. Ah, well. I knew I had to work somewhat.

          Mark will never do very well because he'd never remember to keep control of things.

          We hung around at my house for the longest time. So long that my Dad came home from work before he left. It was just as well though.

          It would have taken us forever to find out what happened.

          "Hey kids- it's a good thing you're still here. I heard on my way home something about the bowling alley being the scene of some investigation."

          I looked at him, disbelieving, and Mark had enough sense to think of turning on the TV, which he did. It was amazing how much the scene had changed. Dad commented that he was glad we were home safely. Mark asked to call his parents and let them know he was alright.
          All over the news we heard about the Bowling Alley Murders. The car had actually contained a body, dead. I couldn't help but be kind of nervous that we were at the place when someone was found dead.

          The other car reportedly really was just someone who couldn't drive very well because there was no other evidence supporting that he was aware of what he was doing.

          Judging from the look on my Dad's face as he realized his daughter was close to a murderer that afternoon I don't think I'll be allowed to go bowling again for a long time; maybe not to the mall either. Probably, though, after everything settles down it would be okay if we promised to be careful.

          The newscasters also said that the police were searching for any new information about their suspect in the murder. He'd used his own car to pull it off.

          Dad made us talk to the police, insisting the whole time that it was our civic duty. I wasn't really interested in my civic duty and Mark didn't look like he was too thrilled about the idea either. First, though, he called Mom to let her know what was going on. We didn't want to hear about it first through the news and wonder if I was alright.

          The police really weren't that bad though. They asked a bunch of questions about the suitcase man, trying to get an idea of how he looked.

          I couldn't remember that much but between the two of us I think we did pretty well in our description. Not that I think that my description actually helped them, but it made my Dad happy.

          What they needed was more info about where he went, which I doubt he told anyone; he didn't strike me as being anything like the man who crashed into his car.

          The police thanked us and went on their way. That night all over the evening news there were pictures of the suitcase man.

Mark's parents came over to pick him up even though he could drive himself home; they didn't even want him on the road alone. They agreed, upon my Dad's insistence, to stay for dinner.

The whole city was tense, checking the locks on their house over and over again. Looking over their shoulders for the suitcase man. It was hard not to get caught up in it, but my theory was that he was long gone. He dropped the suitcase off somewhere and ran.

          I talked to the police a few more times throughout the course of the investigation, so I guess they must have found my information interesting. He had brown hair. He wasn't very tall, but not short either. No, he was not standing up. Yes, he had seemed very anxious. No, I hadn't spoken to him. I learned better than to talk to strangers.

It didn't take too long for the excitement to wear through into boredom.

There was no way that he could be around anywhere; he'd be impossible to catch because if there were any way for him to hide he'd find it.

          Then again, how far could any man go on foot?

          Several weeks after that fateful Saturday the police found him. He was dead in a ditch off the side of a highway and he was still carrying his suitcase, which by then smelled even worse than before if that was possible.

          How did he manage to kill someone and get away with it? He didn't. He apparently killed himself, leaving only a note hidden in one pocket of his jacket.

          It told the world that it had all been a terrible accident and how sorry he was that things had happened as they did but that he didn't know what else he could have done.

He wasn't out for vengeance, or a gang member. He'd just felt threatened by this man and gotten out his gun for protection and the gun went off. He didn't know what to do about it, so he ran. I could understand why. I'd never done something like that but it makes sense to react like that.

          I almost felt sorry for the man. Running from an accident. Killing someone and trying to escape the truth. Things like that don't work in movies but they do in real life and here was a perfect example.

          Why did the car smell too, though?