The West Virginia Bike Chain Massacre

I was sitting in a County Commission meeting trying to figure out how to remove my mind and spirit from the room and the ceaseless droning of the commissioners while leaving my body behind to take notes for a news story.

The county sheriff sat fidgeting in his seat, obviously eager to appear before the commissioners and be done with the meeting himself. Finally, the president of the county commission called on the sheriff.

"Now what news have you got about that murderer that's running loose in the county?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Still killing people, I guess," he said.

"And how many has this killer claimed?" another commissioner asked.

The sheriff whipped out an abacus and started clicking beads right and left in a fury that lasted a full minute. "Eighty-seven so far," he said.

I yawned.

"And still no idea who it is?" the commissioner asked.

"Nope," the sheriff said. "Tough case."

"I can find out who it is!" said a voice from outside the county commission room.

"Oh, God!" I whispered, and sank down in my seat. I tried to cover my head with a copy of American Journalism Review I'd been reading in fits and starts during the meeting, but it was too late.

"I see you!" the voice said, coming closer. Citizen Jim snatched the magazine away from me and threw it on the floor before he put me in a headlock. "You can't hide from me!"

"Hey, look everyone! That must be Kristy's boyfriend!" the commissioner said.

"Is that what you've told these people?" Citizen Jim asked me, then looked at the county commissioners. "Is that what this lying bitch has been telling everyone? That I'm her boyfriend? Oh, man—wake up, people!"

"Well, who are you, then?" the sheriff asked.

"Keep your hands off your holsters, Wyatt Earp. I'm not a criminal, if that's what you're asking," Citizen Jim said. "And if you think I'm this lesbo's boyfriend, it's no wonder you can't catch that Bike Chain Killer!"

The county commissioner stood up. "Well, if you're so dang smart, who is it, then? We need to know! Our population's dropping, and that's not good for economic development, I can tell you that. You can't collect taxes from the missing and the dead!"

"Just calm down! First of all, you need to arrest her," he said, pointing at me, then poking me in the eye, "for obstructing the justice."

"What?!" the commissioner said. "That's Kristy Sheets, Girl Reporter. She'd never obstruct the justice! She's a good girl!"

"Yeah, well, I guess she never told you about how we used to solve mysteries together down in Alabama, then. She could've figured out who this Bike Chain Killer is in an afternoon. Like when we solved the Mystery of the Fake Leg!"

The sheriff perked up at this. "Oh yeah? Tell us about that," he said.

"Go away," I whispered. "You're embarrassing me."

"Listen to her," Citizen Jim said. "She can't stand to claim credit for anything. Anyway, it all started when we met this woman in town who owned a dress shop. We heard through the grapevine..."

Citizen Jim went on to tell his story, getting louder and more animated, doing all the voices of the different people involved. A crowd of courthouse employees had gathered in the county commissioners' room and listened bug-eyed as Citizen Jim continued.

"So then Kristy Sheets just walked in there one day and she got right down on the floor. She made a little fist and knocked three times," he said, rapping hard on the wooden table on which he sat like a Native American shaman holding court. "Plastic! The woman had a PLASTIC LEG! What do you think about that?"

A murmur went through the group gathered around Jim, while a few people looked back at me, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"As for the Bike Chain Killer, who knows?" Jim said, hopping off the table and crouching low. "Maybe the killer...is ONE OF US!"

The courthouse workers screamed and ran from the room.

"So you have no idea even where to start," the sheriff said. "What a buncha bullshit!"

"Oh well," Jim said. He shrugged. "And I don't care. I just know I'm taking Kristy Sheets with me, and she's not coming back till you catch this Bike Chain Killer."

Then he pulled a rope out the back of his pants and started winding it around me. He dragged me out of the county commission room without another word until we got outside.

"You can thank me later," he said.

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