Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

I’ve been trying to place the look on the Becklaw women’s faces when they got the full gist of Leslie’s story. Looking back, I can recall a mixture of repugnance and fear, but something else was there as well. The closest I can get to it is the way people act when they see a bad car accident: they don’t want to look, but they can’t help it. The Becklaw gals were certainly in that category.

Once I had assured them that yes, Derek was being cared for by LJ, and that no, I hadn’t seen it, only Leslie, Miss Bea went into mother mode, murmuring over Leslie as if she had been the victim and not Lily. Miss Lucinda, the more pragmatic of the two, stomped into the kitchen and began banging pots and pans around, or at least that’s what it sounded like. Her mantra said that food was the best cure for shock, and with a shock as great as Leslie’s, we were going to be feasting tonight.

The thought of sitting down at the table, however, turned my stomach. It would probably be better if we ate in the tiny living room on trays, especially since the only table we had to use was a kitchen table. I shuddered. There was no telling how long I would have to avoid eating in a kitchen.

I ventured in, ready to duck a flying pan or two. Leslie was being cared for, Miss Bea was occupied, and that left me to my own devices. I figured that playing
sous-chef
to Miss Lucinda was much better than reliving the day over and over in the solitude of my room.

Miss Lucinda was bent over the cutting board, wielding a paring knife and slicing a yellow onion as if she had the killer in her sights.

Without looking up at me, she said ‘Get me the chicken from the refrigerator. I thawed it out last night, and it’s a good thing I did. We need some comfort food around here and I’m going to make Bolstering Chicken Stew.’ She continued to chop and dice the heck out of that onion.

‘Oh, and grab the carrots from the veggie rack. You’ll need to slice those up fairly thin, along with a couple celery stalks.’

Those tasks kept us busy, working in silence, a heady
mélange
of aromas filling the air. The chicken was set to boil in a pot of water and broth mixture, and the chopped veggies followed. Miss Lucinda then added several cans of drained white beans and a can of diced tomatoes, judicious amounts of pepper and garlic salt, covering the whole thing with a tight lid. She nodded in satisfaction.

‘We’ll let that come to a boil, then cut the fire down just a hair to let it simmer for about half an hour. In the meantime, see if you can rustle up some bread or rolls.’

I do enjoy baking and cooking, and I just happened to have memorized my favorite recipe for home-made bread called Easy-Peasy Bread. By the time the stew had simmered and the bread had baked, the entire trailer smelled heavenly. I completely understood why food could be so comforting.

Carrying filled bowls and slices of bread out to the living room, the four of us concentrated on eating and relaxing. I noticed that Leslie looked much calmer than she had an hour before; Miss Bea’s motherly ministrations had obviously done the trick. I idly wondered how Derek and LJ were getting along, and it was as if my thoughts had pulled them down our way. Within a minute or two, they stood on the trailer’s small porch, knocking on the door.

Installed in the living room with stew and bread, the two boys ate rapidly and silently. It has always seemed to me that boys of any age can become hungry on demand, and these two were certainly proving my theory. Between the six of us, we decimated the Bolstering Chicken Stew and the Easy-Peasy Bread, empty bowls set aside on the floor near our respective feet. It was time to talk.

LJ had managed to insinuate his bulk onto the couch between Miss Bea and Leslie, and the three of them looked as tightly fitted together as a dovetailed drawer. Derek sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall, Miss Lucinda was in the chair nearest the kitchen, and I sat in the matching one placed by the door. Anyone who walked by and casually peeked inside would have thought that we were a family relaxing together after dinner, nothing more on our minds than what to do the next day.

How wrong they would have been.

Somehow – probably due to the calming influence of the chicken stew – we managed to talk it out, creating a probable timeline for Lily’s movements between the aborted performance and the finding of her body. As far as we knew, Andy and Skinny Joe were now both bereaved family members as well as suspects, and Julian had fallen off the cops’ collective radar. That seemed to make the most sense, at least to me. By putting together earlier statements of Joe’s odd behavior at the first crime scene, and the fact that Lily’s relationship to him had not been divulged (although Andy’s had), I was beginning to think that something along the lines of a family feud was at the bottom of this. Family issues were notorious for wreaking havoc and even murder.

That didn’t explain Josie, though, I had to admit. It could be that the two murders were not related at all, and that it had been a random crime. But then I would go back to Skinny Joe’s behavior, and the entire thing would look connected again. What a mess! I had no idea how detectives were able to make sense of anything as crazy as these two crimes. My hope was that someone would be able to unravel this entire fiasco, and soon.

Our reservations ran out the day after tomorrow.

Over dishes of coffee ice cream, we hashed out a plan. I voted for staying on a few more days – just to see the thing through, I explained. I was also hoping to do a bit more detecting, although without today’s grim result. Leslie and Derek seconded the motion, and Miss Bea, looking doubtful, listened to our reasoning.

To my complete surprise, Miss Lucinda offered to foot the bill for another week’s lodging at the KOA. Miss Bea promptly snapped up the offer, and a re-energized Leslie and LJ were sent to see the McLaughlins about extending our stay. The worst case scenario, I thought, was a transfer back to the YMCA, which wouldn’t be so bad either. And much, much closer to that yummy restaurant.

While the twosome went about their errand, I suggested to Miss Bea that we make a call to Officer Kingsley sometime that evening. I wanted to know if there was anything else on Julian, even though he was more than likely off the suspect list. There was still a niggling in the back of my mind that I couldn’t shake, and it was somehow connected with him.

Derek protested, saying that more than likely the officer would be working on the two murders, looking for linkage there. I agreed, but still pushed the idea of making that call. Miss Bea’s firm voice, though, made the decision for me.

‘We need to let today’s incident find a place in our minds first, dear Jo, before we add to the burden, don’t you think? And besides, if we sleep on what we already know, something may come to us in the morning.’ She smiled kindly at me, much as a teacher would at an eager student forging ahead without a logical plan.

So, once the reservations had been renewed – the McLaughlins were delighted to keep us, as most of this week’s visitors would be leaving next day – we settled in for the evening, each one in his or her own room, or, in the case of the Becklaw women, to their shared abode.

I had packed a book, thinking that I would have some time to read on the road. It is the best way, I have found, to get relaxed and drowsy, especially when sleeping in a strange bed. Unfortunately, my choice may not have been the most logical in this situation; it was thrilling, suspenseful, and laced with a murder or two. I tried to read, I really did. Finally, though, I had to give up. My mind was playing tricks on me, substituting names and descriptions until I couldn’t tell if I was reading about a fictitious crime or the ones in which I had become involved.

I had taken my cellphone out in case my mother tried to ring. She seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to calling me; it was generally at the most inopportune moments when I couldn’t talk, and she would accuse me of not having time for her. Setting my book aside, I picked up the phone, toying with the idea of calling Officer Kingsley. I know that I had agreed to leave it until the morning, but …

I’m not known for my impulse-control abilities. I got up and re-dressed in the clothes I had taken off and tossed on the chair near my bed, reaching for the shoes I had kicked out of the way. I hadn’t planned on going out again, but some instinct pushed me to be ready for anything. Digging into my jeans pocket, I found the card that Officer K had given me. It only took a brief second to make up my mind. I dialed.

The recorded music on the other end of the line brought a wry smile to my lips: Officer Kingsley’s choice was the bouncy anthem of the 1980s and Bobby McFerrin’s cheery voice encouraged me to ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy.’ I shook my head. Not worrying was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.

‘Kingsley here.’ The firm voice of the detective sounded in my ear. I paused, forgetting why I had called. ‘Hello? This is Officer Kingsley. Can I help you?’ This time my mind kicked into gear.

‘This is Jo, Jo Anderson. I’m part of Becklaw’s.’ I waited to see if she remembered me.

‘Yes, of course. Is everything OK?’ Her concern sounded genuine, encouraging me to talk.

‘Well, yes and no. We were still a little shook up over what we found, er … over finding Lily today, but I think we’ll survive. I was just thinking,’ I went on, ‘about Julian Sweet. Is he – I mean, do you still consider him to be involved? You know, as a suspect?’ I held my breath, waiting for the officer to tell me to take a hike, to mind my own business.

The silence on the other end was palpable. I could feel her hesitation, and I mentally willed her to spill the beans. My telepathy skills must have gotten stronger.

‘Well,’ Officer Kingsley said, ‘Yes. And no. I personally have feeling that he is part of this, but personal feelings aren’t court worthy, you know? I still need proof of involvement before making an arrest of any kind, and so far, nothing doing.’

I let out my breath. ‘I see.’ I replied. ‘Of course. That makes perfect sense. It’s just that …’ I broke off, not finishing my sentence.

‘So, if you know something that would be helpful, tell me.’ Her voice was now authoritative, in investigator mode.

‘Well, that’s just it. I have some feelings of my own that I can’t explain. I keep thinking back to the day we found Josie, the way that Julian was there and then he wasn’t. It’s just, I don’t know,
odd
, I guess.’ I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Officer Kingsley was silent. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. What she said next surprised me into full wakefulness.

‘I tell you what, Jo. I’m leaving the station now. How about we meet for coffee and a talk? My treat.’

I hesitated but a second. ‘Sure. You name the place, I’ll be there.’

I have never actually stolen a car before, nor, to the best of my knowledge, ridden with anyone who has. Technically, I stole Miss Bea’s car. Logically, I borrowed it. After all, I was on my way to gather more information for the good of the troupe, wasn’t I?

Chapter Twenty-one

I eased the car out of the KOA driveway and onto the main road that led back to Manchester. Officer Kingsley had suggested that we meet at the town’s only all-night diner, located just down the block from Skinny Joe’s Steakhouse and Brewery. When I arrived, she was already there – no surprise, since the police station was literally just around the corner.

A steaming mug of coffee already sat on my side of the Formicatopped table, badly scarred with years of use. I slid into the booth, giving Officer Kingsley what I hoped was a confident grin. Lord only knew what I’d say if she asked me about the car situation.

‘How’s it going?’ I asked her casually, taking an experimental sip of the coffee. My past experiences with diner coffee have ranged from the sublime to downright sinful. Some of the stuff touted as coffee could have been used to clean car batteries. This was somewhere between ‘edge of bitter’ and ‘paint thinner’, but I didn’t complain. A coffee mug can be used as a prop for nervous hands, I’ve found.

On the table, Officer K laid a bulging notebook, ubiquitous pen clipped to its cover. She patted it.

‘I brought along every note I’ve taken on the two murders, including some my other detectives made as well. It’s clear to me that Julian Sweet is not a suspect, at least not on paper.’

She paused to sip her own coffee, making a face that expressed her opinion. Apparently Officer Kingsley didn’t mind drinking a brew akin to turpentine, though; she took a follow-up drink, setting the mug down hard enough to slop a bit over the edge.

I thought about that for a moment, faking another sip. There was no way in the world I was drinking that mess.

‘I know that no one has anything evidence-wise against Julian. I
know
that, Officer Kingsley. It’s just that, like I said, something isn’t jiving when I think about him.’ I shrugged, looking at the tabletop.

‘Sometimes feelings are the only thing that a detective has to go on, Jo,’ she replied gently. ‘Unfortunately, like I said on the phone, feelings don’t stand up in court.’

‘If you were me,’ I asked, looking directly at her, ‘where would you start? I mean, if you were going off a feeling?’

Officer Kingsley didn’t drop my gaze. In fact, she looked a tad amused at my enthusiasm. Well, as Crazy Great-Aunt Opal would say, “Foolish is as foolish does.” And boy, was I ever getting ready to be Grade A Foolish. Crazy Great-Aunt Opal also said, “You gotta clean up your own mess”, which actually did make a lot of sense. Jo, I told myself firmly, get on with the foolishness. There was certainly a mess here that needed some cleaning.

‘Officer Kingsley,’ I began confidently, ‘I believe I can help you turn the feeling into fact.’

Her amusement was not veiled at this remark. Actually, she threw her head back and barked out a short laugh, causing the lone waitress to cast worried glances in our direction. I think I must have looked worried as well, because Officer Kingsley stopped laughing and stared at me. She appeared to be sizing me up. Or, at the very least, assessing my comment.

‘Look,’ I interjected. ‘I know I don’t know much about detecting. Or much about acting, for that matter. But I’m willing to try, and I really think that someone needs to take Julian seriously. There has to be some reason why he was there and then he wasn’t, and then Josie was dead. It just fits, to my mind.’

I know I sounded stubborn. It was one of my finest qualities, I felt, and I could put it to good use when I chose.

Shaking her head, Officer Kingsley lifted the coffee to her lips in an automatic gesture.

‘Dang it all to heck!’ Coffee dripped off her chin and down the front of her shirt. Not a smart move, I thought, trying to shake your head and drink at the same time. ‘This was my last unstained shirt. Great.’ She sighed, looking at me as if I had caused it. ‘Jo, since you’ll probably do some nosing around anyway, regardless of what I say, I’ll do this much for you: you try to find out what motive Julian might have had, and I’ll keep looking at his movements. Fair enough?’

Absolutely. I could do that. After all, I had five other folks backing me up on this one, and since six heads are much better than one, we’d surely find out something. We said our goodbyes, me promising to keep my head down and she commenting that I d better or she’d lose her job.

The drive back to the KOA seemed shorter; my mind was whirling with the new approach. Finding the motive seemed logical, the first place we should have looked, but I think the shock of seeing two murdered bodies had driven that aspect from our collective minds.

I suppose that I should not have been surprised to see the Becklaw Wall of Censure facing me in the living room. Perched together on the sofa, the sisters-in-law were the perfect exemplar of parental disapproval, mouths set in tight lines and arms folded across well-padded bosoms.

‘Er … hi, there,’ I began lamely. No answer from The Wall, just twin glares of indignation.

I tried again. ‘Miss Bea and Miss Lucinda, I didn’t want to wake you …’ And that was as far as I got. Hurricane Beatrice made landfall with Category 5 status.

‘I have been sitting here worrying myself sick, Josephine.’ Uh oh, I thought. I knew from experience that when someone used my entire name, trouble was in the offing. ‘And how do you think I felt hearing you sneaking out of the house, with the car keys to boot?’ She was almost quivering, she was so angry at me.

‘Miss Bea,’ I began. She didn’t give me a chance.

The Becklaw Tag Team swung into action. For the next few minutes, they took turns berating me, scolding me, and imploring me to tell them what they had done to make me act this way. Good grief! I had an easier time explaining myself to my seven over-protective brothers. When they finally stopped for a breather, I spoke.

‘Miss Bea. Miss Lucinda. I didn’t “sneak” out, really. I truly thought you were asleep. And I didn’t mean to do anything to lose your trust or make you mad.’ I walked over to them and squatted in front of them, my hands on their arms. ‘I met Officer Kingsley for coffee. She’s agreed to let us help. In fact, she’s given us a job.’

I let the words sink in for a moment, still looking up into their sleep-lined faces.

In spite of their ire, I could feel their anxiety for me. What remarkable women they were, both strong in their own way. I mentally reclassified them as Amazonians.

Miss Lucinda gave in first. Pushing a strand of lavender hair from her eyes, she reached over and patted my hand.

‘Well, that’s a horse of a different color altogether,’ she declared. ‘Isn’t it, Beatrice?’

She gave a sharp nudge in the side to the smaller Becklaw gal, who returned the poke with one of her own.

‘Oh, quit, Lucinda. I know when I’m beat.’ Miss Bea’s words were testy but the smile on her sweet face was like sunshine. Ah. Forgiven.

‘Look, it’s really late. And I want Leslie and the boys here to listen as well, so maybe we could talk about this in the morning?’ I made the request into a question, knowing my limits of grace.

They both nodded graciously at me. Their regal manner could put Queen Elizabeth’s to shame. I almost started looking around for the Royal Handbag.

Needless to say, I slept like a log. I was going to say ‘like the dead’, but I was really starting to have issues with that word. At any rate, my sleep was deep and dreamless, and I awoke feeling more refreshed than I had for a while. My roomies were already breakfasting on toasted English muffins thickly spread with real butter and local honey, and a covered teapot sat in the middle of the table. A quick look at Leslie reassured me that she seemed to be OK with eating in the kitchen. I must admit to being a tad worried over that aspect of the case.

‘Good morning,’ I said brightly as I slipped into the empty chair between Miss Bea and Leslie. ‘Could you pass the butter, please?’

I spent the next few minutes in contented grazing, almost inhaling the first muffin. I had awakened starving, no doubt the result of my late night. At last, sated and happy, I leaned back in my chair and looked around at the three women.

‘So, I thought perhaps we could get a quick walk in before the boys come over? Maybe we could all go? It’s gorgeous out there …’

I hadn’t really looked, but I was feeling good so it stood to reason that the weather was following my mood.

‘… and we could all use a little stretch, don’t you think?’ I bestowed my most dazzling smile on them, expecting nothing less than agreement.

I shouldn’t have been surprised at their collective reaction to my enthusiasm. Apparently they hadn’t had the rest that I did, more’s the pity, but that didn’t stop me from playing Susie Sunshine.

‘Oh, c’mon, you guys! We’ll just take a quick jaunt around the park, smell a few flowers, then come back and get ready for the day. Whaddya say?’ I was not opposed to a wheedle or two if necessary, having honed that particular skill on my brothers. I saw a crack in their united front, Leslie looking at Miss Bea for guidance. For a moment, I saw a flash of LJ there, but it quickly evaporated. In a tone decidedly more Leslie than LJ, she shook her head.

‘I’d like to, Jo, really I would, but I’m so tired this morning. I didn’t get any sleep to speak of and I just want to take a shower, then rest; maybe read while we wait for LJ and Derek to get here.’

I looked closer at her and saw there were tired lines on her face, and the purple under her eyes was not just a trick of light. I felt ashamed for assuming that everyone had slept as well as I had.

‘I second that,’ added Miss Lucinda firmly. ‘I still need to catch up to the day, I’m that worn out.’

‘And I’m not feeling too perky this morning either, my dear.’ Miss Bea, bless her heart, looked apologetically at me.

That did it. I was officially censored by the Triad of Tired Women.

‘No worries,’ I declared briskly. ‘I’ll take a quick jog around the park, run by and invite the boys over to visit for lunch, and dash home to shower.’ I looked at them, feeling an affection for three near-strangers – we really hadn’t been together for long – that I didn’t have for some of my own flesh and blood, Crazy Great-Aunt Opal notwithstanding.

True to my word, and probably to their collective relief, I took myself out for a walk. The morning air was crisp, with just a hint of the warmth that the day would bring. I found myself taking in deep breaths, incorporating as much of Colorado mountain air as I could into my lungs. The KOA was quiet this morning, most of the trailers empty of visitors.

Oleta McLaughlin was watering plants outside the office door, and I gave her a brisk wave as I trotted on past. I’d almost reached the boys’ trailer when I felt something odd, something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.

I had spotted Julian Sweet, standing in the shadows near the edge of the campgrounds.