Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

Over a late lunch of beef tips on toast– our supplies were running low and we had to get inventive with our meals – we talked about the connection between Julian’s gambling problems and two murders.

I voted on Josie being his bookie runner or whatever they were called, while Leslie suggested that perhaps Josie had overheard something she shouldn’t have and was taunting Julian with the information. Between the two suppositions, Leslie’s made more sense. Recalling what little I had known of her, I couldn’t see Josie as a gobetween for anyone; she liked the spotlight too much.

The boys showed up just as dessert was put on the table. In this department we were still doing fine. I had whipped together one of my favorites: Extra Easy Fudge, requiring only three ingredients. It had the capability to wipe out the most obnoxious sweet tooth and made men putty in my hands. I know – I had tried it on my brothers often enough.

Once the table had been cleared and we had settled in with mugs of Miss Bea’s strong coffee, the work began in earnest. Leslie and I recapped our day’s adventure, the contents of the note from Bert and Andy, and the way we thought Julian fitted in with all of this.

‘Not to mention we saw him skulking,’– not
skulking,
interrupted Leslie, just
staring
– ‘when we were in town this morning.’ Whatever you called it, it was downright creepy in my book. I turned to Miss Lucinda. ‘Would you say that Bert seemed nervous when he came by?’

She thought, then said slowly, ‘No, not nervous like you’d normally think of nervous. Just a bit on edge. Wouldn’t you agree, Beatrice?’

Miss Bea nodded in confirmation, her patented frizz bobbing in time to the movement.

‘Definitely on edge, Jo. In fact, I thought he had come with someone, the way he kept looking over his shoulder.’

Hmm. That was interesting. Maybe he was on the lookout for Julian Sweet as well, I surmised.

‘The good news is that Officer Kingsley thinks that the mouse package was all a prank. The bad part is that I don’t. When you put everything together that happened today, beginning with Julian’s weird behavior, I’d have to say it all ties in.’ I looked around at my fellow troupers, who were listening soberly.

Finally Derek spoke up. ‘Look, Jo. If Julian is the main suspect in all of this, why hasn’t he been arrested?’

Point taken. I had wondered that myself. All I could think of was that nothing could be tied to Julian, or that they were keeping tabs on him, ready to spring when he did something else. What that ‘something else’ might be I didn’t want to contemplate.

‘I haven’t a clue, Derek. But I’m all for tracking him down ourselves. I know that Officer Kingsley asked for help with motive – although now I think that was just a ploy to get me out of her hair – and I think we’ve got it. When you owe as much money as he does and income doesn’t equal outgoings, something’s got to give. I vote for another trip to the casino.’

Derek’s eyes lit up; I could tell he was hearing the dings and noises of the slot machines.

‘To gather information, not money,’ I added drily.

‘Actually,’ Leslie said, ‘I thought about dinner out at the restaurant we all like so much. It’s evening time, which is prime information-gathering time in Manchester, according to my sources.’ She smiled enigmatically.

Her
sources?
What
sources? I looked at her, trying to retrieve information via a mind-meld, Anderson-style.

Miss Lucinda snorted, but it was a nice sort of noise. In fact, I think that it could have passed for a chuckle; one could never be sure with Miss Lucinda.

‘Sounds good, Leslie. I don’t think that I could take another meal of beef-onbread or whatever the heck it was we ate.’ She shot Miss Bea a look that said
I
dare you to disagree
.

Thankfully, Miss Bea got the message loud and clear. Dinner in town it would be. I was ready to tackle that menu again.

Right on seven o’clock, due to our late lunchtime, we piled into the vehicle,
sans
antenna, and headed off for Manchester’s night life. The restaurant’s small lot was full and we had to park along the street, something that Leslie and I weren’t too keen on, considering our earlier experience.

To my surprise, Lola, Oleta McLaughlin’s opinionated niece, was there, playing hostess and seating folks. She grinned when she spotted me. ‘My in-laws own this joint. We all have to take turns in the free labor department.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if looking for said in-laws.

I was delighted to see her, actually. Here was one person primed for gossip already.

We were finally seated near the back of the restaurant at a round table set up ‘family style’, a revolving Lazy Susan in the middle filled with salt and pepper, napkins, Tabasco sauce, and the like. Derek gave it an experimental twirl, knocking the salt onto the table.

Quick as a flash, LJ reached down and righted the shaker, pinching up a bit and tossing it over his left shoulder – and directly into the unsuspecting eyes of the rather large man behind us. With a yelp that could raise the roof, he leapt to his feet and began what I’d call a ‘jig’, howling and clutching at his reddening face.

LJ just sat as if nothing had happened, enigmatic as always. Leslie was horrified, unable to do anything except watch the spectacle. Derek was grinning, and I’m afraid I was amused as well. The man was acting like he’d been pepper sprayed or something.

Lola had rushed over by this time, a wet towel in hand which she pressed against the man’s face. Somehow she got him calmed down, promised a ‘comp’ meal, and left for her post near the front door.

With order restored, we resumed our perusal of the menu. At our last meal here, I had wavered between the shrimp skewers on rice pilaf and the pulled pork hero sandwich. By the time our waitress reappeared, standing out of range of LJ, I noticed, I had settled on the Chicken Fajita Pita platter. I know, I know. I am a woman of fickle tastes, but it makes for an interesting life.

With food in our bellies and a renewed sense of energy, we paid and left the restaurant. While I can’t say that we actually got any more gossipy tips that evening, we did have a good time together, family-style.

A stroll around the town was out due to darkness, but walking around the well-lit campground sounded good to all except Miss Lucinda. Her ‘poor leg’, as she called it, was paining her and she needed to get off it for a while. So, after depositing her in a chair with a book, cellphone, and the promise to be gone ‘just a bit’, we left for a breath of air, Miss Bea’s short legs working hard to keep up with the rest of us.

I was beginning to love Colorado, and the Colorado springtime weather in particular. Crisp air and bright blue skies gave it the feel of being on the top of the world, untouched by pollution and contamination. The McLaughlins had done a great job with the park’s layout, and there were several clearly marked trails around and through the KOA. That night we took the longest trail, which led down to the driveway and back around the camp’s perimeter. There were soft electric lights every so many feet, but the darkness edged in, throwing shadows from behind every trailer and tree we passed.

We had just started on the last leg of the trek when that familiar tingle attacked my spine, working its way from the nape of my neck downward. I reached for Derek’s arm and gave it a quick tug, motioning to him to walk beside me.

‘I’m having one of my ‘feelings’ again,’ I murmured. He looked at me, one eyebrow cocked.

I had stopped walking, scanning the area around us and to our immediate right where the forest grew up to meet the KOA boundaries. There was the lightest movement in the trees, too loud for wind and too measured for an animal. Derek heard it as well, and he casually reached down and raked up a handful of forest detritus, pebbles and all. The other three had continued on, chattering among themselves, unaware we had even stopped.

I gave Derek a slight nod and suddenly he turned to face the tree line, launching the rocks and dirt clutched in his hand. It must have found its target, and the result sounded much like the salt incident in the restaurant. Whoever was out there had just become the recipient of a face full of dirt.

With much crashing of branches, the mystery stalker took off, heading deeper into the woods.

I let him go, and Derek showed no inclination for charging into the darkness. Message delivered and received, I smiled grimly. If it was Julian Sweet, then he knew we were on to him and ready.

All the chaos had alerted Miss Bea, Leslie, and LJ and they came scrambling back, Miss Bea clucking like a mother hen protecting her chicks.

‘What in heaven’s name, Jo?’ she asked, looking from me to Derek, then down at his dirt-encrusted hand. Her eyebrows rose so high they nearly reached her hairline. I answered for him.

‘We had a visitor, Miss Bea,’ I explained. ‘Derek gave him – or her – LJ’s ‘salt treatment …’ – here LJ blushed – ‘… and whoever it was took off.’

‘Salt treatment’?’ Miss Bea sounded baffled, and I hastened to enlighten her.

‘You know. The old ‘salt in the eyes’ routine? Only we didn’t have salt. Derek threw dirt.’

I smiled at him. He had done well.

‘Well. That’s good. I guess,’ Miss Bea said, sounded a trifle doubtful. ‘Are you sure it was a person and not some innocent animal?’

Yes. I was certain. ‘I had a feeling, Miss Bea,’ I replied. The others, to their credit, did not look askance at me. Instead, they seemed to understand what I meant.

Progress at last.

We continued back to the trailer at a faster pace than we had at the beginning. Miss Lucinda was by herself and I was feeling a bit nervous. The lights were on when we got back and the front door was still locked, yet something felt a bit off.

We sent LJ in first, brave people that we were, and he stood in the middle of the living room, glancing around. Miss Lucinda was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Now was not the time to panic, I admonished myself. I pushed past LJ and headed toward the kitchen. Maybe she was making a snack.

‘Miss Lucinda? Are you here?’ I called out, trying to keep my voice soft so as not to raise the level of alarm.

There was no answer. I looked back over my shoulder to where the other four stood, huddled together like birds on a telephone wire. I shook my head.

‘Leslie, can you go check her room? She might have gone for a lie down, although by now we should’ve woken her,’ I said.

We waited silently until Leslie called out a negative. OK. Maybe she had gone to join us on the walk in spite of her leg pain.

‘Derek, can you and LJ retrace our steps around the campground? She may have followed us and had to stop and rest.’ I felt like an army general, but no one else was moving.

‘We women will stay here in case she shows up, OK?’

Off the boys went, starting in the direction opposite to the beginning of our walk. Miss Bea stayed in the doorway of the kitchen, hands clasped in front of her and eyes closed. Leslie met my eyes and waggled her cellphone at me. I could have slapped my forehead. Miss Lucinda had a cell with her.

I nodded to Leslie, who slipped into the living room to make her call. I could hear her murmuring, waiting a moment and then chuckling. What in the world was so amusing about losing an old woman?

I waited until she came back in to the kitchen to question her, but when I saw her face, I knew everything was OK.

‘That Miss Lucinda! She took it on herself to go information gathering and she figured that Oleta McLaughlin was as good a place as any to begin. She’s there having coffee and a good gossip.’ Leslie shook her head in fond amusement.

This bit of news didn’t do anything for Miss Bea, though; if anything, her fear morphed into something like anger. Oops! If I were Miss Lucinda, I wouldn’t plan on quality sleep this night.

With this little problem out of the way, we could refocus on the issue of the person who was spying on us during our walk.

Derek and LJ returned and we filled them in on Miss Lucinda’s visit to the McLaughlins, adding that I thought they should go escort her back to the trailer just to be on the safe side. The next thing was to consider our plans for the following day, all the more important now.

Once we were all back together, Miss Lucinda included, and not quite meeting Miss Bea’s eyes, we laid out the order for the next day. It was clear to all of us that Julian was either a) the killer or b) connected to the murders in some fashion. With that firmly set, we decided that Derek, Miss Bea, Leslie, and I would go into town for an audience with Officer Kingsley, while Miss Lucinda and LJ would hold down the fort here. (I also felt that Miss Lucinda needed a babysitter at this point, plus I didn’t think she needed to be traipsing all over town with her bad leg.)

With ‘goodnights’ exchanged and the boys headed off to their own beds, we gals reconvened in the kitchen, Miss Bea careful not to sit next to Miss Lucinda. I grinned as I caught Leslie’s eye; these women could hold a grudge longer than anyone I knew. Be that as it may, I still wanted to hear what Miss Lucinda had gleaned from Oleta McLaughlin.

‘So?’ I looked at Miss Lucinda, one eyebrow cocked in query.

‘Well,’ she began. ‘That woman really has an issue with Josie. I’m beginning to think that there is more history there than we know about.’

I thought back to the first time we talked to Lola, Oleta’s niece. She was adamant that Josie’s demise was linked to the cavalier way she acted with other women’s men. With that in mind, I asked,

‘Did Mrs McLaughlin say anything at all about Lola and Josie? I mean, about Lola’s husband and Josie?’

Miss Lucinda thought for a moment then slowly nodded her head. ‘Yes, she did. I didn’t think much of it then, but you might be on to something here, Jo.’

I almost ground my teeth; I hate conversations where I have to tease information out of folks like a dentist pulling teeth. ‘And?’

‘Well, there was a to-do at the restaurant – you know, the one we like so much? Apparently Josie had come in there one evening looking for Hap, Lola’s hubby. Lola happened to be there as well, and it was all on.’

‘Like a fist fight on? That kind?’ I was amazed. How come we hadn’t heard about this one? You’d think this was the kind of information that Lola would have shared with us unless … I interrupted my own train of thought.

‘Hey! Do you think Lola may have been involved in Josie’s murder, and then Lily found out? She’s big enough and probably strong enough to take those two on.’ I looked at the other women.

‘Maybe,’ replied Leslie. ‘I certainly could see Lola doing something like that, not planned, of course, but because she was just so mad at Josie.’

I had to agree. As someone famous once said, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Substitute ‘angry at her husband for paying attention to another woman’ for ‘scorned’ and we had ourselves a good motive for murder.

Still, the Julian Sweet angle needed further investigation, hence the trip to Manchester on the morrow.

We finally headed for bed. A form of détente, Becklaw-style, had been declared between the two older women and I was able to lay my head down relatively worry-free. At least the four of us would be safe from one another.

We actually did sleep through that night, unmolested by strange noises or another break-in. I had my coffee and toast, showered and dressed, and was ready to go when the boys showed up: Derek to drive us into Manchester and LJ to sit with Miss Lucinda.

With a wave and a caution to ‘stay together and lock up if you leave’, Miss Bea, Leslie, Derek, and I drove away. Miss Bea had rigged up a makeshift antenna with a wire clothes hanger and we were able to listen to some music – this time it was The Who and “Baba O’Riley” – on the way in to town. I even found myself humming along.

We had thought to call ahead and see if Officer Kingsley was available. She was, so we went directly to the Manchester Police Department. I gave our names at the front desk – the officer acted like he knew me – and we sat down to wait. Within just a few minutes, a smiling Officer Kingsley opened the door and beckoned for us to follow her.

Being somewhat familiar with the warren of hallways by this time, I realized that she was leading us to a conference room. That should have set off alarm bells for me, but I meekly trailed her and my companions trailed me.

When she opened the door, we saw that the room was nearly full of officers, each sitting with a stack of papers in front of them and the emblematic mug of bad coffee to hand. I halted in the doorway and nearly caused a pedestrian traffic jam.

‘Come in and find a seat, you guys. You’re just in time for a team briefing,’ Officer Kingsley welcomed us in to the room. If I could have sunk through the floor, I would have. Talk about embarrassment!

Not to mention my wonderment at being included in an official briefing. This had all the aspects of a made-for-TV drama, where the local gal or guy helps to crack a case that has totally baffled the police. Not likely, Jo, I thought. Still, it was nice to get the invite.

The team briefing was on the dual murders. Motives were discussed and I recognized some of the things that we had shared with Officer K. All right – maybe we were more helpful than I had previously thought. I felt a tinge of self-pride well up but quickly squelched it; after all, karma was still hanging about and I didn’t want to invite another casualty.

Per what we heard, the idea that Julian Sweet could be considered a suspect was plausible. Some officers were leaning toward the ‘scorned woman’ theory, and I was anxious to share with Officer Kingsley what we had discovered about Lola and her husband, Hap.

I tried to crane my neck without being obvious, reading over the shoulder of the officer nearest me. He had done nothing but doodle, the lined notepaper filled with fanciful swirls and happy faces. I wondered if Officer Kingsley was aware of this. I casually looked at another officer’s notepad and saw much the same thing. Well. If that was the way things were handled in Manchester, it was no wonder two people could meet their end the way Josie and Lily had.

My confidence in their ability to solve these crimes went subterranean but fast. When the topic turned to ‘What’s for lunch’ and ‘Did you see the game last night’, I was through. I motioned to Leslie, Miss Bea, and Derek to follow me and we stood to our feet.

‘Officer K, thanks for allowing us to sit in on your …’ here I paused significantly and gave the doodling officers a Mrs Fiornelli fish-eye ‘…
meeting
, but we need to get back to Miss Lucinda. She, er … hasn’t been feeling well lately.’

We trooped out the conference room door and down the hall part-way before Derek, walking just behind me, asked, ‘So? What do you think that was all about?’

I let him come abreast of me before replying. That hallway had some killer acoustics.

‘Well, I think that was a “We have it all under control” invitation,’ I said.

‘I think so too,’ Derek responded, reaching out to open the door at the end of the hallway. ‘Which makes me think they don’t. Have it under control, I mean,’ he added for clarification.

The four of us stayed silent until we got out to the station wagon. I looked over my shoulder at Miss Bea, who sat next to Leslie in the back seat.

‘Now what? Any ideas?’

Miss Bea shook her head slowly. ‘No, Jo, I’m clean out of ideas on this. I tell you what: let’s pick up some lunch for the six of us and head back to the trailer, maybe have a picnic. We might as well enjoy the rest of the day.’

I had to agree. For some reason the wind had gone out this entire affair and now I just wanted to enjoy what time was left of our visit to Silverton County.

We found a deli that advertised sandwiches to go, along with chips, whole dill pickles, and freshly-baked cookies. I tried to call LJ to see what he and Miss Lucinda would like, but got no answer. Instead, I left a message telling him to give me a call in the next few minutes, but said that if he didn’t, Miss Bea would choose for him.

Not hearing from LJ, we settled on three foot-long sub sandwiches, six little bags of chips, four pickles (Leslie and I opted out), and a dozen cookies. We piled back into the station wagon and headed back to the KOA, picnic lunch in tow. We chattered about where we should go to eat. I suggested the tables just to the rear of the KOA. The McLaughlins had thoughtfully provided a Ramada-type shelter, making the area usable even on inclement days.

We pulled into the KOA, heading the station wagon toward the trailer where LJ was keeping an eagle eye on Miss Lucinda. I hoped he had survived; sometimes she could be a bit overbearing.

Carting one of the bags up the steps and onto the porch, I stopped short. The front door, locked when we had left a few hours before, now stood slightly open. That familiar prickle began its trip down my spine; something did not feel right. When I spotted the splintered wood of the door’s frame, I froze.

Derek and Leslie, who had been chatting amiably about their respective homes, noticed my hesitation. I could see that Derek was going to call out so I waved my hand at him in a ‘be quiet’ gesture. Thank goodness he could read the Josephine Anderson version of sign language.

I tiptoed back off of the porch, holding my breath against tell-tale creaks of the weathered wood. Thank goodness I had learned to walk softly early in life; my prowess for sneaking out of the house at night was legendary among my many nieces and nephews.

Derek, Leslie, and Miss Bea were watching my progress with concern. I got within earshot of them and told them about the door’s condition. I thought poor Miss Bea was going to faint. Instead, only her hair slipped a notch. She was a strong woman, emotionally speaking.

The four of us moved away from the trailer as slowly as we could; although I tell you, I was tempted to run like a bat out of … well, you get the idea. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as was humanly possible and get help.

Once we had made it past what I calculated was far enough away so as not to be heard by whoever was in there with Miss Lucinda and LJ, if indeed they were still there, I fished my cell out of my pocket and thumbed through the contacts until I reached Officer Kingsley’s number. With shaking fingers I attempted to dial; it took three tries before I got it right.

When I heard her voicemail and that cheery voice admonishing to “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”, I almost wept in frustration. Now what? I had no idea who else to call and I was beside myself with worry. I could tell by the looks on the others’ faces that they felt the same as I did.

‘Now what?’ I mouthed as quietly as possible, looking to Miss Bea for guidance.

She stood still a moment, thinking hard. At last, she said, ‘Let’s go up to the manager’s office. We can tell them and use their phone.’

Head slap! Of course – why I hadn’t I thought of that?

We hurried as fast as we could go, deli bags caught up in our arms as headed for the front of the KOA and help.