Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) (5 page)

Leslie laughed, brushing a friendly hand across my shoulders. ‘Oh, you mean Josie and the Men.’ The way she said it, the word, I could hear the capital ‘M’.

‘Yes, and no. I’m not making much sense here. I guess I want this whole thing to be as smooth as possible. Miss Bea has worked so hard on this and I’ll be damned if I let some outsiders wreck it for her.’

I meant every word.

‘Yeah, I know how you feel. She’s amazing.’ We started walking again, taking the long way back to our trailer. ‘I don’t want her disappointed either.’ Leslie paused. ‘I think I’ll keep that Josie in my sight at all times. She’d be just the type to cause a ruckus.’

I fervently agreed, although I still harbored a niggling feeling in the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure that what I had picked up on could be laid entirely at Josie’s pedicured and high-heeled feet.

Miss Bea was in something of a tizzy when we returned to the trailer. Her hair, with normally just a few fingers of it waving about, now resembled an entire hand on top of her head.

‘Have either of you seen my handbag?’ We both stared at her, then at each other. I had indeed seen it; it was a very large, almost suitcase-size monstrosity and it wasn’t easy to lose.

‘You had it on your arm when we got here, I’m sure of it,’ replied Leslie, forehead crinkled with concentration. ‘When we stopped off at the McLaughlins’ for the keys, I saw you set it down on the table …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Oh, dear, Miss Bea! Do you think that you left it there? In their office?’

‘I’ll get down there pronto and check it out, Miss Bea. You stay here with Leslie and, I don’t know, search around for it. I’ll be back in a flash.’ I was as good as my word.

I jumped the steps that led from the front door and broke into a trot. While I was in reasonably good shape, I didn’t want pull a hammie or anything so dreadful, so I kept it to a slow run. The office wasn’t that far and I arrived in a short amount of time. As I rounded the corner of the
faux
log building, I drew up short: the office’s interior was dark, the front door shuttered, and the place deserted.

Not one to shy away from a challenge, I strode around the other side of the office and pounded on the door marked ‘Private – Manager’s Residence’. It, too, seemed to be empty, but I redoubled the pounding, just in case the two McLaughlins were napping, or eating, or otherwise occupied.

The door to a nearby trailer swung open, revealing a very grumpy woman with the ubiquitous lavender hair. Something clicked in my mind, and I took another look: I could not believe my eyes! It was the chatty old woman from the train, the one whose constant yammering had been outdone only by the screaming children. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

‘What are you trying to do, young lady?’ she barked, glaring at me through a fringe of hair. ‘Wake the dead? I am trying to get a nap here.’ Apparently she mistook ‘napping’ for something a little more permanent in nature.

‘Oh, sorry, ma’am,’ I replied, somewhat intimidated. ‘I’m looking for the managers. Did you happen to notice where they went?’ I mentally crossed my fingers in the hope that she was as nosey as she was talkative.

She paused, thinking, then shook her head. Another strand of hair fell down. ‘I spoke to the wife earlier, but I have seen neither hide nor hair of them since. It was about an hour ago, I’d guess.’

Her eyes seemed to home in on me then, recognition lighting up her powdered and rouged face. ‘Aha! I thought I’d seen you before! I remember traveling with you on the train from Piney Woods to Denver. What in heaven’s name are you doing here?’

I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly manner, then dipped my head a bit in acknowledgement. ‘I came to Colorado – Copper, not Denver – to join Becklaw’s Murder Mystery Tour.’ I couldn’t help it; a tone of pride had crept into my voice and I wanted this old woman to realize that she was in the presence of greatness.

She snorted. ‘Becklaw’s Murder Mystery Tour’? Don’t tell me that you’re mixed up with that Beatrice Becklaw!’

I have to confess that I nearly fell over.

Chapter Seven

‘Yes – I – Miss Bea …’ I could not get out that yes, indeed, I was ‘mixed up’ with ‘that Beatrice Becklaw’, and how did she know her? Thankfully, the woman was good at translating stammering lips.

She came fully out of her trailer then, and I noticed that she limped slightly. ‘I might have known she would get up to something like this eventually. I’m Lucinda Becklaw, Beatrice’s sister-in-law. What is your name, young lady?’

I automatically stuck out my hand. ‘Josephine Anderson, ma’am. Jo for short.’ We shook, and her grip was certainly firmer than was mine at the moment. I chalked it up to shock.

‘Lead the way. I want a word with Beatrice.’ Lucinda Becklaw turned and locked the door, then stomped down the porch steps.

I, a survivor of Seven Brothers Boot Camp and not given to questioning my elders, began walking back toward our assigned trailer. I made sure that my gait was slower so that she could easily stay in step. Her limp, more pronounced now that she was moving faster, seemed to fit her, and I noticed with admiration that she didn’t rely on anything to help her. I had a feeling that the Becklaw sisters-in-law suited one another.

I went in first. Normally I would hold the door for an elder and let her precede me into a room, but I wanted to prepare Miss Bea. I owed that much to her, I thought.

Leslie and Miss Bea sat side by side on the trailer’s overstuffed couch, Leslie holding Miss Bea’s hand and stroking it. I could see that Miss Bea had been crying.

‘Ah, Miss Bea,’ I began. ‘No one was at the office. But …’ here I paused, unsure of what to say. ‘I ran into someone you might know. May I present Miss Lucinda Becklaw?’

As if on cue, in stamped Lucinda. Also as if on cue, Miss Bea suddenly slumped over, leaning heavily on Leslie’s shoulder. Leslie and I exchanged worried looks. Had she fainted? Or worse, had shock sent her heart into a tailspin?

‘Oh snap out of it, Beatrice.’ Lucinda Becklaw’s voice was brusque and she walked over and gave Miss Bea’s shoulder a good whack. Miss Bea instantly recovered.

Instead of addressing her sister-in-law, as one might have expected, she turned to me, saying reproachfully, ‘Oh, Jo, how could you?’

How could I what? I wanted to ask, but instead kept my peace. Lucinda broke in.

‘Still the timid little Beatrice, I can see that clearly,’ she said disdainfully. ‘Well, it looks as if you need someone around to keep order, and since our dear Desmond has passed on to his reward, may he rest in the peace he never had on earth, it’ll have to be me.’ She took herself over to one of two armchairs and plopped down heavily, her lame leg sticking straight out in front. It was only then that I noticed the shiny metal of a brace.

Miss Bea sat up straighter, fire in her eyes. ‘Oh, no, you won’t, Lucy!’ Leslie and I looked at her in wonder. We’d never heard such a tone coming from our sweet little Miss Bea.

‘Oh, yes, I will, Beatrice, and you will kindly call me by my given name. You know that I detest shortcuts of any kind.’ Lucinda gave Miss Bea a hard stare from narrowed eyes, and I shuddered. Old women were worse than children, I was beginning to think.

Leslie had risen to her feet, glancing from one old warrior to the other. ‘I could make us some tea, if you’d like, Miss Bea,’ she offered. I could tell that she wanted to get away from the shots being launched over the bows of battleships familiar with years of verbal volleying.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ I stated, not waiting for Miss Bea’s reply. ‘Leslie, to the kettle.’ I guided her out of the front room and through the narrow door into the galleystyle kitchen.

Leslie drooped against the counter, arms crossed and a wary look in her eyes. ‘Do you think that it was wise bringing that woman here?’

I laughed, a short bark of grim amusement. ‘I had no choice in the matter. She just gave me an order and I obeyed. I was afraid not to,’ I added, with what I hoped was a pitiful look on my face.

Leslie turned to the cupboard and began pulling out teacups and saucers. ‘I suppose they’ll be OK in there alone,’ she began, hunting now for the tea bags. ‘At least I hope so. Do you think that she was close to her brother, what’s his name, Dermot?’

‘It’s Desmond, and I have a feeling that the two of them battled it out for supremacy in Desmond’s affections.’ I handed Leslie a handful of tea bags; then turned the burner under the stainless steel kettle to ‘High’.

‘That must be typical behavior for the two of them,’ I said, using my chin to indicate the front room where the two old women now sat in complete silence.

With the tea brewed and a plate of store-bought chocolate chip cookies loaded onto a tray, Leslie and I moved back into the living room. Miss Bea sat with her hands clasped, lips thin and eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the ceiling. Miss Lucinda (that’s how I had begun thinking of her) still sat in her armchair, glowering at Miss Bea.

‘Here’s some tea and cookies,’ I announced brightly. ‘Miss Bea, Miss Lucinda, would you like one or two?’

‘I’ll take three,’ said Miss Lucinda. ‘Give Beatrice one. She’s usually watching that figure of hers.’ She smirked across at her sister-in-law. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll take hers, too.’

Miss Bea sat silently, hurt feelings almost palpable. I felt very protective of her just then, and sat down next to her on the sofa. Leslie took the other side, the two of us a buffer from the hurricane that was Lucinda Becklaw.

I tried again. ‘So, how are you enjoying your time in Manchester?’ I asked Miss Lucinda, who was slurping her tea in a most unladylike manner. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Miss Bea’s thinly veiled look of disgust.

Miss Lucinda dunked a cookie into her tea and took a bite of the dripping sweet. ‘I was doing just fine until this,’ she nodded toward Miss Bea, bits of cookie dribbling from the corners of her mouth.

Miss Bea gave a small snort. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t ask you here, Lucy, as you might recall.’ I laughed inwardly; Miss Bea got in an underhanded shot with that ‘Lucy’ comment.

‘Hummph. I can recall many a time when you needed me around, Beatrice. I have a feeling this is one of them.’ Another noisy gulp followed this pronouncement. ‘So, what exactly is going on?’

‘We can’t find Miss Bea’s handbag, for starters,’ I said, reaching out to gently pat the plump hand that lay next to mine.

‘OK. That’s soon enough sorted. We just need to wait for the McLaughlins to return, as I remember. What’s next?’ Miss Lucinda’s stern glance moved among the three of us, who sat in a line much like naughty children trying to explain ourselves to a strict nanny.

Leslie and I began speaking at the same time, our words tumbling over one another in our haste to assure her that nothing else was amiss.

We didn’t convince her.

‘I’ll be the judge of that, girls,’ Miss Lucinda announced. She turned to face her sister-in-law, who instantly cowered closer to me. ‘Beatrice, I hear that you’ve created some foolish mystery tour or some such nonsense. Is that what’s causing the ruckus?’

Miss Bea shot to her feet, no easy thing for her to do. She stood as straight as her stature would allow; even her hair seemed to frizzle to a new height, quivering with righteous indignation.

‘My Murder Mystery Tour,’– I could clearly detect the capitals – ‘is a success, Lucy, and I don’t need interference from the likes of you.’ She crossed her ample arms over her ample bosom, steam practically billowing from her ears.

Her reaction didn’t faze Miss Lucinda in the least. With one last swallow of her crumb-filled tea, she stood to her feet, leaning for a moment on the chair’s arm.

‘I highly suggest that you begin by being honest with me, Beatrice,’ she intoned, heading for the door. ‘I will be in my trailer when you are ready to disclose everything. Jo, your arm, if you would.’

Together we descended the steps and began walking back toward the front of the campground. This time she kept a firm grip on my arm, and I had the feeling it was more to detain me than to assist in walking.

‘Beatrice has always been a trusting soul.’ This declaration, out of the blue, startled me. My mind had been on how to graciously disentangle my arm from hers.

‘I would have to agree with that,’ I answered, once my heart had shifted from my throat and back to its normal spot in my chest. ‘She trusted four complete strangers to come to Colorado and share her home with her.’

In the distance, I spotted Derek and LJ. They were standing near their trailer’s front door, watching me approach with Miss Lucinda’s grasp firmly on my arm. I decided to take the bull by the horns and steered her gently in their direction.

‘Miss Lucinda, there are the other two folks who are part of our troupe. I want you to meet them.’

We approached the boys, Miss Lucinda’s limp a bit more pronounced as we walked uphill. We finally reached their trailer, and I lifted my eyebrows in silent warning against any extemporaneous conversation.

At least, I hoped that they understood my meaning.

‘Miss Lucinda Becklaw,’ – their eyebrows joined mine in the stratosphere – ‘this is Derek Robertson and LJ Smythe, the rest of the Murder Mystery Tour troupe.’

Miss Lucinda inclined her lavender head regally, the front part of her hairdo threatening to slip off her head entirely. What
was
it with the Becklaw women and their hair?

‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am,’ chorused the boys in unison. They looked at me questioningly. ‘Is Miss Bea ready to take off for the fairground? We’re due to meet up with the bit-parters in forty minutes.’

I slapped my forehead. Dear Lord! I had nearly forgotten the practice, in the excitement of discovering Miss Lucinda Becklaw.

‘I’ll run and get her right now. No, wait. You go and get her and Leslie, Derek. They’re still at our trailer. LJ and I will stay here with Miss Lucinda. Besides, I need to keep my eye on the front office. Miss Bea seems to have left her handbag there, and the McLaughlins aren’t answering the door.’ I looked over at LJ. ‘LJ, you stay here with Miss Lucinda. I’m going to go knock on their door again.’ I took off without giving either boy another option.

I once again pounded on the private entrance and this time I had a response. Mr McLaughlin stood in the open doorway, arms firmly folded and a scowl on his face. This cleared the second he saw who it was that stood there; still afraid of bad publicity, I thought.

‘Mr McLaughlin, I’m afraid Miss Bea left her handbag in your office. Could I get it for her, please?’ I gave him my most charming smile.

‘Why, certainly! Let me go around and unlock the office for you.’ He stepped out into the sunlight, pulling the door behind him quickly. Maybe Mrs McLaughlin was indisposed.

I followed his lanky frame around the side of the building and to the front door. He inserted a key on a bunch pulled from his pants pocket, holding the door to let me go in first.

I spotted the handbag right away, sitting safely where Miss Bea had placed it that morning. Catching it up, I thanked Mr McLaughlin for his time and left, waving merrily at him.

LJ and Miss Lucinda were exactly where I had left them, in almost the exact same position. LJ’s face was a study in misery, and Miss Lucinda looked like she’d eaten a very sour lemon.

Hmm, I thought. Time to institute a little camaraderie here.

‘So,’ I said, with what I hoped was a natural smile, ‘will you be joining us, Miss Lucinda?’ I have no idea why I said that; the words seemed to come from somewhere other than the Land of Common Sense.

‘I rather think that I will,’ she replied, lavender hair bobbing in the light breeze that had sprung up. ‘You, young man!’ This was directed at a very startled LJ, who stood as straight as he could. I half expected him to salute. ‘Go get that good-for-nothing sister-in-law of mine and those other two young people. We have an appointment at the Silverton Country Fairground.’

Somehow we all managed to cram into the station wagon. Miss Bea, still reeling from the shock of having run into her dead husband’s sister, drove worse than usual. I was good and carsick by the time we arrived at our destination.

The fairgrounds were set smack dab in the middle of a large, meadow-like area, surrounded by thick stands of spruce and fir trees. For some reason, the locals seemed to have an affinity for faux log buildings, and every structure on the site looked like it had come from the same factory as the McLaughlins’ office. We parked near the entrance in the lot reserved for fair employees (I suppose that’s what we were), and we hustled off to meet our bit-parters.

The building where the dinner theater would take place was near the center of the grounds; surrounded by low hedges and with flower boxes at the windows, it might well have passed itself off as a private residence.

The huge oak door was propped open with a metal chair. I could hear the sound of voices coming from somewhere inside, talking and laughing with one another. I tried to relax, hoping that the tension I had felt before had dissipated.

I would soon find out that I was wrong. Dead wrong, in a manner of speaking.

Josie sat on a chair near the back of the building, literally surrounded by the Andy, Julian, and Bert contingency. Trying not to be obvious, I glanced around for Lily and finally spotted her sitting alone, head low over the book in her lap. I let out my breath, which I’d been holding without realizing it. That was OK, then. At least there was no verbal sparring going on, no one trying to outdo the other.

They looked up as we entered the darkened hall. Andy sprang to his feet, followed by Bert and Julian. They walked over to meet us, shaking hands with Derek and LJ, and giving the females a friendly nod. They each gave Miss Lucinda a curious glance, but said nothing.

‘We’re ready to get started, Miss Bea. Just tell us what we need to do to get the place set up,’ Andy spoke up, looking eager to please.

Bert nodded. ‘Yeah. Just tell us what to do, ma’am.’

Miss Bea looked more energized than she had for the past hour. Turning to look around the spacious room, she pursed her lips as she planned.

Miss Lucinda rolled her eyes.

I leapt into the fray. ‘Why don’t you have Derek and LJ direct these guys, and Leslie and I will take the gals for some costume fittings?’