May Cooler Heads Prevail (6 page)

Uncle Rudd’s face lit up. “You’re absolutely right! And I have just the job for you. You said that Connie wants to go back to her place tonight, right?”

“That’s what she said,” I dutifully answered.

“Good, then you can go back to her apartment with her. After she goes to sleep, you poke around some, see if you can find that note.”

“Uh, wouldn’t it be a lot easier if we just asked her for the note?” It seemed to me that my uncle was going about this the hard way.

“Of course it would!” he bellowed. “But we can’t do that. It might send her into one of those spells again. We got to protect her as much as possible.”

We spent the next twenty or so minutes arguing about whether or not asking Aunt Connie for the note would send her into another “spell.” I didn’t think it would; Uncle Rudd did. In the end, we compromised. I agreed to spend the night with Aunt Connie and skulk around for the note.

Uncle Rudd agreed to let me drive his beloved, fully restored, 1967 white Mustang with baby blue interior, until he could get my Jeep fixed.

I had only driven the ‘67 Mustang one other time. That was five years ago. Uncle Rudd let me drive it up and down their half-mile driveway while he sat in the passenger seat, dictating precise instructions on how to drive an automatic and yelling that fifteen miles an hour was way too fast.

Of course there was one other person that Uncle Rudd had to convince. And that made for lively conversation between him and Aunt Connie at the supper table that night. Nevertheless, Uncle Rudd won, and I would be spending the night with Aunt Connie.

As we were standing on the front porch saying good night, Aunt Nissa handed me a pie and slipped a sack of quilting material under my arm. She whispered, “Pie’s for eatin’. The other…just in case…another spell…”

Aunt Connie whipped the sack out from under my arm and handed it back to Aunt Nissa, saying, “I don’t need to be tied up. And quit calling ‘em spells. ‘Spells’ sounds stupid. Dixie calls them episodes. I told you at supper I want everybody to call them episodes. Episodes!”

Before she could work herself into another “episode,” I grabbed Aunt Connie’s arm and we headed out to the garage where Uncle Rudd had the Mustang warmed up for us.

Aunt Connie settled herself in the passenger seat, and I went around to the driver’s side where Uncle Rudd was
standing. Before I could open the door and dash inside, he stopped me and in a low voice said, “Whatever you do, don’t let Connie work on any flower arrangements tonight.”

That was certainly not what I had expected him to say. I had braced myself for a lecture on all things Mustang. Confused, I asked, “Why not?”

It was eight o’clock in the evening. We would be at Aunt Connie’s in less than twenty minutes. A little work might be good for her, take her mind off” things. Then it hit me that working in the flower shop might not be the best way to work off tension after all. I was glad that Uncle Rudd was sensitive to Aunt Connie’s plight and said to him, “Oh, I get it! You don’t want her down there in the workshop where the murder took place right now because it might be too hard on her emotionally.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s right, Dixie-gal. It’d be too hard on her, ya see.” Then he practically shoved me into the driver’s seat and added, “You remember what I said now. Well, you’d better get going.” Then he shut the door and waved good-bye.

Overjoyed at not getting one of Uncle Rudd’s Mustang lectures, I waved gaily back and pulled out of the garage. It never occurred to me to question his motives.

We were pretty quiet on the way into town. Which suited me, because I was busy trying to figure out just how I had managed to get sucked into becoming an accessory to murder in such a short period of time. I didn’t even know where they hid the body.

As I pulled into the alley behind Aunt Connie’s flower shop, I noticed that the lights were on in the smaller apartment next to hers. Years ago, after she had opened up her flower shop downstairs, she had bought the building and had the upstairs turned into two apartments, with a staircase in the back leading up to a long porch and the apartments. She kept the smaller of the two apartments rented whenever she could.

As we were getting out of the car, I said, “Last time I was in town, you were having trouble finding a renter. I see you found one. Anyone I know?”

“Nope, nobody you’d know,” Aunt Connie said. “The man’s new in town. Rented that apartment two months ago. He’s an artist. Works with wood. Carves with knives mostly, but sometimes he uses a chainsaw. Pretty good at it. Sends his stuff off to fancy art galleries in places like California and Florida. Gets some hefty prices for those carvings of his.”

“Really! Maybe I’ve seen his work. What’s his name?”

“Name’s Freedom Crane. Sort of a strange name. He said his parents named him that because they bought a coffee shop named Freedom Grove in some town in California two days before he was born.” Aunt Connie stopped at the top of the staircase. Turning around to face me, she flashed me a sly grin. “He’s only a little older than you, and he’s single. Want me to introduce you?”

Oh, great. Just what I needed. A moody artistic type who knows how to handle knives and chainsaws. “Not on your
life,” I replied and shuffled her into her apartment as fast as I could. The last thing I needed was Aunt Connie in cahoots with Aunt Nissa to find me Mr. Right.

I settled into what Aunt Connie loosely refers to as her guest room. The room is no bigger than an extra-large closet, with one round window facing the alley. The only furniture in the room is a daybed and an antique wardrobe.

Dutifully remembering that I was there to ferret out the blue note, I poked through the drawers in the wardrobe. As I shoved the last drawer back into place, I decided that Uncle Rudd was wrong. The best thing to do would be to ask Aunt Connie about the note the first opportunity I got.

I showered, put on my favorite pink flannel pajamas, and walked into the living room just as Aunt Connie hung up the phone.

Without my having to ask, Aunt Connie explained, “I overheard Rudd telling you not to let me go down to the workshop. I thought I’d make things easy on all of us, and I called Peggy. She’s coming in tonight to finish the flower arrangements for Tance Larribee’s Bed and Breakfast. When she’s finished, she’ll take them on home with her tonight and deliver them in the morning.”

I grinned sheepishly at her and said, “I guess Uncle Rudd never could whisper very well.”

“There’s been a time or two, when the wind’s just right, that I’m pretty sure that voice of his carried into the next county.” She giggled.

I couldn’t help it, I giggled right along with her.

On a roll, Aunt Connie sputtered between giggles. “Your dad always said that Rudd could stand on top of any hill and become his own radio station. We even made up call letters for him, W-L-O-U-D.”

That did it. We laughed until we had to hold on to each other. It really wasn’t that funny. But it was laugh or cry time. We chose to laugh.

With both of us in a much better humor, Aunt Connie asked if I would play a couple of hands of gin rummy with her before we went to bed. I not only said I would play, I offered to cut us each a piece of the apple pie that Aunt Nissa sent home with us while Aunt Connie got the cards out. Besides, I thought it might give me an opportunity to ask about the note.

We never got to finish that first game of gin rummy, or our pie. We were interrupted by a high piercing scream that ended abruptly. A scream that came from downstairs.

CHAPTER
FIVE

A
unt Connie jumped up from the table so fast cards scattered everywhere. “Peggy! That scream must’ve come from Peggy downstairs.”

I made it to the door first. On my way out, I told Aunt Connie to stay put in case she needed to call Sheriff Otis or an ambulance.

I heard her say, “Fat chance,” just as I ran into someone on the porch. I had enough presence of mind to note that it must be the new renter. There wasn’t time for polite introductions. We shoved and pushed our way downstairs with Aunt Connie hot on our heels.

The renter got to the door of the flower shop first and pulled frantically on the doorknob. Like the hysterical person that I was at the time, I accentuated the obvious by wringing my hands and yelling, “It’s locked! The door’s locked. We forgot the keys.”

“Maybe you forgot, but I didn’t.” Aunt Connie pulled the keys out of the side pocket of her dress. “Now get out of my way, you two.”

We parted like the Red Sea and let her through. She deftly put in the key and opened the door. All three of us tried to go through at once. We grunted and shoved until we were inside the workroom of the flower shop.

Peggy’s tall frame was sprawled on the floor in front of the opened door to the flower cooler. Aunt Connie got on her knees and looked Peggy over carefully, then informed us, “I think she just fainted. She might be sick, but in the five years she’s worked for me, I’ve never known her to faint. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I know what made her faint,” the renter muttered. “And I think we’d better work fast if we don’t want the sheriff breathing down our necks.”

Moving quickly to the front of the shop, the renter called back, “I’ve got an idea, so don’t try bringing her around just yet. We’ve only got a few minutes as it is.”

“Do you know what that man is talking about?” I asked Aunt Connie. “What did you tell me his name is?”

“Name’s Freedom,” she answered. “I don’t know exactly what he’s up to, but since I can feel the air to the flower cooler is a lot colder than it should be, I got my suspicions.”

Aunt Connie stepped over the passed-out Peggy and peered into the cooler. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my. They really did put him in the flower cooler.”

Stupidly, I asked, “Who put who where?”

Then it dawned on me. I put two and two together and came up with one dead body, one demented relative, and
one very helpful renter. The scenario went something like this: poor Peggy screamed and fainted because late last night they, meaning my uncle, the Demented One, and his new pal, Freedom, the Helpful Renter, had put Aaron Scott, the Dead Body, in the flower cooler.

Of all the harebrained things that generations of Tanners have done—and believe me we can trace our peculiar brand of insanity back for fourteen generations—this had to be the most outrageous, Tenacious Tanner not withstanding.

Freedom came back to the workroom carrying the life-size scarecrow that had been a large part of Aunt Connie’s harvesttime window display.

Handing me the scarecrow, he said, “Hold this, while I get Scott’s body out of the cooler.”

“Just what am I supposed to do with this thing?” I demanded.

Freedom leaned close to Aunt Connie and me and in a low voice said, “Look, there’s not a lot of time. You two wrap that scarecrow in some of that pink cellophane Connie keeps over there in the corner. I’m going to take Scott out of the cooler and put him in the bed of my truck. I think I know a place where we can hide him until we’re sure it’s safe to put him back in the cooler. Once you get that scarecrow wrapped, put it in the cooler where Scott was. Hopefully we can get Scott and the scarecrow switched by the time Peggy comes to.” Then he dashed into the cooler.

“Pink cellophane! Why pink cellophane?” I asked. Surely
they didn’t wrap him up in pink cellophane.

Oh yes, they did! Freedom came out with the body of Aaron Scott wrapped in pink cellophane on his shoulder.

Now I knew why Uncle Rudd didn’t want me to let Aunt Connie in the workshop tonight. He didn’t want her to find the body. He couldn’t have foreseen that Aunt Connie would call Peggy in to finish up the flower arrangements. But she did, and now we had to deal with Peggy finding the body.

“Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, Dixie June. We got to get that scarecrow wrapped up now!” Aunt Connie hissed.

She already had a wad of cellophane in her hand, trying to wrap it around the scarecrow. I closed my mouth and grabbed the end to help her.

By the time we had the scarecrow wrapped up, Freedom had come back in, and we helped him put it in the same spot they had put Aaron’s body the night before.

As we hurried out of the cooler, Peggy, still a little groggy, was propped up on one arm. When she saw us, her eyes widened and she pointed to the cooler, stammering, “St-Stay out of there. B-Body, dead body. I saw it. Call Otis, q-quick!”

“Now, take it easy, dear. There’s nothing like that in the cooler,” Aunt Connie said quietly, but firmly. “Only thing in there is that old six-foot scarecrow I usually have in the front window. Go on and look for yourself.”

Peggy got to her feet and looked at each one of us like we
had taken leave of our senses. Which, of course we had.

With a dazed expression still on her face, Peggy pulled herself up straight and said defensively, “I know what I saw. If you don’t believe me, you just march right in there and take another look for yourself. I tell you, there’s a dead body in that cooler, and it’s all wrapped in pink cellophane!”

Apparently, the twenty-something Peggy Bannan was not aware of the Tanner propensity for peculiar behavior. Peggy and her husband moved here seven years ago. You would have thought that in a small town like Kenna Springs someone would’ve had the decency to warn her.