The Turtle Mound Murder (14 page)

I cut my eyes at Pauline, half afraid her
head might spin around too, like the kid in The Exorcist. I
measured my distance to the door. Two steps, three at the most. If
the old lady started throwing-up green slime, I was out of there.
Penny Sue and Ruthie were the ones who wanted to come here; they
could deal with vile vomit, pernicious puke, and Belial belch.

I shook myself out of my musing and looked
up ... into Pauline’s steel gray eyes. She was grinning with
amusement. My cheeks flushed with the realization she knew what I’d
been thinking.

“That’s Alice,” Pauline said, cocking her
thumb toward the angel. “My roommate. Good company. Quite a
conversationalist.”

Alice. So this was Wonderland?

“Keeps an eye on things when I’m away,”
Pauline continued. “Likes to cook; bat wings are her
specialty.”

I smiled sheepishly, certain now the old
lady had picked up my rude ruminations. Thankfully, she let it
drop. Pauline’s disdain was bad enough. If Penny Sue had read my
thoughts, she would have poked my arm so hard, the bruise wouldn’t
fade for a month. Pauline probably knew that and was giving me a
break. Fairness dictated that I return the favor. I made up my mind
at that moment to suspend snide judgments of Pauline and the
hereafter.

Pauline shuffled to a pine sideboard laden
with all manner of stuff, and retrieved a pink piece of paper. It
was an article entitled “Smudging with Sacred Herbs.” She handed it
to Penny Sue. “This should help. Like attracts like, you know. Your
condo is negative, it’s drawing bad luck to you. Smudge it with
cedar and sage. But be sure to purify yourselves first.”

Purify ourselves? Prune juice was the first
thing that came to my mind. I tried not to make a face.

“Start by picking up feathers on the beach,”
the woman instructed.

Penny Sue scrunched her brow. “Feathers? Any
particular kind?”

“Feathers take your wishes to heaven.
Anything you find around your condo will do.”

I wanted to interrupt, ask how Pauline knew
we were staying in a condo—it was the second time she’d mentioned
it—but thought better of it. The grand dame had given me a
reprieve; no sense pushing my luck with questions and skepticism.
Any of that would have to come from Penny Sue or Ruthie, I wasn’t
going to open my mouth. I was definitely having foot karma in a big
way.

“Use the feathers to fan the smudge stick
and direct the smoke. Rub your hands in it and massage it over your
body. That cleanses your aura.”

Good, no prunes. I hadn’t been able to
stomach them since I was about five when I mistook them for big
raisins and ate a whole box.

“Then take the smoldering smudge stick
around and through your condo. Be sure to get everything: under
furniture, in closets and cabinets.”

“Should we chant or something?” Ruthie asked
eagerly.

“That’s okay, though not necessary.”

Ruthie looked disappointed.

“The key is to hold pure thoughts. It’s your
pure intention that will eradicate any—” there was a knock at the
door, “—evil.” She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, it’s time for my
class.”

“Wait,” Penny Sue pleaded. “You said we were
in danger from a light-haired man. Can you give us some details?
Where would we find him?”

There was another rap on the door. Pauline
reached in her pocket and retrieved a card. She paused a moment
before giving it to Penny Sue. “At a bar; I see drinks, you know,
like beer and wine. And, there’s a coin with two heads … and a
wheel. A shiny wheel, spinning.”

* * *

“A double-headed coin. Shiny, spinning
wheels. What do you make of that?” Penny Sue asked, once we
returned to the car.

“I think the wheels refer to those
motorcycles and it’s that greaser who’s angry,” Ruthie said after a
moment. “We gave him the cold shoulder and had his drinks cut
off.”

I nodded. “A light-haired man. Everyone we’ve
run into has light hair—Zack, Lyndon, Rick, Pete, Stinky. Why, even
the guy next door, Al Maroni, has sandy hair with gray
streaks.”

“Rick’s out, unless we’re getting bad vibes
from the other side,” Penny Sue said.

“And Zack’s not here. Though the two-headed
coin—two-faced—fits him to a tee.”

“Which leaves us with Lyndon, Pete, Stinky
and Al.”

“It’s not Lyndon,” Penny Sue declared with a
saucy wink. “No bad vibes there, and Pete and Al have no reason to
be mad.”

“Which takes us back to Stinky—and maybe the
guy in the red pickup. I don’t care what Moore says, I think Mr.
Pickup Truck’s a pal of the two guys from JB’s,” Penny Sue said.
“He was trying to run us down, there’s no doubt in my mind.”

“Maybe Al knows who he is. After all, Mr.
Pickup was at Al’s condo when we arrived. He’s probably a
maintenance man or something,” Ruthie offered.

“That’s worth following-up.” I turned to
Penny Sue. “Was Al invited to the party?”

She replied, “Sure, all the neighbors
were.”

“Good. Ruthie and I will work on him. Now,
what about the bar?”

“It has to be JB’s,” Penny Sue said.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. We followed
the pickup to Gilley’s Pub 44. That’s a big bikers’ hangout.”

Ruthie’s brows knitted with concern. “Why do
we want to find them? I think we should steer clear of those
hoods.”

“Just wait for them to track us down? No
one’s going to help us, Ruthie,” I reminded her.

“Deputy Moore—”

“If we get something and take it to him.
He’s not going to lift a finger to help us on his own.” Like Max
Bennett, my worthless attorney. Or Woody. Or even my realtor. I
felt my face grow hot. I was sick of being used, stewed, and
abused. Not again, I vowed. “I, for one, am not going to roll over
like a squashed bug,” I said through gritted teeth, shaking my
finger for emphasis. “We’re going to track those guys down and see
that they get what they deserve. What are we, Docile-dils or
DAFFODILS?”

Penny Sue started the car and slapped it
into gear. “Damn straight. Let’s run over to Pub 44 right now.”

* * *

It was a
beautiful October afternoon,
so we found a table in the back room of Gilley’s which overlooked a
pond. I’d insisted. We’d spent so much time eating in dark
restaurants, I was starting to feel like a roach. Sunlight was what
I needed—and no more wine. I was also beginning to feel like a
lush.

A cute girl in short shorts, popping gum,
came to take our order. Her name was Haley, like the Comet, she
said. I led off with the orders. “A beer mug of ginger ale. No ice.
Diet, if you have it.” Penny Sue looked at me like I’d lost my
mind. “On duty,” I explained before Penny Sue could say anything.
“We need to stay sharp.”

Penny Sue reared back with a glint in her
eye. An instant later she’d transformed into Nancy Drew or Jessica
Fletcher or ... Austin Powers. “I’ll have one of those
non-alcoholic beers,” she said in a no-nonsense, I-mean-business
tone.

Ruthie glanced up from the newspaper she’d
purchased from a box by the front door. “Perrier with a twist of
lime.”

The waitress leaned forward. The front of
her floral shirt gaped open, exposing a black leather bra. “Sorry
ma’am,” gum popping, “we don’t have Perrier. In case you didn’t
notice, this is a pub.” She cut her eyes at Penny Sue and me.
Apparently, Comet hadn’t been too impressed with our orders,
either.

Ruthie smiled sweetly. “Sorry. Club soda on
the rocks in a short glass with a twist of lime. Think you can
handle that?”

Comet glared contemptuously as she scribbled
Ruthie’s request. “It may take a while. We’re kinda busy,” she said
over her shoulder as she sashayed toward the bar.

Actually, sashay might have been a slight
understatement. Bump and grind was more like it. What a snide
thought, I chastised myself, still watching Comet wiggle across the
room. Perhaps the poor girl had on leather panties to match her bra
which were digging in the wrong place.

A young man in jeans and a tee shirt came up
behind her and patted her butt. Comet beamed. I thought of Ms.
Thong and realized I’d unconsciously clenched my fist.

“Look, there’s Jonathan McMillan,” Penny Sue
said. I followed her gaze to a man sitting at the bar. The
gentleman in question sported holey jeans, a tank top, a kerchief
tied around his head, and a big tattoo on his arm.

“How do you know him?” I asked
incredulously.

“He’s president of a bank in Marietta. Yoo
hoo, Jonathan.” Penny Sue stood up and waved. The man turned around
and grinned. The next thing I knew he was standing at our
table.

“Penny Sue Parker,” he drawled. “How’re ya
doing?” They exchanged hugs.

A moment later a woman our age appeared
beside him. She was dressed in stretch jeans and a red leather
halter top. “Marie,” Penny Sue gushed. More hugs. “You look
smashing.”

Marie’s lips stretched into a wide smile,
revealing movie star teeth (at least eleven millimeters, obligatory
for photos according to my dentist) and non-crinkled eyes. An
eye-job I presumed, and a good one. Considering her flat abdomen, I
suspected a tummy tuck had been part of the package. “It’s been
ages, Penny. What are you doing here?”

“Vacationing.” Penny Sue introduced us and
relayed the story of her daddy’s condo. “What brings you to these
parts?”

Jonathan grinned self-consciously. “Can’t
make Biketoberfest this year; have a conflict with a board meeting.
So, we thought we’d come down early for our semi-annual bike
getaway. Our chance to dress up and pretend we’re still young
characters in
Easy Rider
.”

Penny Sue patted the tattoo on his arm. It
was a skull and cross bones surrounded by roses.

“Fake,” he offered before she could say
anything. “I got it at the Harley Davidson dealership next door. A
hoot, isn’t it? This is the first one I’ve had. They’re always sold
out during Bike Week.”

I looked to Marie. “Y’all rode motorcycles
down from Atlanta?” Talk about crotch rot; I shivered at the
thought of eight hours on a motorcycle.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh no, we drove down
in our car and pulled the bikes in a trailer.”

Smart lady. If I had those teeth, I wouldn’t
want them peppered with gnats, either.

We went on to discuss where they were
staying, old friends, old memories (at our age, why does everyone
dwell on what was?) and finally the party Saturday night. They
promised to come after Penny Sue assured them it was casual. They’d
only brought biker garb.

A man—the manager I presumed from his
polite, authoritative demeanor—arrived with our drinks soon after
they left. He sat a chilled mug of ginger ale in front of me and a
glass of ice. “I know you didn’t want ice,” he said, “but the
ginger ale is warm. I put it in a cold mug, but I’m not sure
that’ll be enough.”

The contrast was startling. “What happened
to Caustic Comet?” I blurted before thinking. Ruthie’s mouth
dropped open, and my cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “That came
out the wrong way.”

“That’s all right,” the manager said.
“Haley’s new, and she didn’t get a lot of training. Seems to have
missed the lesson on customer service.”

I nodded. A shame more managers didn’t watch
their employees and insist on common civility. I looked around the
sun-filled room. I liked this place after all, although I wasn’t
sure I could go as far as wearing a leather bra.

While this was going on, Penny Sue sipped
her O’Douls and surveyed the room for suspects—or hot men. Ruthie
was engrossed in her newspaper.

Penny Sue leaned toward me suddenly and
whispered. “Quick, look. No, don’t look, he’ll see you,” she added
hastily. “I think that’s Al Maroni behind you at the far side of
the bar.”

“Should I look or not look?”

Penny Sue scanned the room casually, her
rendition of surreptitiousness. Unfortunately, the stealthy
maneuver came across as a woman trying to work out a crick in her
neck, or perhaps having a slight seizure. A second later, Penny Sue
glanced sidelong at the bar.

“Darn, he’s gone.”

I turned around to see for myself. “Are you
sure it was him?”

Penny Sue sank back dejectedly. “No, I’m not
sure. The guy had on sunglasses, and his hair was combed
differently. Sort of down in front, instead of brushed straight
back.”

“Never mind that, listen to this,” Ruthie
interrupted with a look of revulsion. “Four loggerhead sea turtles
have washed up on the beach in the last few days. One was a female.
They all had their heads and flippers cut off.”

I thought of Robert, Gerty, and the Turtle
Patrol. “Magod. The Hate Mongers?”

“Doesn’t say. Some speculate it was
commercial fishermen. Since the turtles weigh 250 to 400 pounds,
they’re the only ones capable of catching them with their huge
nets.”

“Why would they cut off their heads and
flippers?” I asked.

“Meanness,” Penny Sue said without
hesitation. “There are just a lot of mean sickos in this
world.”

“Sea turtles are endangered; it’s illegal to
mess with them.”

“Says here the perpetrators are subject to
state penalties of 60 days in jail and a $500 fine,” Ruthie said.
“Federal law is worse: two years behind bars and a $50,000
fine.”

“Which means nothing to sickos. I’ve learned
that much from Daddy. Penalties have no effect on those people.
They get a perverse thrill from seeing how far they can go, how
much they can get away with.”

My thoughts turned to Rick, Gerty and the
defiled turtle nest. Then an image of Rick’s stiff, mangled toes. I
put down my ginger ale and fought back a wave of nausea.

* * *

Coming up empty-handed at Gilley’s, we
headed back to the condo for a short nap and to change clothes
before continuing our investigation. Since Pauline saw the killer
in a bar, JB’s was our next, best prospect. We arrived at the
restaurant at about seven and waited outside on the deck for a
table. We had our eye on a booth in the corner with a clear view of
both doors, the bar, and part of the back room. We ordered drinks
(the real stuff this time, since teetotalers get no respect) and
stood along a wooden railing overlooking Mosquito Lagoon. Two
manatees rolled and splashed at our feet. The sun hung low on the
horizon. For once, the lagoon’s buzzing namesakes were inexplicably
absent. It seemed like heaven instead of a stake-out and murder
investigation.