LOVE, HOPES, & MARRIAGE TROPES

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “How did he lie?”

  “He told me that he hadn’t seen Bumper’s inhaler.”

  “That was a lie.”

  “How do you know that that’s a lie?” I asked, scrutinizing her.

  “I have my ways,” she said.

  “Piper told me yesterday at the funeral that he had it,” I said, wondering how she knew. “They were in the front yard that day talking. I believe her.”

  “Miriam Colter told me that he had it.”

  “The organist?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Is that what you were going to tell me at the funeral?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t think right now. I’ve got to concentrate on interrogating these two.” She hitched a thumb in Shane Blanchard and Coach Buddy’s direction. “I’m going to talk to them. You give Rhett one more call and see if he and his partner, Special Agent Aaron can’t get here.”

  “Is that what she is?” I asked. “A special agent?”

  “I’m telling you they only put the most qualified in charge of things like this. Top level.”

  “And what exactly do you want me to tell them when I reach Rhett?”

  “Tell ’em to come guns a-blazin’.”

  “Why were you two at Bumper’s funeral?” Auntie was saying when I walked in the door. I had gotten ahold of Rhett, who wanted me to spend time explaining why Auntie thought he was running a sting operation. It’s what happens when you give Babet Derbinay a tiny piece of information, I had told him. She inflates it like a soufflé.

  He’d told Auntie he had some affiliation with the FBI and that was all it took. Seemed like he should have known better than to tell her something like that.

  “Why were you there?” Auntie Zanne was saying, her small five-foot-three frame standing in front of their towering, six-foot or more ones. Wagging a finger at them, she didn’t act frightened in the least little bit.

  Where had she gotten all that courage from in the last three minutes? I stood back and watched her in action.

  “We wanted to show our respect,” Shane said, his brow creased in confusion.

  “Or was it that you wanted to announce your authority?” she said.

  “What does that mean?” Coach Buddy said.

  “Was that payback for Bumper not going to Texas A&M?” Auntie asked.

  “Not coming to A&M?” the assistant coach said. “What’dya mean? You talking about two years ago?”

  “Was what payback?” Shane said. He looked at the coach and back at Auntie. It was plain to see, they didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “His death. Or should I say murder?”

  “Oh.” Coach Buddy said the word and left his mouth in the shape it formed when it came out.

  Shane Blanchard was quiet for a moment, brows knitted together, until it hit him what Auntie Zanne was saying. “Are you accusing me of murder?” Shane blurted out the words.

  “Maybe both of you,” she said.

  “That’s laughable,” Shane Blanchard said.

  “I’m not laughing,” Auntie said, and put both of her hands on her hips.

  Just then the door swung open and I thought, Thank God, Rhett is here. I won’t have to be the one to intervene.

  But as I turned I saw it was a troupe of old people coming in, it seemed, to rally her.

  “Babet!?” Chester came charging in the door first. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  A stream of white hair, hunched shoulders and wide-eyed people, swinging cloth bags, canes and purses filed in, all gravitating behind Auntie Zanne forming a wedge, seemingly a tactical formation as they prepared for war.

  I chuckled. I had no doubt, with the looks on their faces, they could take down the two men opposing Auntie Zanne. I recognized Senior-Would-Be-Soldier Chester. He was a Roble Belle, but none of the others were. I scanned their ranks, and I saw Miriam Coulter. The organist. Ahh... These must be the JOY Club members.

  “What are they doing to you?” one of them asked. This senior was a blast from the eighties—flowered leggings, a windbreaker, sun visor, tennis shoes, and a fanny pack.

  “What are we doing to her?” Mighty Max exec Shane Blanchard boomed. “She’s accusing us of murder.”

  “Who did they kill, Babet?” another one asked, stepping forward, holding her purse ready to strike. I wasn’t sure if she’d hit anything. She had on thick glasses, her head tilted up, peering through the bottom of her lenses to make her focus better.

  “Somebody call the police.” I heard a voice cracked with age. “We’ll hold them until they get here.”

  “I’ve got the FBI coming,” Auntie Zanne said and looked my way. I nodded, acknowledging that I had reached Rhett.

  “The FBI?” Coach Buddy finally found the ability to speak. “Why in the world would you call the FBI?”

  “You know why,” Auntie Zanne said. “It is illegal to run a bribery operation and then kill someone to hide it.”

  “What the heck!” The coach took off his baseball cap and ran his hand over his head. He did a complete one-eighty, shook his head then turned back to face the Senior Soldiers. “You’ve got to be kidding, right? Who did we kill?”

  “Who did you kill, you mean,” Shane said. “Because I didn’t kill anyone.”

  The coach frowned. “I didn’t either.”

  “Bumper Hackett,” Auntie Zanne said. “That’s who.”

  “Bumper!... Not Bumper!... We need to get them! They messed with the wrong town!” Came the cries from Auntie’s warmongers, and I felt that it was time for me to step in.

  “Okay,” I said. I went over and stood between the two factions, facing Auntie’s group. I held up my hand. “We are not vigilantes. If these men did do anything wrong,” I swiveled around from the waist, looked at them, and turned back, “which we don’t know for sure that they did,” I narrowed my eyes at Auntie, “then we’ll let the authorities take care of it.”

  “Don’t be a traitor,” Auntie Zanne said to me through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m just trying to stop a riot, keeping all the Rodney Kings of the world safe.” I heard the door open and glanced that way. “And here comes Rhett.”

  Rhett came in the door smiling. He knew about Auntie’s shenanigans, although he swore he’d never known her to do anything harebrained. This time he’d have to admit that she was over the top. But if he was really in the middle of an undercover investigation, and she’d blown his cover now with her accusations, I wouldn’t expect him to be so happy about it.

  “Where’s Hailey?” Auntie said, wanting every member of her perceived Delta Force to be ready and present. “She’ll probably want to take part in this.”

  “I got this,” Rhett said. “Hi Romaine,” he said, looking over at me.

  I waved at him.

  “How about if you take this youth group into another room,” he spoke to me with that stupid smile of his, “while I talk to Babet and her captives.”

  “Happily,” I said. Anything to get away from Crazy-Lady-Zanne.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I led the way for the group into the day room. I felt as if I should be giving them milk and a piece of fruit, leading armchair exercises, or something with them.

  “Did those guys kill Bumper?” one of the seniors asked, she was sporting blue-dyed, fresh perm locks.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s for the sheriff to find out.”

  “I thought the FBI was going to work on it?” Miriam Colter said.

  I glanced back toward the front room and saw Rhett having a calm conversation with Auntie Zanne, Coach Buddy and Shane. I’d have to ask him what secret he had to get Auntie to unruffle.

  I didn’t know if Rhett was FBI, and if he were, if anyone was supposed to know it, I formed my answer with that
in mind. “Bumper’s murder,” I said to the group, “from the information I know right now, is a local matter.”

  “What do you know?” a particularly unhappy-looking senior asked. She kept her eyes on Auntie and was breathing heavily. I didn’t know if it was because she was upset about what was going on in the other room, or because she had trouble breathing due to a medical condition.

  “She knows because she’s a doctor,” Chester said.

  “You’re a doctor?” Unhappy Senior said, nothing in her tone or words said she believed that. Her eyes stayed on Auntie Zanne.

  I moved to stand in her line of view. I didn’t want whatever was happening in the other room to incite her ire any further. “I am a doctor. A medical examiner just like Doc Westin was.”

  “Are you going to be our doctor now?” the only other gentleman in the group asked. He wore his plaid pants high up on his waist, securing them with a belt that was pulled past its last notch and a yellow golf shirt tucked in tight.

  “No,” I said and smiled. “I don’t think so.”

  “Because we need one,” Fanny-Pack-Lady said. “Someone to take Doc Westin’s place and help us.”

  “I took his place in the JOY Club,” Chester said. “Since they were short one member. You know, after the Doc passed.”

  “You couldn’t take his place,” the Unhappy Senior said. “He was one of a kind. He was good to us. Took care of us.”

  “He didn’t take all that good care of us.” I looked at the speaker. It was Miriam Colter. I probably needed to speak to her. She’d been upfront at the wedding, and possibly told Auntie Zanne, although she conveniently couldn’t remember, that she saw Chase pick up the inhaler Bumper had when he collapsed.

  But now probably wasn’t the best time. Plus, I was surprised at her words against Doc Westin and wanted to find out the difference the two of them had.

  “Mrs. Colter,” I said, “you’re upset with Doc Westin?”

  “Upset doesn’t even start to describe what I am with that man,” she said, I remembered that shaky voice from the stand-down earlier.

  “What happened between the two of you?” I asked.

  “He told me he was going to take care of a matter for me and he didn’t.”

  “He died,” another senior said, she was wearing a colorful muumuu. Her face and arms thick and rosy. “He would have taken care of it, but he couldn’t.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Miriam said, pulling her purse up close to her thin chest and clutching it tightly. “He had plenty of time. Heck. It happened more than two years ago now. And I never got my money back. I don’t $500 just to give away.”

  “You didn’t have to send the money to them,” Fanny-Pack-Lady said.

  Miriam Colter slammed her cane down and used it to push herself up, she leaned against it and raised her voice, at least I think she would consider it yelling. “I was tricked,” she said, her voice straining to push more decibels out. “They tricked me. I wasn’t the only one it happened to, so watch your mouth about what you say to me.”

  “What happened?” I asked. Then I remembered. There were the initials M.C. in Doc Westin’s book.

  That must be Miriam Colter.

  It had said that she lost $500 in some sort of scam.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said and looked around the room.

  I took another look at Rhett. If he were FBI, then a Medicare scam would be right up his alley. Maybe he could help. Plus, according to Doc Westin’s note, one of my prime suspects in Bumper’s murder, Chase Turner, was involved somehow, at least his name was written in the Doc’s notebook

  “Would you like to go somewhere else?” I wanted her to feel free to speak. “We can talk in private,” I said.

  “We’ve heard enough of her whining,” Unhappy Senior said. “We came to check on the mums for homecoming.”

  “I think they’re down the hall,” I said. “In the last room there.”

  “We know where they are,” she said with a huff. “We put them there.”

  They all filed out but Miriam Colter and the woman that sat next to her. “We can go into the office,” I said, not knowing if she wanted more privacy. I looked at the other woman and smiled, not wanting her to feel put out. “I’m willing to listen to you and see what I can do to help.”

  “This is my friend, Judith Dorsch.” Mrs. Colter pointed to the woman. “She was scammed, too.”

  The J.D. in Doc Westin’s notes.

  They were the only two people he mentioned specifically, although he had written that others were involved. She didn’t seem as in much of a huff as Mrs. Colter. Her face filled with wrinkles, she wore ruby red lipstick which was spread outside of her natural lip line and had smeared onto her teeth.

  “So what happened?” I said.

  “I can’t talk long,” Miriam Colter said, she let her eyes trail behind the other seniors. “I’m in charge of the mums this year.”

  “Okay,” I said. I didn’t want to talk too much, let her do it so she wouldn’t feel I wasn’t really interested.

  “I was scammed and I know who done it,” she said.

  “No she doesn’t,” she said. “We had an idea, and Doc Westin was looking into it.”

  “You had a name?” I asked.

  “No.” Mrs. Dorsch looked at Mrs. Colter. “We’re sure it was a young person. A boy. Didn’t sound past his twenties, the one that called me.”

  “Same here,” Mrs. Colter said.

  “It was more than just us two that were scammed,” Mrs. Dorsch said. “And a couple of them said that the one that called them didn’t sound that young. One even said it was a female voice.”

  “So it sounds like it was more than one person that was involved,” I said.

  “A ring,” Mrs. Colter said.

  “What exactly happened?” I asked, recalling the notes that Doc Westin had written.

  “Someone called us,” Mrs. Dorsch said.

  “A young boy,” Mrs. Colter interrupted. “No more than seventeen or eighteen.”

  Mrs. Dorsch nodded. “Told us that there was a new insurance for Medicare Part D. If we paid $500, we’d get our prescriptions for free from now on and no more co-pays for doctor visits.”

  “I spend that much in one month for co-pays and prescriptions,” Miriam Colter said. “Sounded real good to me.”

  “But it turned out not to be good,” Mrs. Dorsch said. “We gave them our credit card information, they processed it and we never heard from them again.”

  “A scam,” Mrs. Colter said. “Who would scam old people?” She shook her head. “We’re just trying to live out our last days in peace. Not bothering anyone.”

  “Scammers target the elderly,” I said, “because they think they are easy prey.”

  “Easy prey, my butt.” She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “Well, you better believe, in this case,” Mrs. Colter said, “the hunter is going to be captured by his game.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t want to chuckle because this was very serious. But she acted as if she was ready to kill.

  “Did you speak to the authorities?” I asked.

  “I already told you,” she said, “Doc Westin was supposed to do it. Promised me he’d take care of it. But he didn’t.”

  “How many times we got to tell you,” Mrs. Dorsch shifted in her seat to face her friend, “the man died. He couldn’t do anything.”

  “It doesn’t matter because I took care of it myself,” she said. “They won’t be doing it to nobody else.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Auntie was always up and into her shenanigans early.

  By the time I left Angel’s Grace it was just past noon. Plenty of day left, and I figured I’d do a little investigating of my own. I decided that I needed to go and see Mrs. Westin.

  After
going through his boxes, I wanted to know just what Doc Westin had been up to. I had shoved my thoughts about him somehow being involved in Bumper Hackett’s murder down deep in the back of my brain. But if I was going to solve this murder, I figured I’d better find out why he wrote prescriptions for Bumper, and if it was possible that he had ricin stashed that someone could get their hands on.

  I swung by the ME’s office and picked up a couple of Doc Westin’s personal boxes. I needed a pretense for going to see his wife. Auntie had done the funeral for the good doctor, but as usual, I stayed pretty much out of sight. I didn’t want his wife thinking I was just coming by to be nosy, even though I was.

  The Westin’s lived in a ranch house in a rural community right outside of Roble. Long and low, their yellow house had green shutters around its large windows. A big porch was bordered by white spindles, a banister and two rocking chairs painted green sat on the gray wooden floor.

  Mrs. Lillian Westin was in her late sixties, she was short and squat, with long hair that was still mostly black. She had it pulled back in a bun, tiny gold hoops adorned her ears, and the only other jewelry she wore was a wedding band.

  “Hi Mrs. Westin,” I said. She had answered the door in her house slippers, a screen door between us.

  “Hi Romaine,” she said.

  “You remember me?” I said. “I hoped you would.”

  “Everyone knows Babet’s girl, the doctor. She’s not going to let anyone forget you. She’s so proud of you.”

  “That’s my auntie,” I said. “I wanted to bring you some boxes Doc Westin left at his old office.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said and pushed open the screen. “Just set them right inside the door. I was just getting ready to come out and sit on the porch. Enjoy me a little fresh air. You want to sit with me?”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’ll be nice.”

  “You want some sweet tea?” she asked.

  “No thank you,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad you brought by those boxes,” she said stepping outside, “because otherwise you might not have stopped by and I might not have seen nary a hide of any living soul today. I get so lonely around here these days and I’ll take any excuse to get some company.