Bath Bombs & Beyond

by Violet Patton

Fanny stood beside me and we watched him sleep. “How did he get here so soon? A limey like him.” I knew limey was slang for someone from Britain, but I doubted he was English.

  “On a jet. He isn’t a limey. He’s American. He doesn’t have a British accent.”

  “What’s a jet?” Fanny asked.

  “An airplane.”

  “I’d never ride in one of those jalopies.” She leaned over near John, flickering like a mother hen fussing over a chick.

  “They’re very different now.”

  He snorted and roused, but didn’t wake.

  “How do you know others at the Arlington?” I caught her statement about knowing people at the hotel, but it took a while to register as an important fact.

  “I only know dead people. Like me.” She stuck her finger into the bullet hole again. “I hear people, but they can’t hear me.”

  No wonder ghosts have a reputation for howling, banging and rattling chains. There’s nothing worse than not being heard. Relationships would be so much more simply if people would listen to each other.

  “Right. Don’t stick your finger in there anymore. Remember, it creeps me out. I thought maybe you couldn’t see anything I can’t see. Like… we’re connected.”

  Fanny said, “We are, in a way. Don’t ask me how it happened. I’m confused. Been thinking on it…”

  John wiggled, smacking his lips. “Sorry, guess I fell asleep. I must go… get a room.” He grabbed his wig, put it on crooked and struggled to rise. He was too weak to get out of the broken-down sofa.

  “Don’t get up. You stay right there.” Compassion bloomed, and I couldn’t do a thing to help this poor fellow.

  “I must find Morris,” he muttered before another coughing attack rattled him. “David called me.”

  That statement piqued my curiosity. Veronica had called out David at the chauffeur.

  “Must go…” He struggled again.

  “Now, hold your horses. You should stay right here. We can get you a room after you’ve rested a while.” Should I call the Arlington’s concierge to book a room for him? It was the closest hotel. Considering his daughter was found dead at the hotel, it wasn’t the safest either. The Arlington might be a trap for this poor fellow. Whoever murdered Veronica might be lying in wait for him.

  He collapsed back. “I’ve been in a state. After I got the call… I couldn’t… cope. Scrambled to find a flight.”

  That made sense. When someone dies, people are compelled to be near their loved one. The deceased are static, eternally immobilized, but grief moves you into action.

  “Everything is going to be all right.” I patted his arm and a tear rolled down John’s cheek.

  For all my angst over the bath bomb situation, I hadn’t shed a single tear. Etta boohooed, clearing her fears with tears. Sandy teared up, wringing her hands and sighing. But not me, I didn’t cry. My chest tightened even though I’m the stoic one. I patted arms and said everything was going to be all right.

  Poor, dear, heartsick John Lake lost his only daughter. If I were in his shoes, I’d need someone to take care of me. My heart softened into a mushy pile of goo. A tear threatened at the corner of my eye, but I choked it back, knowing I must remain steady to help him. He was a complete stranger, but I was empathic.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m going to get help.” I picked up my cell phone to text the cavalry.

  20

  R. I. P.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sandy keyed open the security door and stopped in it, assessing the situation. “What the—?”

  Walmart shopping bags dangled from her hands. I asked her to come to the Row without any details, and she sent back she would be here ASAP. She looked wretched, but I was never so glad to see her. Her hair was rumpled, and her blouse was buttoned wrong. The most surprising part—her shoes didn’t match either.

  “Good grief. Who is that?” She put the bags on the workbench and planting her hands on her hips. “He’s quite ill.”

  For once, I appreciated her supreme medical knowledge. In my opinion, Sandy was better than a doctor. Nurses saw the bad up close, doctors visited for five minutes and went to play golf.

  I put a finger to my lips. “Shush! John Lake. Veronica’s… the victim’s father.” I gave away Veronica’s name.

  She glanced between the two of us and whirled a finger over John. “You’re joking? He knows umm…?”

  “Yeah. He knows. He’s just arrived from London.”

  “Arkansas?” Everyone who lived in the state would think Arkansas before England. Who hadn’t driven through the sleepy hamlet along the highway going toward Fayetteville to enjoy a Razorbacks football game?

  “No, England.”

  “My word…” Her chin crumpled as she tsked. “Guess you’ve seen the headlines?”

  “Boy, have I. C’mere.”

  We stood behind the counter as I relayed John’s brief story, confessing all about my conversation with Dick. Disconcerted by the news, Sandy sniffled, wiping at the corners of her eyes, barely holding it together. When I got to the part about the rat poisoned bath bombs, she teared up anew.

  “Don’t you cry. Everything’s gonna be all right.” There I went reassuring everyone else while I was filled with doubt and fear.

  Her hands shook, and she slumped onto the stool. “I can’t believe it! We’re in so much trouble.” But she rallied enough and agreed to call the list of girlfriends who attended our open house.

  She lessened my load. But guiltily, I left off Teddy’s part in the rat poison. From the innocent expression on her face, I don’t think she remembered complaining about the rats and asking Myra to put out poison.

  Any of us could’ve spiked those bath bombs with rat poison, including her.

  I glanced over the swinging doors. John hadn’t moved. “He said he was taking chemo.”

  “Pfft,” Sandy said. “I don’t like this one bit. He needs to be in the hospital. He might die on my loveseat.” If the cancer didn’t kill him, her worn out sofa might smother him.

  “He’s weak as a kitten.” I added.

  “Let me check him out.” Sandy warped into hyper-nursing mode, exactly as I planned, hurrying to the man’s side.

  Funny how what we despised doing forever—nursing for Sandy, and typing for me—now invigorated us. The thought of typing up Veronica’s murder report riled my juices because now, I wouldn’t know the intimate details about this crime.

  Leaning over him, Sandy patted him, using her hushed late-night nurse voice. “Mister! I need you to wake up.”

  “Hey.” John roused, but struggled to move. Weak as a kitten was an understatement.

  “Hi, I’m Sandy,” She offered her hand, but he couldn’t lift his arm. She grabbed his wrist, checking his pulse and placed her other hand on his forehead. “A fever. Call nine-one-one. He needs help.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” He puffed the words.

  She put two fingers on the vein at his throat and closed her eyes, silently counting his heartbeats. “Oh, no, you don’t. I won’t let you die in my shop.” She grabbed his shoulders, pulled him over and raised his feet higher than his head on the back of the loveseat.

  “His pulse is too low,” she explained. “I need to increase his blood pressure”

  He was frail, but I hadn’t thought him in the last throes.

  “He’s in shock. He needs… Mister!” She shook him again, but he was unresponsive. Sandy laid on the sofa next to him, wrapping her arms across his chest. “He’s so cold. We must get him warmed up.”

  Open less than a week, Dick had the Row’s front windows gift wrapped in yellow crime scene tape, the Sentinel blasted incriminating headlines across their front page, now the ambulance parked on Central Avenue with its lights flashing broadcasted more bad news.

  If you shopped at the Row, you might end up dead.

  John Lake wasn’t dead… yet.

  Hooked to IV fluids and on a gurney outside the shop, John rallied and before the medics lo
aded him, he reached for my hand. “Thank you for being so kind. It’s Morris, I tell you. Find him.”

  “It was nothing, really.” The paramedic waited to shove him into the ambulance as I leaned over asking, “Who’s Morris?”

  “My cousin. He was here with her… it’s his fault. I knew he’d come back here.”

  “Your cousin? To Hot Springs?”

  His grip lessened. “Morris Beasley. Graduated from high school together. Long ago.”

  My mind churned hearing his admission. Beasley was a widespread Arkansas surname. I knew it. He was from Hot Springs. As soon as I had a spare moment, I’d add Beasley and Lake to Anita’s genealogy research.

  “Here.” I slipped a Row discount card into his hand. “I’ve written my cell phone number on the back. Call me, if you need anything.”

  He squeezed my hand with what little strength he had left. “I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  “You don’t owe me. Just get well.”

  Forever in someone’s debt sounded gloomy, but he left me with a clue to who might have poisoned the bath bombs. I wasn’t a betting person, but I would bet Morris was the same Spats man who had kneed Veronica into the Lincoln.

  “Lady?” The paramedic jerked a chin, shoving on the gurney. I let go of John’s hand and watched the vehicle’s door close behind him. I might not ever see him alive again.

  I took a step toward the shop, but the paramedic opened the ambulance door and poked out his head. “Hey, he wanted me to tell you something.”

  My hands landed on my hips, copying Sandy’s stance. “What?”

  The paramedic rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “He said ask Myra, she knows what’s going on.” He ducked back, pulled the door closed and the ambulance pulled away. Its lights flashed red against the buildings.

  I couldn’t move. “What the hell?” Myra knows what? How was she involved?

  Inside, I found Sandy in the stockroom putting away her purchases.

  Her shirt was buttoned properly, but if she knew about her mismatched shoes, she wasn’t going to call attention to the fact.

  “Have you called Myra?” I asked. The words Myra knows what’s going on didn’t leave my mouth. If Myra knew what was going on between Morris Beasley and Veronica Lake, I wanted to talk to her before anyone else could.

  “No? Have you?” She pulled a paper towel roll from a twelve pack.

  “Nope, haven’t. John said he wanted to hire a private investigator.” I changed the subject.

  John’s wig was on the loveseat’s arm. We both noticed it, and Sandy said, “I feel so sorry for the old man, but I’d rather not get involved.”

  I nodded, agreeing. “I’ve had enough for the day. Let’s lock up and go home. Dick’s gonna catch us in here, but I don’t want to deal with him again.”

  “Good idea.” Too bad Sandy and I would need to deal with Dick many more times before this whole fricassee was fully stewed.

  “I think I’ll call Teddy.” I wanted to know his whereabouts, but I wasn’t about to spill the beans about his possible involvement.

  Sandy’s chin buckled into a bumpy mess. “Oh, no, you won’t. We’re in enough trouble without adding him to the mix. Don’t you dare tell him about this John. Enough already.”

  Teddy was the one person I wanted to talk to the most. If only she knew how much trouble Teddy was in. I didn’t dare remind her of him putting out the rate poison; I couldn’t have handled her meltdown.

  She busily dashed back and forth replenishing bottled waters and paper towels. Action soothed Sandy like sewing soothed Fanny. My stomach grumbled. Tacos would soothe me.

  Fanny followed Sandy, flickering behind her, batting at the empty paper towel tube as Sandy dropped it into the recycle bin. It somersaulted over the bin’s rim and hit the floor.

  “I’m all thumbs this afternoon.” Sandy picked up the paper tube.

  “You’re getting stronger, aren’t you?” I asked Fanny. She had moved the ledger, tickled Teddy’s hair and now she was playing dodge ball with a tube.

  “Are you kidding? Look at my hands.” Sandy held up one hand, it shook like a dry leaf in a good wind. “Every time I come through the door of this shop, something else has happened. I’m thinking someone hexed us.”

  “I am getting stronger. Before long, I’ll be able to fly.” Fanny flickered in happier colors.

  “Who would hex us?” There was a plethora of people would might want our shop to fail.

  Sandy snorted. “The competition, that’s who.”

  “Pfft. Are you talking about Marvell’s girls? Those gals aren’t witches with a W. They’re witches with a B.”

  Sandy shut the cabinet doors over the microwave counter. “Still, I wouldn’t put it past her. You know how competitive she is.”

  Marvell’s cronies couldn’t get their hands on our supplies. Her jealously showed by how many spies she sent, but she wasn’t stupid enough to kill someone in bath bombs. Competition was healthy, and even Marvell wouldn’t kill her potential customers.

  Sandy took a long look at the messy stockroom and sighed. “I’m going home. You should too.”

  “Have you seen anyone lurking about? Someone who was sneaky?” I asked, grinning. Fanny smiled, knowing I was talking to her.

  Sandy answered, “Of course not. You?”

  “Maybe,” Fanny said. “I’ve seen plenty of sneaks, but not one I could talk to. I’m hindered by—”

  “Hindered by what?” I asked.

  “Are you talking to me?” Sandy asked.

  “Just having another conversation in my head.”

  “Stop it. Or don’t do it out loud. Makes you look nuts.” Sandy puffed.

  “Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.” I grinned.

  “Eww. You. Stop it.” With her purse in hand, Sandy backed out the security door, holding it open. “Don’t you dare meddle in Dick’s investigation. Leave everything to him.”

  “Sure thing.” I saluted and clicked my heels together.

  Sandy grumbled and glared. “Let it go, would ya?”

  I wasn’t going to hinder Dick’s investigation, but I wasn’t going to let things go either. Clearing Teddy’s involvement was most important. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being guilty of murder.

  I needed to touch base with Myra. She just might be the key to solving the Row’s bath bomb problem. If she knew what was going on, why hadn’t she contacted me?

  Teddy first.

  Myra second.

  “Check the front door. I feel like I’m forgetting something.” Sandy left, letting the door slam.

  “Sure.” She probably didn’t hear my answer.

  On my way to check, Fanny blurted, “She’s uppity.”

  I straightened Sandy’s new closed sign. I looked around but couldn’t find anything out of place.

  “Stress will make you act bad.”

  I peeked through the door at the tourists straggling along Bathhouse Row. They looked spent, low on energy and cash. The few people browsing passed the shop but weren’t interested in the display windows.

  I rattled the door knowing it was locked. Giggling, Fanny passed through the glass.

  I unlocked it and stepped out. “Get back in here. Somebody will see you.”

  “Let’s go to the hotel.” She looked energetic, in full blown kaleidoscope Technicolor, and so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  “What? You mean you can go there?”

  Fanny passed through the glass between the shop and the sidewalk a couple of times. “See how easy it is? Like I said we have parties on the Central all the time.”

  She was distracting. I needed distraction, and I didn’t want to go home to find Anita stalking outside my front door. I’d had enough intrigue for one day without rehashing everything she’d heard through the grapevine.

  “Yeah, I remember. But, who’s we?”

  “My ghost friends. Let’s go. We can snoop around at the Arlington. Talk to folks. I can f
ind out things you can’t.”

  “Better not.” Although, snooping sounded deliciously dangerous.

  Over the years, Bubba locked up a few amateur sleuths for trespassing. Those crime solving biddies were the worst prisoners, always needing to go pee or something worse. Talk about high maintenance. They never wanted the grilled cheese sandwiches the guards brought up from the station’s commissary. Those sandwiches were the greasiest, grossest things the cook could create. After one biddy upchucked a grilled cheese in a cell, Bubba made the cook upgrade to toast and hot tea.

  Sometimes an old biddy, like Anita, could move things along faster.

  “Well… maybe. I could eat dinner at the bar.” I could find out what the staff, other than Etta, knew about Veronica. The Arlington’s Art Déco bar was a fun place to hang out, if a body was inclined to hang. I couldn’t eat at Taco Bell five nights a week.

  Fanny grabbed my elbow. “C’mon. It’s been ages since I’ve been out.” I was surprised to feel her hand. Her ghostly fingers felt far better than being poked with a sharp needle.

  “I will, if you keep your needle to yourself. No poking the hotel guests.”

  “Okay. I won’t.”

  “Let me get my purse.”

  Minutes later, I was strolling Central Avenue arm in arm with a ghost. It felt good… almost normal… to have Fanny tagging along. She jabbered, and I walked beside her, trying not to appear to be talking to myself.

  21

  Southern Club

  Tripping along the sidewalk toward the Arlington, Fanny jerked to a stop at the entrance to Josephine Tussaud’s Wax Museum.

  “Listen? Do you hear that?” She cocked an ear toward the building.

  I listened, only hearing the rush of evening traffic. Many Central Avenue businesses stayed open late. Before the evening rush, shifts changed and tourist would return to walk the promenade before heading to dinner reservations or the Superior Bathhouse Brewery for pints of beer.

  Nothing sounded unusual.

  “There’s a party! Come on. I love parties.” Fanny vanished through the museum’s wall.