Prudy's Back!

by Marja McGraw

  I moved forward, but Prudy put her hand behind her back and made a waving motion at me and my mother as if to say, leave me alone.

  “Okay you little snot-nosed, candy-ass, pain in the butt hoodlum, now hear this. Move it or lose it. This isn’t your Hood. This is my Hood, and you don’t belong here.” The buffet was her Hood? His Streets? Had they both completely lost their minds?

  I felt my blood pressure go up several notches. Now we were in for it. This kid was trouble, and we were about to become the recipients of his pent-up anger. I knew it. His arms were at his sides and his wrists were bent, hands facing backward, and the fingers were curled. I’d seen that before, in bad guys from the real Hood just before they quit posturing and became violent.

  Prudy lifted her cane and gave the kid a good shove in the chest.

  “Hey, bitch, you can’t push me! I don’ care if you’re old or not. I’m gonna rip yo head off!”

  Before I could step in, Prudy lifted the cane and shoved him again. “Come on, you little creep. I’m ready for you.”

  People were watching this exchange, but so far no one had stepped forward to help us. I didn’t think they realized exactly what was happening. They just kept shoveling food on their plates while watching the show.

  One of the food servers was waving her hands and saying she’d go find some more blintzes, but they ignored her. Could it be territorial? In a buffet line?

  The punk stepped toward her again and I reached into my backpack to pull out my pepper spray. “Someone please find the manager,” I said to the onlookers.

  “Okay, kid, you asked for it.” Prudy took a swing at his arm with the cane. Not hard enough to hurt him, but still hard enough to get his attention.

  “Hey! Whadda you think you’re doin’?” I thought I detected a note of fear and surprise in his voice.

  She whacked him again, this time catching the side of his leg.

  “Come on, lady, quit it. I ain’t hurtin’ you. We’s jus’ talkin’ here. Yo, Granny!” The bad boy had suddenly turned into a whiner.

  Prudy raised the cane again, and the kid took off running. “You go find your parents and tell them what a nasty boy you are. And wash your face and arms!” She was still yelling at him when he ran past some tables and disappeared. “And lose the hat. It looks really stupid.”

  “Prudy, what’s the matter with you? That kid could have hurt you.” I shoved the pepper spray back into my backpack.

  “Nah, he was a gang banger wannabe.”

  “What makes you think that?” My mother had stepped up and started checking Prudy’s person, as though to make sure everything was still intact. She should have been running after the kid to check him instead.

  “The ink was running on one of his tattoos. They weren’t real. Besides, the way he was speaking didn’t seem to come naturally to him. And he had to move his feet a couple of times to get the way he was standing down right.”

  I laughed. “Prudy, you can give me detecting lessons any time. I didn’t see any of that.”

  “That’s because you were too worried about me. You should have been paying more attention to him instead of me. Let me tell you right now, young lady, you don’t have to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

  My mother looked at her in wonder. “Well, Sandi, she did scare off someone trying to break into her house one time.”

  “Your mother thinks I’m frail. I’m not. I’m a crusty ol’ broad, but she can’t see it.”

  Her description of herself worked for me.

  Pete and Frank ran up to see what was going on. “Someone at the other end of the buffet said three women were down here taking on a gang member. I knew it had to be you three,” Pete said. “Are we too late to help?”

  “Yeah. Way too late. But it’s okay. Prudy took care of it.” I smiled at her and she winked in return.

  “Prudy took care of it?” He looked confused. “How did she do that?”

  “Prudy,” Frank asked, “are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It was just a little misunderstanding over a Blueberry Blintz.” Prudy proudly picked up the blintz and set it on her plate. “That young man just didn’t know these things are my favorite.”

  “So how did she take care of him?” Pete asked again.

  “Oh, she’s just a crusty ol’ broad, and women like that can take care of anything they want to. By the way, we may be taking on her case.”

  Prudy smiled and moved on to the waffles. “I feel mighty hungry this morning. I’ve worked up quite an appetite. Now let’s go back to our table and I’ll tell you the story over breakfast.”

  Pete seemed to think she meant the story about the kid, but I knew she meant the murder.

  Five

  About halfway through breakfast, Prudy began to speak, telling her story.

  “It was 1943. Brian, my husband, and I had become friends with an old man who lived down the street from us. Brian was a private detective, and this neighbor was fascinated by the stories my husband told him.

  “He was pretty much a recluse, and his house was fading fast. Brian walked down to talk to him about it one day, offering to paint the outside so it wouldn’t be such an eyesore. Of course, my husband didn’t tell Matthew he thought it was an eyesore. That was the old man’s name, Matthew Bremmer. His front porch was pretty rickety and I was afraid he’d hurt himself, so Brian fixed that, too. Matthew drew the line at taking care of his overgrown yard, even though my husband offered to mow it for him. Anyway, that’s how they began talking and became friends.”

  I nodded, listening to the story.

  “About once a week he’d meet Brian and me at a local diner. He was trying to pay Brian back for the work he did on the house by buying our breakfast. He was really just a misunderstood, lonely old man. The kids in the neighborhood didn’t like him. They teased him and threw things at the house. They didn’t understand what it was like to be old and lonely. They thought he was crazy, and his attitude didn’t help matters.

  “He’d watch the kids out of his window, and occasionally when they’d come too close to the house he’d yell at them to go away, or chase after them with a broom. One time he complained to one of the parents, but they had no sympathy. They thought he was nuts, too. Brian finally talked to the parents and told them to make their kids leave Matthew alone. Things were quiet for a while, but eventually the kids started up again.”

  Glancing around the table, I saw she had everyone’s undivided attention.

  “Let me explain. Most of the neighborhood youngsters were nice children. But there were a select few who delighted in badgering Matthew. They were spiteful. And they were mean to the other children, too. It was really a pretty nice neighborhood, except for those few brats.”

  Prudy stopped for a moment and took a drink of her coffee. She blotted her lips with a napkin in the most feminine way before continuing.

  “There was one little girl who told her father that Matthew had tricked her into coming into his house and then tried to take her doll. Can you imagine? What a ridiculous story. Unfortunately, her father believed her, but of course, he thought there was more to it. I can guarantee you that the little girl had never been inside. I questioned her, and she couldn’t describe anything inside the house. Not one single thing. But her father tried to say it was because she was scared. Bah! What a bunch of garbage. I always thought one of the older boys might have put her up to it.

  “One morning, I remember it was a Saturday, Brian and I were supposed to meet Matthew for breakfast. He didn’t show up. We worried and after we drove home we walked down to see if he was sick or something.”

  Prudy stopped and took another drink of coffee. She didn’t speak for a few minutes, and we let her take her time. Her eyes looked faraway and haunted. There was pain in her expression.

  She swallowed hard before continuing her story.

  ~ * ~

  “Knock again, Brian. I’m sure he’s home.”

  Instead of knocking again, Prudy
’s husband tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He knew that was unusual. Matthew always carefully locked his door. He was fearful of the neighborhood kids because of all the taunting.

  “I’m going in, Prudy. You wait here for me.”

  Prudy looked up because her husband was six feet and four inches, and into her husband’s brown eyes. “Not on your life. Poor Matthew may have fallen and he may need my help.”

  Brian ran his hands through a head of thick brown hair. He knew his wife would have her way.

  The couple entered the house and looked around. Their friend Matthew was a collector. Prudy shook her head as she glanced around. Every available surface was covered with stuff. She saw mail, magazines, newspapers, books, knickknacks, a bowl with matchbooks spilling out of it, a collection of ceramic animals – the list went on and on.

  “Brian, can you tell if the house has been ransacked? You’ve spent more time here than I have.”

  “Babe, I couldn’t tell you. It always looks like this.”

  Prudy swallowed hard. “Something isn’t right here. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Brian didn’t reply but made his way to the dining room. He stopped short and Prudy ran into him when he abruptly turned to face her.

  “Prudy! Go home and call the police. Matthew doesn’t have a phone. Hurry!”

  Brian tried to prevent his wife from peeking around him, but she wasn’t about to be stopped.

  “Oh, my dear God in heaven!” Prudy cried when she saw Matthew. Brian pulled her to him and she buried her face in his chest. The only sounds in the house were her muffled sobs and the tick of a clock.

  ~ * ~

  Prudy swallowed again. “We found Matthew in the dining room.” She stopped talking. Even after all the years that had passed, she had tears in her eyes.

  We sat quietly and let her pull herself together. It took a few minutes. I could hear all the conversations going on around us, but it seemed like they were far away. All you could hear at our table was silence. Pete took a drink of his coffee, and when he set the mug down it sounded like thunder. My mother stared into her cup, not knowing what to say or do. Frank appeared to be ill-at-ease.

  “He’d been beaten to death.”

  Her sudden statement and angry tone made me jump. We all looked at her expectantly.

  “That old man had been brutally beaten to death. The police said the murderer used his fists to kill Matthew. Can you imagine that?” She stared at the ceiling. Her hands were curled into balls. “He’d been beaten to a bloody pulp. I didn’t even recognize his face.”

  She stopped speaking again and seemed to be pulling herself together.

  “I’m sorry, but this is still fresh in my mind, even after all this time. Let me approach this from a different angle or I’ll start throwing things. I’m still angry.”

  She seemed to purposely relax her shoulders. “As it turned out, there were a lot of valuables lying around the house. The police even found money hidden in several places. So, obviously, the motive wasn’t robbery. It was very, very personal.”

  “Did the police find any evidence?” I asked.

  “Not really. There were a couple of fingerprints, but they were smudged. And the system back then wasn’t what it is today.”

  “They surely talked to all the neighbors,” my mother commented.

  “Of course, but they didn’t find any answers. You’d have thought someone would have bruised and cut hands. Believe you me, I looked at everyone’s hands. Walked around the neighborhood with the cops and checked them all out. Boy, were they annoyed with me. Both the cops and the neighbors. Brian wasn’t too happy with me either, but he always asked if I’d seen anything when I got home. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was too personal to have been a random act, so I figured it had to be someone on our street.”

  “Did any other evidence show up at the scene?” I was sure the police must have found something.

  “Oh, they picked up quite a few things that could be considered evidence, but there was no way to determine what was Matthew’s and what wasn’t. That was the biggest problem. He didn’t have any family, and Brian and I weren’t familiar with his house and possessions.”

  “Hmm. No family. Just you and Brian. Poor old guy.” I hate when someone is alone like that. I could understand Prudy and Brian wanting to help him.

  “How long had he been dead?” Pete asked.

  “The police said it happened around one o’clock that morning, give or take a bit.”

  Pete mulled that over. “No family. How about friends?”

  “Brian and I were all he had. Let me explain about Matthew. When he was a young man, he fell in love and asked a girl to marry him. She said yes. Then, oh, about two weeks before the wedding, the girl met someone else and disappeared. She left Matthew a note explaining that he just didn’t excite her enough. Told him he was too boring and that the new love of her life kept her feeling like she could have all the stars in the sky if she wanted them. She told Matthew that he couldn’t give her a sparkle, much less a star.

  “He was crushed, needless to say. He never went out on another date in his entire life. He stayed home and became the reclusive man that Brian and I came to know. Too bad. He really would have made someone a wonderful husband. He had a good heart, but he just wouldn’t let anyone see it after that nasty girl hurt him so much. But Brian and I were privy to seeing a side of him that he’d been saving.”

  “He told you about the girl’s letter?” I was surprised. He sounded like a man who didn’t share much of his life.

  “He’d never quite gotten over what she did. One day he brought the letter with him to our Saturday breakfast. He wanted my opinion. It seemed to confuse him that she felt that way and he wanted to know if I thought there had been something he could have done.”

  I shook my head. “You’d think she could have at least left him a nice note. I mean, why did she have to hurt him like that?” Prudy had me hooked. Matthew didn’t deserve the ending he’d met.

  Prudy shrugged. “Can you imagine how miserable his life would have been with her?”

  His life hadn’t been that great without her either, but I didn’t voice my thought.

  Pete glanced at me and nodded his approval. He knew I was going to take the case. Something in the story had apparently touched him, too.

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “But we can’t take her back to Los Angeles with us. She’s too old and feeble.”

  “What’d he say?” Prudy asked.

  “Nothing of consequence,” I said.

  “Sandi – ” Pete began.

  “We’ll discuss it later.” He didn’t understand that just because you’re elderly it doesn’t necessarily follow that you’re feeble. I wished he’d seen her dealing with the gang banger wannabe.

  “So tell me about your husband’s involvement in the investigation,” I suggested.

  “With the war going on, and so many of our young boys overseas instead of stateside, the police force had its hands full. Regardless, they conducted a very thorough investigation, but nothing came of it. With no evidence, and plenty of other things to keep them busy, Matthew’s death ended up on the back burner, so to speak.

  “That’s when Brian stepped in. He spoke to all of our neighbors, following in my footsteps, and kept meticulous notes. The police gave him permission to search Matthew’s house. Brian found letters sent to Matthew from old friends, and he read every one, hoping he might find something to give him a lead. No luck. All of the friends had disappeared over time. He found, oddly enough, letters that Matthew had written to that old girlfriend, telling her how he felt. Guess he needed to get it off his chest. He never mailed them.”

  “Is that the whole story?” I asked.

  “That’s pretty much the gist of it. I’ll fill you in on more details as we go along. You are going to take me back to L.A. with you, right? Since you’re accepting thi
s case, you’ll need me there.”

  She’d read me like a cheap dime novel.

  Six

  “Prudy, let Pete and me have today to discuss the situation. I’ll let you know for sure this evening.”

  “I’ll start packing as soon as I get home.” Prudy had made up her mind, and so had I. Pete and I needed to talk.

  “My mother sent me a copy of that photograph of you as a young woman. Love the fur coat.”

  “Yes, doll, and it’s coming out of storage. Prudy’s back!”

  I smiled, knowing she was a happy woman. It was obvious she was going to work on something she’d missed – investigating. Her voice had taken on a timbre of youth that hadn’t been there before.

  “Uh. You’re not thinking about… Never mind.” I had a picture in my mind of her smoking. She still wore cowgirl boots, and she was retrieving her fur coat from storage. The only thing left was smoking.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Prudy said, narrowing her eyes at me. “My son talked me into quitting cigarettes years ago. But that won’t stop me from carrying the holder around. I still chew on one from time to time when I have the urge to smoke. You never lose that urge, you know. At least I didn’t.”

  I shook my head and laughed. “You’re really something.”

  “Now you just have to figure out what that something is.” Her head was tilted and she was chuckling. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, doll.”

  She patted Pete’s arm. “Young fella, you and I are going to become close friends, too. You wait and see.”

  Pete appeared to enjoy the attention she was paying him. “Okay, let’s get moving. I want to do a little sightseeing before Sandi and I head home. Prudy? Would you like to join us?”

  “Thank you, son, but I’m going to pack and take a short nap this afternoon. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “Pack? But – ”

  “Pete, we’ll talk later,” I said.

  After taking Prudy home, Frank drove us up to Oatman, a very rustic historic town close to Bullhead City. I was amazed to find wild burros roaming the streets, looking for handouts. It’s said that Clark Gable and Carole Lombard spent their honeymoon at the old hotel in Oatman, once called the Durlin Hotel. The hotel didn’t rent out rooms anymore, but it sported an ice cream parlor, a restaurant and a bar.