Lucille Pfiffer Mystery Series (Books 4 - 6)

by Tanya R. Taylor

  “And that is something I will never do,” he replied, rather nonchalantly.

  “Why not?” Carla asked, visibly shocked by his demeanor.

  “You wanna know the truth—and this’ll be just between us?”

  “Yes, I wanna know,” Carla insisted.

  “Because I don’t apologize to Indians—dead or alive. Whether they’re breathing or not doesn’t make one bit of difference.”

  Debbie gasped.

  “So, you’re racist!” Carla returned.

  “Whatever you wanna call it. What matters right now is my time and I’ve given you three enough of it. I cannot help you, so I will show you the door.” He pointed to it.

  “You are a horrible man!” Carla barked. “I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you’re nothing but a racist pig!”

  “So, will I!” Debbie exclaimed. “Give us our stuff!” She yanked the documents off his desk.

  “Doesn’t matter if you try to smear my good name. I don’t plan to be here for another term.” He winked.

  “You know what, Mayor Bradley…?” I interjected.

  “What?” He looked as if he couldn’t care less what I was about to say.

  “I hope some of these same Indians will visit you at your house and give you an experience you will never forget. Then maybe, you’d respect them and will quickly meet their demands.”

  “You’re too funny, Mrs. Pfiffer.” He shook his head and pressed a button on his phone. “Y’all take care of yourselves now.”

  As we stood to leave, the door of the office swung open. It was the guy who’d shown us in. As I expected, he walked us out straight into the foyer.

  “You work for a jerk, you know,” I told him. “You all work for an ugly jerk!” I cried loudly before walking out the main entrance.

  I was so angry I could’ve knocked Bradley over the head. I just didn’t feel like getting arrested that day.

  “So much for all our efforts.” Debbie was clearly despondent as we headed for the car.

  “Something will work out,” Carla said. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “How are you feeling, Lucille?” she asked.

  “Upset. Extremely,” I replied.

  “I am too. Terrance Bradley is such a fool!” she said. “I had no idea he was like that. It’s terrible to know someone like him has such an important position in our government. He obviously doesn’t care about people.”

  “I wish those ghosts will find him and torment him for sure,” Debbie said.

  “Maybe one of us should beckon them to do just that,” Carla suggested. “It might work.”

  “If they did drive him up the wall, there’s no guarantee he’d break in time or at all,” I added. “We can’t rely on something like that.”

  “You’re probably right,” Debbie said.

  Carla unlocked the doors with her remote key and after we got inside the vehicle, Debbie sighed heavily.

  “I can’t believe we couldn’t persuade him,” she said. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told her.

  “What’re you talking about Lucille? How can I not worry? How can any of us not worry?” she replied. “Aren’t you worried? Your house will be in the line of fire too, you know.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that,” I said. “I just have to think of Plan D and once I’ve thought it through and implemented it, this nightmare will be over.”

  “What’s Plan D?” Carla put the car in reverse.

  “The D stands for desperation,” I said. “It’s a plan that outlasts all the others and tends to be the most effective.”

  “What on earth are you talking about Lucille!” Debbie was exasperated.

  “The D can also stand for dirty,” I replied.

  “Oh… I think I understand.” Carla smiled as we traveled along the thoroughfare. “Your Plan D is when you play dirty when you must. Isn’t it?”

  “You’re a smart girl, Carla.” I nodded. “So far, we’ve handled this thing decently and did all the right things in order to save Harriet’s Cove. That was Plan A, which in my book stands for amicable. As you can tell, there’s nothing amicable about Plan D. Although I don’t know what it is yet, I’m sure it’ll rear its ugly head to Momma soon enough. So, don’t worry. Be concerned...but don’t worry.”

  7

  _________________

  Debbie had a slight headache and asked Carla to swing by the pharmacy on our way home. The one about three miles from our subdivision sold ice-cold drinks and even slushes, so Carla and I decided we’d accompany Debbie inside and grab a few refreshments.

  While Debbie went over to the pharmacy counter to select her pain medication, Carla and I headed over to the ‘Slushie Section’ as it was labeled according to the banner drooping from the ceiling. Carla assisted me this time, but we had a bit of trouble fitting through the narrow aisle together leading to the open slushie area.

  “My, oh, my, Lucille! I really need to drop a few pounds, don’t I?” She smiled as we kept bumping against each other as she thought she needed to hold my hand.

  I was at least two hundred pounds lighter than she was, and she was roughly seven or eight inches taller than me, so I figured we looked kind of silly squeezing through the aisle together.

  “Maybe we both need to shave off a few pounds,” I replied, intending to be nice that day. I figured being nice for a while might cause some good luck to flow my way—if it didn’t kill me— especially when I really needed all the luck I could get. Allow me to go ahead,” I told her. “I can manage all right.”

  “Are you sure?” We both stopped for a moment.

  “Believe me, I’m sure. You can finish being my eyes whenever we get through this aisle.”

  “Oh. Okay!” She followed closely behind and warned me every second not to go over too far to the left or right side. I figured that one day I really needed to be honest with these people that I could see perfectly well. All the unnecessary attention could become so annoying. Merlene and I would have to discuss that.

  We finally got to the slushie machine where Carla told me which flavors were available, then took care of what I’d selected.

  “My treat!” She said after handing me a medium-sized cup of bright red tasty goodness.

  “Why, thank you, Carla!” I replied.

  “De nada!” She giggled like a little girl.

  Carla was sweet. Just…sweet.

  She got her cup, then went over to the cashier to pay. I stood where I was, as per her request, and sipped on my slush.

  “Lucille Velma Abigail Pfiffer!” I heard someone say behind me.

  I knew that voice like I knew the back of my hand. Whenever Glenda Risdal called me by my full name she added a singing slant to it.

  “Is that you, Glenda?” I asked, on turning.

  “It sure is!” She smiled widely and gave me a great, big hug. Glenda was the manager of our local phone company and looked as lovely as ever in that teal-colored, short-sleeved pants suit she wore. I swear the woman had an angelic aura around her, unlike most people I knew in Chadsworth. She had a warmth that was undoubtedly genuine. Yes—that’s the word that pops up when I think of Glenda—genuine. She was passionate and sweet, but she was as real as they come. You didn’t mess with Glenda because Glenda could mess you up! I realized then and there the heavens smiled on me and hand delivered my Plan D!

  “I need to speak with you urgently,” I told her, prematurely freeing myself from her embrace.

  “Sure. What is it, Lucille?” she asked—a more serious expression emerged on her face.

  “Glenda Risdal!” Carla joined us. “Girl, I’ve been meaning to call you. Do I have some news for you.” Carla was her regular, bubbly self.

  “Carla, it’s nice to see you!” Glenda, gave her a partial hug and a welcoming smile.

  “You two know each other?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes! Glenda and I attended high school together and we’ve regularly kept i
n touch over the years,” Carla said.

  “Yes, we have,” Glenda affirmed.

  “Well, that’s nice. Glenda…”

  “So, what’s the latest at the phone company?” Carla said.

  “Carla, dear, would you please excuse us for a minute? I need to speak with Glenda.”

  “Oh, sure. No problem. I’ll see if Debbie’s finished.” She turned to Glenda. “Would you help Lucille over when y’all are done?”

  “Sure thing,” Glenda replied.

  Glenda and I were the only two people in the slushie area aside from the cashier who was at least ten feet away from where we stood.

  “I’m having a major problem I need some help with,” I spoke quietly.

  “A problem? What is it, Lucille?” Glenda asked.

  “Mayor Bradley. Would you happen to have anything on him?”

  She’d once mentioned to me that she had “dirt” on the powers that be and that’s why her position as manager at the phone company was secure despite how much her superiors would’ve liked to boot her out.

  “What has he done?” she asked.

  I could tell right then that the cashier—a freckled face, middle-aged woman was beginning to find our conversation rather interesting although I knew it was impossible for her to clearly hear us.

  “Can you come by my house after work?” I asked Glenda.

  “Sure. No problem. And to answer your question: I have dirt on all of those buggers—Bradley included!” She smiled.

  Her words were like music to my ears. “Perfect!”

  “See you after five.”

  As Carla, Debbie and I headed home, in a roundabout way, Carla tried to find out what Glenda and I had discussed and in a roundabout way, I ignored her. I’d decided that if Glenda was in fact my Plan D, which I deemed she was, I would not admit her involvement in anything that had to do with exposing Terrance Bradley.

  * * * *

  Glenda pulled up at five-thirty.

  “Lucille, Glenda’s here!” Anthony called.

  “I’m out back!” I replied.

  Nilla was sitting in my lap outside on my back porch as I brushed her fur. Those knots, when they developed, were nearly impossible to untangle, so I’d made it a point to brush her fur more often.

  “Here she is,” Anthony said after walking Glenda over. “Can I offer you something to drink Glenda?”

  “I’m okay, Anthony. Thank you,” she replied.

  “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up then.” He hurried off to resume whatever he had been busy doing out front.

  “Vanilla!” Glenda reached over to pet my dog.

  “Grrrr!” Nilla growled showing her those cute, white and deadly teeth of hers.

  Glenda stepped back, realizing she’d better keep her distance.

  “You said the wrong name,” I told her. “I’m the only one that can call her Vanilla and that’s only when she’s in trouble. For everyone, she’s…”

  “Nilla!” Glenda started over, trying her hand again.

  And what do you know… Nilla was as calm as a peacock—no reaction whatsoever. Glenda managed to pet her head and massaged the sides of her neck.

  “What an intelligent animal she is!” Glenda said, taking a seat next to me.

  “She surely is. To me, she’s part human, part horse and part dog,” I told her.

  “Where does the horse part come in?” She giggled. “I think I get what you mean by the other two.”

  “Have you ever seen her run? I mean really run—as in fast?”

  “I don’t...think so.”

  “Well, she gallops like a horse when she runs really fast. The boys always laugh when I say that, but it’s true. She’s just as intelligent as any human; gallops like a horse and of course, is a cute, little dog—the total package.”

  Glenda had a good laugh and I might’ve grinned a bit too.

  “So, what’s going on? What has Bradley done to piss you off?”

  I sighed deeply. “Perhaps, I should fill you in from the beginning.”

  Glenda was the type of person I could be completely at ease with regardless of what it was I had to say. Usually nothing was too over the top for her to believe, specifically if it was coming from me. At least, that’s the impression I got. I went on to explain everything from the Indian apparitions’ threat, the neighbors’ assertions of experiencing paranormal activity, as well as my futile visits to Mayor Bradley.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Lucille! To think your home and this entire neighborhood is in jeopardy must be horrifying!” she exclaimed.

  “Horrifying is putting it mildly,” I said.

  “And what a jerk Bradley is!”

  “Yep.” I gave Nilla’s fur one last stroke of the brush and set her down. She walked off prissily into the yard, then curled up next to a hibiscus tree.

  “I left work a few minutes early, so I could swing by the house and check my little black book for a particular name included there next to Bradley’s...”

  “You keep a little black book on them?” I interjected.

  “Oh, yeah!” She smiled proudly.

  “That little black book keeps me employed in this town and literally untouchable by those high society lowlifes.”

  “Is it hidden?”

  “Surely is. You can’t keep something as important as that out in the open, Lucille!”

  Glenda lived alone ever since she and her husband of seven years divorced and went their separate ways. Like me, she had no children, but she’d unofficially adopted one of Chadsworth’s orphanages as her labor of love. She’d visit the children religiously every Saturday bearing gifts and it was one of the things I greatly admired about her.

  “You go back and see Terrance Bradley and I want you to call one name to him,” she said.

  “Okay. What’s that?”

  “Felicia Adams. She’s Bradley’s best kept secret—at least, from his wife. She’s British; lives in England and has a couple of kids by Bradley who were born during the marriage. He wires exactly six thousand, three hundred dollars over to her every two months like clockwork. I’ve got the evidence for everything I’m asserting. You tell that rattlesnake of a mayor that if he doesn’t meet your demands within three days, you will expose him to his wife and this community. Everyone will know he’s no upstanding member of society and he’d lose everything, including that well-paying job of his.”

  I reached over and gripped her hand. “You—Glenda Rochelle Risdal are a gem! Girl, you’ve saved the day.” I was smiling from ear to ear. “I knew today you were my Plan D.”

  “Your what?” She grimaced.

  “Nothing. Thank you so much! If this works, you would’ve saved this entire neighborhood.”

  “Think nothing of it, Lucille. You know I’m always here for you.”

  I suddenly thought about something. “If I address him with this, can this lead back to you in any way?”

  She was silent for a few moments, then said. “Not to worry. Even if it does, I’m untouchable. I’d just advise you not to share what you know with anyone and when you see him, do so privately.”

  For some reason, when she said that, I had a strange feeling in my gut.

  “So when this is all over…”

  “When this is all over,” I interjected, “we’re gonna throw a huge neighborhood party and you’ll be my special guest.”

  “Sounds wonderful!” She smiled.

  I heard the front door shut and light chatter in the living room.

  “Is that Theodore?” I called out.

  Footsteps were quickly drawing near.

  “The one and only,” he said at the sliding door.

  “Have you met my good friend, Glenda?” I asked.

  Their eyes locked.

  “I don’t believe I have,” he said, almost in a trance. Theodore really had it bad. I think he was fickle.

  “Glenda, this is my other unadoptive adoptive son, Theodore.”

  “Pardon me. What, Lucille?”r />
  “Unadoptive adoptive. That means he’s unofficially my son. Well, who happens to be my other tenant,” I explained.

  “Interesting way you put that,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Theodore.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied.

  I caught them gazing at each other for a few seconds more and realized this required some intervention.

  “So, how was work?” I asked him.

  He didn’t answer right away as his focus was still on Glenda.

  “Theodore…” I sought to bring him back to earth.

  “Oh! Work—yes! Work was good. Thanks.”

  “Great!” I replied.

  A few moments of silence ensued, then Glenda cleared her throat. “If that’s all for now, Lucille, I’d better be heading home.”

  “Yes. I’ll give you a call tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “Thanks so much for coming by and paying me a visit.”

  She got up.

  “You mind if I walk you to the door?” Theodore offered.

  “Not at all.” She smiled.

  I was smiling too as they walked off, thinking Glenda and Theodore might make a good couple and wondered why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  I was so grateful for the privileged information Glenda had shared with me. Unfortunately, when dealing with heartless numbskulls like Terrance Bradley, one has to resort to means only reserved for the worst of humanity, as far as I’m concerned. I was about to see if his cherished “secret” would be the thing that finally made him see the light.

  I phoned Debbie and Carla that night and told them we’d be going back to Bradley’s office first thing in the morning, but I’d be going in alone to see him. When questioned as to what might’ve changed, I assured them I’d explain later.

  “There should be no secrets, Lucille!” Carla admonished. “We’re all in this together.”

  “And I don’t dispute that,” I answered. “We’re all in this together now; we weren’t before. In other words, there are certain things I need to do on my own. When you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”