Miz Scarlet and the Imposing Imposter

by Sara M. Barton

  “The victim was staying here with her mother. She asked me to look after the woman while she was out this afternoon. I just need to peek in again, to see if she’s awake,” I told the investigators.

  “Anything unusual about that? Is this a service you normally provide to guests?”

  “Actually, it’s a first. And I’m worried because I found a pill bottle on the bedside table. I suspected that Lonnie was given tranquilizers, so that her daughter could go off for a few hours.” So much for Kenny’s suggestion to keep my mouth shut. There was something about that female cop that forced the truth out of me. Maybe I didn’t want her interrogating me, so I gave it up to avoid being tossed into the hot seat. I swear on my granny’s life, copper! I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!

  “Why don’t we go inside and take a look,” said the third man. He looked like he was nearing retirement age, with exhausted eyes and a slight limp, maybe from an arthritic knee acting up in the damp late winter chill. His voice was monotone, unemotional, like he had seen all this before and nothing would ever surprise him again, unless it was his wife shopping at Victoria’s Secret for his birthday.

  When we entered the front hall of the Four Acorns Inn, I led the way up the stairs. I could hear the patter of footsteps in my wake, even as Kenny picked up the pace and poked me in the back as he caught up.

  “Wow,” said the fourth member of the homicide squad, as he played caboose. “This is a hell of a house. Look at the millwork, the architectural details. The ceilings sure are high. How many rooms does this place have?”

  “Too many,” I admitted.

  “How can you say that?” There was a note of awe in his voice and I knew without looking that he was taking in the magnificence of the two-story hallway, with its finely carved moldings, painted wood paneling, and pastoral mural.

  “I have to keep it tidy.” I smiled as I faced the stair-climbing cops. Old family joke. Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to have to clean it. We waited for the senior investigator to reach the top. He was winded from the effort to navigate the sixteen steps.

  “Oh.” The young man seemed disappointed that I held a less romantic view of the Victorian charmer than he, but I didn’t care. It was true. When you’ve got that many beds to change and that many toilets to scrub, no house is ever going to feel like a fairy tale castle. That’s life. I guessed that he came from a more traditional matriarchal family structure, where Mama ironed his shorts on laundry day, her kitchen floor was so clean you could eat off it, and her home-cooked dinner was on the table promptly at six every night. Get over it, bub.

  “Their room is right this way.” I turned the corner and stopped in front of the first door on the left. With a gentle tap on the wood, to warn Lonnie she had visitors, I paused a moment, waiting for the stragglers before I put my hand on the knob and turned it. As the arched panel door swung open, I poked my head inside. “What the....”

  The bed was empty. I looked on the floor, expecting to see Lonnie there, crumpled and unconscious. Nothing. I hurried to the bathroom, thinking maybe she had tried to use the bathroom by herself and fallen. She was nowhere to be found.

  “I don’t understand. Where is she?” The crowd of five confirmed Lonnie Powick, or whatever her name really was, no longer occupied the room. “She couldn’t have just got up and waltzed off on her own.”

  “And you know this because....” It was the senior investigator, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  “Wait. Where is the wheelchair?” My eyes flew around the room, in search of the handicapped chariot, which in Lonnie’s case was a companion-operated push version, with a deep, padded seat, a safety belt, and a pouch for accessories.

  “Wheelchair?” Now he was alert. He waved the other two men in the direction of the closet and the bathroom.

  “She had a stroke. She can’t walk without assistance.”

  “Roselli, Bryce, go check the grounds. Larry and I will cover the house.” The head of the team issued his instructions and his people got moving. Kenny volunteered to help search. Even as the three men hurried out the door, I was taking stock of the guest room. Beds were remade. All personal items were gone. There were no suitcases, no pill bottles, no signs that Gretchen and Lonnie ever set foot in here. It looked as if every trace was wiped away.

  “What is going on?” I uttered, dazed by this odd turn of events. Larry, the female detective, responded.

  “Let’s sit down a moment and see what we know. You mentioned a pill bottle.”

  “It was on the table when I left her to go for that walk to the summit.” Lamely, I pointed to the now-empty spot beside the lamp.

  “Did you happen to catch the name on the bottle? The pharmacy? Anything?”

  “Yes, it was prescribed for Janice Paden. The trouble is she was registered as Lonnie Powick.”

  “Can you spell that?”

  “Which?”

  “I’ll need both names.”

  “Let me see. I have the photo right here.” I flipped through my Smartphone until I found the one.

  “You took a picture of the pill bottle? Why?”

  “I was concerned it was a case of elder abuse,” I admitted. “I’ve never heard of anyone giving tranquilizers to someone who has balance issues. It’s dangerous. And when Lonnie first arrived, she seemed much more...alert. I thought the daughter was doping her for convenience, not because it was necessary for her mother’s health.”

  “In other words, before the woman ended up dead, you were worried?”

  “Mm...too many odd things. When she said her mother wasn’t feeling well, I offered to call my cousin, who’s an experienced ER nurse, but Gretchen declined. She asked me to make her mother some food, but she didn’t care what her mother ate, which is odd because you have to be very careful with stroke patients who can’t chew, you have to watch the sodium, and so on. Gretchen just wanted to go out on her own. She could have...she should have hired an aide to sit with her mother. We offer handicapped accommodations, but it’s not part of our responsibility to care for the physical needs of our guests. We can arrange for a home care agency to send people. Gretchen didn’t even want me to call her if there was an emergency. In all the years I’ve cared for my mother, I’ve never gone anywhere for the day where I didn’t leave a contact number.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a photo of the mother?”

  “Heavens, no!” was my shocked response. I caught her snarky, little smirk. She was almost as bad as Kenny. “Look, I didn’t take the photo of the pill bottle because I’m a Gladys Kravitz. I checked all the doors for the night and she later left one unlocked. I came out on the porch to double-check and smelled cigarette smoke, even though we’re a no-smoking facility.”

  “Is that it?” she wanted to know. This time, I met her gaze and didn’t cave. “Or is there more I need to know?”

  “Some things never made any sense to me. She asked me to get her directions for the funeral home where she said her cousin was being waked, even though she had a Smartphone in her purse. Why not just use it to get the directions? And she wanted to use our computer to send emails. Who has a Smartphone and doesn’t use it to check emails?”

  “Maybe she used up all her data minutes for the month,” Larry said.

  “And maybe pigs fly.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “What?” I looked into those charcoal eyes, fierce and willing to do battle. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous! It’s an old expression.”

  “Really, you sure about that?”

  “Do you always take things so personally?” I fired back. “How in God’s name do you get any work finished?”

  “You done?” growled the woman with the gun in its holster and the shiny badge on her belt loop.

  “I am if you are,” I sniffed.

  Chapter Thirteen --

  “Boy, you are a piece of work,” she snapped. “Let’s start with some information on you.”

  “Fine.” I folded my arms and waited. The
detective was in no rush. Larry took out her notepad and a hot pink gel pen while I flopped down on one of the twin beds, now remade. She sat on the edge of the other. “Give me the details. Full name, age....”

  “Weight, hobbies....”

  “Are you always such a smart ass?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I suppose you need to have the last word.”

  “I do.”

  “Let me guess. You’re a lawyer.”

  “Nope. Teacher.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “You think so? Nice pen, by the way,” I told her with my own little smirk. The vivid color suggested that under that gruff exterior, she was still a girl at heart. Probably would have dotted her i’s with little circles if she could get away with it. Larry looked down at the instrument she clenched in her fingers and back up at me.

  “This? Why? Because it’s pink? It’s the only way I can keep my colleagues from stealing them out of my pen cup. The bastards are always trying to filch my office supplies, so I have to embarrass the crap out of them. Too cheap to buy their own.”

  “Are they? That must frost your butt,” I suggested.

  “Man, you do not give up, do you? Are you this obnoxious with your students?”

  “I teach at the high school level.” As soon as I said that, her hand shot up and she cut me off.

  “Say no more. My kid is thirteen. All mouth and attitude. Some days, I’m tempted to send her to military school. Or to live with her father, my ex. I’d do it, too, but then I’d be stuck with the kid on weekends, and frankly I prefer some time off for dating.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I grinned. “Nothing will put a crimp in your love life like a hormone-fueled teenager.”

  We did a sweep of all the guest rooms on the upper floor, along with Laurel and Lacey’s suites, before we headed downstairs. I could see the head of the state police homicide unit opening doors methodically. He found the one to the basement and disappeared down the steps.

  “What room is this?” Larry asked me as I unlocked the door to Kenny’s temporary accommodation on our hunt for the missing Lonnie.

  “Our formal library. Why Larry?”

  “Because I wanted to know.”

  “No, why are you called Larry? Were you named after your dad?”

  “Great-grandfather. You always so curious, Scarlet Wilson?”

  “You haven’t heard yet about the family monikers. We’re all named after oak trees.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Wish I was. Even the pets. This is Huckleberry,” I said, as the Yorkie followed us. And the lazy lump who just jumped up on the sofa over there is affectionately known as Scrubby, in honor of the scrub oak. My brother is Bur. You’ll probably want to talk to him at some point. He lives in the carriage house at the back of the inn. Emory’s down in Florida and Palmer’s in Oklahoma. My grandfather called us the four acorns.”

  “Hence the name of the inn.” I liked Larry. She was pretty quick on the uptake and she obviously wasn’t afraid to kick fannies. Underneath that tough cop exterior, though, she had a pretty good sense of humor.

  “What’s the deal with the guy who was with you when we arrived? You two having a thing?”

  “God, no. That’s Kenny Tolliver. He’s....” My mistake was in hesitating. Even as that split second passed, Larry was on it. She jumped into the opening before I could shut the peephole into my heart.

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “No!” I said it too quickly. I could see that. Her eyes grew wide.

  “Sore point?”

  “What?” I looked away, trying to think of a response. Lamely, I went with Kenny’s suggestion to explain his presence at the Four Acorns Inn. “He’s an old friend of my brother’s.”

  “He looked interested.”

  “In what?”

  “In you. As a woman.”

  “Kenny’s a widower. His wife died.”

  “So?”

  “He’s still wearing a wedding ring,” I acknowledged.

  “And you’re not looking to be the woman who replaces the late, great love of his life.” Larry clicked her tongue a few times. “Girl, I hear what you’re saying. I once dated a guy for three years after his divorce. I was there for all the ups and downs, all the craziness with his kids. Just before his birthday, he told me what he wanted me to give him as his gift. Space.”

  “That’s cold. What did you do?”

  “I packed his sorry-assed stuff and sent it to a galaxy far, far away.” She shook her head at the memory and chuckled heartily. That infectious laugh seemed to bubble up and spill out of her mouth. I gave her a grin.

  “How appropriate that you made him a Trekkie.”

  “It gets better. Seven months later, the bastard had the nerve to invite me to his wedding, like we were going to stay pals with benefits.”

  “The very definition of gall,” I replied.

  “Mmm,” Larry nodded several times, “you’ll find him in the dictionary under ‘horse’s ass’.

  We met up with her colleague on the sun porch. Larry did the informal introductions.

  “Max Weingarten. He’s been head of the homicide unit at the State Police for almost twenty years. Only had five unsolved cases in all that time.”

  “Impressive,” I acknowledged.

  “More like tenacious. Maxie hates to lose. It sticks in his craw. Makes him a hell of an investigator, but not much in the way of husband material. I’ve already turned down his proposal twelve times.”

  “Don’t know what you’re missing, Larry Bear,” Max insisted

  “Sure I do. You’re a workaholic with gout and a bad-tempered cat. I could handle the cat, but you work too many hours. You’ve got no life, pal.”

  “That’s because you keep turning me down.”

  Even as they bantered back and forth, I could tell they genuinely respected one another. But I had little doubt that Max was obsessed with his work. There was a serious edge to him that his lame attempts at humor couldn’t mask. Had all the years of finding killers left him too jaded for marriage? What was the guy going to do when he retired and ran out of murderers to apprehend, open a bar down in Daytona?

  I took Larry and Max on a tour of the dining room, kitchen, and sun porch. January caught up with us as we moved down the hall. Still no sign of the missing mother or her wheelchair.

  Only the living room remained on the house tour. The double doors were closed, usually a sign that Laurel was talking on the phone to one of her lady friends. No doubt someone’s relationship went south and they were discussing the blow-by-blow after-action report. I used my knuckles to tap out a heads-up.

  “Mom!” I called out to Laurel before opening the doors.. “Mom?”

  There was only silence. Larry, Max, and I entered the empty room. No sign of her.

  “She wasn’t in her bedroom,” I announced, anxiety lacing my voice with a hard edge, as I hurried out of the living room and into the only other room we hadn’t yet checked. The laundry room. Larry came along, hand on hip. “Mom? You in here?”

  “Does she normally go out on her own?” the seasoned detective wondered.

  “She’s handicapped,” was my explanation. “She gets around with a motorized wheelchair or a cane. She doesn’t drive. I don’t understand.”

  “Could she be with someone, maybe a friend or relative?

  “My brother!”

  “Why don’t you try calling him,” Max suggested. He was looking out the window at his colleague trampling through the snow. I grabbed my Smartphone and dialed.

  “Bur? Have you seen Laurel?”

  “We’re at CVS. They’re having a sale on shampoo, so Mom asked me to drive her over. We’ve done Stop and Shop, the post office, the....”

  “Oh, thank God.” I cut him off in mid-sentence.

  “What’s going on?” Now Bur was concerned. I told him about finding Gretchen in the woods.

  “Where’s Kenny?”

  “
He’s searching for Lonnie with the state police homicide team. She’s missing.”

  “But she was in bed when we left her.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Maybe about an hour ago.”

  “You left Lonnie in the house alone?”

  “No, Scar. Lacey was there, with Paul Duchamps. In the library. They were having a cup of tea together.”

  “They’re not here now,” I chided him.

  “Maybe something happened to Lonnie. Could they have driven her to the ER?”

  “Why would they do that? Why wouldn’t they call for an ambulance?” None of this made any sense. I could feel Larry and Max hovering on either side of me. “Lacey’s car is here, in the driveway.”

  “They promised to stay until we got back, Scar.” My brother sounded genuinely confused. “They would never have just gone off and left Lonnie behind. They’re too responsible.”

  “They must still be here,” was my response. It was true. Paul’s bad heart precluded them from any joyriding around town. But where and why? Please don’t let them be dead. “Max, did you check the cloakroom in the hallway?”

  “There were two doors that were locked.”

  “The library and....” Even as we made our mad dash down the hallway, my heart was thumping inside my chest. Sure enough, the antique skeleton key was missing from its usual place in the lock of the oversized coat closet. “Crap!”

  “Do you have another?” Larry asked.

  “No. We never needed one. The key is always in the lock.” No one ever removed it before. It had been there even in the years I was growing up in this house.

  “Hang on. Don’t panic,” Max said smoothly, pulling a pocket knife from his jacket. “Step aside and let a master go to work.”

  Seconds later, after jiggling the attached file blade, we heard a slight click. The homicide detective stepped back, pulled out his weapon and pointed it at the door, before he motioned for his colleague to do the same. She pulled the gun from her hip, motioned me to get safely out of the way, and stepped forward to do the honors. We all took a deep breath as Larry took the knob in one hand and gave it a good yank. The two detectives peered into the dark recesses of the closet.