CHAPTER 10
“You know,” Adrienne said, “I’m startin’ to feel a little like whosit starin’ down that rabbit hole.”
Jonelle looked up from putting the finishing touches on a turkey sandwich. “What’re you talking about?” she asked, setting a glass of white wine in front of Adrienne.
Adrienne took a sip before answering. “You know what I mean. Things are getting curiouser and curiouser.”
Jonelle grinned. “Oh, that whosit.”
The doorbell chimed once, followed by a gentle knock.
“Be right back.”
As she opened the door, Jonelle’s eyes widened in surprise. She thought she’d seen just about all of her upstairs neighbor’s costumes, but this was a new one. “Hey Sheila. Don’t believe I’ve seen you in that outfit before.”
Sheila wore a short black wig, styled in a pompadour, with thick black pasted-on sideburns. She was dressed in a white sequined bell-bottomed jumpsuit with matching cape. Standing behind Jonelle, Adrienne let out a whoop.
“Oh… my… God,” Adrienne gasped. “Lookit you!”
Sheila spread her arms and twirled around to give the women a better look. “You think I look authentic enough?”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Jonelle responded. “I’m assuming you’re past the ‘Jailhouse Rock’ and ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ period and into the Las Vegas mode. Am I right?”
Sheila nodded and smiled. She handed Jonelle a brown paper bag. “Made some cinnamon twirls for you.”
“Thanks, Sheila. You got time to visit for a few minutes before you go?”
Sheila glanced at her watch. “Nope, sorry. Gotta run.”
“Mind if I ask you a question?” Adrienne asked, as she stood behind Jonelle.
“Shoot.”
“Uh, is this client of yours this evening a guy? Reason I ask is I wouldn’t think many guys would want to, you know, fool around with Elvis.”
Sheila smiled and lifted one eyebrow. She started to say something, then stopped and cocked her head. The low mournful sounds of a cello floated in the hallway.
“Ah,” Sheila said. “Brahms. Our wonderful Mr. Yee is practicing late tonight.”
The three listened in silence for a few moments as the playing continued.
“That’s kinda nice,” Adrienne said. “And if I remember correctly, so is Mr. Yee.”
Jonelle smiled. “He sure is.”
The three women giggled as if they shared some special secret.
“Ah, well, gotta go make a living.” Sheila turned to leave. “See you girls later.”
“Oh, hello there, Mrs. B.,” Sheila said as she rushed out. “And goodnight, Mrs. B.”
Mathilda Brobish stood in front of her apartment, eyes following Sheila.
At the sight of Jonelle’s neighbor, Adrienne groaned and scooted farther inside the condo.
“Good evening, Mathilda,” Jonelle said. “I’ve got company right now, so—”
Mathilda waved a white envelope in the air. “Got something for you, dearie.”
Jonelle walked over to see what it was. “For me? Where’d you get it?”
Mathilda started walking toward Jonelle’s door. Jonelle gently blocked her way. Mathilda tried looking past her.
“Adrienne and I are having something to eat.” Jonelle held out her other hand. “This letter is for me you said, right?”
Mathilda ignored her, envelope clutched in her hand. She leaned in closer and whispered to Jonelle. “Just between you and me, I think your little friend wears her clothes too tight. Know what I mean, dearie? It might give some gentlemen the wrong idea.”
“Adrienne is her own person, Mattie. Now about that envelope.”
Tapping the envelope against her chin, the elderly woman ignored Jonelle.
“And that other one.” Mathilda wrinkled her nose. “What on earth was she dressed as? I swear, if it wasn’t for you and that nice Mr. Yee upstairs, Franklin and I would have left years ago.” Mathilda put her hand on her heart and closed her eyes. “Just listen to that beautiful music, would you?” As Mathilda hummed along, Jonelle gently lifted the envelope from her hand.
“Oh!”
“Sorry, but I need to get back to my company. Thanks for giving me this.” Jonelle closed the door behind her neighbor who continued to hum along with the music drifting downstairs.
Adrienne peeked from behind the kitchen doorway. “Is Brunhilda with you?” she hissed.
“No, she’s not. She just wanted to give me this.”
“So now she’s taking your mail? What’s that about?”
“She got it from someone, and—”
The phone rang, interrupting Jonelle, and she rushed to answer it, putting the envelope and paper bag on the counter. “Hello? Hello?” She frowned, listening for a moment. She put the receiver down and shrugged. “Wrong number, I guess. Oh jeez, I almost forgot I had this.” Jonelle took the cigarette butt she’d found at the cemetery from her shirt pocket and showed it to Adrienne. “I need to put this in something.”
“Well, that’s just gross,” Adrienne said. “Since when did you take up smoking, and why are you keeping the butts?”
“I found it in the cemetery parking lot near my Jeep, and I’m not sure myself why I’m keeping it, but I think it may mean something.”
At the sound of the phone ringing again, the two women stopped talking and looked at it. Jonelle hesitated.
“Let the machine get it,” Adrienne suggested. “So, what do you think this disgusting cigarette means?”
“Be quiet!”
The answering machine picked up the sound of raspy breathing, with a fuzzy background noise. Jonelle leaned in closer to the machine, her face scrunched up in concentration. The phone clicked off.
Neither woman spoke. A few moments later, the phone rang again.
Jonelle grabbed it. “Listen you asshole—” She looked sheepishly at Adrienne. “Oh, sorry Uncle Marvin.”
Adrienne smiled. “Tell the captain I said hey.”
“He says ‘hey’ back at you.” Jonelle listened, nodding her head. “Somebody’s been calling and hanging up. No, it just started.” She rolled her eyes at Adrienne. “No, I haven’t done anything, Uncle Marvin. Well, I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon, but I could drop by in the morning. Say around ten? Okay, see you then. Love to Aunt Teresa. Bye.”
“What’s Marvin want to see you about?” Adrienne asked.
“He didn’t say. Just said he wanted to see me.”
“You gonna open that?” Adrienne gestured at the envelope next to the phone.
“Oops! Almost forgot the letter Mathilda gave me.”
Jonelle grabbed the envelope and took it to the living room. Her name, spelled “Johnnelle,” was written on the outside in black, block letters.
She opened it and read, “Lissen you nosie black bitch stop poking your head where it doesn’t belong or your definitely gonna regret it Im warnin you.”
Adrienne, who’d been reading the note over Jonelle’s shoulder, shouted, “What the hell is this?”
Jonelle frowned and read the words again. Her hands shook a little.
Adrienne began to pace. “Know what? I bet it’s that damn Manross, or that stupid Mexican guy you ran into at the cemetery.”
Jonelle rubbed the paper with her thumb and forefinger.
“Well, that’s it,” Adrienne said. “You gotta show this to Marvin. You can’t let those ignorant bastards try to intimidate you.”
Jonelle stared at the note. “Something isn’t quite right here,” she said quietly.
“Huh? What?” Adrienne headed for the kitchen. “I need more wine.”
Jonelle strode over to the floor lamp and looked at the note under the light. “Did you notice anything odd about this?”
“You mean besides the fact the lowlife can’t spell?”
“Precisely.”
Adrienne came and stood next to Jonelle. The smell of California Riesling wafted from Adrienne’s glass.
Jonel
le pointed to the note. “See, the words are crude, but the printing is very neat. And he misspells ‘listen’ but not ‘definitely.’”
Adrienne frowned. “So?”
“And look at the paper. Feel it.”
Adrienne reached for the note and hesitated. “Should I be wearing gloves or something? You know, in case the police want it for fingerprints?”
Shaking her head, Jonelle said, “Hold it by the edges. Go ahead. Tell me what you think.”
“Feels thick,” Adrienne said, fingering the paper. She peered more closely. “It looks… pearly… you know, expensive.”
“Exactly.”
Jonelle went to the kitchen and got two plastic storage bags. She put the cigarette butt in one and gently lay the note and envelope in the larger bag and sealed them both.
“What I’ve got here is somebody’s idea of what a threatening note should be, but he forgot to buy cheap paper to go with his cheap words.” Jonelle strode to the door. “I gotta go ask Mattie who gave this to her.”
“Hold on a minute,” Adrienne said. “If you’re gonna end up inviting Brunhilda in, I’m leaving.”
Ignoring her friend’s words, Jonelle walked next door and knocked on the Brobishes’ door. Mathilda opened it as if she’d been waiting for her.
Mathilda grinned. “Would you like to come in? I’ve just made a pot of tea.”
“I can only stay a minute.” Jonelle entered the tidy apartment. Overstuffed furniture crowded the living room. Though well-worn, the mulberry and cream-colored chintz upholstery had held up over the years. On every armrest, every headrest and sofa as well as on the surfaces of the mahogany coffee and side tables, Mathilda had placed a white hand-crocheted doily, “made by my mama, God rest her soul.”
Jonelle settled into one of the chairs. Mathilda placed a porcelain cup with delicate blue flowers around the middle in Jonelle’s hand. A plate of cookies sat on a small side table.
“Cream?” Mathilda asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Jonelle turned the cup slightly to avoid a tiny chip before taking a sip. “Tell me about the person who gave you the note.”
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Was he a black or Hispanic man?”
Mathilda’s eyebrows came together. “Well, he’s black, but he certainly isn’t a man. At least not yet.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, he’s a youngster of course.”
Of course? Jonelle tried another way. “Okay. How tall would you say he was?”
Mathilda looked as though Jonelle had suddenly sprouted a second nose.
Jonelle wondered if maybe Mathilda Brobish was beginning to lose it. “Was he shorter or taller than me?”
“I don’t know. I usually don’t see him standing much. He’s always on his bicycle.”
“Bicycle? The man was riding a bike?”
“What man?”
Jonelle sighed. “Mathilda, do you know who gave you this note?”
“Of course, dearie. That nice young man named Kenny. Lives down the street. You know him. More tea?”
Jonelle raised her voice in exasperation. “Well, do you know where he got it?”
Mathilda looked startled. Franklin, who’d been staring at the television, turned to look in their direction. He smiled and waved. “Hello. Didn’t see you there, Jonnie.”
“Hi Franklin. Sorry, Mattie.” Jonelle lowered her voice. “Do you know where Kenny got the note?”
“I asked him that,” she said, hand poised over the plate of shortbread cookies. “He said some man paid him twenty dollars to give it to you.”
“Do you know when this was?”
“Hmm.” Mathilda paused. She took a cookie from the plate and nibbled.
Jonelle waited.
“I’d just come home from the store,” Mathilda said, “and I always do my shopping at two, so I guess I saw Kenny around four. He’d just pedaled up—I suppose he got it sometime around then.”
Too early for Manross, Jonelle thought. Unless he had someone else deliver it for him. She needed to talk to Kenny.
“Did Kenny say whether the man asked for me by name?”
Mathilda shrugged. “Don’t remember him saying. Would you like me to freshen your tea up for you?”
“No thanks, Mattie. You’ve been a big help.” Jonelle placed the cup on a side table and rose from the chair.
Mathilda nodded, a huge smile on her face. “Anything I can help you with, just let me know.”
Jonelle started to reject the suggestion but thought better of it. “You know, Mattie, you just might be able to do me a favor. You and Franklin.”
Mathilda’s smile broadened.
“Could the two of you keep a lookout for anything unusual or out of the ordinary?”
Mathilda nodded briskly.
“I don’t want you to do anything, just let me know about it, the way you did with the note.”
Mathilda frowned. “Is anything wrong?”
“Oh no,” Jonelle said, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. “The note was someone’s idea of a joke.”
That someone didn’t like what Jonelle was doing, and he knew where she lived.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning Jonelle stood outside the front entrance to her building and re-examined the note Mathilda gave her last night. She held the note up to the sun, still encased in plastic, to see if there was a particular watermark or anything else unusual about the paper. Nothing jumped out at her.
“And it looks like it was printed with a plain black ballpoint pen,” she said to herself. Maybe Marvin will see something I don’t, she thought. She carefully put the letter back inside the slim leather briefcase.
She had agreed to meet her uncle for a late breakfast at their favorite casual restaurant, the None Finer Diner. After last night’s hang-up call and the note, Jonelle decided she needed two things—a heavy dose of comfort food and assistance from Marvin’s professional deductive skills. He often told her the hardest part about interviewing clients was sorting through their emotions to get at the facts of a case. But Jonelle wasn’t just a client. She was his favorite niece. She wondered if he could keep his emotions in check.
“If I’m gonna tell him about what’s been happening these past few days, I’d rather do it over a Denver omelet, home fries, and strong coffee,” she said out loud.
“Hey, Miss Jonelle,” a young voice called out. A skinny black arm waved to her from a car window.
“Kenny! Hold on a minute, Mrs. Jefferson.”
Jonelle ran to the silver SUV that had pulled to the curb.
“We’re kind of in a hurry, Jonelle,” Mrs. Jefferson said.
“Can I just ask Kenny a couple of questions?”
Not waiting for an answer, Jonelle leaned in the car window. She ignored the woman’s loud sigh and addressed the young man sitting in the backseat behind his mother.
“Kenny, do you remember the man who gave you this message?” Jonelle retrieved the note from her case.
Kenny placed the computer game on his lap and peered at the paper through thick black-framed glasses. His round dark face seemed too large for the slight body beneath it. Many times Jonelle thought it was a good thing his parents could afford to send him to private school or he’d be a punching bag for every bully in the place.
“No, I never saw that before.”
Jonelle frowned at the boy. “Mathilda said she got this from you. Oh, hold on.” Jonelle put the note away and pulled out the envelope and showed it to him.
“Oh yeah. I gave that to Mrs. Brobish yesterday.”
“Do you remember what the man who gave you this looked like?”
Kenny’s mother turned in her seat and shot him a withering look. “How many times have I told you not to talk to strangers? It’s bad enough people around here expect you to do their little piddling jobs…” She stopped and glanced at Jonelle. “Look, we’re running late, so if you don’t mind.”
“Actually I do,”
Jonelle said. “Kenny is a big help around here, Mrs. Jefferson, especially for the older folks in the neighborhood who need help with their yards or bringing in their groceries. I can think of far worse things a young man like him can do to make money.”
“And, I’m old enough to take care of myself,” Kenny mumbled.
“Your mom’s right about not speaking to strangers, though,” Jonelle said, feeling a little guilty about questioning the boy. Still, she needed to know more. “I take it the man who gave you the note doesn’t live around here?”
Kenny shook his head.
“Did he ask for me by name?”
Another shake of the head. “He just said to give it to the black lady that lived over there.” Kenny pointed to her building.
Jonelle sighed. “Tell me what you remember about him.”
“I didn’t really look at his face too good.” Kenny smiled broadly, exposing expensive orthodontic work. “All I really remember is he gave me a new twenty-dollar bill.”
“Oh for goodness’ sakes, Kenny! Am I going to have to ground you?”
“Hold on a second, Mrs. Jefferson. What about the man himself, Kenny?”
The boy screwed up his face in concentration.
Jonelle tried to help. “Was he black, white, or maybe Mexican?”
“He was a white man. He wore really cool shades.”
“Cool, how?”
“You know, like those guys wore in them, uh, those Men In Black movies.”
Jonelle nodded. “Right, I remember. Anything else?”
“Well, he drove a Benz, ‘S’ class.”
Jonelle smiled. Boys and cars. “What color?”
“Black. Really kickin’. Tinted glass.”
“Anything else you can remember? Vanity tags, maybe?”
Kenny shook his head and started fiddling with his game. “Naw. Oh, wait a sec. Yeah, now I remember. He smelled kinda funny.”
“Smelled funny? How?”
Kenny shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Oh my Lord,” Mrs. Jefferson muttered under her breath.
Jonelle ignored the woman. “Can you close your eyes and remember, Kenny?”
Mrs. Jefferson’s fingers tapped loudly on the steering wheel.
Kenny put the game back in his lap and closed his eyes. “I guess… well…” He sniffed. “I guess he kinda smelled… like that time when we visited Nana in the hospital. He smelled kinda like she did.” He opened his eyes, saw his mother frowning at him, then quickly looked at Jonelle.
Burial Plot (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 1) Page 6
