Booked 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  The mailbox paralleled the edge of the driveway and was just a few feet from the set-in garbage container. Only the container’s lid was visible. The can itself was underground, a concept designed by the developers so that Sun City West would look aesthetically pleasing without unsightly garbage cans. Large pinkish rocks covered the area, only to be contained by a brick border that separated Edna’s house from her neighbor’s. I bent down and picked up one of the rocks. Heavy little sucker. I set it in the palm of my hand and used my fingertips from my free hand to move it. The rock wasn’t going anywhere. My mother said Edna had slipped on some of the rocks scattered near the mailbox. Well, unless it was a vulture or an eagle, those chunks of rock weren’t scattered there by any bird. Or a rabbit, for that matter.

  It wasn’t likely the stones were disturbed by a coyote either. I’d seen those animals on the move, and they didn’t kick up rocks like bulls or cattle. Maybe my mother wasn’t so nuts after all. I was beginning to think Edna Mae Langford slipped on those rocks because someone put them there. I stood for a second or two staring at her yard and wondering what kind of person would scatter stones in a driveway so that an elderly woman might fall. Someone interested in her money? Her property? Or worse yet, one of those disturbed individuals who always seem to make the headlines. Naked man smashes pottery against house while listening to Italian opera. I tried to get those images out of my mind as I walked back to the car.

  In spite of being set on full blast, the car’s air conditioner didn’t provide me with much relief from the heat. I all but staggered into my mother’s house a few minutes later, only to find she’d invited some friends to join us for lunch. For a would-be detective, I failed to notice the maroon Buick parked a few feet from her mailbox.

  “There you are, Phee,” my mother shouted from the kitchen as I stepped inside. “I want you to meet Shirley Johnson and Lucinda Espinoza from the book club. They’re joining us for lunch. Come on. Sit down. And don’t give Streetman any scraps. He’s under the table. He has a delicate stomach, so I only feed him grain-free food.”

  And butter cookie crumbs.

  I approached the two women, who looked up from the large platter of cold cuts, rolls, and containers of assorted deli salads my mother had placed on the kitchen table.

  Shirley was a tall, impeccably dressed black woman who looked as if she’d be more comfortable dining with heads of state rather than with my mother. Lucinda, on the other hand, was short, stout, and haphazardly put together. Her glasses kept sliding off her round face, and her hair looked as if it were stuck in the eighties.

  “Help yourselves, ladies,” my mother said. “What can I get you to drink?”

  As she poured glasses of juice or soda, I introduced myself and took one of her napkins to wipe off my forehead.

  “So,” Shirley said, “your mother was telling us you came to look into the book curse. Thank the good Lord I’m still on the waiting list for that damnable thing. Frankly, I’m not in such a hurry to read it.”

  As she reached for a Coke, I couldn’t help but admire her gorgeous manicure. Deep burgundy and red colors showed off her dark skin. Instinctively, I folded my hands so she wouldn’t notice the last manicure I had was weeks ago.

  Lucinda jumped in before I could say anything. “That’s a bunch of poppycock. I’m more than halfway through the book, and I’m still here. You know, it’s an interesting story. I’m at the part where the mistress reveals she’s really the governess’s sister and—”

  “I knew it!” I blurted out before I realized what I’d done.

  “You’re reading that book? That cursed book?” The pitch in my mother’s voice could have broken stemware from a hundred feet. She was furious.

  “Sophie Vera Kimball, how could you put yourself in this much danger?”

  “For goodness sakes, it’s not as if I’m jumping headfirst from a plane without a parachute, Mom.”

  “Bite your tongue. You still have a flight home.”

  “Honesty. I couldn’t very well look into something if I didn’t know what it was about. I downloaded the novel on my e-reader.”

  “And . . . ?” she asked.

  “And what? I haven’t finished it yet. I mean, it’s not as if everyone was given a paper copy and then they all died from some mysterious poison that had been embedded into the ink. The book’s available electronically as well as in print.”

  Lucinda gave Shirley a nudge and reached for the macaroni salad. “You see, Shirley, there’s nothing to concern yourself about. Just a bunch of hooey.”

  I paused. Too long. They could probably read the expression on my face. No wonder I never played poker. “I wouldn’t exactly say that. I have a hunch, based on what little I’ve found out so far, that, um . . . maybe, just maybe . . . some of these deaths, like Minnie Bendelson’s from eating the chicken salad, might not have been accidental.”

  Lucinda’s hands covered her mouth as she gasped.

  “So much for ‘hooey,’” Shirley added as she slowly pushed herself away from the table.

  “More salad, anyone?” My mother tried to act nonchalant, but there was no turning back from my remark. The ladies glanced at the food and then at my mother before Lucinda spoke.

  “My God, Harriet. We have no idea who prepared these salads, do we? And what about the pound cake?”

  My mother didn’t say a word but ate two slices, followed by some juice. It must have finally occurred to Lucinda Espinoza that no one was about to die of food poisoning. Not in my mother’s kitchen, anyway. As my mother wiped the crumbs from her face, she muttered something about needing to “work it off” with a Jazzercise tape. Then she brought up the subject of Jeanette Tomilson’s garage incident.

  “Someone had to have broken in, taken the key off the wall in the laundry room, and started the car without Jeanette knowing.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “How would they know she kept her keys on the wall in the laundry room, and how could they have broken in when there were no signs of anything being disturbed?”

  “That’s easy,” Shirley said between sips of coffee. “Jeanette keeps a spare key under that plastic cactus of hers by the side door to the garage. It practically screams, ‘Welcome, Burglars!’ Anyone who knows her, who’s worked for her, or has witnessed her locking herself out of the house knows they can get in.”

  Maybe that’s what happened, but I thought it was a long shot. “I don’t know, Shirley. That doesn’t explain how they knew she kept her ring of keys in the laundry room.”

  “Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe it was just a lucky break. Whoever snuck inside the garage might have been prepared to go snooping around for her handbag or something.”

  For a brief second, I envisioned Whoopi Goldberg in Burglar and stifled a laugh.

  “But she would have heard them,” I said as Lucinda looked up from her plate before breaking into the conversation.

  “Not Jeanette. You don’t know her, do you? She’s got that stupid BlueRay thing stuck in her ear all the time. She’d never hear a thing until it was too late.”

  I tried not to laugh. “You mean Bluetooth?”

  Lucinda went on. “BlueRay, Bluetooth, whatever. I swear we’ve all lost the art of conversation with human beings. All everyone does is hook themselves up to devices and gadgets all day long. That’s why I enjoy our book club so much. Gives us the chance to talk face-to-face. But now, with everyone dropping off like flies, there’ll be no book club left. We can all post a message on that Face page!”

  I wasn’t sure if Lucinda’s short tirade was for my benefit or if she was really serious. Judging from the expression on Shirley’s face, she wasn’t so sure either.

  “What I’d like to know is . . . how Edna Mae tripped over those rocks near the mailbox. She should have seen them.”

  My mother started to say something, but Lucinda cut her off. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, ladies. Edna Mae was blind as a bat without her glasses. And she was always misplacing them. That’s why she had
all those cheap reading glasses lying around her house. As long as she didn’t drive anywhere, the rest of us in Sun City West were safe. She probably walked out of the house without her driving glasses and didn’t see the rocks. I kept telling her to get bifocals, but she was so stubborn. Said they made her look old.”

  It was a no-brainer. Everyone whom Edna Mae came in contact with knew about her vision problems. Heck, even Gertie and Trudy from The Lillian mentioned it. It wouldn’t be too difficult for someone to have swung by Edna Mae’s house unnoticed and uproot some rocks near the mailbox. After all, no one saw me there today. My mind clicked into action while Lucinda continued to speak. Those two book clubbers were a veritable goldmine of information, and I had to make the most of it.

  “I don’t know how you stand this heat”—I turned to Shirley—“but this afternoon I plan to take a swim in one of the pools. Do they all have a problem with bees? I don’t want to get stung like that other lady from your group.”

  “Oh, you mean Thelmalee Kirkson. Lordy, what an awful thing. So unexpected. You know, she always carried one of those EpiPens with her. Guess she couldn’t get to it fast enough.”

  “Do you know which pool that was?”

  “I think it was at the large rec center across from the dog park,” Shirley continued. “Isn’t that what you’ve heard, Harriet?”

  My mother nodded in agreement as she reached for Lucinda’s cup. Yep, Harriet Plunkett was known to clear a table while people still had food in their mouths. As a kid, I learned to eat with one hand holding on to the plate and the other refusing to part with whatever utensil I happened to be holding.

  Concerned the conversation would end too soon, before I had a chance to ask more questions, I stood and grabbed my mother by the elbow.

  “Sit down and relax, Mom. I’ll help you with this later.”

  Unfortunately, my tactic had the opposite result. Shirley and Lucinda both started to stand. I held out the plate of pound cake so it was eye level with Lucinda.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for another piece?”

  I could tell she was tempted, but it appeared as if the Buick belonged to Shirley and Lucinda would lose her ride home.

  “Thank you, but Shirley and I have got to get going. Even though she’s a retired milliner, she agreed to design a hat for my neighbor and we’re heading over there now. Well, Shirley is. I don’t need to be there while Irma fusses over colors and materials. Anyway, it was very nice meeting you. Call me if you find out anything about the book. Your mother has my number. I can’t just put the book down and walk away. That would be like leaving my laundry in the washer because I was scared to use the dryer. Curse or no curse.”

  “Not a curse,” I said. “More like an opportunity. Do either of you know how that rumor got around about the book being cursed?”

  They all shook their heads. What followed would have made Agatha Christie shudder. Everyone spoke at once as if my mother’s kitchen had become the Tower of Babel.

  “Louise Munson heard it was cursed from Marianne Grotter.”

  “No, it was Marianne who heard it from Jeanette in the first place.”

  “Not Jeanette. She was clueless. I think the librarian thought it was cursed.”

  “No, it wasn’t the librarian. It was that guy who’s always doing the crossword puzzles.”

  “When I found out about Marilyn Scutt, that’s when it was mentioned.”

  “No, they thought it was cursed way before that.”

  Names, places, and accusations flew around the room like confetti during a New Year’s Eve celebration and lingered by the front door as Shirley and Lucinda headed out. I turned to my mother and shrugged. “Like I said before, not a curse, more like an opportunity.”

  Chapter 7

  “So, now what are you going to do?” my mother asked as I watched Shirley execute the most complicated, bizarre K-turn to go down the street.

  “I’m going to listen to my own advice and go for a swim. It’s like nine hundred degrees here. Lucky my brain hasn’t melted. By the way, thanks for getting me the visitor’s card.”

  “Let me guess. You’re going to the same pool Thelmalee was at when she got stung.”

  “You asked me to investigate, so I’m investigating. It’s the pool or a visit to the hospital’s nutritionist to see if I can get the recipe for their Asian chicken salad.”

  “You’re stopping everything to get a chicken recipe?”

  “The lady in the dog park said it was the last thing Minnie Bendelson ate. Maybe she died from a food allergy to one of the ingredients instead of passing away from a heart attack. They didn’t perform an autopsy. I don’t suppose you’d know if she had any food allergies, would you?” Since you seem to have everything else on record.

  “Hmm, she might have. I’ll call around and see what I can find out.”

  “Good. Meantime, I’m headed for the pool. Just to be on the safe side, do you have any bug repellent?”

  “Check the pantry near the laundry room. And be careful at that pool, especially since—”

  “I know. I know. Since I started reading that book. Speaking of which, when did you get the idea it might be cursed?”

  “When Marilyn Scutt was run down in her golf cart. That book was one of the few recognizable things they found at the scene of the accident.”

  I didn’t wait around for a complete description of the accident scene. I grabbed a towel, my swimsuit, and a few miscellaneous pool items before heading for the door as fast as I could, promising my mother I’d be back by five for dinner. Lighten up, Harriet Plunkett, even the military makes exceptions when you’re out on maneuvers.

  Expecting the pool to be packed by early afternoon, I resigned myself to the fact I’d have to park a good distance from the entrance. I was wrong. There were only a handful of golf carts and eight or nine cars in front of the large stucco structure that was part of the recreation center complex. The other buildings included a fitness center, bowling alley, and social hall. An enormous outdoor area for miniature golf and bocce ball was also included in the complex and bordered one of the golf courses. I nabbed a great parking spot and was relieved I could walk the distance without keeling over in the heat. As I approached the gate to the pool, a large man in swim trunks that were at least two sizes too small was having a heated discussion with the monitor.

  “I’m telling you, you guys need to enforce the rules around here. It says, NO FOOD. NO DRINKS. Well, I’ve got news for you—sugary snacks and candy are FOOD, and all those kids are dropping crumbs and crap all over the place. No wonder we have so many bees all of a sudden. If you guys were doing your job, that lady might not have gotten stung and wouldn’t have died last week.”

  My ears perked up as soon as he mentioned bees, that lady, and death.

  “That must have been awful.” I handed the monitor my visitor’s card. “Are there lots of bees milling around now?”

  “There will be,” the heavyset man replied, “if they don’t enforce a strict NO FOOD policy.”

  The monitor turned his attention to me with a look that said, “I can’t wait for my shift to end.” Then he said, “You don’t have to worry. We’ve sprayed the place. It was an anomaly, all those bees.”

  I thanked him, nodded to the other man, and walked inside the courtyard in order to find a spot for my bag and towel. The glaring sunlight stung my eyes and there was absolutely no shade, not even an awning. Blue and white lounge chairs surrounded the pool, some with small tables next to them. Even the bank of mesquite trees a few yards from the water didn’t seem to be providing any relief from the sun.

  I wanted desperately to find out where Thelmalee Kirkson had been sitting on the day of the incident but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Finally, I decided to stash my things near a group of women and bring up the topic as subtly as I could. If they didn’t know anything, they might know someone who had been there.

  “Wow, I thought it would be more crowded on a blistering d
ay like this,” I said as I arranged my towel on the lounge chair.

  “Actually, the worst of the heat is gone,” one of them replied. “Most people usually swim in the morning or walk laps in the evening so they can say they got their exercise. We sunbathers pile on the sunblock and soak it all in during the afternoon. But you’ve got to be smart about it—wide hats, big sunglasses.”

  “Yeah,” said another lady, “too bad we can’t bring our own margaritas.”

  “You probably could, Peg. No one complains about the passel of kids that arrive with their grandparents and enough snacks to feed an army,” another lady replied.

  As tempted as I was to tell them about the conversation I overheard at the gate, I decided not to get involved with pool issues and stick to my original plan of trying to find out about the incident with Thelmalee Kirkson.

  “I heard you have to watch out for bees around here.”

  A woman with a wide-brimmed sunhat and a striped towel draped over her looked up from the book she was reading.

  “Usually we don’t have many bees. They mill around by the bushes behind the pool, but last week, well . . . it was one of those freak things anyway.”

  “What was?” I tried to sound surprised.

  “A woman got stung, had a reaction, and died. Who would have ever imagined that?”

  “Yes,” the woman named Peg added, “especially since she came here every day at the same time to sunbathe. Like clockwork. Day after day. Year after year. And then, without warning—a bee sting and death. It just goes to show that when your number is up, it’s up.”

  “Was she part of your group? I mean, did she sit with all of you?”

  “No,” Peg said. “See that spot over there by the far end near the showers? That’s where she lounged. The place is wide open like the North Dakota Plains. No one wants to sit there now.”

  “When the snowbirds arrive next month, her chair and all the other ones will be taken,” someone said as I glanced at the corner where Thelmalee spent her final moments. Sure enough, there were lots of bushes behind the fence.