Booked 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  Chapter 23

  I must have been really exhausted because I slept until eight and never heard my mother’s phone ring. She pointed to the coffeemaker as I staggered into the kitchen.

  “Help yourself. Myrna Mittleson called about fifteen minutes ago. Frantic. Beside herself. It’s her turn to conduct the monthly book club meeting, and she said she can’t go through with it. Not in front of so many people and the press. Didn’t want to make a fool of herself. I told her all she needs to do is follow the same dog-eared script we do each month, but she refused. Cecilia was next on the list, and she told Myrna that if she had to do it, she’d quit the club. So, that leaves me. My turn is third down the list.”

  “Mom, that’s terrific. I hope you told her you’ll do it.”

  “Like I have a choice. Shirley’s turn comes after mine, and she’s too petrified to even hold the book.”

  “Look, with you conducting the meeting, I’ll be able to step in and show them once and for all there’s no curse. No murders either. What we have are opportunistic people taking advantage of a situation in order to cover up some deaths. Deaths they’re responsible for.”

  “Wouldn’t that be murder?”

  “Not exactly. I still need time to flush out more information. The only problem is Nate. If he doesn’t get back to me by the end of the day, I’ll have nothing—just a big, fat, empty theory.”

  “From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if this detective is working overtime for you. So . . . any romantic interest?”

  “With Nate? He’s almost twenty years older than I am and no, there’s no romantic interest. We’ve known each other for a long time, working for the Mankato Police Department.”

  My mother looked a trifle disappointed. “So what’s left that you have to investigate?”

  “A motive for Thelmalee’s unfortunate encounter with the bees, the real author of The Twelfth Arrondissement (which is sitting on Nate’s lap, so to speak), and the suspicious incident involving Jeanette’s car left running in the garage the first night I got here. Oh, and not that it probably has any bearing on any of this, but the identity of the guy in the blue Mazda who I followed all the way into Surprise. The only surprise was he wasn’t going home.”

  “Well, don’t just sit there drinking coffee. Get showered. Get dressed. Get going. I mean, you do have some sort of plan to find those answers, right?”

  “An actual plan, no, but I do have a good starting place. Forget the shower. I’ll take one at the pool. It should be open by the time I get there.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “I’ll fend for myself and give you a call later, okay?”

  My mother started to pour herself another cup of coffee when the phone rang again. As she took the call, I changed into a swimsuit.

  “That was the library,” she shouted. “They’re calling everyone in the book club to let us know the meeting has been moved to the social hall in the recreation building. They anticipate a big crowd and there won’t be enough room in the library.”

  “Ca-ching. Ca-ching,” I said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that with all the local TV stations and the national ones, that book is going to hit the best-seller list by the commercial break. Unbelievable. And I just thought of something else. Halloween’s only a month away. Sales for that tome will skyrocket. I can just imagine the commercials now. Want to send a Halloween curse? We’ve got yours all wrapped up in paperback or hardcover and e-book, too.”

  “All the more reason for you to expose those charlatans.”

  “And you know what the kicker is? That book was actually good. Really well-written and interesting.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You can tell it to the book club tomorrow. Meanwhile, you don’t have much time left. And Shirley Johnson isn’t going to be the only one with a new hairdo. I’ve got to call my beautician right away before I get caught up in something.”

  I rounded up a tote for swimwear along with my bag and keys before my mother had a chance to bring up the subject of my hair. Then I was off and my mind was racing. I could think of a million and one reasons why someone would want to knock off Thelmalee’s family, but Thelmalee? Hard to say.

  The trouble with not having a plan meant opening yourself up to anything and everything. That was exactly what happened when I got to the pool. It was packed. Packed with at least twenty-five to thirty women, all lined up in the shallow end. Someone yelled out to me, “Hurry up and rinse off, you don’t want to be late.”

  I was about to say something when a voice came out of nowhere.

  “Hi! I’m Bobbi Jean and this is the Wavy Wet Water Fitness Class. Make sure you’re at least waist-deep in the water and arm’s length from your neighbor. Slowly start jogging . . .”

  The music picked up, and I looked around. It had to be a tape. And if I expected to get any information about Thelmalee, I would have to jump, kick, and jog my way around these ladies to do so.

  I was, by far, the youngest member of the class, and the worst. I was out of breath somewhere in between “jump, kick, jump” and “twist, turn, twist.” By the time the forty-minute tape was over, I was ready to collapse, and I hadn’t even accomplished what I set out to do—chat with the pool monitors and sunbathers about Thelmalee. But, as luck would have it, everything changed in an instant. I caught part of a conversation and trudged my way over to two women who were still standing in the water. I wouldn’t exactly call it eavesdropping, but it came close. I was glued to their every word.

  “I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I have to tell you, it’s been a lot more pleasant without Thelmalee here. I mean, you can actually use the space near the side without her claiming it was taken.”

  “I’ve never known a more territorial person.”

  “Thelmalee Kirkson?” I asked as they both turned around to face me.

  “Oh, I hope we haven’t offended you, if she was a friend of yours,” one of them said.

  I shook my head. “She wasn’t a friend.”

  “That’s a relief,” the woman continued, “because, if the truth be known, she wasn’t really well-liked around the pool.”

  Then the other woman added, “Well-liked? Try not liked at all.”

  It was time for me to step in, and I couldn’t wait. “What do you mean?”

  Both of them went on to explain how Thelmalee always got to the pool early so she could hog the entire space by the wall for her exercises. It was the only time she actually got in the water.

  “And if that wasn’t bad enough,” the one woman continued, “I know firsthand she was downright miserable to the ladies who wanted to sunbathe in the afternoon.”

  I zeroed in like a vulture. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’m in a sewing club with one of those ladies. Thelmalee took up three lounge chairs and refused to give them to people. Used one for her towels, one for her lotions, and one to show off that body of hers.”

  My eyes all but bulged out of my face. “Couldn’t the monitors do anything about that?”

  “I don’t think they wanted to get into a screaming match with her. And it wasn’t as if there weren’t other chairs. You know what was really strange, though?”

  “No, what?” I was salivating at the thought I might actually be on to something.

  “A few days before Thelmalee got stung, some of the afternoon sunbathers had had enough and went to the monitor to complain. And he told them that maybe they should figure out a way to scare her out of that place. Imagine that. Of course, they never had to, because the bees got to her first.”

  There it was. Right in front of me. The motive! Those ladies wanted equal billing when it came to poolside seating and literally took the monitor’s advice.

  “Do you know which monitor it was? I’m just curious. I mean, it was a clever response, huh?”

  “David Blomgarten. He’s the monitor on duty right now. The bald guy with the reddish beard. He usually
has the morning shift Monday through Thursday.”

  “Interesting. Well, I’d better shower and get moving. It was nice exercising with you.”

  “Come back anytime. Bobbi Jean’s always here at nine a.m. sharp on weekdays.”

  I headed for the locker room, showered as fast as I could, changed my clothing, and headed over to the monitor’s spot by the entrance. David Blomgarten was busying himself with a Sudoku puzzle when I approached.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m curious. Especially when it comes to divine intervention.”

  He looked up.

  “Huh?”

  “Were you absolutely flabbergasted when those bees attacked Thelmalee Kirkson after you mentioned the only way to remove her was to scare her out of here?”

  I swore the color drained from his face.

  “I don’t know what you mean, lady. I wasn’t here at the time. That happened in the afternoon.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you did say that, didn’t you? About giving her a run for her money, so to speak. I was talking with some friends, and they overheard you telling Josie Nolan and her crew the only way to remove Thelmalee was by scaring her out of there. Personally, I would have hired a bulldozer.”

  “Oh, that.” The man suddenly seemed more relaxed. Was this how the police did it? Got the perpetrator to think they were on his or her side?

  I paused for a moment to see what he would say.

  “That Thelmalee woman was making everyone at the pool miserable. I made that remark jokingly. I mean, what were those ladies going to do? Put on masks and say, ‘Boo’? Guess the only ones who took me seriously were the bees.”

  “Yeah, well, anyway, it worked. She was scared off for good. Tell me, was there any other way to remove her from the pool?”

  “Sure. By formal complaint. Your friends would have to fill out a detailed complaint form and file it at the recreation center office. Of course, they’d have to wait for months until someone acted on it, unless, of course, the form got lost and then they’d have to start all over again. I got the feeling they wanted a quick and easy solution. As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait very long.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The bee attack came a day or so later. I can’t remember exactly. It was around the time everyone came in talking about that book curse. Anyway, maintenance has been here to spray the area.”

  “I see. Well, thanks for your time and good luck with your puzzle.”

  The guy grumbled something and then looked at his numbers as I headed back to the car. Was the motive that simple? Then I remembered the Bingo game and how some of those players were beyond territorial. Maybe Josie and her crew had had enough. It still didn’t explain the relationship among the Nolans, Gretchen Morin, and Jerry White, but I felt as if I was getting closer.

  I think the temperature must have risen at least ten degrees between the time I parked the car and the time I returned to it. I removed the windshield screen and was about to turn on the engine when my phone went off. It was my mother.

  “I got what you wanted, Phee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The name. The name on Edna Mae’s death certificate. Bernie Alan just called me back. We’re going to have dinner next week at the Arrowhead Grill in Peoria. Wonderful steaks. Fancy place. Anyway, I’ve got the name for you.”

  “It’s Tomilson, isn’t it? I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “No.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “Do you want me to tell you the name or not?”

  “What is it?”

  She read the two-syllable name out loud and like a freight train jamming its brakes, the connection hit me in an instant.

  “Thanks, Mom. You’re an angel. Talk to you later.”

  The puzzle was starting to solve itself and I was along for the ride.

  Chapter 24

  After all that exercise, mental and otherwise, I was starving. What I really wanted was an honest-to-goodness breakfast, not a quick cup of coffee. I headed for the nearest little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that promised to deliver all of the above. Fortunately, I didn’t have to drive far; there was a small diner just a block or so away. I had remembered spotting it in the same complex where my mother went food shopping. The turquoise and white sign in front of the place—PUTTERS PARADISE—looked bigger than the restaurant.

  I made myself comfortable in the faded blue booth by the front window and glanced at the menu. Across from me were a few couples and in the middle of the room was a table for six, filled with men who apparently had just gotten off of the golf course.

  In the corner on the right was a younger guy working frantically on a laptop. I glanced around and, sure enough, the sign above the cash register said, WE HAVE WI-FI. I took out my iPhone and scanned for messages. The waitress had already placed my order, and I figured I wouldn’t have long to wait.

  The conversation around the middle table never strayed from golf. Not that I was trying to listen. I wasn’t. But it was impossible to ignore them. I glanced over at the guy in the corner, who was still working on his computer. Did it take that long for his food to arrive? I hoped not, since I was famished. Then he turned his head for an instant and I froze. Speechless. Dazed. It was the man from the blue Mazda. Not a single doubt in my mind.

  It was difficult to guess his age the last time I saw him, in front of the blond woman’s house on some cul-de-sac in Surprise. But I knew it was him—fabulous build, light blond hair, and the same tan khaki pants as before. I quickly spun my head around and scanned the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a blue Mazda a few rows from my car. I guess I hadn’t noticed it earlier because all I could think about was eating.

  Showtime. I’d better get off my butt and make my move. How many chances like this are going to fall into my lap?

  The man’s appearance took me completely off guard, and I was at a loss as to how to approach him. I figured I might as well be direct, even though flirting might have furthered my cause.

  “Excuse me. I hate to interrupt your meal. That is . . . er . . . um, when it gets here, but I saw you in front of my neighbor Jeanette’s house the other day, and I was wondering . . .”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked at me. No need to guess his age. He couldn’t have been any older than thirty.

  Is Jeanette really such a cougar? Is that what he thinks I am? I’ll only know when he opens his mouth.

  “My schedule is absolutely packed and I can’t fit you in for at least two weeks. Can it wait that long, or do you need someone right away?”

  Oh my God! Is this guy a high-priced gigolo? Can what wait? Can what wait? Think fast.

  “Um, uh—” Just then the waitress appeared and refilled his cup of coffee.

  “So, how’s it going, Josh? Think you can get the speed up on this thing? My boss is pitching a fit and doesn’t want to buy a new computer.”

  “Yeah, I’m working on it. Did he know there was a virus? He’s got to install a software program to prevent that.”

  “I’ll let him know when he gets in later,” the waitress said. “Oh, what the heck. Just install it. I’ll tell him I authorized it.”

  “Sure he’s going to be okay with that?”

  “He’d better be if he knows what’s good for his business.”

  “All right, then.”

  The waitress left and Josh turned back to me. “Sorry about that. So, as I was saying, my schedule is really booked up. Here’s my card. Leave me a voicemail with all your details and I’ll get you on my calendar. If it’s really an emergency, I do work late at night and on weekends. Be sure to leave me a message. I won’t remember anything if you tell me now. At least I can replay voicemail.”

  I was so relieved that I hardly knew what to say. This guy wasn’t some escort, and he wasn’t Jeanette’s boyfriend. He was her computer guy. Her computer guy! So much for the jealous wife of the boyfriend theory. Great job, Mom, for having me chase all over the place. I took the card
and put it in my bag.

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Enjoy your coffee.”

  My meal was already on my table by the time I walked back to my booth—Applewood smoked bacon, scrambled eggs, and sourdough toast. At least it hadn’t gotten too cold, but that didn’t matter. I was too overjoyed to think I had literally stumbled upon one of the neighborhood mysteries and solved it without any effort on my part. I figured that by the time the book club meeting got underway tomorrow, I’d be able to put this whole fiasco to rest.

  Unfortunately, the proverbial bubble burst the minute I walked into my mother’s house. She was just getting off the phone and motioned for me to walk over. “You’re not going to believe this, Phee. Not in a million years.”

  “What? Did someone confess?”

  “No, no, but with all the attention this book curse is getting, one of the networks is sending Vivian Knowlton to the book club meeting tomorrow.”

  I shrugged. “Who’s Vivian Knowlton?”

  My mother looked at me as if I’d asked who George Washington was. “Don’t you watch TV? Vivian Knowlton is the Psychic Diva. Her reality show is right up there with Sister Wives and that Honey Boo Boo.”

  “Sorry, Mom, but I guess I don’t watch that stuff.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, because once Vivian Knowlton gets here tomorrow, she’s going to take over that meeting.”

  “WHAT?” I could literally feel my blood pressure rising.

  “Oh, yes. It’s been arranged with the library. Gretchen Morin invited Vivian to discuss The Twelfth Arrondissement and any paranormal connections it may have regarding the cursing of people who read it.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. That meeting is going to turn into one big sideshow. I don’t know how I’ll manage to convince everyone it was a ruse. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve never been great at public speaking.”

  “Neither was that British king, what was his name? The one with the speech impediment? Colin Firth played him and was positively eloquent.”

  “I think that was King George the Sixth, but stuttering isn’t my problem. It’s going to be impossible if that psychic lady gets the crowd all riled up. I really thought I’d be able to pull all the evidence together like Miss Marple until the perpetrators finally break down. Look, I need to get ahold of Nate and try to piece things together.”