Back in the Cadillac, Calvin tried to keep his word, but he failed. “I don’t understand,” he said. “There’s only one button.”
“These are buttons,” Gertrude said, trying to stab at an icon, but Calvin yanked the phone out of her reach.
“Don’t go messing with it,” he said. “I don’t want to have to go back in there. Can’t believe they employ blue-haired, tattooed, pierced hoodlums.”
“Well, how are we going to use it if we don’t know how to use it?”
Calvin sighed. “I have an idea.”
Gertrude waited. Calvin started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Well, are you going to share this idea with me?” Gertrude asked.
“We can go ask my granddaughter for help.”
“Your stripper granddaughter?”
“Don’t call her that,” Calvin snapped. “And yes. But don’t you dare mention that you know she is a stripper. We don’t know that, do you understand me?” Calvin sounded downright menacing.
“Yes,” Gertrude said.
“Is she in that folder? I don’t know where she lives. Her name is Shelly Stevens, unless she’s gotten married, which I doubt she has since she’s taking off her clothes for strangers for a living.”
Gertrude looked in the folder. “She lives at 7 Bean Street, and how could your granddaughter get married without you knowing?”
“I told you. I don’t talk to my daughter much.”
“You never told me that.”
“Well, I’m telling you now. Where’s Bean Street?”
“How should I know? Stop right here. I’ll go in and ask for directions.”
Calvin pulled the car over. “Here?”
“Yes, here.”
“This is a funeral home,” Calvin said.
“I can see that.”
“Most people stop at gas stations for directions.”
Gertrude looked around. “Do you see any gas stations?” She started to get out of the car.
“Stop,” Calvin said. Then he rolled down his window. “Excuse me,” he said to a woman with ridiculously red hair who was walking a basset hound. “Can you tell me where Bean Street is?”
She stopped walking. The basset hound looked relieved and lay down. “Sure,” she said from across the street. “Go back to the light and turn left. Go about a half mile until you see Maple Street. Then bang a left. Then Bean will be the third or fourth street you cross.”
“Thank you,” Calvin said and rolled up his window. The woman said something inaudible and then dragged the reluctant basset back into action. Calvin pulled back into the street and said, “What is wrong with these people’s hair?”
“You’re just jealous because they have some.”
Calvin didn’t respond. He just drove to Bean Street with his jaw clenched. Gertrude was surprised that he was still involved in this escapade at all.
Seven Bean Street was a tiny lot occupied by a tiny, dilapidated house. Calvin groaned as he shut the engine off.
“Ready?” Gertrude asked.
“There is just no need of this,” Calvin said.
“No need of what?”
“Of her living like this. Crows have always been hard workers. They’ve always lived respectably. This is disgusting.”
Gertrude didn’t know what to say, so she climbed out of the car, retrieved her walker from the back seat, and headed toward the door. After a small hesitation, Calvin was behind her. Gertrude knocked on the door, and a woman who looked too old and too chubby to be a stripper opened it.
Her eyes didn’t even give Gertrude a look, but flew right to Calvin’s face. “Dad?”
“Hi, Melissa.”
Melissa could not have looked more shocked. She stepped back to allow them entrance. Gertrude led the way into a neat living room full of well-worn furniture and toddler toys.
“Please have a seat,” Melissa said. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Do you have any Crystal Light?” Gertrude asked.
Melissa ripped her eyes away from her father long enough to give Gertrude a puzzled look. “No, sorry. But I have iced tea, hot tea, water?”
“Never mind then,” Gertrude said and plunked down on the couch.
“No, thank you,” Calvin said and sat beside Gertrude, his feet straddling a plastic fire truck. “I take it Shelly has a little one?”
“Two actually, Conner and Drew.”
“That’s nice. Where are they?”
“Swimming lessons. They should be home soon. What are you doing here?”
“Well, this here is Gertrude. She’s my neighbor. And she just got one of those new smartphones, and well, Shelly is the only young person I know. So I thought maybe she could help Gertrude figure out how to use it.”
“It’s kind of a stretch to say you know Shelly,” Melissa said.
“Well, whose fault is that?” Calvin snapped.
They heard a car pull into the drive.
12
“Grampa?” Shelly asked, her surprise palpable. The two children who trailed her through the door stopped at her legs and looked up at Calvin.
He got up from the couch and took three steps toward her. Then he bent to give her an awkward, unreciprocated hug. “Hi, Shell,” he said.
She dropped a bag on the floor, making an audible splat as wet towels hit the tiles. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Calvin forced a laugh. “Nothing!”
“Your grandpa here needs you to teach his girlfriend how to use her phone,” Melissa said with ample snark.
“No, no,” Calvin argued, and Gertrude was sure he was going to correct her nomenclature straightaway. Gertrude was mistaken. “Well, yes, I would like to have your help with the new phone, but that was really only a pretense for my visit.”
Shelly’s eyebrows went up. So did Melissa’s. And Gertrude’s.
“Oh?” Shelly asked, prodding him to continue.
“Well, I’ve just learned about the terrible death of a young woman across town, and well, it just got me thinking about you. She was about your age, I think, maybe a little older, but I just got … well … worried.”
He didn’t sound very convincing to Gertrude’s ears, even using his grampa voice, but Shelly seemed to buy it. “Well, I didn’t even know her,” she said. “I don’t even think she was local.”
“OK then, probably not. I know I didn’t recognize the name. But, so, you’re OK? Not hanging with any dangerous crowds?”
“What on earth are you up to, Dad?” Melissa asked, but Calvin didn’t look away from Shelly’s face.
“So, about this jitterbug?” Gertrude said, waving her phone in the air in an effort to break up some of the tension.
“Oh yeah,” Shelly said, reaching out for the phone. “I’m sort of an expert. Used to work at C-mobile, but they didn’t pay squat.”
Calvin rolled his eyes, but Shelly didn’t see that. She was looking at the phone.
“This is a nice one. OK, so, do you know how to turn it on and off?”
Gertrude shook her head.
Shelly showed her the power button.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Gertrude said, and patted the couch beside her.
Shelly sat down. “So, if you have a tmail address, I can plug that in, and all your contacts should automatically transfer over.”
Calvin snorted.
“What’s tmail?” Gertrude asked.
Shelly looked at her mom.
Melissa shrugged.
“OK, well, tmail is the most popular email.” She paused and looked at Gertrude doubtfully. “Email is electronic mail,” she said, speaking painfully slowly. “Like, people can send you messages and letters and stuff.”
“Oh! Nifty!” Gertrude exclaimed, sincerely delighted.
Shelly looked at her mom for guidance. Her mom didn’t offer any. “So, what should your email address be?” Shelly asked.
“Gertrude?” Gertrude offered.
“That’s probably al
ready in use. Do you want to use your last name too, or maybe a middle name?” Shelly tried.
“Oh! I know!” Gertrude exclaimed. “Gertrude Gumshoe!”
Shelly paused, apparently speechless.
“Just do it,” Calvin growled.
“OK, then. Your email address is,” she spoke while typing, “[email protected]. Shocker. Not taken. OK, so, you’ll need a password. Make sure it’s something you can remember.”
“Cats,” Gertrude said.
Shelly looked at her, confused.
“Cats is my password,” Gertrude repeated.
“You should probably pick something more complex,” Shelly tried.
“Just do it. No one is going to try to hack into this nut’s email,” Calvin said.
Gertrude gave him a dirty look.
“OK, then, you’re good to go. Now you have an email address and a phone number. Do you know your phone number?” Shelly asked.
“A-huh. The girl with blue hair wrote it down for me.”
“OK,” Shelly said uneasily. “So if you want to send someone a text, you just tap this icon, and then type in their phone number. Then, write your message, and then hit this arrow, which means send.”
“Wow!” Gertrude said. “Fancy.”
“Now these things here,” she showed Gertrude a screen full of icons, “are apps. There’s an app for just about anything. Do you want me to set up any apps for you? Maybe Facebook or Twitter?”
Calvin snorted again.
“Twitter?” Gertrude repeated incredulously. “Is that an app that makes my phone tremble? How about a recorder? Is there an app that records conversations?”
“You mean phone conversations, or face-to-face ones?” Shelly asked.
“Both.”
“Sure, let me look.” Shelly found both apps, downloaded them, and showed Gertrude how to use them.
“Fancy,” Gertrude said again.
“Anything else?” Shelly asked, sounding tired.
“Are there any cat apps?”
“Well, sure, there’s one that sends you a cat picture every day.”
“No, I mean an app for my cats.”
“Of course not,” Calvin said.
“Actually, there is. It’s just a red dot that bounces around the screen, and there’s some meowing going on in the background. It’s actually quite annoying.”
“Yeah, I want that one,” Gertrude said.
“Of course you do,” Calvin muttered. “If you turn that on in the car, I will kill you.”
“Don’t say that, Calvin,” Gertrude said matter-of-factly. “If something happens to me, you’ll be the first one they suspect.”
“Oh, something’s going to happen to you, all right,” Calvin growled.
Shelly looked at her mom, her eyes begging for help.
“OK,” Melissa said. “I think you got what you came for.”
“Indeed,” Gertrude said.
“So you didn’t know the woman?” Calvin said.
“What woman?” Shelly asked.
“The dead one,” Calvin answered.
“Nope. Don’t think so,” Shelly said.
“I hear she worked at that bar, Private Eyes,” Calvin said. “You ever go in there?”
Melissa raised an eyebrow, but Shelly’s face stayed straight, much to her credit, Gertrude thought. “I’ve been in there, yes, but I didn’t see her.”
“I hear she used to hang around with a girl goes by the name of Trixie,” Calvin said.
Now Shelly looked suspicious. “Don’t know her either.”
“OK, then,” Calvin said. “I’ll get out of your hair. You just, um, be careful, OK?”
“OK,” Shelly said uncertainly.
Calvin gave her another stiff hug, gave his daughter a curt nod, and then took a few steps to tousle the boys’ hair.
And then they were outside and on their way to the car. Gertrude found it frustratingly difficult to stare at her phone and maneuver her walker simultaneously, so she slid the phone into her walker pouch.
13
“Now what?” Calvin asked, as he pulled the car out of the driveway.
“Maybe we should just go see the mayor. I could use my app to record his confession.”
Calvin scoffed. “I should have known when you asked for that app. You won’t get within a hundred yards of the mayor.”
“Why not?”
“Because … well, because you’re you.”
“Fine. Then we need to find Trixie.”
“Right, but how? I still don’t think the bar is open. Plus, I’m not going in there,” Calvin reminded her.
“Want to try her house again?” Gertrude asked.
“Not especially.”
“We don’t have to talk to her. Let’s just go see if she’s there. Then if she is, we’ll just follow her, make sure she’s OK?”
“And what if she’s not OK? What are we going to do? Get out and thump the murderer with your walker?”
“No, you big meanieface, we’re going to use my shiny new phone to call the cops.”
“OK fine. We’ll go see if she’s home. But I’m not promising anything else after that.”
“Deal,” Gertrude agreed.
Trixie wasn’t home.
“Now what?” Calvin asked again.
“I don’t know,” Gertrude said thoughtfully. “I wish we could just go talk to the cops. They may know things that would help us.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they have DNA evidence or something? Phone records? They might know what kind of gun was used.”
“You watch too much TV. They don’t have any of that information yet. Those tests take time, and money. I doubt Somerset County is going to invest millions of dollars to figure out who killed a stripper. They’re probably doing it the old-fashioned way, just like we are,” Calvin said. Then he added, “Well, maybe not this old-fashioned.”
Gertrude thought for a minute. Then she said, “They might’ve found the gun. It might be registered to someone.”
“OK, so you’re saying you want to go talk to the cops?”
“I think so. Don’t you?” Gertrude looked at him.
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m kind of embarrassed to be wrapped up in all this. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go talk to Frank—”
“Who’s Frank?” Gertrude interrupted.
“And you think you’re a detective? Maybe you should take notes. Frank Malone, the cop, the man from the second sex photo.”
“I know who you meant. I was just testing you,” Gertrude said.
Calvin sighed. “Well, let’s go talk to him, not as a suspect, but as a cop. I’ve sort of got an in. Maybe he’ll tell us what he knows.”
Gertrude’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a great idea!” she said. “Great job, Watson!”
“I’m not Watson,” Calvin grumbled. “If anything, you’re Watson.”
Calvin pulled into the sheriff’s department lot and parked the car. Gertrude practically leapt out of her seat. She was so excited. She retrieved her walker from the back seat and headed toward the door before Calvin had even climbed out of the car.
“Can you wait a second?” Calvin called out.
“Hurry up, old man! Time’s a wastin’!”
Gertrude did make it inside first, but then she stopped dead in front of the vast counter in the sheriff’s department’s lobby. She didn’t know where to start.
Calvin walked right by her and approached the closest person in uniform.
“Can I help you, sir?” a deputy asked.
“Yes, I’d like to talk to Frank Malone. Is he in?”
“And can I ask what this is regarding?”
“I’m just an old friend. Wanted to talk with him for a bit. Won’t take long.”
The deputy looked suspicious, but he did look down at a computer screen. He pressed a few keys and then looked up at Calvin. “He’s out on patrol ri
ght now. Do you want me to call him in?”
“Nah, can you just tell me where he’s at? We can go to him.”
The deputy glanced at Gertrude, who was still standing by the door. “You sure everything’s all right?”
“Just peachy,” Calvin said, and tried to smile.
“What’s your name?” the deputy asked.
“Calvin. Calvin Crow.”
“OK, then, let me give him a call.” The deputy picked up a radio mic and said, “Somerset 15, Somerset 15?”
“Somerset 15, go ahead,” a voice replied.
“Got a Mr. Calvin Crow here says he wants to talk to you. Are you close, or do you want him to come to you? He says he’s willing.”
“Sure, I can meet him at Gifford’s ice cream scoop. Be there in ten,” Frank said.
“OK, I’ll let him know.”
The deputy turned back to Calvin.
“Gifford’s. Got it. Thanks a lot.”
Calvin headed toward the door.
Gertrude followed him out. “Oh, goodie,” she said. “I do love a good cotton candy cone.”
***
Gertrude ordered a triple scoop of cotton candy ice cream with butterscotch topping.
“I thought you were broke,” Calvin said, disgusted.
“I am, but I’ve got a Gifford’s gift card.”
Calvin rolled his eyes.
The kind-eyed woman in the green apron handed the blue ice cream through the small window.
“Thank you,” Gertrude said, taking it with one hand. With the other, she began taking napkins from the nearby dispenser, which would only allow her to remove one napkin at a time. The people behind her in line waited patiently as she plucked each napkin.
After she’d taken ten, Calvin finally said, “Enough! You don’t need any more napkins!”
Gertrude glared at him. “You won’t be saying that when we’ve got a crisis and I’ve got the napkins!”
Calvin started toward an empty picnic table. “Oh sure,” he said without turning to look at her, “my life is just full of crises that can be solved with a napkin.”
“Crisises!” Gertrude hollered after him, causing everyone within a hundred feet to look at her to see what was wrong. She was still standing directly in front of the window.
Gertrude, Gumshoe Cozy Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 7
