Gertrude, Gumshoe Cozy Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1, 2, and 3

by Robin Merrill

  She did, however, notice that one of the Goodwill employees was acting awfully suspiciously. She eyed him closely. He was sweating profusely, though he was only wearing a T-shirt under his blue apron, and the store didn’t exactly have the heat cranked up.

  “You all right, fella?” she asked.

  He looked at her as if surprised she had noticed his existence. “Um … yeah? I’ve just, I’ve never seen a dead body before,” he said.

  “I see. Well, you get used to it. This is my second.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “What’s your name?” Gertrude asked.

  “Roderick.” He looked down at his nametag as if to make sure he’d gotten it right. Then he looked back at her.

  “I’m Gertrude.”

  He nodded, still looking at her.

  Bonus points for eye contact, she thought. “Did you kill her?”

  “No!” Roderick cried, loud enough to draw attention from several people nearby. “Why would I kill her? I didn’t even know her! I mean, she came in here a lot, and I thought she was pretty, but I didn’t know her. I don’t know anyone. I just work here.”

  Gertrude stared at him closely.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. He sounded terrified.

  “I’m trying to see if you’re lying or not,” Gertrude said.

  “Of course I’m not lying! I wouldn’t lie. I don’t lie! Well, not usually …”

  “Everything OK here?” the woman who appeared to be in charge asked. She was also wearing a blue apron. Her nametag said “Manager” and “Sherri.” She had short spiky hair, but the spikes were in neat rows, and her makeup was flawless.

  “Your hair is very organized,” Gertrude observed.

  “Thank you,” Sherri said without a blink.

  “And your makeup looks fancy. Is that Grace Space?”

  “No,” Sherri said. “Are you all right, Roderick?”

  “Yes, Sherri. This lady was just asking me lots of questions. I think she thinks I killed that woman with the pretty hair. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t kill anyone, would I, Sherri? You know me! You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Yes, Roderick. I know you. And I’m sure that’s not what this customer was implying. Isn’t that right?” Sherri asked, giving Gertrude a stern look.

  “Yes, that’s right, Roderick,” Gertrude said. “I was just asking if you killed her. I wasn’t saying that you did.”

  “But I didn’t!” Roderick cried.

  Gertrude eyed him closely. Then, satisfied, she said, “I believe you.”

  A deputy stepped toward them. “You were the first one to find the body?” he asked Gertrude.

  “I was.”

  “Excuse me for a minute, folks,” the deputy said to Sherri and Roderick. He took several steps off to the side, obviously expecting Gertrude to follow. She did, after a momentary delay to retrieve her cart.

  “Can you tell me what you saw?” he asked.

  She leaned forward on the cart handle and whispered, “I saw the woman lying on the floor—”

  “Why are you whispering?” the deputy asked.

  Gertrude looked around. She leaned toward him. He leaned away from her. “I’m certain the murderer is still in here,” she whispered.

  “OK then,” the deputy said doubtfully. “Please continue.”

  “So, she was obviously dead, because there was so much blood. There was also a green lamp lying in the blood. I think that might have been the murder weapon.”

  The cop looked up. “We didn’t find any green lamp.”

  “I know,” Gertrude said, grateful that someone was at least listening to her about the stupid lamp. “When I looked up, it disappeared.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone take it?”

  “No. If I had, I would have mentioned that by now. It was there, and then someone snatched it out of the blood. Probably the murderer. If you find that green lamp, you’ll find the murderer. The lamp was really ugly, and dirty, and it had dead birds hanging off it.”

  “OK then. Did you see or hear anything else?”

  “You don’t believe me,” Gertrude observed.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. You think I’m bonkers.”

  “Ma’am, I’ve got a lot of people I’ve got to talk to. Did you see anything else?”

  “Don’t call me ma’am,” Gertrude said.

  He took that as a no, and moved on to question Roderick. Gertrude followed, but was stealthy about it.

  “Do you mind if I sit in on this?” Sherri asked. “I’m the manager, and Roderick struggles with anxiety.”

  I’ll say, Gertrude thought.

  “That would be fine,” the deputy said to Sherri. “So,” he said to Roderick, “can you tell me what happened?”

  “Sure,” Roderick said. “I heard a lady scream”—

  I didn’t scream, Gertrude thought defensively, I just gasped. Maybe a little yelp. But not a scream! I’m a professional, for crying out loud.

  —“so I went to the soap section, and I saw another lady lying on the floor. I thought she was dead, so I went to get Sherri. And she called the police. Then me and her went back to the soap section. Then you got here. And you told us to come stand—”

  “OK,” the deputy interrupted. “Did you hear or see anything else, in or near the soap section, maybe before you heard the scream?”

  I didn’t scream!

  “No,” Roderick said quickly. Too quickly.

  The policeman looked suspicious. “Have you seen anyone in here tonight, anyone behaving unusually or suspiciously?”

  Gertrude stifled a laugh. Only everyone?

  Roderick just shook his head.

  “And did you know the woman?” the policeman asked.

  “The dead one?”

  The deputy nodded.

  “No. She came in here to shop a lot. But I didn’t know her. I mean, I’ve seen her. A lot. But I don’t know her. I don’t even know her name.”

  “OK then. Thank you,” the deputy said. Then he turned to Sherri. “Let’s step over this way,” he said, and took her far enough away so that Gertrude couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  She sidled up to Roderick. “So, how hard is it to get a job here?”

  “I dunno,” Roderick said.

  “Well, how did you get a job here?”

  “I dunno,” Roderick said, and walked away.

  How rude, Gertrude thought.

  3

  Gertrude sat in her recliner, eating pickles straight out of the jar, thinking about the events of the day. She had decided to take the case. No, probably no one would pay her, but if she could get another win under her belt, perhaps people who did need to hire an investigator would take her more seriously.

  And once again, she knew more about the case than the police did, simply because the police wouldn’t listen to her. She had dusted her secret bird off and placed him on a TV tray beside her recliner. And Fog, one of the newest additions to her feline family, had promptly swatted it to the floor. But she had rescued it from further deadness, and now she held it in her hand and stared at it as she crunched on her pickle.

  The bird seemed to be made of wood, with fake feathers and eyeballs glued on. It was hideous. Even more so since she had dusted it off. But despite its lack of aesthetic appeal, it could be the key to finding Tislene’s murderer.

  Gertrude had learned from the news that the victim was Tislene Breen, a twenty-five-year-old Mattawooptock local. According to Channel 5, Tislene was unemployed, unmarried, and had no children. Hence, Gertrude wasn’t sure where to start with her investigation.

  She knew that she could look Tislene up on the Internet and probably find some information. But the library was already closed for the day. She could go visit her neighbor, Old Man Crow; he had a computer. But he was also a cranky old coot, and she didn’t want to deal with him.

  Wait! she thought suddenly. I’m not pa
ying this whopping cellular telephone bill for nothing! She fished her phone out of her walker pouch, and—though she took a circuitous route—made her way to Facebook and located Tislene Breen’s profile. Lucky for Gertrude’s investigation, Tislene didn’t care much about privacy settings.

  Apparently Tislene had lots of friends, more than a thousand, according to the social media behemoth. This number was supported by the fact that her profile page was chock-full of sad goodbyes. Gertrude read through them all painstakingly, learning essentially nothing, and eventually got to the stuff Tislene had posted before she died. She scoured these posts and photos for any hint of a conflict, but she found none. There were only pictures of Tislene laughing with friends; Tislene drinking beer; Tislene posing in the front seat of a car; Tislene posing in the backseat of a car; Tislene posing on a snowmobile. From what Gertrude could tell, Tislene had been a fun-loving, carefree girl, who loved to take pictures of herself. If she had enemies, there was no evidence of them on Facebook.

  Either everyone’s life was much better than Gertrude’s, or no one told the truth on Facebook. Gertrude knew she had to actually talk to a real person. But who?

  Gertrude clicked on a face claiming to be Tislene’s sister. Maybe I could send her a message through Facebook. Ask her a few questions that way. She pressed the message icon. Then she noticed a cute little phone icon. I can call her through Facebook? She pressed the blue phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. This is Gertrude. Are you Tislene’s sister?”

  Significant pause. “Who is this?”

  “Gertrude.”

  “Yeah, you said that. But I don’t know any Gertrude.”

  “Well, I’m Gertrude, and I’m investigating your sister’s murder.”

  “Oh, are you a cop?”

  Gertrude scrunched up her nose. “No, but I’m an investigator. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “You know it’s like ten o’clock?”

  Gertrude pulled her phone away from her ear to look at the time. Then she put the phone back to her ear. “Yes. I see that now.”

  “Well, do you always do your investigating this late?”

  “Who do you think killed your sister?”

  “Wow. Getting right to the point, aren’t you?”

  Gertrude didn’t say anything. She just waited.

  “Like I told the cops, I have no idea who killed Tislene. She didn’t have any enemies. She didn’t do drugs, except for pot. She’s never stolen anyone’s husband or boyfriend, at least not since high school—”

  “She stole someone’s husband in high school?” Gertrude interjected, mortified.

  “No! I mean high school is like the Wild West of hormones. We were all fighting. But that was a long time ago. I’m pretty sure no one from high school decided to kill my sister in Goodwill. I mean, it doesn’t sound like something that was well-planned, right? It sounds like some nutjob decided to hit my sister in the head. I doubt her killer even knew who she was.”

  Gertrude nodded, thinking.

  “Are we done?”

  “I suppose so,” Gertrude said. “Can I give you my number in case you think of anything else?”

  “I guess.”

  “OK. You got a pen?” Gertrude asked.

  “Yep.”

  “It sounds like you’re lying.”

  “What?”

  “Do you really have a pen?”

  “Yes! Just give me the stupid number!”

  “OK. 5 …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you get the 5?”

  “Yes!”

  Gertrude couldn’t imagine why the woman sounded so exasperated, but chalked her rudeness up to grief. She gave her the rest of the phone number and then hung up. Then she thought better of it, and called back.

  “What?!”

  “Can you think of anyone else I could call? Maybe someone who knew Tislene better than you?”

  “I’m her sister. No one knows, I mean knew, Tizzy better than I did.”

  “Well, there’s no way her life was perfect,” Gertrude remarked.

  “I didn’t say her life was perfect. I said she had no enemies. She was easygoing. She just wanted to have fun, but she was poor as dirt and never really found a job she liked. She wasn’t exactly a genius and wasn’t a big success or anything, but that doesn’t mean she deserved to be murdered in a thrift store!”

  “All right then. Can you think of anyone else I should call?”

  “No!” The grieving sister hung up.

  Gertrude decided it might be more fruitful to focus on finding the murder weapon. She wouldn’t need to figure out motive if she had fingerprints. But, just where was that stupid lamp? She had to get back into Goodwill. The lamp could be, probably was, long gone by now, but she had to make sure. Maybe it was simply stashed in a pile of mismatched linens. Who knew?

  Vowing to revisit Goodwill in the morning, Gertrude decided it was way past her bedtime. She checked to make sure her door was locked. (She’d been doing so every night since a stripper had snuck in in the middle of the night and knocked over her slinkies.) Then she changed into some footed pajamas, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. Some of the cats on her bed jumped out of the way to make a hole for her, but as soon as Gertrude was settled in, they returned, so that almost every part of Gertrude’s body was touching a cat. In this comfy, cozy way, Gertrude drifted off to sleep, and dreamed about dead, dusty birds.

  In the morning, Gertrude practically bounced out of bed, hurriedly got ready, and then called the CAP bus. Then she waited impatiently by her door, peering out the window, and wishing she hadn’t donned the coat and hat just yet.

  Finally, the CAP bus pulled alongside her trailer, and she said goodbye to the cats and left.

  “Where to, Gertrude?” Norman asked.

  “Back to Goodwill.”

  “Again? I would think you would be a little freaked out, after everything that happened there yesterday. You were still there, weren’t you, when they found the body?”

  “Not only was I there, I’m the one who found her. And now I’m going back to find the murder weapon.”

  Norman groaned. “Not again. Gertrude, you need to give it up. You’re not a detective. You’re not even a cop. You’re just going to get yourself hurt—or worse.”

  “Thanks for your concern, Norm. But I’ll be fine. I pinky swear it.” She stuck out a crooked little pinky finger toward Norman. He glanced at the pinky out of the corner of his eye, but chose to ignore it.

  Norman pulled into the Goodwill parking lot, which was already packed, though the store had just opened. “Lots of rubbernecks, looks like,” Norman said.

  Gertrude paused with her hand on the door handle. “Well, this just gets my goat. How am I supposed to find any evidence with all those civilians contaminating my crime scene?”

  Norman chuckled. “Civilians? Gertrude, you’re a civilian, and I’m pretty sure the ‘crime scene’ has already been processed, or the sheriff wouldn’t have let the store open.”

  Gertrude opened the door. “Fine then. I guess I have to do more than just shop here,” she said, climbing out.

  As she pulled her walker out after her, Norman asked, “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I need to get a job,” Gertrude said, and slid the van door shut. Then she turned and walked into the store.

  As the door closed behind her, she surveyed the scene before her. Had she not known any differently, she wouldn’t have imagined that someone had been murdered there the day before. It looked like an ordinary, albeit crowded, Goodwill. Although, she did notice, there were more people than usual in the perfume section.

  She approached the customer service desk, where Sherri was ringing customers up.

  “Excuse me,” Gertrude interrupted.

  Sherri didn’t even look up. “I’ll be right with you,” she said.

  Gertrude sighed and leaned on her walker to wait. She saw Roderick peek around a corner an
d then, when he saw her see him, he ducked back behind the shelves.

  Good grief that man is peculiar, Gertrude thought.

  “How can I help you?” Sherri asked.

  Gertrude appeared to have Sherri’s undivided attention. “I would like to work here.”

  “OK, great,” Sherri said, her face deadpan. “You can apply online.”

  “Oh,” Gertrude said. “Well, can’t I apply right now? I’m already here.”

  “Sorry. We only accept online applications.”

  “I don’t have Internet at my house,” Gertrude said.

  “You can access the Internet for free at the public library,” Sherri said, as if she’d said that a hundred times before.

  “Or!” Gertrude exclaimed. “Can’t I just use my jitterbug?” She pulled out her Android.

  “I suppose so,” Sherri said, and turned to ring up the next customer in line.

  Gertrude stabbed at the browser icon and then navigated her way to Goodwill’s website. Before long, she was trying not to cuss as her chubby, stubby fingers tried to type her info into those tiny fields.

  Twenty minutes later, she had officially applied for a job and had a significant crick in her neck. She stretched, rubbed her neck, and looked around, wondering what to do next.

  She decided she might as well do some snooping. So she traded her walker in for a shopping cart and tried to act nonchalantly as she made her way toward the swinging doors marked “Employees Only.” Anytime an employee neared or passed through the doors, Gertrude would pause and feign interest in whatever was closest, which at one point was a bag of golf clubs.

  She had finally arrived at the doors, and was about to push her cart through them, when someone busted out through them like a gunslinger storming a saloon. The cart protected Gertrude from injury, but she was knocked off balance, and the doors hitting the cart made a terrific crash.

  “What are you doing?” the man with thick glasses cried.