Pineapple Lies

by Amy Vansant

  “I’m good. I suppose I should be the one asking you, though.”

  Declan shrugged. “It’s upsetting, of course, but in my heart I knew my mother didn’t leave me. Part of me knew she was gone.”

  “Did they confirm it was her? Did you hear?”

  “No, but the timing and the necklace…I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “Now I just need to find out why and how it happened,” he said, running his fingers through his dark hair. One wavy curl fell on his forehead as he dropped his hand, making him look like Superman. Superman in a polo and khakis; which she reasoned was really more Clark Kent’s style, but he didn’t have those glasses on that tricked people into thinking he was an entirely different, incredibly built, handsome guy.

  “Do you ever wear glasses?” she asked.

  “What?” He raised one eyebrow. “Why would I wear glasses? You mean sunglasses?”

  “No, I mean glasses glasses. Like, with thick black frames.”

  “Uh…no. Should I ask you why you ask? Or will I regret that?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “No, don’t ask. I think I’ll regret it if you do.”

  “Fair enough. Can I ask why you stopped by one more time with the tiniest bit of hope that you might answer?”

  “Oh! Sorry. I actually have two things to tell you. First, Harry Wagner came by my house. He’s an ex-cop who used to work cold cases. He’s a little obsessed with them. Anyway, he showed up with a metal detector and found a bullet in my backyard.”

  “A bullet? Where they found the body?”

  “Yes. We gave it to Frank—er, Sheriff Marshall, so he can pass it on to the forensic people.”

  “Who would shoot my mother?” Declan wondered aloud. “Not only shoot her, but take the time to bury her. It’s not like she was shot walking into a convenience store robbery or something.”

  “It might not be related. It could be some crazy coincidence.”

  “I guess… Thank you.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and then seemed to catch himself as his thoughts began to drift. He focused on her and she felt the urge to duck behind the nearest sofa.

  “You said there were two things?”

  “Oh right.” Charlotte looked at the ground and traced a circle on the floor with her foot. “Um…the lady who owns Pineapple Port, Penny, started a committee to address your mother’s discovery.”

  “A committee?”

  “There’s a committee for everything. Someone sneezes funny and they start the Funny Sneezes Committee.”

  “Really. What are they calling this one? The Skeleton in Charlotte’s Yard Committee?”

  Charlotte felt her face growing hot with embarrassment. “Uh…worse.”

  Declan stared at her, awaiting her answer. She considered lying, but as she looked down and into her purse, she spotted the folded committee flyer. She had to tell him the truth; he would find out, anyway.

  “The Corpse Committee.”

  Declan bit his lip. “Oh boy. That’s definitely catchier than my suggestion.”

  “They like alliteration. Sorry.”

  “Crime Committee might have been good.”

  “I think they hoped the sensational name would attract more attendees. They once had a committee to discuss hiring a new organic lawn service and called it the Deadly Poison Club.”

  “Well, at least they didn’t call Mom’s committee the Corpse Club. That sounds like a teenage paranormal series.”

  Charlotte laughed.

  “Well, whatever they call it, it isn’t necessarily a bad idea. A lot of the older residents have been here since before your mother’s murder, and someone might remember something. You never know.”

  “That would be great. They’ll probably find very little evidence with the bones. I don’t have high hopes.”

  “I brought you a flyer,” said Charlotte. She handed him the pink sheet of paper with Corpse Committee across the top in bold letters. Beneath the title was a picture of a chalk outline.

  Declan looked at the flyer and then back at her.

  “Wow.”

  “Sorry. But the date and time is on there if you want to attend.”

  “I will,” he said, folding the sheet. “My uncle will, too.”

  “Your uncle lives nearby?”

  “He’s moving back from Miami. He’s retiring here.”

  “Oh, well I bet it will be nice to have him near.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, nodding his head from side to side. “He’s a character.”

  Charlotte looked around the store, unsure what to say next.

  “Okay, well, I thought you’d like to know about the group and the bullet. Maybe you could bring some photos of your mother? They might jog someone’s memory?”

  “Good idea. I will.”

  Charlotte took a few steps towards the door.

  “And you could bring your, uh…significant other, if you like,” she said, turning.

  He smiled. “My dog?”

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, well I wouldn’t anyway. Some of the ladies carry their little rat dogs around with them and they don’t get along with other dogs. By other I meant if you had, you know…someone special in your life.”

  “Someone special in my life,” echoed Declan. “You sound like a greeting card.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, frantic to better phrase her thought. He held up a palm to stop her from speaking.

  “Got it. I was just messing with you. I know half of Pineapple Port thinks I’m gay.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath and puffed her cheeks, exhaling with a pop of her lips.

  “I’d say it’s closer to sixty percent…but I’m guessing you’re not by the way you phrased that?”

  “Just by the way I phrased that?”

  “Well, you have to admit you hit a lot of the stereotypes. You’ve got a nice haircut, your nails are buffed, you’re well dressed, you look like you work out, you’re handso—”

  Charlotte stopped and glanced at Declan to see if he’d registered where her last word was heading.

  He laughed. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ve had it all wrong all these years…”

  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her hand. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Don’t worry about it. I get it. You like your men a little more rough around the edges. A little more lumberjacky.”

  “No! I mean, that’s not what I meant…” she paused. “Lumberjacky?”

  He shrugged. “If it isn’t a word, it should be.”

  “Well, I’ll alert the Declan’s Sexual Preference Committee that they have it all wrong.”

  “No! Don’t tell them. I don’t discourage the rumor. I may encourage it from time to time. For one, it makes them think I have better taste than I do. They also used to try to set me up with their granddaughters…”

  “Oh…” Charlotte recalled Katherine planning to do just that. “Well, what’s wrong with a little match-making? Maybe the woman of your dreams is one of their granddaughters.”

  “Maybe, but I was running out of polite ways to decline. I didn’t want every failed setup to lose me a potential customer, and I imagine the granddaughters don’t appreciate being thrown at every man within a five mile radius of Pineapple Port either.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve been thrown at more than a few grandsons, so I feel your pain. They mean well, but it’s pretty awful.”

  He nodded and an awkward silence fell for a minute or two.

  “Anyway…I’m good on that front,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, taking his comment to mean he already had a girlfriend. “I guess I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  The bell chimed above her head as she opened the door to leave.

  “See you there,” he called as she left. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  She waved without turning.

  Back in her
car, she replayed their conversation in her head. Of course, Declan had to have a girlfriend. He was capable of getting a girlfriend without any help from the Pineapple Port matchmakers.

  More than capable.

  A strange feeling of relief washed over her. Maybe now that strange tension she felt whenever he was near would dissipate. The relief mingled with another emotion.

  What is that?

  Ah.

  Disappointment.

  She started her car and pulled out of the parking spot. Declan stood in the window of the shop and waved as she pulled away.

  She sighed.

  Why did he have to be so damn hot?

  Chapter Nine

  Charlotte, Darla and Mariska walked into the meeting room of the Pineapple Port clubhouse. Someone had set out the usual array of cookies and punch, though Charlotte thought the arrangement felt a tad festive for a Corpse Committee. At least they hadn’t made cookies in the shape of chalk outlines. Some of the ladies had a real flair for theme baking.

  Andie paused beside her and surveyed the cookie situation. She leaned towards Charlotte.

  “Store bought. Cheap, too,” she mumbled before taking three and moving to her seat.

  A pile of yoga mats and a smattering of inflatable exercise balls sat in the corner of the large room, which doubled as the floor exercise studio on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Charlotte avoided the yoga classes. Most of the residents expelled gas on a frequent basis when just walking, talking or playing cards. She’d accepted long ago that strange bodily noises were a common occurrence for older people, but she also knew she’d never be able to keep a straight face in a yoga class. She was only human. Throw on some woodwind massage music, a group of ladies attempting downward dog and a symphony of body noises, and a Buddhist monk would burst into giggles.

  Folding chairs arranged in a semicircle awaited members of the newly formed group. Charlotte took her usual seat between Darla and Mariska. Darla was a little deaf in her left ear and Mariska a little deaf in her right, so sitting between them in the correct configuration solved most communication problems.

  Penny sat in the only padded chair in the room. She kept it locked in the clubhouse closet for occasions like this. After a few more people arrived, she distributed an agenda printed on neon yellow paper. At the top, it said Corpse Club in large letters.

  “I thought it was the Corpse Committee?” said Darla.

  “Oh no,” said Charlotte, dropping her chin to her chest.

  She raised her hand. Penny pointed to her.

  “Yes, Charlotte?”

  “I’d like to suggest we change the name to Crime Club. That way, once this mystery is solved, the club could be more all-purpose. I doubt we’ll find more bodies, but maybe we could address missing lawn statues or the occasional car break-in.”

  “Or people who don’t return juicers they borrowed,” said Althea Moore, her eyes shifting towards Jackie Blankenship.

  “Oh Althea, I’ll bring it back tomorrow!” hissed Jackie.

  “I second that. I like Crime Club much better,” said Mariska. “Corpse Club sounds gruesome. It’s like the Mickey Mouse Club, but horrible.”

  A few others mumbled and nodded their heads.

  “Fine,” said Penny. “Should we vote on that now? All in favor of changing the name to Crime Club raise your hands.”

  All but a woman in black and Penny raised their hands. Everyone stared at the dissenter until she, too, raised her hand.

  “I just thought corpse sounded more dramatic,” she said. “I don’t care. Nothing matters.”

  “Fine,” said Penny. “Passed. From now on this group will be known as the Crime Club.”

  “How often will we meet?” asked Harry. “Weekly? Monthly doesn’t seem like enough during the heat of the investigation. When I worked cold cases we used to—”

  “Weekly seems like a lot,” said Penny, cutting him short.

  “I think once a month would be fine,” said Darla. “We could always have an emergency meeting if some new facts came to light.”

  The group nodded in unison. Everyone loved the thrill of an emergency meeting.

  “Fine. Well, to get things started, I think everyone should know that they bungled the investigation already,” said Harry.

  Frank groaned. Jaws fell and a smattering of gasps rippled through the group.

  Oh boy. Here we go.

  “I went to Charlotte’s house with my metal detector, my everyday metal detector—”

  “As opposed to his formal metal detector,” whispered Darla.

  “The one with the bow tie,” added Mariska.

  Charlotte snorted a laugh and the three of them burst into giggles. Harry shot them a nasty look and continued.

  “I found a bullet. A .380.”

  Gasps rang out a second time.

  “Sheriff Marshall said it might be a 9mm,” said Charlotte.

  “So he says. I know what I found.”

  Frank shrugged and rolled his eyes.

  “They missed a bullet?” asked Jackie, the reluctant water aerobics queen, still dodging dirty looks from Althea, Rightful Owner of the Juicer.

  “They did,” said Harry. “We need to do something about the shoddy detective work around here. What if it had been you or me? I don’t want these slackadoodles working on my case.”

  “Slackadoodles?” echoed Charlotte. “Is that like a lazy Labradoodle?”

  Darla shrugged.

  “I don’t think this is something that happens here all the time, Harry,” said Mariska.

  “You never know. You never know.”

  “I think before we get into any of the details of the case, we should identify the victim formally,” said Charlotte. “Do any of you even know her name?”

  Most of the group shook their heads. Charlotte knew fifty percent of the attendees were the same people who attended every meeting and had no interest in the topic. They came for the cookies and punch, hoping beyond hope each time that someone would bring homemade.

  “She’s the pawnshop owner’s sister,” said Penny.

  “Mother,” corrected Charlotte. “Her name was Erin Bingham. Does that name ring a bell for anyone?”

  There was a low murmur accompanied by synchronized head shaking. Al Taliaferro, who’d been staring at his shoes or possibly napping, threw back his head and turned his attention to Harry.

  “You think she was shot?” he asked.

  “We don’t know yet. That remains to be determined.”

  “Erin Bingham,” said Penny, scratching her chin. “I think she used to work at George’s office.”

  “Declan said she did,” said Charlotte.

  “I said what?”

  Heads swiveled towards the voice. Declan and an older man walked toward the group, grabbing seats as they passed the collection of folding chairs in the corner. The second man stood three inches shorter than Declan, and had a much thicker build. He shared Declan’s sharp nose and dark hair, but his temples were speckled with gray. Declan held a manila envelope in his hand.

  “That must be his boyfriend,” whispered Katherine O’Malley.

  Declan’s explanation for not dispelling rumors to avoid matchmaking made even more sense if Katherine’s self-centered grandchild was one of the girls thrown his way. Charlotte had met her and not been a fan. Rather than admit her grandchild needed a lesson in manners and humility, Katherine clung to the idea that Declan simply wasn’t interested in women at all.

  Charlotte stood. “Everyone, this is Declan. We don’t have definitive proof yet, but we suspect the woman found was his mother.”

  A low chant of apologies and tsk noises filled the room. One tiny voice asked, “what woman?” and someone hushed her.

  Declan held up a hand in an abbreviated wave.

  “Sorry I’m late. This is my uncle, Seamus. I just picked him up at the airport.”

  “Hello, all. Hello ladies,” he added with a naughty wink.

  One of the ladies giggled.


  Declan set his empty chair across from Charlotte and sat down. His uncle opened his chair and sat behind Declan, because the gentleman beside Declan pretended not to see Seamus and refused to make room for him in the circle.

  “Would you like some punch? Some cookies?” Celia Jackson asked Seamus.

  “No, thank you. Unless you made them, then I might have to try them.”

  Celia smiled and shook her head, a bright blush rising to her cheeks.

  “Declan, I was just saying I think your mother worked for my husband,” said Penny.

  “She did. She had two jobs. She worked in the office here and weekend nights she worked at a restaurant called Nectarine’s.”

  “Oh, I miss that place,” said Agnes Salzmann.

  Several women agreed. “They had the best French toast…” said one.

  “I’ll talk to George about it,” said Penny. “Maybe he’ll remember something that will help.”

  “Where is George?” asked Frank. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

  “He had to talk to the sprinkler man. The timers are all screwy.”

  Charlotte nodded. George was an avid gardener and if one sprinkler didn’t sprinkle, she could imagine he was losing his mind.

  “I knew it! I was soaked the other day while walking by your place at two o’clock in the afternoon!” said Andie.

  Penny dismissed her by throwing her nose in the air and looking away. The comment hadn’t even registered a sniff. Charlotte wondered if the silent sniff might be the worst sniff of all.

  “You should know the investigators already messed up your case,” said Harry to Declan, preparing to retell his tale.

  “I already told him all that, Harry,” said Charlotte.

  “Did you tell him I found the bullet with my metal detector?”

  “I did.”

  Harry grimaced and sat back, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I gave the bullet to the appropriate authorities,” said Frank.

  Harry grunted.

  The sheriff scanned the group.

  “Does anyone here own a gun?”

  Several of the ladies seemed alarmed.

  “My husband has several guns,” said Penny.

  “I have a handgun,” said Al.

  “I think my husband has a handgun in the safe,” said Ginny Aleshire. “I think he might have a rifle, too, and some sticky things.”