Armed and Outrageous (An Agnes Barton Mystery)

by Johns, Madison

  “You think she was cheating?”

  Cat Lady leaned forward, deadly serious. “Now that’s where it gets interesting. There were a few fellows that thought they stood a chance.”

  “Like who?”

  “Maxwell Nobel for one. I heard tell you knew him, Agnes.”

  I nodded. “Yup, but he was more talk than action if you know what I mean.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Eleanor giggled, and Cat Lady slapped her on the back and cackled with the joke.

  “Eleanor, remember ol' Beer-Belly Peterson?” Cat Lady asked.

  “I should because he was elected sheriff.”

  I sat stunned. Maxwell Noble and Sheriff Peterson could be suspects in the Robinson murder? I had to think rationally. This was only a lead.

  After clamoring to our feet and saying it was time to go, Cat Lady led us back to the Lexus. We appreciated her guiding us back to the car, as it would have taken us a lot more time to find it. On seeing the LX again, Cat Lady eyed it with suspicion. “Where’d you get this fancy ride?”

  “The car belongs to her new fancy ride of a man,” Eleanor said.

  El and I jumped in and I backed the LX out before Cat Lady could respond. I wanted to throttle Eleanor, but I needed to thank her instead.

  “Good job, El.”

  “I thought you might need help. I lived here way back when. With me doing the talking, she wouldn’t think the questions quite as intrusive as they might be from a stranger.”

  “Intrusive?”

  “Yeah, small-town folks like to keep their dirt to themselves.”

  “I know a little about that.”

  “And the Robinson murders is the worst dirt there is in all of Tadium.”

  We retraced our ride over the rutted road, both delighted when we finally found asphalt.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I drove to the Iosco County Sheriff’s Department. I like to live dangerously. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as my hand felt sweaty. Part of me wanted to turn back around, but the sleuth in me wouldn't allow it.

  I whirled into the parking lot, and El and I snuck out of the Lexus like we had just stolen the vehicle and planned to ditch it here.

  I eye-balled El, her face a bit pale. I'm guessing about as pale as I imagined I might look. As we made our way to the front door of the Sheriff's Department, I confided, “With what we now know, dear, I'm as shaky as a leaf in the wind, so don't think you're alone.”

  Eleanor nodded and gritted her teeth.

  “Come on, El.”

  She whispered, “You don't actually think the good sheriff is gonna give us any useful information, do you?”

  I didn't answer. Instead I swung open the door, and stepped inside with Eleanor dang near up my backside.

  Sheriff Peterson rounded the counter before we stepped much farther, greeting me with a fiercely honest scowl on his face.

  He looked down at me, hands on hips. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  Eleanor started talking or rather stuttering. “W-Well, a-ah a-ah... “

  Sheriff Peterson’s eyes narrowed, and his temple began to twitch uncontrollably. I wondered if he was about ready to have a Grand mal seizure.

  He didn't intimidate me a bit. “I’d like to ask you some questions,” I said.

  “What kind of questions?”

  I glanced around to assure nobody was within earshot. “Questions that you might not want to answer in public.”

  He nodded and went outside, and we followed from a respectable distance. He led us to a picnic table out back that two deputies vacated when the sheriff sat down. Although he'd not said a word to either deputy, they slinked off like frightened rabbits. He led by intimidation.

  I sat down gently, but when Eleanor did, the table tilted.

  She stood. “Sorry, this must not be the plus size table.”

  Sheriff Peterson’s eyes rolled over Eleanor’s body like one would survey a prize fish. But, she was no fish. She resembled more of a whale, but I’d be damned if anyone should dare say such a thing about her in my presence, they'd have me to deal with. She was in effect my spiritual sister after all.

  “What do you know about the Robinson murders?” I asked.

  “I know that some sick son-of-a-bitch killed them. I believe the handyman did it,” Peterson said.

  I raised a brow, “Did he?”

  “Yes and I’m guessing some vigilante killed him.”

  “All these guesses all these years later?”

  “After Stella’s murder, obviously... well, it stirred folks up. He did it of course, and even Trooper Sales agrees that much!”

  I stared at him with what I knew was doubt displayed on my face. I have never been one to mask my feelings, and what I felt toward this piece of shit excuse for a sheriff was loathing.

  “I see you doubt my word.”

  “Actually, yes I do.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And why might that be?”

  “Because when I saw Trooper Sales yesterday, he thought I was the one responsible for both murders – Stella's and Billy's.”

  “He’s just pulling at straws. You should know how those state boys are.” He softened his tone, “You were married to one. They think they are God’s gift to law enforcement.”

  Inside I was simmering, and I was about to boil over and blow my top. He was trying to goad me.

  “You don’t think I’m capable of killing anyone?”

  “Not hardly, you may be a snoop, but you don’t have it in you to take it to the next level.”

  Little did he know?

  I bobbed my head. “So you’re saying if put into a difficult situation, I wouldn’t or couldn't use deadly force.”

  “You’re a cupcake. A lightweight snoop.”

  I stood. “I guess the state boys don’t share everything with you, because I killed an intruder last night.”

  He jumped up. “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, but it is, and I’m on to you! Don’t think I’m not.”

  “What craziness are you talking about now?”

  “I heard you were quite taken with the late Mrs. Robinson, but she didn’t return your passions. Did you kill her?”

  “Agnes,” Eleanor said.

  “Who in the hell told you that?” He scratched his head as if lost in confused thought.

  I didn’t speak. I just turned away.

  “Cat Lady.”

  I cringed inward when I heard Eleanor say the name that should never have been spoken. Any credibility I once had went out the window.

  Sheriff Peterson laughed. “Now I know you’re both off your rockers. Cat Lady indeed. She’s a crazy old woman that fancies herself a witch. I hope you didn’t drink any of her so-called moonshine.”

  I held my breath. I silently prayed he couldn’t smell it on me.

  He smirked. “The last person to drink her brew landed in the hospital with certain intestinal difficulties,” he suggested.

  “What kind of difficulties?” Eleanor asked.

  My stomach lurched suddenly, and although, I ran toward the Sheriff’s Office, and straight into the bathroom where I spent who knows how long.

  When I raced to the Lexus and sat inside, Eleanor unrolled her window as if trying to suck in fresh air.

  “You’ll have to come home with me because I’ll be lucky if I make it home before I have to go again!”

  “That’s strange. It didn’t seem to bother me. I guess I’m just used to vile brew that is made by cat people.” She cackled. “They say Cat Lady is really a cat herself, one that has been reincarnated into human form.”

  “I’d like to reincarnate her into a mud puddle.”

  Silence. Finally. I pulled into my drive and ran into the house. I sprinted toward the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

  Duchess was in her litter box and she froze, her eyes glued to me as if questioning, curious. Her tiny nose sniffed the air, and she bolted into the bathtub and hid behind the shower curtain.
She peeked out for a moment but ducked back in.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jennifer Martin's case was on hold for the next two days as I spent the majority of time – two days – in the bathroom. Andrew was such a sweetie and didn't even ask me what'd happened to bring about such a calamity.

  I spooned in chicken soup that Andrew made. I had no idea he was a master chef, and could rustle up a meal at the drop of a hat, or that I’d like to have a man cook for me. I’m an independent woman. I grinned. I had often been described as a control freak, and it was true, but I couldn't possibly help it, especially now being so set in my ways. I like to be in charge. I mean I went all these years being completely self-sufficient.

  I had no idea Eleanor was still here until she walked inside with a fistful of radishes. Strange thing was I hadn't planted radishes, yet the roots were clearly visible with fresh dirt clinging to them. Then I recalled how they just keep showing up at the edge of the woods. Eleanor loved the nasty things, and so did Andrew the way he woofed them down. They made salad, and if there was anything I was not ready to eat, it was fiber of any sort.

  “I think I feel up to going into East Tawas today,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” Eleanor asked.

  “We need to follow up on Maxwell Noble. Not that I believe anything that crazy old Cat Lady said.”

  “You shouldn’t speak about her like that!” began Eleanor. “S-She might just hear you.” Eleanor looked over her shoulder as if she believed what she was saying.

  “If she’s any kind of a witch at all, she’d know because I have been cursing her for two hellishly damnable days.”

  Andrew drew his brows together, but he didn’t say a word. I think he knew enough not to ask. Perhaps this punishment I was enduring was payback for being so brash, but truthfully, I had no idea why I should be cursed or vexed by Cat Lady.

  “Who is Maxwell Nobel?” Andrew asked.

  “He’s one of Agnes’ old flames.”

  “I’m driving,” Andrew said.

  I didn’t complain, but this would be no social visit.

  Once we were settled into the Lexus, Andrew spoke. “What in the hell is that smell in here?”

  “I swear I tried to air it out,” Eleanor said.

  When no one responded further, Andrew dismissed it.

  Andrew drove to East Tawas, and we made our way up the dock and found a yacht named “Mystery.”

  “What an odd name for a boat,” Eleanor said.

  I peeked inside the yacht, “Hello! Is anyone on board?” I asked.

  Maxwell surfaced from below deck and smiled. His white pants flapped in the wind as did his white shirt, and he wore white deck shoes to complete his ensemble. He looked like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, complete with potbelly. He may, in fact, have devoured the said doughboy. His hair was a comb over. I firmly believed that if a man was as bald as Maxwell here, then he might just as well shave the head, but in Max's case, I knew it would do next to nothing to help his appearance.

  I was surprised he had let himself go like that. It was bad enough that he had a smaller than average equipment from what I remembered. I snickered to myself.

  “Hello Maxwell,” I said. “This is my best friend Eleanor and my friend Andrew.”

  “I’m her boyfriend,” Andrew added.

  “Come aboard.” He helped Eleanor on, but Andrew jumped aboard and helped me before Maxwell had a thought to.

  Men are such control freaks. I thought. He may as well piss on me and mark his territory.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m investigating the disappearance of Jennifer Martin.”

  “I can’t say I know her.”

  “You might not, but this investigation is leading me to the Robinson murders.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Not really. I don’t know how to ask you this without coming right out and saying it, but did you know Mrs. Robinson?”

  “Sure did. She was kind of what we used to call a tease.”

  “Tease?”

  “Yes, all she talked about was her modeling gig although it'd been years since she did it.”

  “Were you involved with her?”

  “Not the way you’re suggesting. As I said, she was a tease. It wasn’t just me that thought so. There were others. Too many to count, if you ask me.”

  “Can you think of anyone else I could talk to?”

  “Sheriff Peterson.”

  “I spoke to him already.”

  “I mean his father.”

  “You’re suggesting Sheriff Peterson’s father could be involved?”

  “Could be, but I’m not sure you’ll get much out of him. He lives in a nursing home.”

  “The County Medical Center?”

  “Yup, one in the same. I’m not sure they’ll let you in though. I heard the bake sale went haywire.”

  I nodded. “Thanks Maxwell, I hope one of these leads pans out. I really don’t like the idea that a recent murder looks so much like a copycat of the Robinson murders.”

  “I’ll agree with you on that score. Nobody wants that murder case reopened.”

  We left, and I wondered why anyone would be so concerned about a murder that happened all those years ago. What was everyone hiding?

  * * *

  Two hours later and after dropping off Andrew, we sat in the County Medical Center parking lot. Andrew had business to conduct with William, and I couldn’t have been happier. The last thing I needed was a man to be traipsing around with me everywhere I went. Folks in town had enough to talk about already.

  Eleanor peeked from under the visor pretending invisibility, foolishly thinking that no one would recognize the lady who destroyed the bake sale. Rosa Lee and her brownies were the true culprits of the fiasco, but Eleanor was the greatest scapegoat that ever lived.

  Finally and without prodding, she confessed, “There’s no way we’ll get past the front door.”

  I rolled my eyes but said. “Sure we will.”

  “How?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “A plan?” Eleanor stared at me with interest. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  I nodded with menacing intent. “We’re going to use a disguise.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “You better hope the administrator isn’t here. She’s got radar.”

  I know it’s true. “I heard she installed cameras in every corridor, dining room, and nurses’ station.” I leaned forward. “I heard tell she can check them from home too.”

  “Is it a nursing home or a correctional facility?”

  I dared not answer, didn’t need to. A correctional facility fit right. “I think it’s the perfect time. It’s after five. We need to make our move before the administrator can make it home and check the cameras.”

  “That won’t work. They serve dinner at this time.”

  “Maybe Mr. Peterson eats in his room.”

  “Oh no, fancy dancy administrator won’t have that. She herds them in and makes them go down the hall. She makes them wait in line too.”

  “What in the hell for?”

  “She wants them to think they are going to a restaurant. I bet she hopes that will make them forget where they really are.”

  “He might be in the feeding room.”

  “Are we talking about a nursing home or a nursery?” Eleanor puffed out her chest.

  “Strange how when you get older, not only do you revert to childhood, you’re treated like one too.”

  Eleanor shouted. “Residents have rights!”

  “Some rights, they lose those when they hit the door.” I nodded. “Some of them shouldn’t leave though, and I wonder how they ever lived on their own?”

  Changing the subject. “What kind of disguise did you bring?” Eleanor asked.

  I handed Eleanor a pink wig, and I donned a white one.

  “Why do I have to have the pink one?”

  “You know pink is so your color, El.”

  “You should have a blue
one then. I heard blue hair is in these days.”

  I ignored her taunt, pulled a straw hat over my wig and adjusted it in the mirror. “In military terms, it is called infiltration.”

  “I'm not so sure this'll work; someone's going to catch on and snatch our wigs off, and then what?”

  “Oh no, nobody will ever recognize us.” Eleanor taunted.

  “El, please, move out the door.”

  Eleanor sashayed herself from the Lexus to the lobby, and I followed.

  Ellen Scott sat behind the receptionist desk and hid a giggle behind her hand. She promptly rolled her eyes. “My but my glasses are dirty.” She took them off to clean, and we went through the double doors.

  “Follow me,” I said.

  We followed the sound of dishes being rattled and food that smelled so delicious I almost wished I lived here, or maybe just at mealtime.

  I passed the open kitchen door and locked eyes with a janitor who was busy hitting on an aide, obvious from the way he was leaning toward her. He turned away and continued his conversation, not paying us a bit of attention.

  I let out a sigh, and I pulled Eleanor back as a nurse walked toward us. Eleanor whispered in my ear, “There’s nowhere to go. We’re busted.”

  I smiled and led the way. “Hello, can you tell me where I might find Mr. Peterson’s room?” I asked the nurse.

  Her deeply tanned face gave me a once over. “Peterson? You visitors?” She spoke with an accent, maybe Jamaican.

  “Yup, we are real good friends.” Eleanor winked.

  She hesitated. “Be my guest, he’s in room 401 and in quite a mood. Perhaps visitors will calm him a bit.”

  We walked down the hall, and I heard a commotion in room 401.

  “I don’t want to eat. Don’t you tramps get it?” Mr. Peterson stood with his hands on hips, dressed only in a gown displaying a good portion of his backside.

  “I believe that’s a full moon,” Eleanor whispered.

  “You’re killing me here,” I replied.

  “You have to eat, Hal, or we’ll have to call your son again,” said the aide trying to get the older gent to eat.

  He walked forward and raised his hand. “Go ahead and call him. Hell, it's the only time he comes to visit is when you snitch on me! I’ll tell the son of a bitch what's what when he arrives.” He stepped forward, swung his hand, and slapped the aide in front of him while the nurse looked on from a comfortable distance.