Knickers in a Twist

by Kim Hunt Harris

  “I know, right?!” She grinned and spun, her arms out. “I've ordered seven more in different color combinations.”

  Downstairs, the Fireside Room—named for the giant stone fireplace that took up an entire cathedral height wall—was filling up fast. Misty Monahan and some guy from KLBC were both there. “I didn't realize this was such a big deal,” I murmured to Viv as we scootched down a row to two empty seats.

  “It's usually not,” Viv said, sitting up tall in her chair and glancing queenly around. She nodded once as if to confirm that hers was, in fact, the only fascinator in attendance. “It's Nigel. He's a big draw.”

  The ceremony came to order then and we hushed. First, a man from the Belle Court Board of Directors stood and spoke about his father and what he would think about the day. His dad had been a WWII vet, and he himself had done a tour of Vietnam. He was a vice-president of a bank or something and was probably used to getting the respect his position normally garnered, but the air was thick with a “so what?” kind of attitude.

  He sat, and a different man stood and thanked everyone for coming. The crowd perked up a bit at this.

  “Cecil Turnbull!” I whispered to Viv.

  “Shhh!” She hissed.

  Unlike with Nigel, Viv didn't have to try to get Cecil Turnbull's attention. Cecil volunteered at the prison ministry that my friend and mentor Les ran, and every time Viv and I went up there, Cecil was all over her like a golden retriever puppy.

  Viv was having none of it, since Cecil had both a wife and a history of embezzlement. Also, she just didn't like him.

  “I didn't know they'd moved into Belle Court,” I whispered. I looked around the room and spotted Janine, Cecil's wife. Janine was nice. She'd stuck by Cecil through the scandal of his embezzlement from the bank and subsequent prison term, and through losing their family home and all their society friends. When Cecil was released, she joined him in volunteering at Exodus as if it was just another one of her Junior League charities, although Janine was always the only one there wearing pearls. Personally, I thought she deserved better than Cecil Turnbull.

  “They moved in three months ago, and look at him. He's already practically running the place.”

  Cecil nodded toward Nigel, who sat looking regal in his sport coat and ascot, his white hair particularly leonine and his goatee groomed to a sharp point, and Nigel nodded solemnly back. I had to admit, he and Viv would make a very handsome couple. Together they could probably do commercials for fancy European river cruises or reverse mortgages.

  “But I'm afraid I have some disappointing news. As many of you know, Belle Court has recently welcomed a new resident who is also a World War II hero from across the pond. Nigel Frost has been a resident here for the past several weeks, and when I learned that he had flown Spitfires in World War II and was involved in some of the major battles in the war, I asked him to speak about his experience. He graciously agreed, but unfortunately, over the last few days he's suffered from laryngitis, and he's not able to speak. His friend Anne has agreed to read his presentation, and Nigel is here for moral support, but he won't be able to speak or answer any questions today.”

  Viv frowned. “What? Blimey.”

  “Shhh,” I said. “I think that means something pretty bad.”

  Anne stood and smiled nervously, her red cheeks flushed. “I want y'all to know that I haven't spoken in front of a group since I retired from teaching twenty years ago. I'm out of practice!” She laughed and then fiddled with the presentation clicker until Imogene Hall stood and helped her advance to the first slide.

  “I'm going to read directly from Nigel's presentation, because he's done such a good job of laying everything out. I'm sure you'll agree that he has a fascinating story.”

  She clicked through the slides and, if it wasn't what I would call fascinating, at least it wasn't boring. Nigel had included pictures of his plane, group pictures of his troop, some in-air pictures that he said were taken from Life magazine. There were maps of where he flew and a few anecdotes of his misadventures. Once, his plane stalled over open water and, just before he was about to crash, he was able to get it started again. On a slide about the lengthy post-flight procedure the pilots had to go through, Anne read the same line three times and never seemed to realize it. It took Imogene standing and encouraging her to go to the next slide before the whole thing moved forward.

  Anne kept looking out at Nigel for reassurance, and he smiled back warmly and nodded each time, even through the needless repetition bit. He had kind eyes, I thought. And he really seemed to care for Anne. I hated to think that Viv was going to miss out on her next Mr. Right, but from everything I saw, this couple was pretty solidly established.

  Once it was over, the crowd clapped and Anne turned to sit down.

  Viv stood. “If you don't mind, I know Nigel said he couldn't answer questions, but maybe just one yes or no question? I've been reading up on the different planes that were flown by the British pilots, and from what I understand, most Spitfire pilots also flew Hurricanes.” She turned to Nigel and gave him a flirtatious smile. “I wondered which you preferred—Hurricanes or...Spitfires?” She waggled a brow.

  Nigel blinked a few times, then smiled, his own eyes a little frustrated. He pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket and scribbled quickly, then tore off the paper and handed it to Anne.

  “He says that's too complicated to go into briefly, so he'd like to answer at a later time.”

  “Of course,” Viv said, with a gracious nod of her own. “I'll look forward to that.” She sat and whispered, “Bloody hell.”

  “Viv! Language!” I whispered back.

  “Bloody heck, then.”

  I leaned toward her and whispered, “He was impressed by your knowledge. I could tell.”

  “I guess. Maybe he's really into that whole helpless female act that Anne puts on. Maybe brainy isn't the new sexy.” She frowned, then slap at her thigh in frustration. “Golly gumdrop!”

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “You're the one who won't let me say bloody hell,” she said in a you-have-only-yourself-to-blame kind of way.

  Everyone milled around with their cake and punch, taking surreptitious looks at Viv's fascinator. Both Misty Monahan and the KLBC guy had cornered Cecil Turnbull and wrangled a few questions out of him. He seemed happy enough to comply. I made a mental note to avoid the comments section of this news story. People got all bent out of shape when someone refused to slink away in shame when they made mistakes.

  Cecil cast a glance Viv's way every few minutes, but she didn't notice because she was too busy keeping an eye on Nigel.

  Nigel kept one hand on Anne's elbow as they slowly circled the room, looking at the different pictures that people had brought. Every time someone spoke to them, he would touch his hand to his throat and give an apologetic smile.

  Viv held a plate with an untouched piece of cake on it, scowled and tapped her foot.

  “You know what?” I leaned closed and said in a low voice. “Who needs that guy anyway? You don't. You're a hot, exciting red-blooded female who has a lot to offer a red-blooded male. You don't need to look farther than your own doorstep to find a man who'd be thrilled to get a second glance from you.”

  “Oh, I know,” Viv said, and clunked her plate on the closest tray. She sighed gustily. “He's not even going to be interviewed, though. I was looking forward to recording it so I could listen to his accent over and over.” Then she straightened. “I could at least get a picture.”

  She fished in her handbag and brought out her phone. “Get a picture of me and my fascinator.”

  I pulled up the camera and pointed it at her.

  She smiled and said through her teeth, “Is he in the background?”

  Nigel and Anne were still walking slowly through the room.

  Holding the phone up, I took Viv's elbow and gently moved her so Nigel would be in the background. He turned his back.

  “Do you want one of his back?” I
asked softly.

  She frowned and shook her head. “His jacket is too long for that to be any good. Wait until he's turned around.”

  Finally, after I had kept turning Viv in almost a complete circle, Nigel looked in our general direction. I snapped three quick pictures.

  Viv took the phone back and flipped through them. “That will have to do,” she said with a sigh.

  I looked around for something to cheer her up.

  “Let's see if we can talk to Misty Monahan and get some info on the Browning thing. You're good at leading people to believe you feel sympathy for them. Let's mention how upset she looked when we saw her the other night and see if you can get her to talk.” I made a silent apology to Tony, but I was sure he would understand if he could see how dejected Viv looked. Besides, we were in the Fireside Room at a retirement home. What danger could I be in here?

  Viv sighed again, still looking unhappy. “Hush. I am sympathetic. Usually.”

  “Well, then. Come on, let's go use your power for good.”

  She dragged after me, but she turned on her charm when we reached Misty.

  “Hello, Miss Monahan, do you remember us?”

  Misty was packing away her microphone, but she stopped when she saw us. “Of course, Patrice's friends. How are you?” She cast a cautious eye up to Viv's fascinator, but didn't say anything about it.

  “We're doing very well, thank you. What we really want to know, though, is how are you? We were at the scene when Peter Browning's body was found.” Her voice dropped into a smooth cadence and she tilted her head. “You seemed so distraught, Love. How are you?” she asked again, placing a soothing hand just above Misty's elbow.

  I crinkled my own brow in concern and did the head tilt thing, too. I did feel bad for her, that much was true. I just didn't have people skills like Viv did.

  Misty swallowed and nodded, her mouth tightened in a flat smile. “That was really hard,” she said. “I worked with Peter for a year, and it was...well, it was hard. For him to be found like that.”

  I sensed Viv's antennae going up the same as mine. Like that. Like what? Did she mean just the fact that he'd been a young man who was found dead? Or did her choice of words indicate something more?

  Viv shook her head. “Such a shame. And such a shock. You don't expect someone like that to...end up like that.” She rubbed Misty's arm and waited for her to drop another hint.

  But the movement seemed to bring Misty back to the present. She frowned and moved away from Viv's touch. “Of course, it's a shock.”

  Viv gave it another go. “I heard the Medical Examiner's report will be released sometime this week. And then it will all be out in the open.”

  Misty's eyes snapped to Viv, but she said nothing.

  Viv waited a couple of beats. Then she said, “I mean, they'll have determined the exact cause of death, at least.”

  Misty nodded and her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. “Yes, of course.”

  “Weird, isn't it, that they aren't saying anything about how he died?”

  She gave a slight shrug and “Not really, no. When there are no obvious injuries, it takes a full autopsy and sometimes a toxicology report to determine exact cause of death. It's not like on TV, when you find out at the scene.”

  Viv blinked. “Yes, well...”

  “Was there anything else? No? Okay, well, have a good day.” She shouldered her bag and walked away.

  Viv and I watched her go.

  “Son of a biscuit,” Viv said.

  “Right,” I said. “The cookie kind again?”

  “Shut up.” She sighed and frowned. “Well, that was a big ol' ball of useless.”

  “She's kind of scary,” I said. “She reminds me of a much younger Imogene Hall.”

  “Me, too.” She snorted. “Thinks she's too smart for us. But did you see that moment of sheer panic in her eyes when I said it'll all be out in the open? I got one over on her.”

  “I don't know that I'd call it sheer panic.”

  “It was definitely sheer panic. She has something to hide,” Viv insisted.

  “Maybe.”

  “And what about the way she said, 'Like that.' Like what, Love?”

  “That could have been something. Then again, she also said there were no obvious injuries.”

  “True.” She frowned again, apparently realizing we hadn't actually gained any information. I felt guilty for taking what she'd seen as a win after being disappointed by Nigel.

  “Oh, I forgot about the Baucum Local Hero thing,” I remembered. “We told Tri-Patrice we would find out. Should we ask Cecil about it?”

  The look she gave me has no polite word to describe it.

  “No? Okay,” I said, not bothering to hide my grin.

  “Let's ask that girl.”

  I looked back the way Misty Monahan had gone, but she was nowhere to be seen. The same camera girl who'd been with her at the scene Tuesday night was there, though, packing away her camera. I took Viv by the elbow and moved through the crowd to talk to her. We caught her just as she was about to follow after Misty.

  “Hi,” I said, standing in front of her to keep her from leaving. Viv needed a new thread to pull on, and if it was a non-scandal, then so be it. “I'm not sure if we met. We're friends with Patrice Watson.”

  She lifted her chin. “Oh, yeah, I've seen you at the station before.”

  “We were just talking about the thing they usually do here on Veterans Day, the Baucum Local Hero thing. What's going on with that, do you know?”

  “Oh, that. They said it was postponed on account of the weather.”

  We all looked at each other for a beat.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “I know, right?” Jessica said. “As if they couldn't move the ceremony indoors, like they've done on several occasions.” She shrugged, then peered around my shoulder.

  Probably looking for Misty, I thought. “Do you think they're hiding something?” I asked, kind of desperate to find a string to latch onto, if for no other reason than to cheer Viv up with a new lead to follow.

  She shrugged again. “I mean, who knows? My theory would be more along the lines of they just weren't prepared. Baucum Engineering always coordinated the whole thing, from what I understand. No Baucum Engineering, no Baucum Local Hero award. Everybody's just standing around waiting for someone else to either take up the responsibility or pull the plug.”

  She took a half step sideways, again looking past me.

  “I'm sorry,” I said. This wasn't going to give Viv anything to work with, so I might as well let her go. “I don't want to make you miss your ride.” I stepped aside.

  She smiled, but her brows twitched. “Misty would never leave me,” she said as she walked away.

  Viv and I stood silently, both feeling kind of bummed. I fought the urge to cheer myself with sugar-laden red punch and saucer-size cookies. “Come on. Let's head to the outlet mall and find some new shoes that will make Nigel sit up and take notice.” Because I wanted to get her into a better mood, I said, “Do you want to drive the Monster Carlo?”

  She didn't even feign disinterest this time. She took the key from me wordlessly and headed across the parking lot. She was so lost in her funk that she barely watched where she was going and nearly stepped into the path of an oncoming pickup.

  The horn blared, and I grabbed Viv's elbow, pulling her back. The pickup slowed almost to a stop, past us by this point, and I lifted a hand in apology. After another second or two, the guy drove on.

  “Do I have to put one of those leashes on you like they do toddlers? Get your head out of the Nigel cloud.”

  “I'll have you know I am thinking about the case.” She unlocked the Monster Carlo door and dropped into the seat with a sigh. “I'm thinking about Nigel, too. Maybe I'm a bit too CSI Miami, and he's really more into Miss Marple.”

  “Miss Marple? Is that—”

  “Agatha Christie. Little old woman who knitted and solved the case by eavesdropp
ing.”

  “I haven't read those.”

  “Me either, but I've seen a few episodes of the TV show, and if that's what he's into, he may be a lost cause. Mousy hair, little old lady clothes, polite type who's seen and not heard.”

  “Nope,” I said. “I can't see you pulling that off.”

  She pointed the Monster Carlo for the outlet mall.

  At the mall, Viv not only found three pairs of shoes, but two handbags and three scarves. That lifted her mood considerably, enough so that she offered to spring for an early dinner at the steakhouse.

  I slid the basket of rolls over toward her, dutifully ordered a grilled chicken breast and steamed vegetables, and spent the rest of the time half listening to Viv talk about how maybe she didn't want Nigel anyway and half remembering what those warm yeast rolls with melted butter tasted like. When my chicken came I kind of wanted to slap the plate to the floor.

  I cut into it with determination, though, and at that moment a thought popped into my head. “Hey!” I looked up at Viv.

  She froze, eyes wide, a buttered roll halfway to her mouth.

  “The guy who almost ran over you in the Belle Court parking lot. He was driving an Eagle Construction truck.” I remembered the sign on the tailgate of the pickup.

  “Yes. And?”

  “And the guy out at the crime scene the other night? He was wearing an Eagle Construction shirt. Remember? He called Misty Monahan something. A rat. No...a vulture.

  “I remember him. Are you sure he had on an Eagle shirt?”

  “Pretty sure. I remember the logo with the eagle in the circle.”

  Viv bit her roll, then tilted her head. “I suppose it's worth following up on. But that company must have a hundred employees. It's not hard to imagine that two of them would be at two different high-profile events.”

  I raised an eyebrow over the concept of the Belle Court Veterans Day Ceremony being “high profile” to anyone living outside the Belle Court campus, but didn't say anything.

  “After dinner we'll head over there and see if we see anything unusual.”