by J. C. Eaton
When I was certain Steve Harvey had signed off for the night, I called back and gave my mother the rundown on Cecilia’s visit and the feeble nail polish theory Augusta and I had come up with. And while Candace wasn’t a suspect as far as the sheriff’s office was concerned, she had garnered a spot on my radar.
“Myrna and I have nail appointments on Friday. It’s not our regularly scheduled day, but Myrna’s cleaning lady had to change her schedule, so Myrna had to change ours.”
“So you’ll try to find out what kind of nail polish Candace Kane uses?”
“I’m not an amateur. If Candace Kane isn’t one of their customers, I’ll find out where she goes. These nail technicians all know one another.”
“Find out what Roxanne uses, too. Just in case.”
“For her sake, I hope it’s bright red.”
“Okay, then. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. We can finalize what time to meet at the Railroad Club again.”
“Herb plans on being there, too. He said something about refreshments.”
“Oh brother.”
“Refreshments are the last thing on my mind, Phee. We’d better turn up a few more suspects or Roxanne will need to tap her way out of whatever correctional facility she winds up in.”
It wasn’t just the nail polish theory that plagued me. It was the bizarre combination of clues that didn’t make any sense, except for the Phillips head screwdriver that could be used for fixing a circuit board. Poor Marshall—the minute he got back from his workout I shared my frustration with him.
“Hey, that’s par for the course, hon, as far as clues are concerned. Nothing seems to make sense at first and then, suddenly, there’s a connection and it all seems to fit. Remember that case in Goodyear a while back and the only piece of evidence was some sort of tiny plastic fiber? The police thought it might have come off a bottle label or something, but after extensive testing in the lab, they concluded it was a false eyelash. Once they got that far, they were home free. The killer used fake eyelash extensions, and one of them got dislodged during the altercation.”
“I don’t think this is going to be that easy.”
“That’s why the old-fashioned methods tend to produce better results.”
“Questioning and nagging people to death?”
“Uh-huh. Eventually someone caves, although I don’t expect that to happen tomorrow night when you scout out the H/O scale meeting.”
“Terrific. And while I’m doing that, Herb will be scouting out the food. Unless—oh my gosh—the women. He’ll be checking out those women, and if what I heard from the attendees at last night’s meeting even holds an ounce of truth, those women are bound to catch Herb’s eye. You know what a Don Juan he pretends to be.”
Marshall laughed. “Oh yeah. He might turn out to be the best secret weapon Operation Agatha has. That is, if he can concentrate long enough to eke out some information from them.”
CHAPTER 14
“Look,” my mother said when we pulled into the parking lot in front of the Model Railroad Club. It was déjà vu all over again. “That’s Herb’s car. He must be inside the Railroad Club room already. No, wait. He’s just getting out of the car. Quick. Pull up next to him. I want to talk to him before he sets foot in there. I didn’t get a chance to call him today.”
I pulled up next to Herb’s car and my mother all but slammed into him with my passenger door as she got out. The two of them were wedged next to each other in the narrow space between the cars, but that didn’t stop either of them from speaking as if they were in a stadium full of spectators.
By the time I got out of my seat and walked to the front of my car, my mother finished with her definition of discretion as it pertained to what she expected from Herb.
“For heaven’s sake, Harriet,” he said. “I’m not about to go in there and grill those people as if they were being ushered into the Fourth Avenue Jail. I know how to be discreet.”
“Good. Drop little hints and coax them into sharing whatever they may know about Wilbur locking lips with one of the Choo-Choo Chicks. Oh, and see if you can find out about Candace Kane, too.”
“Who? Who’s Candace Kane? Was she having an affair with Wilbur?”
“Oh, I must have forgotten to clue you in. She’s one of the Rhythm Tappers, and I don’t know about an affair. I’ll tell you later, when we have more time. Meanwhile, we’d better get a move on. The meeting’s going to start in a few minutes.”
The three of us started for the door as another car pulled into the lot and took one of the available spots in the next row over.
“That’s Myrna’s car,” my mother said. “She went out and bought a super fluffy, fleece cushion for her rear end.”
“That’s too much information, Mom,” I whispered.
Herb turned to face Myrna’s car and then looked back at me. “What’s too much information, cutie?”
“Hemorrhoids,” my mother answered. “And don’t you say anything to Myrna.”
“No problem. Don’t need to hear the details on that one.”
“You and Phee go inside and save us seats. I need to have a quick word with Myrna and Louise.”
I glanced at the building and then turned to my mother. “Didn’t you just tell me the meeting was about to start?”
“Myrna, Louise, and I can talk while we walk.”
“That’ll be a first,” Herb muttered under his breath.
“Fine. We’ll save some seats. Hurry up.”
Herb held the door for me as we entered the club room. Same setup as Tuesday night, including the refreshment table. And, like Tuesday’s meeting, this one was a full house, too. Surprisingly, my mother must have walked fast because she was right behind us, along with Myrna and Louise.
“Remember,” my mother whispered to Herb, “don’t ogle the women.”
He shot her a look and said hello to the greeter. Unlike sweet little Grace Svoboda at the entrance, the H/O greeter looked more like the security detail at a biker bar. Heavyset man, mid-to-late fifties, dark beard and mustache, dark T-shirt with denim vest, and jeans.
“Welcome, folks. I’m Walker Scutt, but everyone around here calls me BS, short for Big Scuttie. Glad you decided to stop by our H/O meeting to check things out. Always good to get new members. You do run H/O scale, don’t you?”
I took a step forward, moistened my lips, and smiled. All the while thinking about the guy’s nickname. Who’d want to get stuck with a moniker like that? “To be honest, this is a new endeavor for us.”
As soon as I said that, Myrna nudged me.
“I’m Phee, and my mother and I attended the G-scale meeting on Tuesday. These are our friends, Myrna, Louise, and Herb.” Then I waved offhandedly at them.
Big Scuttie slid a sign-in sheet toward me and handed me a pen. “Forget G-scale. Once you get to know us, it’ll be H/O scale all the way. Sign in and grab a seat. After the meeting, we’ll make a dent in those refreshments and work on our trains.”
Louise handed Big Scuttie the pen when she finished signing in. “I was so terribly sorry to hear about your president. That must have been quite a shock for the club, let alone the community.”
Big Scuttie slid the paper off to the side. “Wilbur had his quirks, that’s for sure, but to off him like that takes a cold-blooded killer. Hope they catch the murderer pretty soon, because this whole thing gave us a black eye. What with all those sheriff interviews, people around here think it’s one of us.”
“Um, that kind of goes without saying,” I said. “The sheriff’s office always questions the people who worked with or knew the victim.”
“They can question all they like, but I seriously doubt it was one of us H/O scalers. Now, G-scale. That might be another story. Not to go shooting off my mouth, but there’s been a bit of tension regarding the expansion plan. No secret Wilbur favored us H/Oers, and the expansion plan was for G-scale. Still, I’d hate to think a Model Railroad Club member was responsible for knocking off the president of our club.�
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Just then we heard a man’s voice. “Take your seats, everyone. The meeting’s about to start. You can gab later.”
“That’s Montrose Lamont,” Big Scuttie said. “Long story, but Wilbur put a restraining order on the guy. Doesn’t matter now. Montrose is back in business and will get tonight’s agenda going. Nice meeting all of you.”
The only row that was empty was smack dab in front of the room like last time, but at least we’d all be next to one another. As I motioned for the others to join me, I noticed Herb had already cozied up to a platinum blonde in the last row. Mentally, I rolled my eyes. “Herb’s already seated,” I muttered to my mother and ushered her into the row. I plopped down on a hard, straight-backed wooden chair next to hers and watched as Myrna put her newly purchased car/chair cushion on her seat. She sat down as if someone had put a dozen eggs on the chair. Louise sat next to Myrna, but not before turning around in her seat. I figured she wanted to take in the crowd.
A lanky, dark-haired man with a pencil-thin mustache shuffled some papers on the small podium in front of him. “Welcome, everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Montrose Lamont and I drew the short straw to conduct tonight’s meeting. Heh. Heh. The full club meeting for both G and H/O scale will be run by the vice president until we can elect a new president. The date will be sent to members via email. Again, for those of you who are new to the club, our former president, Wilbur Maines, passed away recently.”
“You mean was murdered, don’t you?” someone shouted.
Montrose touched the tips of his mustache. “I was trying to refer to his death in generic terms, but yes, according to the news, he was killed. Unless, of course, he clocked himself in the head because, as we all know, Wilbur just had to do everything by himself.”
“Yeesh,” I whispered to my mother. “No love lost there.”
“Now then,” Montrose said, “following the secretary and treasurer reports, we have some old business to attend to and one new business item that came to my attention yesterday. Let’s begin with the secretary’s report, shall we?”
For the next ten minutes or so I daydreamed about everything ranging from my food shopping list to possible motives for Wilbur’s murder. Occasionally, I’d return to the actual meeting agenda, but the reports were so boring my mind kept drifting off. The only comment I did catch was about the upcoming Midnight Run that Grace Svoboda mentioned the day before. It was a few weeks away. At least that was what I thought I heard Montrose say. Before I knew it, he had moved on.
“Under new business, folks, there’s only one item on the table. It’s our precious Golden Spike. I got a call yesterday from Evelyn Watross over in G-scale.”
No sooner had he mentioned her name than collective groans from the audience could be heard all the way to Cleveland. The groans were followed by people shouting things like, “What did the old bat want?” and “Now what’s the old biddy complaining about? We changed the brand of toilet paper for her last month.”
“Quiet down, all of you. I’m getting to it.” He took out a piece of paper and studied it for a minute. “Seems someone moved our Golden Spike out of its position of honor in the showcase and had it resting up against the side of the frame. No one is supposed to take that precious spike out of the showcase or move it around without prior authorization from our board.”
“Oh brother,” someone said. “That woman needs to get a life.”
Montrose sighed. “No matter how any of you may feel about Evelyn, the matter of the Golden Spike being moved is a serious one. If anyone has any information regarding this indiscretion, please see me privately. And that includes the responsible party. Even with good intentions, that spike is not to be moved.”
Just then, a bald man wearing a bright orange shirt raised his hand. “How do they know it was one of us? Could have been one of their own G-scalers.”
Montrose glanced at the paper and cleared his throat. “Knowing Evelyn, I’m certain she addressed that section of the club with the same severity. Now then, if we don’t have any further business, I suggest we adjourn the meeting so we can enjoy the refreshments and run the trains.”
In the blink of an eye, the meeting ended and the only thing I heard was the sound of chairs being moved as the crowd made its way to the refreshment table.
“I guess no parliamentary procedure, huh?” I said to my mother.
“That’s only for the general meeting with both sections. Grace Svodoba explained that to me on Tuesday. These are considered work sessions.”
“Oh. Good to know. Say, other than that platinum blonde sitting next to Herb, I don’t see any of those eyebrow-raising women at this meeting. The one over by the window looks like she could double for Whistler’s mother.”
“Look again. This time at the door to the restroom. Three women just came out and are headed for the refreshment table. Oh goodness. I simply love that ash-blond color on the tall one with the tight, black sweater. And her wine-colored highlights are fantastic. I’d look good with that color combination, wouldn’t I, Phee?”
I looked at the tall blonde and then at my mother. “I, um, er . . .”
“I need to find out who does her hair.”
Who does her hair? We’re supposed to find out who Wilbur Maines was seeing. “Mom, I don’t think—”
My mother shot over to the refreshment table before I could finish my sentence. Suddenly, I realized I was the only person still standing in front of my chair. Everyone else had gathered by the refreshments. Well, everyone except Herb. He and the platinum blonde were still seated and, from the looks of things, the poor woman was trapped.
Without wasting a second, I bolted over to where Herb and the woman were seated.
“Hi!” I said to the woman. “I’m Phee Kimball and I’m a visitor. I see you already met Herb. He’s my mother’s neighbor, and he’s also visiting the club tonight.”
“Vickie Owen. Nice to meet you. My late husband was an avid model train conductor. I used to attend all the meetings with him, so when he passed away a few years ago, I decided to join the club. The people are friendly, the programs are interesting, and it gives me something to do. I don’t play golf, I can’t sing or dance, and I’m terrible with knitting. And as for card-playing, well, that’s not up my alley either. But I can paint a bit and assemble the small parts for the train layouts and even the circuit boards. Believe it or not, it’s lots of fun. Up until I joined, I really didn’t have a whole lot going on.”
Herb nudged Vickie with his elbow. “A woman with your looks? That would surprise me.”
I immediately kicked him in the ankle. “Maybe we should get to the refreshment table while there’s still food on it.”
Herb started to say something, but to be on the safe side, I gave his ankle another kick.
CHAPTER 15
In the thirty or so seconds it took Herb to rub his foot,
Vickie and I raced to the refreshments.
“Thanks for saving me,” she said. “He’s a nice man and all that, but I got the impression he was hitting on me. And frankly, he’s not my type.”
“Oh, you got it right, but Herb Garrett is more talk than action and yes, he really is a nice guy.”
“Well, that’s more than I can say for some of the men who started knocking on my door when I became a widow.”
“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but was Wilbur Maines one of them?” Intrusive? I all but hit her over the head with a sledgehammer.
“Funny you should mention that. Wilbur locked lips with just about every woman at this H/O meeting. Except for Olga Loomis, over by the window.”
I turned to look and, sure enough, it was the woman I had pegged for Whistler’s mother. Olga had a paper plate in her lap and it was piled high and deep with food.
“Olga’s an expert when it comes to fixing circuit boards. Next to her, I’m skill-less. You’d never know it just to look at her, but she used to work for one of those circuit board manufacturing companies back
east. Come to think of it, so did someone else in this club, but for the life of me, I can’t remember who. Anyway, you’d better grab a bite to eat before it’s gone.”
“Thanks. It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
I helped myself to a small plate of cheese and crackers. Off to my left, Herb’s plate was beginning to rival Olga’s. He had found another woman to annoy, only this one appeared to be interested in his advances. I watched as she gave his shoulder little pokes in between fluffing her reddish-blond bangs.
“Psst! Phee!” The voice came from directly behind me, and I spun around to see Louise balancing two plates of food. “One of these is for your mother, but I can’t find her anywhere. She went off to talk to some woman about hair color and asked me to fill up a plate.”
“Oh brother. Just put down the plate on one of the chairs. She’s got to be somewhere in this crowd. Were you and Myrna able to pick up any info on Wilbur?”
Louise shook her head. “No. But I did pick up some scuttlebutt about Big Scuttie and one of the Rhythm Tappers.”
“Not Roxanne?”
“No, a woman by the name of—”
All of sudden we heard a loud bang. It was the entrance door hitting the wall as a man the size of a small tanker stormed into the room. “I’m looking for a guy who goes by the name of BS. And that’s no BS. Where is he?”
“Uh-oh,” Louise murmured, “this could get ugly.”
Could? More likely will.
“He’s in the workroom,” someone yelled.
I took my iPhone from my bag and slipped it into my pocket in case I needed to dial 9-1-1 in a hurry. Then I followed the lumberjack into the workroom, along with half the crowd from the refreshment table. Within seconds, the decibel level in the room climbed.
Sure enough, Big BS, or whatever, was bent over a small table that resembled my cousin Kirk’s junk drawer when he was twelve. Lots of pieces of parts that could have belonged to anything. Big Scuttie looked up to see what the commotion was all about.
