Railroaded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  The mere mention of my mother’s freezer sent chills down my spine. I’d bet money there were tidbits from the Ice Age taking up space at the bottom of it. Aunt Ina must have had the same reaction because the next thing I knew, she offered to make a run to the Homey Hut with Louis and pick up a few pies. No one objected. Not even my mother.

  An hour later we were seated in her living room/ kitchen/patio area with hot cups of coffee and assorted fruit pies. Cecilia arrived shortly after everyone else, looking as if she’d seen the ghosts of Christmases Past, Present, and Future.

  “Good heavens, Cecilia,” Lucinda blurted out. “You look ashen.”

  “Are you in shock from that disaster with Harriet’s dog?” Myrna asked.

  Shirley rushed over and escorted Cecilia to one of the floral chairs, then handed her a cup of coffee.

  Cecilia’s hands were shaking as she moved the cup to her lips. “It was awful. Simply awful.”

  Herb, who was a few feet away, moved behind Cecilia and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, it wasn’t all that bad. You could’ve fallen or something.”

  “I’m not talking about my tap dancing,” she said. “It’s what happened after all of you left.”

  “You got canned from the show?” Herb pulled one of the side chairs closer to Cecilia.

  At that point Shirley gave him a not-so-subtle slap on his shoulder, to which he responded, “Hey, all I’m doing is trying to find out what happened.”

  “Then use some diplomacy,” Louise said from across the room. “Can’t you see the poor woman is beside herself?” Then she looked at Cecilia. “It can’t be all that bad. What on earth is so upsetting? Did someone criticize the show?”

  Cecilia wadded up a napkin and rubbed her nose. “No, nothing like that. But when I went backstage to change out of my costume, I overheard two women talking behind a rack of clothes. I don’t think they knew I was there.”

  “So? Did you hear any juicy gossip?” Louise asked.

  “I heard one of them say, ‘She may act all prim and proper, but if you ask me, she did the deed and framed Roxanne.’ ”

  “Who?” Louise asked. “Who did the deed? Who did they name?”

  Cecilia’s voice cracked and the wadded-up napkin she’d used to dab her nose was now in tiny pieces on the floor. “Who do you think? They meant me. Me! They think I killed Wilbur and framed Roxanne so I could get her solos.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Louise said. “What about Candace? She had those solos originally.”

  By now Cecilia was practically in tears. “It gets worse. Much worse. One of the women thought it was my shoe bag Candace tripped over when she sprained her ankle. And then the other one said, ‘Payback’s a . . . a . . .’ Well, it rhymes with witch. You know what that means, don’t you? They’re going to do something so I trip and fall. Or—oh no. What if they try to kill me?”

  “Whoa,” Marshall said. “You’re putting two and two together and coming up with five. Yeah, it’s unsettling all right, but you don’t know who they are, so the best you can do is be extra vigilant. Maybe we can find out who was in the dressing room at the end of the show. Try the process of elimination. Who did you see when you left the dressing room? Which dancers were out in the corridor or still onstage?”

  “It was all a blur. First that disaster with the dog and then that horrible accusation.” Cecilia placed her coffee cup on a small table next to her and wrung her hands. “I hate to disappoint all of you, but I don’t think I’m cut out for Operation Agatha. I’ll finish up my performances, but that’s it. Please tell Roxanne I’m sorry. I’ll bake her a cake or something once she gets settled into the Perryville Prison.”

  “Forget the cake,” Lucinda exclaimed. “And since when do you bake? You can’t back out of Operation Agatha. Not when we’re so close.”

  Cecilia continued to wring her hands. “Close? We’re not close.”

  Then Louise spoke. “What about that gold charm you found? If you hadn’t joined the Rhythm Tappers, you wouldn’t have been in the social hall and you wouldn’t have discovered that pouch with the charm.”

  “And I wouldn’t have caused that turmoil at Bagels ’N More. My God! I’m terrified to turn on channel five for fear of what they’ll show next. Besides, it didn’t get us anywhere. All it proves is Wilbur was a cad.”

  Just then, Marshall’s phone alert went off, and he excused himself and walked to the patio door.

  “Is it a dead body?” Shirley asked. “Lordy, don’t tell me there’s another dead body floating around here.”

  “Those are merely surveillance alerts he gets from places Williams Investigations are monitoring,” I said. “No cause for alarm.” Yet.

  Marshall’s head was bent down, and it appeared as if he was glued to his iPhone. Meanwhile, my mother busied herself offering everyone additional slices of pie or coffee. Only Herb and my uncle Louis took her up on the offer.

  “About that gold charm,” my aunt said to Cecilia. “If neither woman comes forth again, it’s probably because they’ve both figured out that claiming the charm points a finger at them. It would mean they were having an affair and could very well be the jilted ex-lover who bludgeoned the man to death.”

  I winced. “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘bludgeoned.’ He was hit over the head. A blunt-force thing. Not a bludgeoning.” Like I would know.

  “We need to get back to Operation Agatha,” my mother said. “If we waste too much time, they’ll be on jury selection and Roxanne might as well find makeup that goes well with orange.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Shirley asked.

  I held my breath and waited until I thought I’d turn blue. “Yes. What did you have in mind? And please don’t tell us it involves breaking and entering or something even worse.”

  “Two things,” my mother said. “We have to find out who the pixie-hairdo woman is. Surely someone must have noticed the blue and orange tips. It’s not as if we’re living in some artsy-fartsy community. And don’t give me that look, Ina. You know what I mean.”

  “I most certainly do, Harriet. We’re living in a wasteland of bland makeup, neutral eye shadow, and, above all else, a never-ending sea of gray. Unless, of course, we’re talking your hair, in which case none of us have seen its original color since you were in ninth grade.”

  “Enough with the hair colors,” I said. “What’s the other thing?”

  My mother caught a quick breath. “We find out who said those nasty things about Cecilia before they decide to make good on their threat. Cecilia can’t live in fear someone is going to throw her under the bus, so to speak. Operation Agatha will continue its two-pronged format. Of course we’ll still infiltrate the Model Railroad Club and the Rhythm Tappers, but now, we’ll specialize. Myrna, Louise, Ina, and I will work on tracking down that little pixie-hairdo trollop. Shirley, Lucinda, and Cecilia will find out who was in the dressing room. We’ll begin tomorrow.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief she hadn’t mentioned my name. But I should have known better.

  Twenty seconds later my mother looked at me. “Is tomorrow one of your Saturdays off?”

  Not anymore.

  At that instant Marshall returned from the patio. “Everything’s fine. Nate and I have alerts on our phones for surveillance monitoring. False alarm.”

  “Does anyone want any more coffee?” That was my mother’s monitoring system, which meant, It’s late and everyone needs to go home.

  I immediately started the ball moving. “Thanks, Mom. Marshall and I have work tomorrow, so we’ll be on our way.”

  Seconds later everyone else made excuses to hightail it out of there.

  “Don’t forget,” my mother said, “Operation Agatha part two begins tomorrow.”

  Marshall looked pain-stricken and I whispered, “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “What was the second alert?” I asked when we were back in the car.

  “Nothing but nothing. Grace forgot something a
nd went back inside to get it. Cleaning solution. That’s what she forgot. She tucked it under her arm and looked both ways, as if she had absconded with someone’s bank deposit bag. I zoomed in to be sure that’s what she took with her.”

  “A bottle of cleaning solution? I wonder why she didn’t leave it at the club.”

  By now Marshall had pulled onto R H Johnson Boulevard and turned right on Grand Avenue. “Who knows? Maybe it was her own personal cleaning stuff. People are funny that way.”

  “Geez, it’s not as if you can’t buy Lysol or Mr. Clean everywhere.”

  “It was antibacterial cleanser. Big pink bottle labeled as such. Guess Grace is somewhat of a germaphobe.”

  “Lately, nothing surprises me anymore.”

  * * *

  Sure enough, part two of the never-ending Operation Agatha began the next day. And while I made sure to busy myself at the office in the morning and run errands in the afternoon, I was privy to all the details via endless phone messages from my mother on the landline. Apparently she had given up on cell-phone voice mail.

  “Phee? Are you there? Never mind. I thought you picked up. I guess not. Anyway, I wanted you to know Myrna, Louise, and your aunt spent most of the morning contacting the local beauty parlors and salons. None of them have done pixie hair with outrageous colors. Ina suggested we branch out, so I took the Peoria and Litchfield salons. Louise took Glendale because there are more of those beauty shops there. Ina, naturally, had to take Scottsdale, Paradise Valley, and Fountain Hills. And you know what? No pixie dos with orange and blue tips. Call me when you get in.”

  I deleted the call and moved to the next one. Still my mother.

  “You must still be at work. It’s after three. We’ve got the entire city of Phoenix to check and we’re doing it alphabetically. Do you have any idea how many salons there are? Myrna pulled off the names from the internet. It would be a big help if you shared M through Q with her; that’s the longest list. Call me.”

  A spasm jerked in my back when I heard the words “it would be a big help.” The third message wasn’t much better.

  “We called Lucinda. She’s helping Myrna out with some of the phone calls, but only for an hour or so. She’s got to get to the theater for tonight’s performance. I told her to email you the names of those places she didn’t get a chance to call so you could do it. Thanks goodness Shirley and Lucinda are helping out with the costumes and props. Cecilia said if they weren’t going to be in the building, she wouldn’t show up to dance. I suppose those nasty comments really rattled her. Call me, Phee.”

  I was terrified to check my email, envisioning a mile-long list of every salon from North Phoenix to South Mountain. Meanwhile, when I left work, Marshall had been glued to the office, pursuing his own list from those reprimand letters we found in Wilbur’s file cabinet. And while he lucked out with two of them, he kept hitting dead ends with the others. When I spoke to him earlier in the day, he was about to call Rolo Barnes to see if he could locate Thomas Tartantian via the guy’s bank accounts. That would free Marshall up to work on the other names. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t do a darn thing to help me with my list.

  Lucinda emailed me twenty-eight beauty salon names. Twenty-eight! I was half tempted to call Lyndy to see if she was willing to take fourteen of them, but I decided otherwise. There was such a thing as pushing a friendship too far. Instead, I prepared pork chops for the oven, made a quick and easy risotto, and got to business with the list. It was four thirty and I didn’t expect Marshall for another hour.

  Like my mother and the other ladies, I didn’t get anywhere. At least not right away. Then I had a conversation with someone named Maybelle from Hairs to You.

  “Honey,” she said, “we haven’t done those hairdos since the seventies. Fine for nightclubbing and gambling casinos, but not so great if you’re stuck in one of those professions where you need to look more conservative. Lots of women buy those home dye kits, but the results are unpredictable at best. And with some hair colors, you have to bleach the hair first.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re in business. It’s hard to get the right color if you’re going for blues and oranges. You know, a federal court judge whose hair I style loves to look a bit on the wild side when she goes on vacation. So she bought herself a wig. Flashy one with gold tips and silver streaks. If you want my advice, do the same.”

  It was as if all of us were walking around in a fog and not thinking of the obvious. A wig! Heck, Roxanne and I went incognito when we searched those storage units. Who wasn’t to say the pixie-hairdo woman hadn’t done the same when she met with Cecilia. Especially if she had more to hide than her hair.

  I thanked Maybelle and told her if I was ever in South Phoenix, I’d check out her salon. Then I returned my mother’s calls.

  “That would explain it,” she said. “This is all Cecilia’s fault. She should have looked closer when the woman sat next to her.”

  “Cecilia was a nervous wreck. She wouldn’t have noticed if the woman had fangs.”

  “So now what? We can’t go tracking down every retail and wholesale store that sells wigs.”

  “True, but maybe Cecilia can remember some other detail about the woman. Like dimples or a beauty mark. Forget eye color. Contacts can change that.”

  “I don’t dare ask her anything until she’s done with the final performance of that tap-dance-into-spring thing.”

  “Good idea. No need to make her any more nervous than she already is.”

  “I’d better call my sister and the ladies to let them know about the wig. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I wish everything else did.”

  “I’ll get a report from Shirley and Lucinda about any scuttlebutt they uncover while they’re backstage fussing with the costumes. Actually, Shirley’s really doing the costumes, if you must know. They’ve got Lucinda working on props. Apparently, she wasn’t too fastidious buttoning up the outfits. Anyway, if someone’s talking behind Cecilia’s back, hopefully we’ll find out who and put a stop to it.”

  “Sounds good, Mom. Listen, I’ve got to go. Marshall will be home any minute and we want to have a nice, relaxing dinner.”

  “If you find out anything, call me. I’m broiling a steak for Streetman and me.”

  Broiling a steak for her and the dog. Unbelievable. “Um, sure. Talk to you later.”

  “The dog is getting a steak,” I said to Marshall as soon as he stepped inside the house. “You’re getting seasoned pork chops and risotto. Don’t ask.”

  He chuckled. “I won’t. Listen, I’ve got good news. Rolo’s on the hunt for Thomas Tartantian, but I managed to track down Gloria Rouzoni from Wilbur’s letter pile. Let me refresh your memory: petty theft.”

  “The paper-clip woman?”

  “Assorted colored binder clips. Believe it or not, I actually spoke with her. She made no bones about it. She’s been harboring a grudge against Wilbur for years. That letter cost her a promotion. And as for those binder clips? She said they were attached to reports she took home, but apparently she returned them without the binder clips, only regular paper clips. Good grief! She finally left Sherrington and took another job for a company outside Davenport before retiring to Lake Worth, Florida. Her response echoed Francine Elitsky’s. Said Wilbur all but wore a path to Human Resources with his petty complaints. Still, she was shocked he was murdered.”

  “I take it you don’t think she had any part in it.”

  “Not if airline manifests prove anything. It took some doing. That’s why I never left the office today. Nah, Gloria Rouzoni’s not our culprit, but I was hoping she might have some information about her colleague, Thomas Tartantian.”

  “And?”

  “Thomas Tartantian was the brainchild behind Mavis Gear. If it wasn’t for him, according to Gloria, Sherrington’s stocks never would have climbed to such heights. It was Mavis Gear that literally put them on the map.”

  “But what about the pir
ating? Did she know anything about that?”

  “When a competitor came up with a similar gear that was less expensive to manufacture, Thomas was accused of giving them the specs.”

  “Why? Engineers come up with similar ideas and patents all the time.”

  “Let’s just say these were a bit too specific.”

  “Hmm. Still, it would be hard to prove.”

  “I’m not sure if definitive proof was needed, but it was enough for the company—or Wilbur in this case, because he was the manager—to question Thomas’s involvement in the development of that competitor’s product. Remember, Thomas wasn’t arrested. He wasn’t put on trial. He was terminated. Unlike the public sector, private companies don’t need to validate their decisions.”

  “Did Gloria know what happened to Thomas? Where he went?”

  “She said he packed up his personal belongings and was escorted out of the building by security. That was the last anyone saw of him or his family. Only a wife, as far as she knew. No kids. Gloria did mention the employees sending him some sort of letter expressing their sorrow for what happened, but it was returned ‘Address Unknown. ’ ”

  “She wouldn’t happen to still have that address, would she?”

  “She did, and I’m one step ahead of you. Gloria had an old phone book with her coworkers’ names and addresses dating back years. Got Rolo on it. Maybe he’ll have better luck than the post office. Come on, let’s eat before the pork chops dry out. And while you’ve got a full mouth, I’ll tell you about my day on the phone.”

  “It can’t possibly beat mine. I got suckered into calling beauty parlors, trying to track down that pixie-hairdo woman. What a waste of time. She was probably wearing a wig. We’re not giving up, though. She may turn out to be the jilted ex-lover who stole the tap shoe and showed up at the railroad exhibit to make sure Wilbur took his last ride. Once the Rhythm Tappers’ performances are done and Cecilia calms down, my mother intends to ask her what else she might remember about the woman other than the hairdo.”