Railroaded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “Gee, I’m surprised Louise Munson doesn’t have one planned about parrots that kill. Especially given the one she owns.”

  “Don’t give her any ideas. Those things bite. I suppose Ina will want her own segment, too. I can just see it now. She’ll be rattling off about obscure authors from countries none of us have heard of.”

  “Er, um, yeah. I suppose. Look, Mom, I’ve got to get going. I’m working from ten to noon this morning and it’s already nine twenty. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the salad bowl.”

  I made a beeline for the door before she insisted I pet Streetman or, worse yet, give him some “kissies.” Besides, he seemed perfectly content back on the couch.

  “I’ll call you later. On your real phone. I hate when that cell phone of yours goes to voice mail. It always cuts me off.”

  “Okay, fine. Later. Love you!”

  I was out the door and buckled up in my car just as Cecilia Flanagan pulled up. Her old, black Buick was unmistakable. Yep, word did travel fast, especially with my mother at the other end of the phone line. I imagined Cecilia had stopped by to get all the juicy gossip about Sun City West’s latest radio show. I beeped the horn and waved as I pulled away from the curb and headed to Williams Investigations in Glendale, where I’m employed. I have my own office and appropriate door sign that reads, “Sophie Kimball, Bookkeeper/Accountant,” even though everyone calls me “Phee.”

  Nate Williams, the owner of the detective agency, was a longtime friend of mine, and like me, had worked for the Mankato Police Department in Minnesota. When he retired as an investigator, he moved out west and convinced me to take a leave of absence from my job in accounts receivable to do his accounting. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse, and one that got better the following year, when another detective from the Mankato Police Department, Marshall Gregory, also retired and joined the business.

  I’d had a crush on Marshall for years and, unbeknownst to me, he felt the same way. Maybe Nate figured that out all along and pulled the right strings. Now, almost two years later, Marshall and I were sharing a house together and slowly broaching the subject of marriage. Slowly, because I was still in shock, following my Aunt Ina’s nearly catastrophic wedding ceremony to three-time divorcé Louis Melinsky. Besides, as my friend Lyndy put it, “You’re both in your forties and consenting adults. What else do you need?” Even my daughter, Kalese, a teacher in St. Cloud, agreed when I called to tell her about my living arrangements. I figured it was because she wanted me to be as relaxed about her living arrangements if and when the time came for her to drop a bombshell like that.

  I chuckled as I watched Cecilia exit her car. Still the same black skirt and white blouse. Uh-huh. I know a former nun when I see one. Even if my mother says it isn’t so. I figured that by five this evening, the Greater Phoenix community would know that my mother and her book club would be hosting Murder Mysteries to Die For, or whatever title they decided to give the show. As long as she didn’t invite me to be a guest, I would be in the clear.

  Augusta, our secretary, was at her desk, coffee cup in one hand and fingers furiously hitting her computer keyboard with the other, when I breezed into the office.

  “I don’t know how you can type with one hand,” I said.

  “Hey, good morning to you, too, Phee. I learned how to do that when I had carpal tunnel surgery a few years ago. I take it Marshall’s still on that case in Florence, huh?”

  “Oh yeah. He left at an ungodly hour. He got a new lead on the whereabouts of that not-so-deadbeat dad. Can you imagine? The guy absconded with their four-year-old in the middle of the night. The wife thinks they may be with friends of his somewhere near Apache Junction.”

  “Why didn’t she just go to the sheriff’s office and have an Amber alert issued?”

  “According to Marshall, the woman’s madly in love with the guy and thinks he’ll eventually return. She didn’t want to sully his name. Can you believe it? Still, she wanted him found. That’s why she hired us.”

  Augusta groaned and took a sip of her coffee. “Nate’s downtown, by the way, with the office manager at Home Products Plus. I don’t expect him to come up for air any time soon.”

  “Yeesh. That’s a snarly case for sure. The manager’s convinced someone’s got a rogue operation going since their inventory dwindled without explanation.”

  Just then the phone rang, and Augusta picked up, but not before adjusting her tightly sprayed bouffant hairdo.

  “I’ll catch up later.” I walked to my office. At least my work was clear-cut and reasonable: invoices to send and a few bills to reconcile. Since Marshall was out on a case, I decided to stick around and grab lunch with Augusta, something I did once in a while because our office usually closed at noon on Saturdays.

  When I told her about my mother’s latest endeavor as we munched on baked subs from the deli around the corner, Augusta grimaced. “A radio show? A murder mystery radio show? Let’s hope it turns out better than her last theatrical performance. Last thing you need is another murder.”

  I let my fork slip back onto the plate. “Bite your tongue. I’m sure they’ll just be talking about murders.” Too bad I was wrong.