Boy, a ghost sure would have been helpful right now. Not that Miss Gracie liked sticking her head in people’s suitcases, but she could be persuaded, if the cause was good. Or bad. After all, she had stuck her head in the ground looking for a body back when Mickey wasn’t sure he wanted to kiss Luci or kill her. And she’d actually passed through the body in the chimney. After that, everything was pretty much uphill.
Luci grabbed a stack of clean bedding and her master key and headed upstairs. She knocked on the door, waited a minute, then let herself into the room. The curtains were still drawn, so Luci flipped on the overhead lights, then went and pulled them back. She threw open the windows, too.
Even after all this time, she could sometimes smell Miss Weena’s heavy perfume in the air. She leaned her elbows on the sill, looking down on the garden. It looked pretty good, considering they just had a guy who came by once a week. During her aunts’ time, Boudreaux, Louise’s husband, had taken care of the garden. Good thing he died before it came out about Louise icing Miss Gracie, or he’d have gotten even more incoherent.
Saffron must have opened the kitchen windows, too. Luci heard Gracie’s high-pitched voice mingling with Saffron’s deeper one.
It was a bit chilly, though. Luci was glad. Last year they hadn’t had a winter or a spring. Just a never-ending summer.
Luci straightened and turned to face the bed.
It was a shock to find it still occupied.
Charles Stewart—with the neat hole back between his eyes. He was fully dressed, but seemed to have removed the sweater. Of course, this time he wasn’t in a freezer, so maybe he didn’t need the—sweater.
And maybe she was losing it.
Luci stared at him for what felt like a long time. He didn’t move.
Not that she expected him to—exactly.
She turned and left, carefully locking the door behind her. Down in her office, she had her hand on the phone, but instead of calling Mickey, she grabbed her cell phone, and went back upstairs again. She opened the door.
The body was gone.
Again.
* * * *
Mickey came straight home and found Luci standing in front of the door to the Miss Weena suite, her arms crossed, a militant expression on her face. Without speaking, she handed him the master key and stepped aside.
Mickey pulled his weapon, unlocked the door and went in. The bedding was thrown back on the empty bed. The curtains moved from the breeze passing through, bringing the fresh smell of spring to edge out the heavy smell of Miss Weena’s perfume that still clung to the room.
He approached the closet and pulled the door open. Empty. The bathroom was equally devoid of occupants, dead or alive. He did a sweep, checking anything that might remotely be used to hide a body.
And found nothing.
He leaned out both windows.
There was a trellis beneath one that someone could have used to get in, but how could anyone get a body out that way and so quickly?
He turned to look at Luci. “I can get some crime scene people here, see if they turn up anything.”
Luci hesitated, and during that pause, he heard someone coming up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised when Charles Stewart came into view.
He didn’t like the look it put in Luci’s eyes.
* * * *
Mickey decided he had to tell Captain Pryce about Luci’s “dead man walking” guest. If Pryce found out about it from anyone else, his ass would be grass.
Not that his ass wouldn’t be grass anyway. It would just be more grass.
Anything went wrong with Luci, Captain assumed it was Mickey’s fault. It was pretty much a lose-lose situation. The Captain hadn’t liked him much before he married Luci. Not even doing his part in producing the nearly perfect Gracie had helped.
Mickey suspected the Captain liked to pretend it was an immaculate conception. Whatever helped him get through the day.
When he finished talking, the Captain looked as annoyed as Mickey had expected him to look.
“She’s not crazy.”
“No, sir.”
“Then what the hell is going on?”
Mickey wished he knew. “Maybe someone is trying to gaslight her?”
“Why would anyone want to do that? It’s not like she solved any major crimes in Butt Had.”
“And Artie is still in jail.” Artie was probably the only perp with a real grudge against Luci, but he’d gotten a long sentence for all the bodies he’d left lying around. Fern and Donald Smith, the hit couple Artie had hired, had gone the way of Luci’s aunts— though probably down, rather than up.
“Can we get a crime scene team in there while this Stewart is out of the room?”
“If you’ll approve it, I can set it up.” Stewart was scheduled for a cemetery tour later in the afternoon. He’d be out for a while, should be long enough for Mickey to get the room swept. Since he was the homeowner, he was also going to have them sweep the whole house, top to bottom. There had to be something they
weren’t seeing. Luci wasn’t crazy. He knew it. Pryce knew it. Luci was the only one who didn’t know it. That had to change.
* * * *
Two, long hours later, the head investigator shook her head and stripped off her gloves. They hadn’t even found a spot of blood to analyze.
“I do have some prints to run, but the place is very— clean.”
Mickey had noticed that about Saffron, too. Only her hair was untidy. But their Gracie was not getting her hair done that way. Never going to happen.
“Thanks—and thanks for keeping a low profile.” He’d had Luci move her 4x4 out of the garage, so they could park the CSI van in there. No reason to speed up the hearts of their neighbors. They were pretty old hearts.
Mickey walked with them back to the garage, standing by the freezer while they began to pack up their gear. He wasn’t sure why he decided to open it. He just did.
“Wait.”
This time it didn’t look like Charles Stewart would be walking through the front door.
* * * *
Gloves on, Mickey opened Stewart’s suitcase. Crime scene hadn’t searched his belongings, just the room. Nothing too interesting in there. Just what you would expect to find in a suitcase. Mickey checked out the stuff in the bathroom. Again, just what one would expect to find.
He went back in the bedroom, stopping in the doorway to study the room. There had to be some reason why someone killed him. There had to be some reason why Stewart would pretend to die—twice. Might not be a good reason, but a reason.
If someone were after Luci, he wanted to know about it and stop the culprit. He was a pretty easygoing guy, well, actually he wasn’t easygoing. That had been Delaney’s thing. He’d always been the good cop, with Mickey on the bad cop detail. And if anyone were messing with his wife’s head, well, bad cop would so be there.
A beam of sunlight fell across the fireplace and for the first time, Mickey noticed a bit of ash on the brick inlay. That was odd. As the crime scene techs had noted, Saffron kept the place pretty clean.
As he stared at the dirt, it was hard not to remember that Artie once used the chimney to hide a body.
But they’d found Stewart’s body.
He didn’t want to look.
He had to look.
If there were—something up there, it would eventually start to smell. Probably the body, if it had been stashed there, was the one in the freezer.
Probably.
He crossed, crouched and took a peek.
He wasn’t as surprised as he should be to see feet dangling just out of sight.
He stood up and turned toward the door—as Charles Stewart stopped in the doorway.
“What the hell is going on?”
It was a good question, but Mickey didn’t have an answer.
* * * *
Mickey had a definite feeling of déjà vu. This particular parlor had been the gathering point for the two previous murder investigations. Luci almost deli
vered Gracie in this room.
Lila, Luci’s mom, had been happy to take Gracie out for an ice cream. Mickey wasn’t sure who was more surprised that Lila turned out to be a pretty decent grandmother, Luci, Captain Pryce, Mickey—or Lila.
Something had happened when Gracie turned her solemn gaze on Lila. Lila’s eyes had widened. She’d held her finger out and when the tiny hand closed around her finger, she’d—sighed.
She was still a Seymour, still a difficult mother-in-law and probably a bit challenging as a wife, but when she was with Gracie she was—a grandma.
Now Pryce, Luci and Charles Stewart watched him quietly, while Mickey tried to figure out where to start. Some uniforms had canvassed the neighborhood and turned up zip. No one saw anyone arrive or leave the house.
And they had some pretty nosy neighbors. With really old bladders, so they could have missed something—though it would surprise him if they had. They probably all wore Depends so they wouldn’t miss anything. There was no doubt that the Seymours were good value for nosy neighbors.
The body that had been extracted from the chimney was obviously Stewart’s twin—as was the body found in the freeze. The only problem, Stewart said he was an only child.
He didn’t know of any reason why anyone would want to kill him. He was in the dry cleaning business. Not married. Not involved with anyone—or anyone’s wife. He wasn’t particularly religious or politically active. He didn’t gamble, in real life or online. He didn’t even have a dog.
He was—medium. He wasn’t that rich or even that interesting.
Captain had already done some preliminary checking on the guy and unless he had a really secret life, he was as dull as he looked.
Just looking at him made Mickey want to go take a nap.
Probably the most interesting thing he’d done was decide to come to New Orleans for a mystery weekend—and arrive early.
“Why did you decide to arrive early?” Mickey asked, more to break the silence than from any feeling that the answer would shed light on the mystery.
Stewart looked sort of surprised. “I’d never been to New Orleans. Wanted to have some time to explore the city before
the mystery weekend started.”
Mickey nodded and pretended to write it down.
“How did you like the cemetery tour?” Luci asked.
Stewart looked rueful. “I missed it. I stopped to get some beignets and lost track of time. So I just wandered around the Quarter instead.”
So he didn’t have an alibi. It wasn’t a huge fact, however. Why would he want to kill—himself? Twice.
Luci, who sat frowning through what had to be the most boring interrogation of all time, looked up suddenly, her gaze connecting with his.
“Just a minute.”
She left the room so abruptly Mickey didn’t have time to ask her why. In a few, she returned, holding the door for Saffron, who was carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses.
“I thought we could all use something to drink,” Luci said.
It was a flash from the past. She’d offered him and Delaney lemonade after they’d been dealing with the first body in the freezer, the morning after his car got shot up at the airport, when he was trying not to fall in love with her.
He smiled at her. She smiled back. The moment drew out and finally Pryce cleared his throat. Mickey cleared his throat.
“Let’s see, where were we?” He looked down at his notes, but all he saw on the page was the big question mark he’d been embellishing.
“I guess you didn’t hear anything, did you Saffron?” Luci’s voice was so casual, the question was almost a throw away.
Mickey gave Luci a look. Now she’d start talking.
“No, ma’am.” Her eyes glistened with ghoulish excitement. “I was working on the scones for tomorrow’s breakfast and then I cleaned the fruit for the marmalade I was going to make. I thought it would be fun to have an English breakfast morning for the start of the mystery tour. I found some heavy cream and I got some Earl Grey tea—that just has a lovely sound, doesn’t? I love the way Captain Picard says it. Earl Grey. Hot. His voice is to die for, don’t you think…”
“Did you leave the kitchen any time?” Luci cut into the flow, her voice still noncommittal.
“Well, Gracie needed to make bathroom. That girl is so sweet. She didn’t flush her panties down this time either…”
“So Gracie was in the bathroom when you let him in?”
“That’s right…” Saffron’s eyes widened. “Let who in ma’am?”
Luci pointed to Stewart. “Him. He’s the one who moved the body both times, isn’t he?”
“Luci?” Mickey didn’t just feel like he’d missed something. He knew it. Pryce looked confused, too.
“It’s the only explanation,” Luci said. “There were only two people in the house yesterday. Saffron and me. I didn’t let him in.”
“I wasn’t here to be let in,” Stewart put in.
Luci looked at him, her eyes wide and calm. Mickey had seen that look before. It was her version of a cop look.
“You’re not Charles Stewart. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not the man who checked in two days ago.”
Stewart almost looked uneasy. “Why would you say that?”
“Well, first off, you don’t have fire ant bites all over your ankle.”
They all looked down. Both ankles, visible because of his sandals, were clean and clear.
“And the Charles Stewart who checked in was meeting someone. He didn’t say who, but I’m guessing it was his brother. Identical triplets are rare, but possible. It shouldn’t be hard to prove you’re all three related with a DNA test. Probably separated at birth, but I don’t think you knew there were three of you? Must have been quite a shock when your dead guy showed up alive.”
Stewart almost nodded.
Saffron glared at Stewart. “Don’t say anything, Artie.”
Artie again? And the housekeeper—again?
It was déjà vu all over again.
“But why Saffron?”
“He had to have someone on the inside. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s not our Gracie. That leaves Saffron.”
The fake Stewart and Saffron looked at each other then looked away.
“I want a lawyer.”
Stewart sighed. “Me, too.”
Pryce beamed at Luci. “That’s my girl.” The look he sent Mickey was—less beaming. “I’ll get some uniforms to take care of these two.”
He left the room. Luci looked at Mickey.
“Now can Louise come back?”
Mickey sighed. Maybe it was better to have the murderer they knew, than some stranger offing their guests. And it might stop Gracie from wanting multi-colored hair.
Pryce returned with the uniforms, who cuffed the two and escorted them out. He looked like he wanted to chew on somebody. Mickey braced for it, but before Pryce could start—a chill filled the room.
Luci was smiling by the time Delaney and Miss Gracie materialized over their heads, then drifted down.
Pryce looked like he wished he’d left with the uniforms.
“What did we miss?” Delaney wanted to know.
“Saffron had to quit,” Luci said, “but Louise is going to fill in until we can find someone else.”
Miss Gracie beamed. “The place hasn’t been the same without her.”
Okay, did she not remember Louise had shot her in the back?
Gracie drifted close. “You need to move on. It was over fifty years ago.”
Delaney looked at Mickey, one brow cocked in a question.
“So, who died? They aren’t going to hang around, are they?”
Luci’s gaze collided with Mickey’s. “If they do, I’ll tell them to go toward the light—though not until after the weekend. They did pay in advance.”
He gave her a look—or as much of one as he dared with her dad looking on.
“What?” Her eyes were wide and slightl
y wicked. “It’s not like I can refund him his money.”
Later, his eyes promised her. She grinned, then turned to Miss Gracie. “So tell me about your trip. Did you see some cool stuff?”
“Yeah,” Miss Gracie looked around, “but there’s no place like home.”
I LOVE A PARADE! by Gayle Wigglesworth
Finally, sixty years old, I was free to explore the world and decide on a daily basis what I wanted to do with my life. I knew who I was and I was comfortable in my skin, slightly crepe though it was becoming. While admittedly my figure was more rounded than it had been during my younger years and my blonde hair would be gray if I ever allowed it to go natural. But being blonde kept me feeling youthful and allowed me to act a little flighty when I wanted to be. I felt good, mostly because as of now I had no obligations to anyone or anything, other than the friends and relatives I chose to stay in contact with. It was a liberating feeling; alas it was short-lived.
My car broke down too far from a cell tower to use my phone, but I only waited twenty minutes for a highway patrolman to arrive and radio for a tow truck. Unfortunately, the closest town with a tow truck and a garage didn’t have the part needed to fix my five-year-old SUV.
Karl, the owner of the garage made a real effort to find the part, but in the end he had to order it from the factory and be satisfied it would arrive by UPS on Tuesday. He said his tow driver could give me a lift to the motel out by the highway, but suggested I consider Aunt Betty’s B & B right in town. It was only a block off Main Street and he heard she served a super breakfast. He called to check if she had an available room for me. She did.
Rather than wait for the tow truck driver’s return for a ride, I decided to walk. I only had a small bag and my laptop to carry.
Karl promised to keep my SUV locked inside his garage to protect my treasures packed in it. I had no choice but to trust him, so I did.
Fernsville was a very small but complete town, not like so many which were just a few buildings nestled conveniently together where highways cross in the wide space that was Texas. This town had a main street, appropriately named Main Street, with shops and businesses on both sides stretching for three blocks. I passed a bank, a mortgage company, a title company and several restaurants. I saw a drug store, a real estate office, and a dentist’s office. One storefront claimed to be an antique store, another looked like a clothing store and then a card shop that sold gifts for every occasion. There were a variety of other shops that could be described as boutiques and most buildings had doors leading to second floor businesses. Cars and trucks parked along the street, nose in to the curb, and there were still empty spaces convenient for shoppers. The town appeared to be thriving.
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