by Shari Hearn
“Do you have an idea who killed her?”
Another hit. “No.” A beat, then, “Not really.”
“What do you mean, not really? Either you do or you don’t.”
“I might have suspicions.”
“Did you tell the police your suspicions?”
Alvin took another draw of helium. “They’re just suspicions. Nothing else. The police don’t even think anyone killed Olive.”
“Does the person know you suspect them?”
“God no.” Even with the helium, the voice sounded horrified by the notion. Meaning Alvin felt intimidated by this person.
“You know this person?”
Alvin sighed. “It’s complicated.” A sad, helium-filled reply.
Sounded like a Facebook relationship status.
“Are you close to this person?” I asked.
Alvin paused to breathe more helium. “None of your business. Just be careful is all I wanted to say. I have to go. Turn around and go home. And I’ll do the same.”
But I didn’t. “I think you want to tell me more, but you’re conflicted.”
“Go home, Fortune.”
Fortune. I had only mentioned my nickname while seated at the table of the Desert Detectors.
“Whose side are you on?” I asked. “Olive’s, or the killer’s?”
Alvin sighed and breathed in more helium.
“Give me a clue,” I said. “Let me try to give Olive some justice.”
“Henry,” Alvin blurted out. “It has to do with where I saw Henry.”
Approaching footsteps caught both our attention. A beam from a flashlight swept the shuffleboard court.
“I have to go,” he said. “Find out where Henry was, and I believe you’ll find your killer.”
Alvin turned and shuffled away before I had a chance to ask who Henry was.
“Who’s there?” a voice called out.
Martha came into view, holding a flashlight. She was wearing a yellow vest with Security scrawled on the front. She flashed the beam of light around the court, then at me. I shielded my face.
“Delilah. Also known as Fortune,” she said. “Mind telling me what you’re doing out here so late?”
“It’s not a crime to walk around late at night, is it?”
“No, just peculiar is all.”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d have a look around the place.”
“Hmmmm.” She nodded. “A little easier to see in daylight. Why don’t I give you a lift back to Olive’s trailer in my cart.”
I could have walked, but thought I’d take the opportunity to find out what, if anything, Martha could tell me about the night Olive died.
“You must see a lot while on patrol,” I said.
She scowled. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything.”
She shook her head. “You think I’m spying on people. I’ll have you know that sometimes people drive by a retirement community thinking that it’s easy pickings. That they can just come in here and take what they want because we’re older and can’t defend ourselves. I learned that the hard way a year ago when I came home from vacation to find my trailer had been broken into. And you know where the young security guard was? Smoking dope in the clubhouse. After that I started our own volunteer force. We have more of an incentive to protect ourselves than some company lowlifes.”
“That shows initiative,” I said.
She stopped at a stop sign, looked both ways into the darkness, then turned left onto Olive’s street. “Yes, it does. And another thing, on their watch we had one of our older residents with Alzheimer’s wander into the desert and die. Do you know how often that happens in Arizona? Every summer someone suffering from dementia wanders out there and dies of heatstroke and thirst. Not going to happen on my watch. And, let me tell you, I have stopped someone from wandering off. More than once, in fact, so if it looks like I’m one major snoop, so be it.”
She stopped her cart in front of Olive’s mobile home.
“Could I ask you a question, Martha?”
“Such as?”
“The night my Aunt Olive died, did you notice anything unusual?”
Martha sighed. “I see you’ve been hearing the gossip.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t my shift. Supposedly Olive died between ten and midnight. I take the midnight to two a.m. shift. And during that time, I saw lots of darkened mobile homes, like I always do. Other than that, I can tell you that I saw the Donners pull in their driveway at one fifteen. They probably were visiting their family in Phoenix. I saw Dave Smelter leaving Flora Garcia’s trailer at one thirty and saw him enter his own trailer at one thirty-seven. Even with her windows closed, I heard Mrs. Flanders yakking on the phone to her sister in Europe. She stays up late to talk to her because of the time change.”
She pointed to Olive’s trailer. “On my first go-round I noticed that Olive’s trailer was dark. Another thing that was typical. Then later, around one thirty or so, I noticed her bedroom light was on, but dimmed. I figured she had gotten up to use the bathroom. Olive’s light is usually off that time of night. Unless, of course, she has a gentleman caller and he’s getting ready to leave.”
“Gentlemen callers don’t stay for breakfast around here?” I asked.
Martha laughed. “Sometimes. But some of us older gals are set in our ways. We like things just so. A man’s a nice diversion for an evening, but in the morning, we want things as we like them. The last thing most of us want is to have to cater to a man, make his eggs just so and listen to him yak about himself all morning, when all we want is to sit with our coffee and read the newspaper, watch Good Morning America, or meet with the girls and gossip.”
“You saw nothing else that night, then?” I asked.
She thought a moment. “Well, now that you mention it...” she looked over at Bucky’s house. “I did see Bucky behind her curtains, much like we’re seeing now, sitting in her living room chair, close to twelve thirty. She usually goes to bed around then, unless she’s off catting around.” She tried to suppress a smile.
“Something funny?”
“Well, actually,” Martha said, “tonight she must be catting around, because that silhouette you see behind the curtains isn’t Bucky. It’s her mannequin. She puts it there when she and Mr. Watson are having a little fun in the clubhouse. She’s hoping if Mr. Watson’s wife, Beverly goes looking for him, she will see the silhouette and think Bucky is inside reading. Doesn’t fool me, though. The wig isn’t the same length as Bucky’s hair.” She laughed. “She usually comes sneaking back to her trailer by one o’clock. I might have to give a call to Beverly Watson and let her know to go check the clubhouse.” She laughed again. Then, as an afterthought, “Bucky shouldn’t try to fool me.”
“Did you go to the police about the light you saw in Olive’s room at one thirty?”
She rolled her eyes. “Our police force is made up of incompetents.”
“You seem to have pretty good recall for that night,” I said.
“I’ve gone through that night many times in my head, wondering if I could have prevented something.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I best get back to work. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
I stepped out of her cart. She didn’t mention the name, Henry, and I wasn’t going to bring him up. Until the killer was found, no one was to be trusted. I walked toward Olive’s trailer, but Martha stopped me.
“Are you expecting guests?” Martha flashed her light at a car parked on the side of the curb.
I smiled. “In fact, I am.”
“Well, you tell them next time to park the car no further than six inches from the curb. They’re parked eight inches out. I won’t ticket them tonight, but I can’t keep overlooking a violation of the rules.”
“I’ll let them know.”
She drove off and I ran inside the trailer. Ida Belle and Gertie were in the kitchen drinking beer and munching on leftovers from the fridge. They h
ad been able to get the last flight out of New Orleans. Before going to the shuffleboard court, I had left them a note instructing them to help themselves if they arrived before I got back.
Gertie leapt up from the kitchen table and wrapped her arms around me. “We thought we’d never see you again.”
“Don’t cry, Gertie,” I said.
“Too late.” Tears streamed down her face.
Ida Belle stood. Her lips were pursed, but I could see them trembling. She reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“Same here.” Damn, I felt my own lips trembling.
Gertie pulled away and looked from me to Ida Belle. She wiped away her tears and shook her head. “Would it kill you two to show a little emotion?”
“We’re showing it,” Ida Belle said, cracking a smile. Her smile quickly disappeared, replaced by worry. “Is it Ahmad? Did he find out where you were?”
“We kept a watch outside your house yesterday and this morning and didn’t see anyone hanging around,” Gertie said.
I shook my head. “Director Morrow heard from an informant that one of their agents had been compromised, but I know the snitch. Nothing he says ever turns out credible. Morrow’s just being super cautious.”
“For how long?” Gertie asked. “We want you back in Sinful where you belong. This place is too dry and hot. My skin is all itchy. Look.” She held up her arm to show me.
“She doesn’t want to see your flaky skin,” Ida Belle said.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table. “I see you found the food.”
Gertie nodded. “I have to have this salsa recipe. Did the people here bring it over to welcome you?”
“They were leftovers from a candidate debate I went to for some resident association. Seems my ‘aunt’ Olive was supposed to be in the election.”
I filled them in on everything that had happened from my arrival at Desert Acres to my meeting with my very own Deep Throat, Alvin, as well as my discussion outside with Martha.
“Do you get a sense this Olive was murdered?” Ida Belle asked.
I shrugged. “A lot of people here seem to think so. Alvin said her death had to do with some guy named Henry, but we were interrupted before I could get more information.”
I also gave them a rundown of Rosa and Bucky’s efforts to scare me into turning over the map should I find it. “They said a band of dead Apaches would make my life hell if I didn’t.”
“They must think you’re pretty gullible,” Gertie said. “My daddy tried to scare me into doing all my chores with stories of the alligator-people who bit off kids’ arms for not making their beds every morning. It never worked with me. I stole one of Daddy’s pistols and hid it under my pillow. I really wanted to bag me an alligator-man.”
I got up and cleared the table. “I thought tomorrow we could snoop around here and see if we can find any evidence of foul play.”
“It’s been a month since she died,” Gertie said. “Anyone could have come inside her trailer and removed evidence.”
“You said she died in her bed?” Ida Belle asked.
“Yeah. Come on, I’ll show you the room.”
We dropped their luggage off in one of the spare bedrooms with two twin beds, then made our way to Olive’s room and stepped inside to where Olive had taken her last breath. I flipped on the light.
“You’re not sleeping here tonight, are you?” Gertie asked.
I shook my head. “There’s another spare bedroom. Somehow it doesn’t seem right even taking over her place. Which got me wondering. Do you think Marge would mind that I took over her house and use her stuff?”
“Oh honey,” Gertie said, rubbing my arm, “you’re the daughter none of us ever had. I don’t think she’d mind at all.”
Ida Belle yawned. “It’s after two in the morning in Louisiana. Why don’t we turn in and tackle everything in the morning after we’ve had our coffee?”
“Good idea,” I said.
Gertie ran her hand through her hair. “I think I got my second wind. I hate when that happens.” She surveyed the bookshelf alongside one wall in Olive’s bedroom. “I think I’ll read a little until I start relaxing.” Aside from a few novels, most of the books on the four shelves dealt with Arizona history and folklore, as well as books on treasure hunting, either gold panning, metal detecting, or mining. The bottom shelf was devoted to map reading and The Lost Dutchman Mine.
“Is that the mine the map is supposed to lead to?” Gertie asked.
I nodded.
She took several of the books from the bottom shelf. “These ought to get me tired.”
I didn’t need anything to put me to sleep. The driving and bus trip of the past two days had finally taken their toll. I was even too tired to go jiggle the toilet that started, then stopped as I was drifting off. The last I saw it was 1:04 AM, and I’m sure I could have slept all the way to eight if it hadn’t been for the singing.
I was thrown out of a dream about metal detecting, of all things. In my dream, my detector had given off signals that there was something metallic buried under a tree. I threw the detector on the ground and dug with my hands until I felt something hard. It was a picnic basket. Inside was a skeleton taking helium hits off a balloon. It then began singing. Soon the singing sounded like Gertie, and the skeleton began morphing into Gertie, until it was Gertie, singing I Shot the Sheriff.
I bolted upright in bed and looked at the clock: 1:48 AM. It took me a few seconds to get oriented to the fact that I wasn’t back in Sinful. The singing stopped. Moments later, I heard the front door open then slam shut. I hit the floor, threw on a pair of shorts and hurried into the hallway, meeting up with Ida Belle, her hair in curlers, wearing a robe.
“What the hell?” she said.
We scrambled into the living room. The light was on and the room empty, and it appeared as if Gertie had been in the middle of dusting.
“Whoooooot!”
“Hey, you, come back with that!” The angry voice sounded like Martha’s.
Ida Belle and I rushed outside to find Gertie driving Martha’s golf cart, doing figure eights in the middle of the street. Martha ran alongside the cart, trying to get her to stop. “I’m going to give you a citation!”
“Cite away, baby!” Gertie called back.
“Gertie, what are you doing?” Ida Belle yelled.
Martha rushed over to us and wagged her finger in my face. “She stole my cart. I’m holding you personally responsible for any damages.”
Gertie drove by and waved. “I’m going to go dig us some gold!”
The commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other residents. Lights popped on in nearby trailers. Bucky opened the door and stepped outside, her jaw dropping when she saw Gertie. One trailer over, Rosa peeked her head out her door. Next door to her, Shelby stood by the curb, laughing.
Shelby waved her fist in the air and shouted, “You go, girl!”
Gertie circled around and drove up to us and stopped. “Grab a shovel. We need to go find that Lost Dutchman Mine.”
“What is she talking about?” Martha asked.
“I found the map,” Gertie yelled, before whooping.
Bucky ran from her house and joined us. “Did she say she found the map?”
Martha tried to pull Gertie out of the seat. “You get out of my cart.”
Gertie accelerated, freeing herself from Martha’s grasp, and zoomed away.
Rosa and Shelby joined us.
“What’s going on?” Rosa asked.
“I was about to end my shift when I heard loud singing coming from Olive’s trailer,” Martha said. “So I got off my cart to investigate. That woman then charged out, called me a Peeping Thomasina, then jumped in my cart and took off. She has it in her head she’s going to dig up the Lost Dutchman Mine.”
“Who is she?” Shelby asked.
“Her guest.” Martha pointed at me.
“Uh, my great-aunts,” I said to them. �
�The one in the cart is Gertie. This is Ida Belle. They came in late tonight.”
Gertie circled around again and drove straight for our group.
“Whooooot!”
We dove out of the street, but instead of driving through, Gertie came to a stop beside Olive’s trailer and turned off the cart.
“I need to tinkle. Can’t go digging for gold if I have to tinkle, now can I?” She calmly got out of the cart and handed Martha the keys. “I’d like a wash and wax, please.” Then to Ida Belle, “We need to call Marge and tell her to get her stuff together for our next adventure.”
Ida Belle peered into her face. “I think she’s sleepwalking,” she said to me before pulling her gaze back to Gertie. “Did you take something to fall asleep?”
Gertie nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think it worked.”
“That’s the culprit,” Ida Belle said to Martha. “Those things make her sleepwalk.”
“I don’t care what she’s doing,” Martha said. “She stole my golf cart.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been spying on me,” Gertie said. She turned back to Ida Belle. “Where’s Marge? I haven’t seen her in quite some time, have you? Is she mad at us?”
“Gertie,” Ida Belle said gently, sadness in her voice, “Marge is no longer with us.”
“Well, I know. She’s at her house. But I’ll text her and see if she can come help us find the gold.”
“I’ll go put her to bed,” Ida Belle said. She put her arm around Gertie’s shoulder. “Let’s go back inside, okay?”
As they walked toward the front door, Gertie asked, “Why do we live in a trailer? I don’t think this thing’ll hold up well in a hurricane.”
Ida Belle helped Gertie through the front door and closed it behind her.
I turned to Martha. “She doesn’t normally do this, so maybe you could overlook it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll overlook it this one time.” Martha held up an index finger to reiterate, “Just once,” before stomping back to her cart.
Shelby stared at me. “Olive never mentioned a Gertie and Ida Belle.”
