Dumpster Dicing (Bunco Biddies Book 1)

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  “Are you going to go over and say hello?”

  “Hmm. Not now.” Janie squinted as the morning sun reflected off the patrol car’s hood into her pupils, as if God warned her pride to not venture forth until she had all the facts.

  Ethel laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “But shouldn’t you tell him about Edward Norman?”

  “Not yet. I need to drive into Austin and scour the microfiche at the newspaper archives first. Don’t want him barking up the wrong tree and wasting time.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Do you want to come with me?”

  Ethel’s eyes took on a gleam. “Oh, yes. Please. I should be back from my, ugh, medicinal lecture by ten.”

  “Well, we better finish our workout so you can shower and change.” She took off in a swivel-hipped strut, making sure her lime green outfit caught her son-in-law’s attention. After a quick wave, Janie Manson fast-walked toward her condo with a smug grin inching over her lips.

  Soon, I’ll have this case solved, dear Blake. Then, they’d pow-wow, but not before.

  Ethel tagged along behind.

  * * *

  At 10:00 a.m., Ethel knocked on Janie’s door. She’d changed into a cream blouse and maroon and cream skirt. Janie dressed in black slacks with a black, white, and red paisley-patterned top. Red earrings dangled a tad below her earlobes. “Ready?”

  Ethel hugged her purse. “Yep.”

  Janie snatched her keys as they headed to the back door which lead to her designated carport.

  “So, how’d it go?”

  Ethel stuck out her tongue. “Not as bad as I thought. Need to cut back on sweets.”

  “Don’t we all? I think the commuter traffic will have died down by now. So we should arrive by ten-thirty. That gives us an hour and a half before we must head back.”

  “Right, so you can eat lunch before you begin your temporary duties.”

  Janie nodded. “So why don’t you search for articles up to the date of Annie’s clipping. July 15, 2005, if I recall right. Start with that day and work backwards.”

  “And you?” Ethel clicked her seat belt.

  Janie shut the door and turned the ignition. “I am going to begin with last Tuesday.”

  Ethel swiveled to face her. “Why Tuesday?”

  “Ah.” Janie raised a finger as she turned down the main street leading out of Sunset Acres. “Because that’s the day before Mr. Newman signed the lease. If he is really Mr. Edward Norman, I should find some report of his release date.”

  “Unless he escaped.”

  Janie smirked. “Well now, we would have heard about it, wouldn’t we?”

  Ethel turned to face her. “Remember the fifteen tornadoes last week which ravaged a good portion of north central Texas up into Oklahoma? They took the spotlight. So did the backlash from the State Supreme Court’s decision about displaying the Ten Commandments on public grounds. One escaped criminal story might slip through the news media’s attention. After all, he didn’t murder anyone, only drove the getaway car.”

  Janie thumped her fingers on steering wheel. “True.” An icy chill slithered down her spine. Could their manager have been so blind as to lease to a convicted felon? Surely not. She hoped this newspaper article of Annie’s represented their first— how did the detective movies phrase a trick to lead them on another trail?— Oh, yes. A red herring.

  * * *

  Betsy Ann sipped chamomile tea at Mildred’s. Poopsy sat on his owner’s lap, his once black nose red and oozing with salve. Bloodshot squiggles raced through one of the pup’s eyes. He kept winking and never quite opened his lid all the way. She stretched out a hand to pat the dog’s head.

  “How is he doing?”

  Mildred’s eyes swam. She gathered the pooch to her chin. “Mean old man. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  “Mildred Scott Fletcher.”

  She wiggled in her chair. “Well?”

  Betsy Ann lowered her voice even though they alone sat at the Fletcher’s kitchen table. Mildred, though widowed for six months, still set a place for her husband. Betsy Ann had made sure not to sit there.

  “The police may deem you a prime suspect if you go around talking like that.”

  The woman chewed her lower lip. “They called and asked to come by today to speak with me.”

  Betsy Ann took advantage of the wedge in the conversation door. “Be brief, tell the truth, but leave any emotion out of your responses. That’s what Janie says they take note of first.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Mildred, Janie is—well, let’s just say she’s helping her son-in-law on this case. In an unofficial capacity, that is. Since Mr. Newman’s demise happened here in our community, it makes sense for her to do so, right?”

  The woman gave her half of a head wag.

  “Do you want to help us identify his killer? She could use your eyes and ears since you live right next door.”

  Mildred set down the dog and glared into her friend’s eyes. “Absolutely. I don’t want anyone to accuse me.” She gulped a small sob. “I’ve only received one parking ticket in my entire life. But I’ve done my fair share of jury duty, and I’m aware of how those high-falutin’ lawyers can twist a witness’s words around. They do on TV all the time.” Her lower lip wobbled. “Besides, who’d take care of Poopsy?”

  Betsy Ann patted her hand. “Great. Janie said to tell you not to reveal your anger, not even to the police, okay? You may raise red flags and cause the killer to run.”

  She sucked in her breath, hand to mouth. “You think he is still lurking about?”

  “Nobody is certain.” Betsy Ann explained about the clipping and the not-yet arrived moving van. “Here’s what Janie says you should do...”

  Chapter Seven

  Betsy Ann sashayed up the steps to the leasing office, two minutes before one in the afternoon. Janie perched on a side chair in the lobby, waiting for Mrs. Jacobs to finish talking with Mr. Calloway about the hot water heater in his condo clanking all night long. Last month, his air conditioner whined, and the month before that, the automatic sprinklers came on at the wrong time on the golf course.

  Through the opened office door, the ladies saw him lean across her desk. “What kinda cheap joint do you run here?” His crooked finger pointed at Mrs. Jacob’s face.

  Betsy Ann slipped into the other chair, motioning at the disgruntled man with her eyes.

  Janie mouthed, “Whew.” She picked up a travel magazine about Central Texas.

  “So did you and Ethel have any luck?”

  “Not really. Need to schedule more time there. I didn’t realize how long it takes to scan one edition.”

  “Sorry. Mildred is in, though. More than happy to help. I explained it to her just like you said.”

  “Good.” Janie put her finger to her lips. “Here she comes.”

  Mrs. Jacob’s expression remained solid, professional, and unreadable as she walked her disgruntled resident to the lobby. “Yes, sir, Mr. Calloway. Why don’t I send Jose over in…let’s say, an hour? You can explain everything to him. He is head of maintenance and can get to the bottom of your complaints.”

  The man’s mottled complexion faded from red to a muted pink. “Very well. He needs to learn his crew are a bunch of a lazy, no good...”

  She spread her hands, palms out, and plastered on a saccharin smile. “Now, now. No need to slip into name calling, is there?”

  He sputtered under his breath and shuffled his feet. “Well, okay. One hour.”

  The bell on the door tinkled on his way out. Mrs. Jacob pressed her fingers together and sighed. “Are you sweet ladies ready to help out?”

  The old files, much to Janie’s dismay, did not reside in Mrs. Jacob’s office but in a separate store room where she kept cleaning supplies and other items. The temperature climbed at least ten degrees warmer and the air stilled. Janie eyed the ceiling. No intake vents. The three cabinets lined one side of the eight by seven room, and metal shelves crowded the other.<
br />
  “I’ll prop the door open for airflow. You start with “A”, Janie, and Betsy Ann, you begin with “M.” All files older than seven years can be put in that box to be shredded. Files over three years old place in these boxes to be digitized. Please keep them in alphabetical order, ladies. If you find any misfiled, refile it correctly if you don’t mind.”

  She turned to leave but stopped at the door jamb. “Oh, restroom is to your right and cokes and bottled water are in the fridge in the break room. Help yourself.”

  Janie huffed through her silver locks. “Now, how are we supposed to get a glimpse at the current resident files or her computer records?”

  Betsy Ann sneezed as she opened the first drawer. A whiff of dust motes escaped from their long-locked prison between the folders. A blend of disinfectants and other chemicals from the supply shelves clung in her nostrils. “My allergies, ugh.”

  Janie dug in her pocket for a hankie. “Here, take this.”

  “Achoo.” She draped her arms across the open drawer and dabbed the handkerchief under her nose. “Thanks.”

  “All in the name of sleuthing. Do you think Mrs. Jacobs will leave for a few minutes so we can sneak a peek at the recent folders?”

  Betsy Ann sniffled. “I’m not sure this was such a grand idea.”

  They proceeded to sort through the files.

  A half-hour and four more sneezes later, Mrs. Jacobs popped her head into the storeroom. “Ladies. I need to go to the office supply store. Can I leave you two here for a little while? If anyone drops by, tell them I will be back by three. If they are looking, several condo units are available, six efficiency apartments, plus three vacancies in assisted living.” She hung her head for a moment. “And now, of course, one garden home.” Silence filled the room. Exhaling a sigh, she thrust a trifold at Janie. “Hand them a brochure, I guess.”

  A huge grin splayed across Janie’s face. “No problem. And we’ll answer the phone, too.”

  Mrs. Jacobs clasped her hands together. “Oh, that would be such a help. I won’t be long.”

  When the tinkle of the bell announced her exit, Janie said under her breath, “Take as long as you want.” She slammed the drawer closed and traipsed across the hall to the leasing office.

  Betsy Ann hissed. “Wait. Stop. This isn’t right.”

  Janie halted, hands on her hips. “I’m just going to take a peek. Perchance his folder is still on her desk.”

  “And if it is, you will open the flap a tad and glance inside?” Her voice held a disciplinary tone as she tapped her foot.

  “All right. I get it. Privacy act and all.” Janie rolled her eyes, hands folded over her paisley blouse. “I swear God put you in my life to be my conscience.”

  Betsy Ann’s eyes glimmered. “It is tempting, I grant you.”

  “So how else are we going to find out about Mr. Newman—if that’s his real name?”

  “Well, Blake can. He has more resources. Did you talk with him?”

  Janie cast her gaze to the front window. “No.”

  “Why?” Betsy Ann’s voice shrilled. “Ah, ha. He doesn’t know you are helping him in this investigation, does he?”

  Janie plopped her rear into one of the upholstered lobby chairs. “Of course not. He won’t allow amateurs to become involved. But, when we bring him real evidence which cracks this case wide open, he’ll wrap this up with a bow in time to attend Ellie’s play-off game next Saturday morning and Jamie’s end of the year concert that night.” She slapped the arm rest. “So, we have ten days. You still in?”

  Betsy Ann slumped into the seat next to her. “I guess. But I think we should rally the troops. Tonight at Bunco, we tell everyone the game plan.” She twisted her torso to meet her friend’s eyes. “You do have one, right?”

  * * *

  The two amateur sleuths scurried through the dusty files like ants rebuilding a kicked-over hill. By late afternoon, they had sorted half of the cabinets. Mrs. Jacobs returned with a huge smile on her face. “My, my, you two are industrious. You have no idea how much of a load is lifted from my shoulders.”

  Janie’s face produced the sweetest, most innocent smile Betsy Ann ever witnessed. “Well, I don’t compare to my son-in-law. Detective Blake Johnson. Never seen a man work so hard. He is so swamped, he never gets to spend time with my grandchildren.”

  “Tsk, tsk. The way of the world nowadays. Everyone so busy.”

  “Yes, well.” Janie paused.

  Betsy Ann saw it coming. She held her breath.

  “I sort of agreed to help him out on this case.” Janie lifted her hands in front of her. “Unofficially, you understand. But since we all live here, we are privy to more than he could find out in a month of Sundays. So any help we”—she motioned back and forth between the three of them—“can give to expedite this process would be of tremendous service to the community and the police.”

  “Such as...?” Mrs. Jacobs slid into her official lease manager’s ergonomically designed chair and leaned back.

  “I, um, gather he took Mr. Newman’s file?”

  “Of course. First thing he asked for.”

  Betsy Ann let out an elongated sigh.

  Janie elbowed her in the ribs. “Can you divulge anything about his background? I mean without breaking any rules.” She brushed away the thought like a pesky mosquito. “All of these privacy laws now are so restrictive.”

  Mrs. Jacobs leaned over her desk. “Tell me about it. More and more paperwork to fill out, plus they make being able to screen residents hard as granite. I purchased a special program through an agency to do thorough background checks. Costs a bundle. But the thing often produces quirky results.”

  “You don’t say.” Janie scooted into one of the two faux leather, armless seats facing the desk. Betsy Ann followed suit.

  Mrs. Jacobs stretched her torso further across her desk, signaling the ladies to draw closer. She darted her eyes back and forth as she lowered her voice as if afraid someone would eavesdrop. “Just between you two and the walls, when I keyed in Edwin Lewis Newman’s name and Houston, Texas, where he declared he last resided, the search result claimed he died six years ago.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ethel dashed through Janie’s back door at twenty after five, with her rotisserie chicken in one hand and fruit salad in the other. “Okay, I’m here. What’s up?”

  Betsy Ann chopped celery and carrot sticks while Janie dumped the plastic take-out container of potato salad she’d also brought into a cut glass bowl. “We found out something rather alarming at the lease office today.”

  Janie tossed the container in the garbage container under the sink.

  “Isn’t that recyclable? You should rinse it out.” Ethel reached into the trash and pulled the tub out. She washed away the remaining mayo-soaked remnants and placed it on the counter, sans label, to dry. “Here’s your fruit salad. I need to slice up the chicken if you don’t mind. Now what were you saying?”

  “Mrs. Jacobs disclosed some information about Edwin Newman.” Betsy Ann waved the knife.

  “Well, not quite...” A sly grin slid across Janie’s mouth. “The agency found hardly any information on him. At least not for the past six years after he died!”

  Ethel gasped. “Ooh, this is good.” She shriveled into her shoulders. “I mean, as far as mysteries go, this is turning into a classic, don’t you think? Reminds me of one I read last summer, but I don’t recall the name. Can visualize the cover...”

  “Ethel. I’m sure you cross-cataloged the book, crime, and motive. You can find it later. Anyway, we wondered why Sunset Acres would let him rent a garden home if his history is so sketchy.”

  “Well, yes. That is rather disturbing. What did Mrs. Jacob’s say?”

  Janie carried the salad to the serving bar. Betsy Ann followed with her fresh veggies and Ethel brought up the rear with her chicken.

  “She asked him about the findings and he said a computer glitch at the Harris County records caused confusion, and
he’d tried for two years to get everything cleared up only to become entangled in a bureaucratic web of paperwork. Then, he handed her cash for a full year’s rent along with his social security card and driver’s license.”

  “Both of which can be faked.” Betsy Ann added with a nod.

  “Ahhh. And she snatched the dough right up, didn’t she?” Ethel laced her arms over her bosom.

  “Uh, huh. After the turn in the economy, a good many vacancies came up and the corporation needs the revenue.”

  “Oh, dear. So it’s back to the records room?”

  “I think tonight after Bunco, I will pull up the Houston Obits from 2009 on the computer. If his name is not listed, that either confirms the glitch or he’s not from where he stated.”

  Janie added the fruit salad to the array of food.

  The doorbell rang. Within minutes, Janie’s living and dining area filled with eleven chatting Bunco Biddies who, after a quick blessing, shared the potluck entrees before settling into some serious dice rolling—only for fun of course. No cash ever exchanged hands. Instead, the ladies doled out mild gossip, clean jokes, and a few prayer requests. The main topic of the evening filtering through the tables as they changed partners naturally hinged on the mystery neighbor and his ghastly demise.

  Before they rolled for sixes, Janie whistled with her fingers in her mouth to get their attention. “Ladies. Don’t leave after the next Bunco.” She glanced to Ethel and Betsy Ann. “We have some important news to share.”

  Murmurs floated around the room. The bell dinged to begin the final round for each person to toss as many sixes as possible until someone at the head table rolled three sixes to declare the game over. By providence, or perhaps the corporate wish to end the session, Annie Schmidt landed the Bunco on the second round. Roseanne Richards won the most overall Buncos and Josephine Rodriguez scored the highest points.

  After the applause died down and second helpings piled the paper plates, Janie took the floor. “Ladies, I need your help. Actually, my son-in-law, Detective Blake Johnson, does. He is over-tasked at the moment with his lead partner out on medical leave. I am sure all of you want this recent tragedy resolved quickly. Face it. A murder happened here in our midst at Sunset Acres. Until this person is apprehended, can any of us feel safe?”