Dumpster Dicing (Bunco Biddies Book 1)

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  Of course! Headlights of a van backed up to the house might cast the same strong beam. But it didn’t make sense. Marge eyeballed the van at dusk Monday evening, a good seven to eight hours prior. An inkling of a headache pulsed in her temples. Janie sighed, pushed off from the table, and grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the kitchen cabinet.

  Perhaps a nap could do her good as well.

  * * *

  Blake shuffled the reports once again. Someone, somewhere in the village, observed something. His wife came up behind him with a tumbler of sweet iced tea. “Must you work, sweetheart? It’s Sunday afternoon.”

  “I know. But this case is baffling me. How can a man be chopped into pieces and no one suspect a thing?” He glanced at her paled face as she dropped her gaze. “Oh. Sorry, honey.” He shoved the bloody crime photos under the stack.

  “That’s what my mother witnessed? How awful. I had no idea.” She clasped the gold and pearl necklace he’d given her for their tenth anniversary, the one she always wore to church.

  He reached and took her hand. “Yes.”

  Melody perched on the edge of his desk. “Her bravery amazes me. I’d probably throw up or swoon.”

  “She’s a tough old bird. I’ve told you so.”

  She bopped him on the top of his head in jest. “Did mother’s unauthorized snooping lend any clues?”

  “Not really. Vague innuendos and a few bunny trails at the most.” He tapped the pen. “Any clue as to why she talked all of her Bunco friends into sleuthing?”

  “No.”

  Blake scooped her off the deck onto his lap. “Because according to Janie, I am a neglectful father and husband.” He pressed his forehead against hers.

  She reared back. “Mother said that?”

  “Uh huh. Well, not in those exact words, but she made her point.”

  She huffed. “What a meddlin’ old coot.” But her eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “I do love you, Mel. You know that, right? And the kids, more than all the tea in China, as my grandmother used to say.”

  She brushed her lips over his cheek. “Yes, my sweet. We all do.” She clicked her fingernail over the stack of reports. “Now go get this maniac. Okay?”

  As she sashayed out, Blake whistled through his teeth. His wife still maintained her figure after two kids and walking this earth for almost four decades. Plus, her giant Texas-sized heart oozed the sweetest disposition a man could ask for. How had he become so blessed? He raised his tea glass to the ceiling and whispered, “Thank you, Lord God.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Well, now I’m not sure.” Mildred placed another morsel of blond brownie in her mouth as her eyes shifted from one print out of a man’s face to the other. “No, I never met him before. And I didn’t get a good look at him. I was more concerned about Poopsy. Much of him lay hidden behind the privacy fence separating our patio areas.” Her gaze darted between the two photos one more time.

  “But he made me so angry I called Mrs. Jacob’s and asked her my new neighbor’s name as soon as I came back from the vet. $182 for x-rays, antibiotics, salve, and then the vet’s fee. I wanted him to reimburse me. I just assumed it was him.”

  “But you didn’t speak to the man again?”

  She lowered her eyes. “No. I tried to muster the courage all day. He is…er, was quite a few years younger. Muscular like. From what I could tell.” She took a breath. “I mean he’d have to be to chuck a coffee mug so hard, especially one of the ceramic ones they sell at the Get’em and Go. You know, the ones with your horoscope on it. I tossed it in the trash.”

  Janie nodded. “Of course. Caution is always wise. He did display a hot temper. Um, you don’t recall the specific astrological sign do you?”

  “No. I don’t follow that stuff.” Mildred lifted her chin. “But, Sunday afternoon after church and lunch with the grandkids, I put on the armor of God and marched to his door. Rang the bell, ready to give him a piece of my mind. No one answered. Never spotted any car in his designated spot, so I couldn’t tell when he came and went. No lights came on at night, but then movers never arrived, did they? I figured he rented a motel room or something.” Her face paled. “Do suppose he was already dead?”

  “Not with lipstick on those beer cans. No, he decided to entertain in, at least part of the weekend. Probably just didn’t want to answer the door.” Janie pressed her finger to her chin. “I wonder why the movers never came?”

  “Well, I’d venture to say when Mrs. Jacobs notified the next of kin, they intervened and diverted it.”

  “I suppose. If any family exists.”

  Mildred knitted her brow. “Doesn’t everyone have relatives? Even ex-cons?”

  “I’m sure I can find out who claimed the body. I got somewhere with the delivery service using my helpless, elderly voice.”

  Mildred laced her arms over her chest. “That’s a thought. But I still don’t get why Mrs. Jacobs would rent to such a grumpy person.”

  Janie rubbed her fingers together. “He offered a year’s lease in cash.”

  “Wonder where he laid his hands on that amount of dough?”

  Janie’s eyes twinkled. “Exactly my question.”

  * * *

  Later that night, a rapid pounding shook Janie’s back door. She wrapped her robe tighter around her waist and peered through the peephole. Carole Johnson stood on the stoop, glancing up and down the alley. “Janie, let me in.”

  She wedged open the door. “My word. You’re acting as nervous as a calf before a rodeo scramble. Come inside.”

  “I recalled something. Hit me in a dream as I snoozed in the recliner. The new public channel program didn’t hold my interest.”

  “The one set in Africa in the early 1900s?”

  “Yes. I hoped to view fantastic scenes with exotic animals. Instead, they reported on all the poverty and the atrocities of apartheid.” She pulled out one of the kitchen dinette chairs. “Then I remembered the package I got from my niece. She thought my birthday fell on the 5th not the 25th. The gift came wrapped in wadded newspaper.”

  Janie sat across from her. “And?”

  “Well, she lives in Skiatook, north of Tulsa.”

  Tulsa…why did the city sound familiar? Janie smiled as her brain cells kicked in. Yes, where Edward Norman lived.

  “This is one of the pages.” Carole slid a crumpled piece across the Formica tabletop.

  Janie picked up the newsprint. “Half-price sale at Sole-full Shoes?”

  Carole snatched it back and flopped it over. “Other side.” She pointed with her ruby-coated fingernail to a faded photograph of a man. “Check out the headline.”

  “Local Tulsa man to be released today after ten years wrongfully imprisoned.”

  Janie read the report to the right of the picture out loud, which looked quite familiar indeed. In a bizarre twist, mislaid records confirmed Edwin L. Newman was falsely identified as Edward Norman, a gang member in burglary case concerning the robberies of three Austin, Texas, banks more than a decade ago. The police didn’t lift any fingerprints from the three scenes but two eye witnesses, plus one of the bank’s security camera, confirmed a man bearing the likeness to Edwards sitting in the getaway car. Maintaining his innocence all along, Newman could produce no proof of his identity. His birth certificate became misfiled in the Houston records due to a clerical error. The hospital transposed the numbers in his records to read June 10, 1972, the exact birthdate on Norman Edward’s driver license, instead of June 01, the same year. Newman’s niece located the original church baptism certificate, dated July 15, 1972, tucked in in her aunt’s, Newman’s mother’s, bible stored in an attic trunk while taking estate inventory after her funeral on April 25, 2014.”

  She glanced at Carole who pointed to article. “Go on. Keep reading. It gets juicier.”

  Janie smoothed the newspaper print and squinted to better decipher the typeset through the crisscrossed creases.

  “Mrs. Edith Newman, a widow, had suffered from sev
ere depression and agoraphobia following her only son’s imprisonment. Concerned neighbors discovered her body in her bed after nobody detected lights in the house for almost a week. The coroner stated she’d been deceased approximately five days. Prison officials released Mr. Newman today from the Wallace Unit near Navasota, Texas, and issued a cashier’s check for $250,000.00 to compensate for their error along with profound apologies from the Texas Attorney General.”

  Janie lifted her gaze from the article. “Is that so?”

  Carole nodded. “Check the date. Published three days before Mr. Newman signed the lease.”

  “So that’s where he got the loot to pay for a year’s lease.”

  Carol’s voice softened to a quivery whisper. “You think someone bumped him off for the money?”

  “People have killed for less, I suppose.”

  A sudden chilled blasted through the small kitchen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Yes, dear. I know what time it is. But Blake needs to get over here now. I cannot sleep a wink until I show him what Carole uncovered.”

  “Okay, Mom. Give him a half-hour.”

  The rustle of bed sheets sounded in the background. Janie glanced at her clock. Twelve minutes until ten. Pretty early for people their age to hit the hay. Unless...oh.

  Her cheeks warmed against the receiver. “Thanks, Melody. That’s fine. Take an hour if need be. No rush. I’ll wait up. Tell Blake I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

  Carole wiggled her fingers in goodbye as she slipped out the kitchen door.

  Janie waved and mouthed a thank you to her. She rinsed out the carafe and scooped three spoonfuls into the paper-lined drip basket as she fanned the blushed heat from her cheeks.

  For mercy’s sake. Her daughter and son-in-law bore two children. Of course they...well, still, she didn’t care to think about such an intimate of a detail in their marriage. Everyone realized marriage meant the squeaks of springs now and then, but in her day and age, such things remained a taboo topic. She never pictured any of her friends and their husbands...oh gracious, no.

  She pushed the image away and puttered about. Scrubbed the sink, mopped the floors, and rearranged her spices. At last, Janie heard a soft knock on the door and Blake’s face gleamed through the peephole.

  He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “What’s this all about?”

  She handed him a mug of steaming brew and motioned to the kitchen table.

  He scanned the article as he rubbed his chin. “We learned about this four days ago.”

  She plopped into the chair next to him. “You did? Why didn’t you say so?”

  The vein on his forehead began to change color. “I am not in the habit of discussing the details of a case with my mother-in-law.” He shot from the table and thrust his finger at her face. “Janie, so help me, God. This nonsense must stop. You understand me?”

  Her lip quivered.

  The angst in his expression melted. He came and placed his hands on her hunched shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know you mean well. So do your friends. And I can understand why recent events disturb you. You feel helpless and wish to do something.” He knelt down and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “But, Janie, that’s my job.”

  She nodded and dabbed her eyes with a paper napkin.

  * * *

  He placed her deep, blue-veined hands in his. They trembled like a baby bird’s heartbeat. Her age and fragility hit him in the stomach. This strong, pioneer-spirited Texas woman had been a rock his family clung to for almost two decades. She lost her husband way too early in Melody’s senior year in college, shot during a stakeout gone bad while negotiating the release of three hostages. She and her daughter still carried his banner with pride, as did Blake. Despite the fact they fell in love at first site, he figured Melody became enamored by his police uniform. A rookie straight out of the academy. Seemed ages ago. Though it tore Janie up when Mel married a cop, she never once held it against him.

  Yet in so many ways, Janie remained sharp as a tack and stubborn as a mule. Qualities he admired and found endearing. Her generation jolted from the serene fifties into an age of drugs, sex, and violence, yet still managed to endure numerous economic crises, political unrest, and war in order to secure the American dream for his peers. Now, society forced many of these late Baby Boomers into “out-to-pasture” communities like this, out of sight and out of mind. They huddled together and once again carved out a life as best they could, something they’d always done. You had to admire them. Their parents’ may have been called the Great Generation, but the Boomers were the most durable. They deserved respect.

  “Okay, Janie. I will tell you what I can. But you can’t make this the gossip of your village, understood?”

  A tiny sparkle flickered in her eyes. He reached for the coffee pot and topped off both their mugs. After taking a deep sip, he set his cup down. “Here is what we can confirm so far. Yes, the authorities assumed Edwin Newman to be Edward Norman. However, why would Norman’s old gang pay for him to be knocked off? First off, they are both still secured in the state pen in Abilene. We checked to make sure. Secondly, from what we unearthed, the real Norman died of a heart attack eight years ago in Guatemala. I’m thinking he hightailed it and spent all the dough from the heists on wine, women, and song.”

  “But the man with the scar?”

  “A lot of men have them, Janie. In particular, large, burly types. Comes with the lifestyle.”

  She waggled her head and more wisps from her silver and gray-streaked bun escaped onto her neck. “But Mildred isn’t sure Newman attacked Poopsy. She only assumed so. When I took her the police sketch from the papers she couldn’t identify him with any certainty.”

  “Which means the man may have been the killer instead? But it happened on Saturday. You and Betsy Ann discovered the body in the dumpster on Tuesday morning.”

  She took a sip from her mug. “True. And folks identified him on both Saturday and Monday at the Get ’em and Go.”

  Blake clunked his wedding ring against the coffee cup. “So, that leaves us still with the big question. Who would want to kill Edwin Lewis Newman, a man with little or no family, locked up under false pretenses for close to a decade?”

  Janie sighed. “Exactly.” She titled her head to the side. “It may have been simply a robbery gone wrong. Someone read in the paper he had gotten a wad from the government and wanted it instead. Edwin busts in on them and it turns ugly.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Janie sighed. “It does sound like a plot from one of Ethel’s novels.”

  Silence fell between them.

  Then Blake saw his mother-in-law’s eyes grow as wide as the rim of her coffee cup.

  “Perhaps someone who feared what he would do or say once they released him? You can learn a good many secrets in prison, right?”

  Blake winked. “And perhaps make a few enemies as well. It’s possible. Very good, Janie. Very good.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Janie’s speed walking was missing a gear Monday morning. Betsy Ann almost passed her twice. Ethel slowed down several times to stay in sync. “You feeling okay, Janie?”

  “Yes, Janie. Are you? Should we take a detour to the clinic?” Betsy Ann reached over to check the temperature of her friend’s forehead.

  Janie pulled away. “Stop.”

  Betsy Ann halted.

  Ethel did too.

  But Janie kept going.

  The two eyed each other, then their friend’s strutting backside. Ethel called out. “We thought you said you needed to stop.”

  Janie began trotting backwards. “No. I meant stop worrying over me.”

  “Oh,” her friends declared in unison and picked up their pace again.

  At the clubhouse turn, Janie motioned toward the park benches across from the parking lot and dumpster. She sat down and wiped her face with the towel around her neck.

  Betsy Ann slumped to her left, Ethel on the right.

  Janie pointed with her hea
d. “Hard to believe only a week’s passed.”

  Ethel nodded. “Are they any closer to solving his murder?”

  Janie pulled up one of her socks. “Nope. Guess I better catch you up. Blake and I talked into the wee hours in my kitchen.” She squinted at the sun rising over the village. “About a lot of things. So I’m kinda pooped today.”

  “Why did he come over? Did he and Melody fight?”

  Janie laughed. “Um, no. In fact, you might say they’re right as rain.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  Betsy Ann’s face flushed. “You discussed that?”

  “Not in detail, for heaven’s sake. I called and asked him to come over after Carole paid me a visit to bring new evidence. Caught them, well...later, I apologized. Blake told me they’d finished so no big deal. Anyway, let me bring you up to speed.”

  As they sipped their power water, Janie told them about the article. “But Blake is insistent this is all in confidence. He doesn’t want any of the other Bunco gals to find out.”

  “Even Carole?”

  Janie nodded. “I told her this morning I spoke with Blake about the article but the investigative team already uncovered the mix-up. However, I assured her she did the right thing by bringing the newspaper to my attention.”

  “So where does the investigation stand?”

  “Blake will send one of his men to interview Edwin’s roommate at the Wallace Park Unit to ask if he’s aware of any reason why someone on the inside would want Newman killed once he stepped on the outside.”

  Ethel slapped the bench. “Wallace Park Unit? Why does the name sound familiar?”

  “That’s where the Kairos team Ralph Butterfield leads goes. Remember? We all baked cookies for them a few months ago to hand out to the prisoners who attended the program. Used the kitchen at the church and made a day of it.”

  Janie’s spine straightened. “Oh, of course. They lead Bible studies and prayer retreats on weekends for the inmates. Wonder if Ralph ever met Edwin Newman?”