It's a Wonderful Knife

by Christine Wenger

  I turned around as much as my broken ribs would allow. “I don’t see anything other than a dolly! You’re going to roll me on a dolly?”

  “Yeah. Isn’t that a brilliant idea? You can stand on that little platform, and I’ll tip you back and roll you in. I can even get you up the stairs that way.”

  Oh my!

  “I think you should park on a side street, not in front of Liz’s house. Drive around the block and park,” I said.

  She did, and we found the perfect parking space on a side street behind Liz’s house, but not too close. It might appear that Brown’s Four Corners Restaurant was making a delivery to another house.

  True to her plan, ACB got out the dolly and made me stand on it. Why didn’t they make those little platforms larger? “I’m going to tip you back now.”

  “I’m going to die.”

  “Nah, but you just might slide off.”

  Instead of worrying about falling off, I tried to concentrate on the blue sky with pretty, fluffy clouds.

  Oh, look! One’s in the shape of a bunny.

  ACB rolled me through Liz’s backyard. She had a nice brick walkway, which must have reflected the sun and melted the snow, because it was clear rolling.

  Poor ACB tried to yank the dolly up the stairs, which were loaded with snow and ice, but her grunts and heavy breathing told me that she just couldn’t do it.

  “I’ll walk now, Antoinette Chloe. I don’t want you to have a heart attack.”

  I got up the stairs by using my crutches and the railing and pulled Liz’s keys out of my coat pocket. Much to my surprise, I picked the right key and the door squeaked open.

  Suddenly I didn’t want to do this.

  “Umm . . . I’m not so sure I think that this is a good idea anymore. Maybe we shouldn’t—” I found myself whispering.

  “Get your butt in there, and start snooping. The neighbors have probably called 911 already and reported that a body has been seen on a dolly with a woman pushing it wearing a stunning rose-covered muumuu with sequined flip-flops, a Christmas-themed fascinator, and exquisite seashell jewelry.”

  I grinned. “You’re probably right. And that gives us about five minutes before Ty rushes in and puts us in the stocks in the village square so the seagulls can peck out our eyes as the kids throw snowballs at us.”

  With a quick prayer to whatever patron saint protected diner owners, I pushed the door open wider, got my crutches into place, and crutched in.

  I stopped in my tracks. “Unless Liz Fellows was a complete slob or a hoarder in training, someone beat us here.”

  ACB looked around, her mouth open. “No way.”

  “Way.”

  “Should we clean this mess up?” she asked.

  “No way. Start looking for something important and let’s get out of here.”

  “Trixie, it’s obvious that we’re the second string. Someone already beat us to the important stuff.”

  “I didn’t take that state fair ride on your dolly for nothing. So start looking.”

  ACB moved some clothes and books and, at the same time, we noticed Liz’s old-fashioned answering machine lying on a red-and-green Christmas sweater. The machine had to be put back together and the little cassette rewound, so I’m guessing that the burglars couldn’t handle ancient technology and just tossed it on the floor, disemboweled.

  I left ACB to get the machine working as I clomped around looking for a flash drive or something important.

  Moving things out of my path with a crutch, I noticed the twisted remnants of a metal-and-glass computer desk by a bay window. Looking intently at the area around it, I didn’t see a flash drive.

  She didn’t have a computer on the desk, and I looked on the floor under office supplies, file folders, paper, and heaps of paper clips, pens, and highlighters.

  What a mess!

  I went into Liz’s bedroom. It was pretty, or it must have been at one time. I could see that the bedspread, now torn from the bed and heaped on the floor, was covered with botanical-labeled flowers. Only now it looked like lawn mower clippings because someone had taken a knife to it and slashed the stuffing out of it.

  Drawers were opened, the contents discarded, and everything was haphazardly tossed on the floor.

  Perfume bottles, makeup, and jewelry were lying everywhere.

  Liz’s possessions, her special things, were discarded like yesterday’s birdcage liner. This was more than sad. It was horrible.

  And it obviously wasn’t a professional burglary, because it seemed as though valuable pieces of jewelry weren’t taken.

  So what was the amateur burglar looking for?

  Maybe it was the same thing that we were looking for.

  A little flash drive.

  “Trixie, I got the answering machine working!” ACB yelled from the other part of the house.

  “Be right there.”

  I crutched out and stood next to ACB. She hit play.

  “You have reached Liz Fellows. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Beep. “You have three new messages and no saved messages.”

  “Liz, this is Sally from Harry’s Snow Removal and Lawn Care. I’m calling you at home because Darlene isn’t answering at the church’s main number. Anyway, the check you wrote to cover our snow removal of Sandy Harbor Community Church’s parking lot in the amount of three hundred and twenty-five dollars has bounced. The returned check fee is fifty dollars. Please write us another check—one that won’t bounce (snort, chuckle)—and add that amount into the balance. Thank you.”

  Beep.

  “Hey, Liz! It’s Lorraine from Lorraine’s Hairdo It Your Way. Darlene Robinson, you know . . . Pastor Fritz’s wife, owes my salon a chunk of change. Four hundred and fifty dollars, to be exact. She keeps writing checks and they keep bouncing. Half of that amount is fees. The other half is what she really owes me. I am at the end of my hair roots, so I decided to call you for help. It takes a village—I mean a hair salon—to keep Darlene’s hair dry and frizzy with Brass Glow number two-one-three-one (laugh) that I can’t talk her out of. I’m going to have to refuse service to her soon. Can you imagine her hair then? Can you help me out? And, by the way, your appointment is scheduled for Tuesday at five. See you then, and no Brass Glow two-one-three-one for you!”

  ACB shuddered. “Lorraine uses Posey Purple four-four-two-two on me. But when my roots grow out, it’s a horror. I can’t imagine Darlene’s hair if Lorraine bans her from Hairdo It Your Way.”

  Beep.

  “Liz, Pastor Fritz here. Would you mind coming in an hour early tomorrow morning? I have several very important things to discuss with you, and it’s for your ears only. I don’t want my wife or Roger to get wind of it. Thank you, Liz.”

  Beep.

  “End of messages.”

  I wonder if Liz had attended her meeting with Pastor Fritz. It would have been the morning of the auditions. The same day she died.

  And who was Roger?

  “Antoinette Chloe, these messages show that Darlene isn’t paying the bills. Their creditors must be desperate for them to ask Liz for payment. If there are two on the machine, there are probably a lot more who haven’t called yet,” I said.

  I needed to sit down, but where? I didn’t want to touch anything since I was smack-dab in the middle of another crime scene. So I kept looking for something—anything—that would help us find Liz’s killer.

  What I did see was a Sandy Harbor Sheriff’s car drive very slowly down Daffodil Street and pull over in front of Liz’s house. I knew immediately who was driving.

  “Oh crap! Double crap! Antoinette Chloe, it’s Ty. I think he’s coming here. He can’t catch us! Let’s roll!”

  She looked as panicked as I felt. We both hurried to the back door
. She flip-flopped as I crutched.

  ACB locked the door as I hopped down the stairs as if it were an Olympic event and assumed my position on the dolly.

  “Hurry, Antoinette Chloe!”

  In her haste, she lost a flip-flop on the stairs, and it seemed like she was going to leave it there and go barefoot on one foot.

  “What? Are you channeling Cinderella?” I said through gritted teeth. “Pick that up and let’s go!”

  She did, and for once I didn’t nag her about wearing boots, although boots would have made a world of sense.

  “Wait!” I yelled, looking at the overstuffed mailbox on the side of the back door. “There’s mail in Liz’s mailbox! Grab it!”

  She ran back up the stairs, pulled the mail out of the mailbox, and stuffed it into her cleavage purse. Sliding into the errant flip-flop, she hurried back down the stairs.

  I took a deep breath as she tipped me back and rolled me up the brick walkway, then across a sidewalk, took a shortcut through a snowbank, and then finally we reached her van.

  She opened the door and shoved my butt into the passenger’s seat. I had barely sat down when she heaved the dolly through the back door, pulled herself into the driver’s side, and took off down the street.

  I struggled to get my seat belt on. ACB was driving like we were at the Indy 500.

  “Slow down, Antoinette Chloe, before you tip us over. We made our getaway. I don’t think Ty saw us.”

  “That was a close call!”

  “I know. You tipped me over so fast on that dolly, I think I swallowed my necklace!”

  “I lost my flip-flop again somewhere!”

  My mouth went dry. If Ty found the glittery, sequined rubber flip-flop with the sunflower glued to it, it would lead him right to ACB and me.

  We might as well pack our toothbrushes and get ready for our cell at the Sandy Harbor Jail. At least when ACB was incarcerated before, she’d decorated with a cabbage rose theme, and added plush lime green toilet seat covers and matching shag rugs.

  ACB was one impressive decorator when it came to jail couture.

  As we raced through downtown Sandy Harbor, which consisted of a half block of stores, restaurants, the Spend A Buck discount store, a Laundromat, a bar, and a hair salon, she zoomed into a parking spot in front of her restaurant, Brown’s Four Corners.

  “Do you have to check on your restaurant?” I asked.

  “Nah. Fingers is doing a great job. I have a few dozen spare flip-flops there. I’ll go in and get them. Besides, I just wanted to see if anyone is following us.”

  Is this CSI: Sandy Harbor? If anyone was following us, it’d be Ty, and he could find us anywhere.

  “Remember, I have a dentist appointment,” I said, checking my watch. “In twenty minutes.”

  “I forgot about that. I’ll be quick.”

  While waiting for ACB, I got my crutch and fished for my purse, which had slid under the dolly. ACB really should have strapped the dolly in, so it wouldn’t turn into a projectile in case we had to stop fast.

  Finally ACB rounded the corner, looking more presentable. She now wore zebra-striped flip-flops and her holiday fascinator was back in place instead of hovering over her chin.

  “You’ve got to take this,” she said, getting into the van. She pulled Liz’s mail out of her cleavage and handed it to me.

  “Whew! That feels better. The points of the envelopes were poking into my boobs.”

  “What else have you got stored there?” I wondered.

  “The usual. My wallet, tissues, some makeup, another fascinator . . .”

  “And why don’t you carry a purse?” I asked.

  “Too bulky.”

  “I see.” But I really didn’t.

  ACB held up a lumpy yellow envelope that obviously contained something. “This feels like a flash drive, Trixie!” She set it down on her lap. “People send themselves important things in the mail all the time, mostly to get a date stamped on it for proof of . . . uh . . . the date and maybe location.”

  “Do we dare open it?” I asked.

  “And go to federal prison?”

  “As opposed to state prison for breaking into Liz’s house?”

  “We didn’t break in. We had a key,” she pointed out.

  “That we stole from her purse!”

  “Good point.”

  The rest of Liz’s mail was the usual run-of-the-mill junk, so that was a disappointment.

  “Trixie, I have a brilliant idea how we can find out what’s in the envelope.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, we are going to the dentist, right?” ACB asked, driving way too close to the guardrail on my side.

  “Yes.”

  “And the dentist has an X-ray machine,” she said.

  Oh, I suddenly knew where she was going with this. “What am I supposed to do? Stuff the envelope into my mouth?”

  “Trixie, you have to think more like a criminal, for heaven’s sake. We take an X-ray of the envelope when the dentist isn’t around.”

  “Oh, I see.” I was more than a little sarcastic. “Do you know how to take an X-ray of an envelope with a dental X-ray machine?”

  “How hard can it be? Marie Elaine Caluzzio works for Dr. Covey, and she’s not the brightest bulb in the movie marquee. We went to Sandy Harbor High School together. She was voted Most Likely to Marry Someone Rich. She did.”

  “Who’d she marry?” I asked.

  “Rich Covey.”

  “Rich?” I shook my head. “Oh, I get it now. I fell for that, didn’t I?”

  “Marie and Rich started going out together in freshman year.” She grinned, still enjoying her joke. “Maybe I’ll just ask Marie to X-ray it. She might ask questions, but she probably wouldn’t remember the answers.”

  ACB pulled into Dr. Richard Covey’s driveway. It had a big molar-shaped mailbox with a six-foot-tall toothbrush as a post. I always chuckled when I drove by it.

  No one was in the lavender and green waiting room when we walked in. In fact, there wasn’t any receptionist either.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Anyone here?”

  Marie Elaine Covey came out from another room, munching on an English muffin. I could smell the peanut butter on it. “Oh, I think that our receptionist has the day off. Come with me, Antoinette Chloe.”

  “Marie, it’s Trixie who has the appointment, not me.”

  “Oh, yeah. Come with me, Trixie.” She crammed what was left of the muffin into her mouth and licked her fingers.

  “Maybe I’ll come, too,” ACB said. “We can talk about old times.”

  “What old times?” Marie Elaine asked.

  “You know, old times in high school. When we were in Gamma Gamma Gamma sorority.”

  Marie looked blank.

  “The Tri-Gams, Marie. You must remember the Tri-Gams.”

  “Oh sure, but I don’t remember Trixie.”

  “She didn’t go to high school here.”

  “Then why did you say that she was in the Tri-Gams?”

  I raised an eyebrow at Antoinette Chloe. “Yeah, Antoinette Chloe. Why did you say that I was a member of the Tri-Gams in high school?” I chuckled.

  ACB looked as though she was going to pull off her fascinator and toss it at me. I really liked that one, too. It had two real candy canes sticking up out of a wreath of plastic holly berries and red netting. ACB would wear Christmas-themed fascinators until Christmas Day; then she’d switch to something pertaining to the New Year.

  I sat down in the banana-shaped yellow chair and stretched out as Marie clipped a paper bib around my neck.

  “Hey, Marie, would you mind taking an X-ray of what’s inside this envelope?”

  “What is it?”

  “Um . . . well . . . I think it could be Trixie’s tooth that som
eone found. If we open it, we can’t send it back, so could you just X-ray it and tell us what it is?”

  That made absolutely no sense, but Marie thought it did. She clipped it to a plastic stick, and held it up to something on a big X-ray arm.

  The image came up on a computer screen on a counter next to my banana chair.

  “It looks like a tiny ice scraper,” ACB said, squinting.

  “On a chain,” I added. A tiny ice scraper on a chain?

  “It’s not a tooth,” Marie proclaimed. “It’s one of those scrapers that you get from some lottery places to scrape off the silver coating that’s on the tickets.”

  “Really?” I asked. I guess that made some sense. What else would you use a tiny ice scraper for?

  I was a little disappointed. It had felt like a flash drive through the envelope. But I guessed it was just a dead end.

  Marie puffed up her blond flip. “I got one from Gus’s Gutters and Snow Removal when he sent me my bill. Here, I have it hanging from my purse.”

  And she did.

  I held out my hand for ACB to give me the envelope. She did. Looking at the return address, I read: “‘Gus’s Gutters and Snow Removal. Our thirtieth year in serving Sandy Harbor, New York. Call us for an estimate!’”

  “Oh,” ACB said quietly. “I guess we should’ve read the envelope.”

  Just then Dr. Covey walked in, and I handed the envelope back to ACB.

  He looked at me, then at the computer screen, then he scratched his head.

  “It’s a little scraper,” Marie said. “For lottery tickets. That’s not Trixie’s tooth, so she doesn’t have to send it back.”

  If he thought that Marie was talking nonsense, he was probably used to it and didn’t want to pursue it, so I changed the subject.

  “Hi, Dr. Covey! I’m so glad you could fit me in. I fell down the stairs and my cap came off. I don’t have it with me because it fell somewhere in the snow, and I couldn’t find it, but maybe you could give me a temporary one so I don’t look so . . . awful.”

  “I can do that. Certainly.”

  For the next hour, he worked on my tooth and squirted gunk in my mouth to take impressions for a new cap. Midway through the procedure, he kicked out Marie and ACB because their endless chatter was distracting.