The Saucy Lucy Murders

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  Eva sprinted back up the porch steps and inside the house.

  Lucy hustled up beside them as fast as her sturdy loafers allowed. She looked down at Zorro, clasped her hands and began to pray, mutters of contrition filling the air.

  “Lucy, Zorro needs blankets right now. Not prayers.”

  “Of course,” she said, eyes popping open. Once again, as fast as her sturdy loafers allowed, she hurried back to the house.

  Aunt Gladys tottered up next with Winkie at her side. “Why is that young man napping in the street? He has such a fine looking a—”

  “Aunt Gladys!” Lexie gave her aunt a warning glance.

  “Oh my, he’s bleeding!” Aunt Gladys backed away, eyes wide. “My, oh my, oh my. I think I need my pills. I think I’m going to faint.”

  Winkie, still holding his growling dog, took Aunt Gladys’ elbow and patted her on the back. “It’s going to be all right, love. Help is on its way.”

  “But it’s happening again!” Aunt Gladys shrieked. “It’s the Castleton curse! That’s why I left this place. It’s horrible!”

  “Could you take my aunt inside?” Lexie asked Winkie, wondering what in the world the Castleton curse was. “She’s upset.”

  “Of course.”

  Aunt Gladys gibbered incoherently as Winkie guided her back to the Victorian, talking softly to console her. Eva came back outside followed by Lucy, arms loaded with blankets. Both of them headed into the street.

  “The ambulance is on its way and I got a hold of Uncle Otis, too,” Eva said, once she arrived at Lexie’s side.

  Lucy helped arrange the covers on Zorro.

  “Eva, do you know Zorro’s name?”

  “Elton Briarhurst. He goes to Westonville University, too.” She choked back a sob.

  A thought occurred to Lexie. “Would Elton be a member of the Dr. and Mrs. Miles Briarhurst family who live in Marble Canyon in that huge mansion on the hill?”

  Eva nodded. “He’s their son.”

  Lexie groaned. Dr. Briarhurst was a famous surgeon with a golden pocketbook and tons of influence in the little town of Moose Creek Junction, Weston-ville, Denver, and probably the Great Beyond.

  “Why would a kid whose parents are filthy rich take a job as a stripper?” Lexie asked.

  “He’s majoring in drama, Mom. He figures this helps him learn to get into character.”

  Lexie leaned close to the young man again. “Elton, can you hear me? Elton, Elton?”

  He moaned, but didn’t respond. In the distance, the sound of an ambulance siren pierced the air.

  Otis pulled up in his sheriff’s car, lights flashing. He got out of the vehicle and walked up to them. “Is he dead?” His brow knitted with concern as he knelt beside Zorro.

  “No, but he’s in bad shape,” Lexie responded.

  Otis mopped his forehead with a crumpled handkerchief, turned to examine the tire tracks and stood up. “Jumpin’ catfish. What happened?”

  “We were having a birthday party for Mom, Uncle Otis,” Eva said. “When Elton left, someone … someone ran over him!”

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Otis asked.

  “No. He was here to—”

  “Ahem.” Lucy gave her niece a stern look.

  “Ah, he was here to, ah …” Eva looked at Lexie for help.

  “He was here to entertain us,” Lexie finally said.

  “Oh?” Otis raised a brow. “With what? A juggling act?” He shoved a cigar in his mouth and lit up, sending a curious look at them all.

  “Otis, I really wish you wouldn’t smoke those disgusting things,” Lucy said. “Besides, it’s not healthy to do that around a wounded person.”

  Grunting, Otis tossed the cigar on the asphalt and ground it out with his boot heel. “Somebody better tell me what the victim was doing here.”

  “Exotic dancing,” Lexie finally said.

  An ambulance roared up the street and stopped beside them, silencing any further questions Otis might have had. Lexie stood beside Eva and put her arm around her daughter’s quaking shoulders. Lucy came up behind them and patted Lexie on the back.

  “It’s going to be OK,” Lexie said, trying to reassure her daughter as much as herself.

  While they watched, several attendants hustled from the emergency vehicle and clustered around Elton. They checked for his vital signs, then started an IV. An old yellow VW bug drove up and parked by the curb across the street. Barnard Savage, wearing his usual uniform of press hat and rumpled suit and cigarette stub hanging from his lip, jumped from the car. He whipped out a camera with an enormous flash and took several photos. Then he took the pencil stub from behind his ear and jotted notes down on a pad, his tongue wetting the tip of the lead every so often.

  Just as the ambulance team carefully shifted Elton onto a stretcher, Gabe arrived in his Weston-ville Police squad car. He exited his vehicle, a concerned expression on his face as he took long strides toward Savage and spoke with him in a gruff voice. Savage gestured wildly, apparently trying to justify his presence.

  Otis, always one to join in, hurried over to stand beside Gabe and Savage, no doubt adding his two cents to the conversation. He hitched up his pants as he pointed an accusing finger at the reporter.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Lexie asked one of the ambulance attendants standing nearby.

  “Can’t say for sure,” he said. “Check with the hospital in a while. They’ll be able to give you a condition update.”

  The attendants lifted Elton’s stretcher and loaded it onto the ambulance. Lights flashing and siren blaring, it headed for the Westonville Hospital.

  Lexie shuddered. Please let him be all right. Please. He’s so young.

  Lexie hadn’t noticed before, but her rubbernecking neighbors were out in force. Standing in bathrobes on their doorsteps, they whispered amongst themselves, craning their necks to see what had happened.

  “Show’s over, folks,” Otis called out to them, his face set in hard lines. “You all go on back inside.” He turned to Lexie, Lucy and Eva. “You three, don’t go anywhere. Stay put.”

  Gabe walked over to his squad car and talked into the microphone of police radio for a bit. Lexie could hear the garbled responses and static blaring back at him. Then he put on gloves and walked around the crime scene bagging bits and pieces of evidence and taking pictures.

  While the detective went about his work, Otis came over with his notebook and wet the tip of his pencil. He asked the women several questions, scribbling furiously to document the information they provided. He had just finished the grilling session when the detective walked over. He’d removed his gloves and put his camera back in the squad car.

  Lexie took an uneven breath. Gabe wore a tweed jacket, a white button down shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat. Man, he looked good. Despite the confusion and shock of the evening, she felt an attraction, complete with a warm flush in her cheeks.

  Here I go again!

  Why in the world she would react to Gabe like this at such a time? What was wrong with her? Besides, he was the enemy. He still believed she might be connected to Whitehead’s murder. It was absurd for her to be thinking like that about him.

  Lexie’s head began to hammer. Why was this happening? Why were people always getting hurt around her?

  Gabe tipped his hat to them. “Are you ladies all right?”

  “Yes,” Lexie answered. “A little shaken up, but fine.”

  “Good. Otis told me there was a celebration going on when the incident occurred?”

  Eva nodded. “My mom’s birthday. And then this happened. It’s just awful.”

  “Who was there?” Gabe asked.

  “The three of us,” Lexie answered. “Also my Aunt Gladys and her friend Winfield Hightower. He’s inside getting her calmed down. She’s pretty upset.”

  “I can imagine,” Gabe said. “Did you see anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing,” Lucy said. “By the time we all came outside, Eva’s young man wa
s lying in the road.”

  “He’s not my young man, Aunt Lucy,” Eva spat. “He’s just a friend.”

  Lucy shrugged.

  “Detective Stevenson,” Lexie said, her face getting warmer. It would be best to use a more formal tone with him. Otherwise, Sister Lucy would start planning a spring wedding. “What can we do to help?”

  “Nothing, really. Just be ready to answer any more questions we may have later.”

  “Do you think the person who hit Elton might be the same person who killed Whitehead?” And attacked me, she thought silently.

  “It’s hard to say,” Otis answered.

  Gabe folded his arms across his chest. “Otis is right. We’ll have to do some more investigating before we know that for sure. But it is possible.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Lucy said.

  “If you want to pray, sis,” Lexie said, “now would be a good time.”

  On cue, Lucy clenched her eyes shut and clasped her hands reverently.

  “May I speak with you privately for a minute, Lexie?” Gabe asked.

  Still praying, Lucy opened one eye and glanced curiously at Lexie.

  Lexie ignored her. “Sure,” she told the detective. She patted her daughter’s arm reassuringly. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

  Gabe and Lexie walked over by an ancient elm tree and a patch of rosebushes covered with worn and faded autumn blooms. “I didn’t want to say this around your sister and your daughter because I didn’t want to concern them.”

  Lexie froze. “What?”

  “I’m worried. I think you’re in danger.”

  “I’ve figured that much for a long time now. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Quit nosing around about Whitehead’s murder. That’s my job.”

  Lexie stiffened. “I’ve been far to busy with my aunt lately to go snooping around.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “Good. Because you only complicate things when you get involved.”

  Lexie released a frustrated breath. “Are you insinuating that what happened tonight is somehow my fault?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Then what are you saying?” Lexie asked.

  “Nothing.” His mouth quirked. “Just watch your back and mind your own business. It’s for your own good.”

  Lexie shoved her hands on her hips. “Are we done talking, Detective?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good night, then.” Lexie stormed back to Lucy and Eva.

  Otis walked up to Gabe and they shook hands. Then the detective got into his squad car and drove off.

  “Does that police guy, like, have the hots for you, or what?” Eva asked. “’Cause if you’re getting hooked up, I want to know.”

  “I knew it,” Lucy said with a grin.

  “Stop it, you two,” Lexie grumbled. “There’s nothing between Detective Stevenson and me.”

  “Shut up,” Eva said. “He called you by your first name.”

  Lexie shrugged. “He’s working on a murder investigation and I’m a witness. Nothing romantic about that.”

  “Let’s get going, Lucy,” Otis said when he walked up beside them.

  “What about my car?” she asked.

  “I’ll drive you over tomorrow to pick it up.”

  “Talk to you later,” Lucy said to Lexie. She waved tiredly and walked with Otis over to the sheriff’s car. A few seconds later, they were gone.

  Lexie gave Eva a big hug. “Thank you for the birthday party, hon, even if it didn’t turn out the way we wanted.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I feel so responsible for what happened to Elton.”

  “You’re not. It was a terrible accident. No one was at fault.”

  “I guess,” Eva said miserably.

  “It was just an accident,” Lexie repeated sternly. “And we’ll call the hospital in a bit to check up on him. Now, let’s head inside. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

  When Lexie finally crawled into bed, sleep refused to come. She’d called the hospital earlier to get a report on Elton’s condition and they said he was out of surgery, but still in critical condition. Lexie couldn’t stop thinking about him. And worrying.

  Fitful dreams kept her tossing and turning. She woke several times and stared at the ominous shadows lancing across her bedroom. The night was warm, despite the fact it was October. At last Lexie glanced at her alarm clock on the bedside table. Midnight. What an unholy hour to find herself awake.

  A fine sheen of sweat caused her thin nightgown to cling to her limbs, so she got up and opened her window wider. A warm breeze caressed her face and body, relieving the sticky sensation. Taking a deep breath, she studied her neighbors’ dry, withered lawns stretching like silvery material beneath the streetlights.

  With the west still in the grips of a severe drought, Lexie wondered if it would ever get cold enough to rain or snow. No doubt they would have another brown, parched Christmas—just like last year. She stared up at the moon’s luminous, smiling face, imagining it mocked the waterless situation.

  Well, she didn’t think it was one bit funny. And it was awfully hard for an avid gardener such as herself to have a decent crop of anything besides weeds in these conditions. Hopefully, the weather cycle would change again, for the better, and the drought would finally end.

  Thump, thump.

  Lexie looked up at the ceiling. The sounds seemed to have emanated from the attic. Aunt Gladys. What on earth was she doing? Had she fallen out of bed? Or perhaps she’d left her tiny television blaring.

  Lexie reached for her bathrobe and headed into the hallway, figuring she’d better go upstairs and make sure the old loon was all right. She’d had an upsetting night and maybe she couldn’t sleep either.

  Creak, creak …

  The ancient stairs complained as Lexie padded barefoot to the attic. At the top she stepped into a short hallway and reached the door to Aunt Gladys’ room. Even with all the renovations, Lexie’s nostrils twitched with the musty odor of century-old walls.

  Lexie heard Aunt Gladys’ voice. And it sounded like Winkie was with her. What were those two doing at this time of night?

  Lexie rapped on the door. “Aunt Gladys? What’s going on?”

  No answer. A dog barked.

  She raised her hand to knock again. “Aunt Gla—”

  More barking—Muffin no doubt—and the door swung open.

  It took a couple of moments for Lexie’s eyes to adjust to the inky blackness. Then she saw Aunt Gladys bathed in candlelight wearing a purple caftan covered in gold stars, golden, curly-toed slippers on her feet, her snowy white hair covered by a purple turban decorated with a tall ostrich feather. She clenched a cigarette, which was tucked into a long holder.

  The scent of spicy incense wafted into the hallway and Lexie sneezed.

  “Shhh, you’ll scare them away, Leslie.”

  Lexie blinked. “Scare who away, Aunt Gladys?”

  “The spirits.”

  Oh, my. “The spirits? What spirits?”

  Winkie pulled the door open further and scowled at Lexie. “The spirits who were telling us what is going on in this wicked, wicked little town.” Muffin, who rested comfortably in his arms, yapped at Lexie. You couldn’t really call the rat-dog noises coming from the mutt real barks.

  “OK, you two are busted. I heard weird sounds up here.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. It wasn’t the boy-man—he must be out of town tonight. It was probably just Winkie moving his chair,” Aunt Gladys said.

  Yap yap.

  Ignoring Winkie’s rat-dog, Lexie pushed her way past the culprits and entered the room. She didn’t see anything out of order in the cozy quarters. Aunt Gladys’ curtained alcove with the bed looked fine as well as the little sitting area with the sofa and overstuffed recliner.

  The round cupola nook, however, where Lexie had positioned the antique drop- leaf table she’d re-finished, along with two ladder-back chairs, looked suspicious. A board game of some sort covered the surf
ace of the table with a thingie-ma-bob overturned on the top of it.

  Lexie noticed the lacy curtains were pulled back, revealing a zillion twinkling stars in the dark autumn sky. Along the windowsill sat several chunky pillar candles, all ablaze with flickering light. The burners nestled next to them were filled with tiny cakes of smoking incense.

  Lexie whirled toward Winkie and her aunt. “Are you two insane? Do you want to set this house on fire again, Aunt Gladys?” Put those candles out this instant!”

  Yap yap yap yap … yap yap!

  “Oh, pish, posh.” Aunt Gladys spoke over the rat-dog’s protests. “Your sister Lucille is right, dear. You’re too melodramatic for your own good.” She took another puff on her cigarette.

  “You shouldn’t be smoking either, Aunt Gladys.” Lexie folded her arms across her chest. “You know what the doctor said.”

  She shrugged. “Dr. Demented is an old hack with a cork up his butt. I don’t give a hoot what he thinks.” Aunt Gladys stood by the drop-leaf table, her purple silk robe flowing gracefully around her as she sank into a chair. She frowned at the board game. “We had just gotten to the good part, Leslie. Now you’ve ruined it.”

  Yap yap yap! Muffin’s beady eyes glared at Lexie.

  “Winkie, will you please tell me what kind of monkey business you and my aunt have been up to at this time of night? In the dark? And can you get that dog of yours to be quiet?”

  Winkie stroked Muffie’s silky head and the rat-dog’s annoying yap yaps turned into low growls. “You’ve heard of a Ouija Board, haven’t you?”

  “A what-gee what?” Lexie looked back and forth between Aunt Gladys and Winkie. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “A Ouija Board,” Aunt Gladys said again. “Pronounced wee-gee. Didn’t you ever play it when you were a kid?”

  “No.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t have,” Aunt Gladys said with a nod. “Your father, the preacher, would never have allowed such a device of the devil in his home. How your mother stood his holier-than-thou ways all those years, I’ll never know.”

  Lexie threw her hands in the air. “Would somebody please tell me what a wee-gee board in the middle of the night and trying to set my house on fire has to do with anything?”