by Mary Clay
To this point we didn’t even know his name. We’d always referred to him as the weird fisherman.
“What’s your name?” Penny Sue said as we half-dragged him down the hall.
“Larry. Larry Smith.”
We eased him onto the sofa, which gave me a major déjà vu of Guthrie.
“What do you need?” Ruthie asked. “Should we give you sugar, carbs, protein, fat? Heavens, it’s all so confusing!”
“The Snickers did the sugar trick. If you have lunch meat or cheese—protein—that will tide me over.”
Ruthie stuck her head in the refrigerator. “We have everything. Cheddar? Provolone? Plumrose ham on crackers. Name it.”
“Cheddar on crackers.”
“Coming up.” In a matter of minutes Ruthie had crackers and cheese on a plate before Larry and watched expectantly as he ate one. “Are you feeling better?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “If I’m not, will you give me CPR?”
Ruthie scowled. “No, Penny Sue does CPR, and all you’ll get is chest pounding. No mouth-to-mouth. That’s the new technique, you know.”
He checked out Penny Sue. “Not necessary, I feel much better. I was being a smartass. I have daughters your age,” he said sheepishly. “Truly, I’m a harmless old man who only wants to fish. I’m sorry to have troubled you.” He leaned forward to stand, but sank back into the sofa.
“Maybe we should call a doctor,” I said.
“I’ll be fine as soon as the cheese gets into my system. I knew I stayed out too long, but I was fighting a big one and couldn’t give up.”
“You sound like my father,” Penny Sue said. “He’s nearly killed himself trying to land fish. He’s thinking of moving down here when he retires. Y’all would be two peas in a pod.”
Larry nibbled another saltine. “I’d like to meet him … always looking for a fishing buddy.” He popped the last of the cracker into his mouth and chewed. “You were gone all day. What are you up to?”
“You keep tabs on us?” Penny Sue snapped.
“Let’s face it, aside from the murders, you ladies are the most interesting thing around here. You’re not the average, dried-up prunes we usually see on the beach. Your absence is noticed by everyone.”
Penny Sue’s ire dissolved. “Why, thank you, sir,” she said in her best Southern drawl. “We’ve been practicing for a charity race to benefit hurricane victims.”
“Race? Like running?” He was amused.
“No, a motorized marathon out at the speedway. There are three parts: mini-cars, a bag race, and a school bus race.” Penny Sue wiggled her brows saucily. “I’m driving the school bus.”
“I’m an audio expert. I used to work with stock car headsets. I can improve the range and clarity, plus filter out extraneous noise. Many a race has been lost because the driver didn’t hear an instruction. If you’d like, I’d be happy to beef up your equipment.”
“That’s very nice.” Ruthie grinned smugly. “See, there are no accidents. We need help, and he shows up at our front door.”
Larry stood, his strength back. “I needed help, and you came along with a Snickers. Let me know when you get your helmets.”
I nodded. “Unless something happens, they should be ready tomorrow afternoon.”
* * *
Chapter 15
August 26-31, New Smyrna Beach, FL
Ruthie sipped coffee, eyes glued to the television.
“Good morning.” I rounded the counter and poured a mug for myself. She never gave me a glance. Was she mad at me? I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to offend her. “What’s up?” I asked.
“That tropical wave in the Atlantic has been upgraded to a tropical storm. Frances. Tropical Storm Frances. It’s moving west-northwest. If it maintains that course, it’ll hit Florida.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t. Danielle stayed over water, and Earl went south and never came close.”
Ruthie gave me a moist, doe-eyed look. “Remember my vision of a big storm? The one where we should leave and go to St. Augustine? I think this is it.”
Her intensity made me uneasy. “If it is, we’ll leave,” I promised. “We’ll keep an eye on the storm and make hotel reservations. If push comes to shove, we know we can stay in Chris’ store.”
“I’m getting bad vibes about that, too. Evil and greed surround us.”
“Honey, evil and greed are the state of the world.” Penny Sue bounced into the room wearing her red, embroidered kimono. “If a storm’s coming, we’re buying a battery-operated TV today. We can’t wait or they’ll all be sold. When’s Frances supposed to hit?” she asked, pouring a cup of coffee.
“They’re not sure … probably about a week,” Ruthie said.
“Next week? Labor Day weekend? That’ll mess up our race. We’ve spent a fortune on this thing—a hurricane cannot hit,” Penny Sue declared.
“Anything can happen in a week. It will probably blow out or turn north,” I said.
“Right,” Penny Sue agreed. “We should still buy the TV and put a rush on all our race preparations.”
There was no need to rush the helmets. Our helmet specialist called at nine and said they were finished, except for the daffodil decals, which should arrive first of the week. If we were going to be home, he’d drop them by our condo because he had another delivery in our area.
“Sure, come on,” Penny Sue said.
Apparently he’d called from the parking lot. Five minutes later we had our newspaper and four sparkly, yellow racing helmets, along with two headsets for the spotter and crew chief.
“This is cool,” Penny Sue said, pulling on the helmet marked with a P. “I’m going to kick butt in that bus race.” She flipped the visor down and strutted around the condo barefoot. She was still wearing her red kimono, which really “set off” her ensemble, as Cujo, the TV fashion expert, might say.
Set off? Blast off was more like it, I thought wryly.
“Come on, put yours on,” which, with her visor down, came out as a muffled, “Con en, poo youse eh.”
Ruthie and I got her point and complied, but left our visors open.
“Boy, it’s heavy,” I commented, feeling like a fool in the helmet and my pink chenille robe.
“Youse ge ute ta it. Ah fee ta saa waw …”
I reached over and opened Penny Sue’s visor. “We can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
She screwed her mouth. “I said, ‘you’ll get used to it. I felt the same way when I first wore my Harley helmet.’ Flip your visors down. The yellow tint really brightens the room.”
I lowered my visor, careful to leave an opening at the bottom. Although I wasn’t as claustrophobic as Ruthie, I wasn’t ready to be locked down, either.
Ruthie pushed her visor a couple of inches and tilted her head forward to see through the plastic. “It does make things brighter.” She immediately pushed the visor back up.
“Y’all are chickens. Lock down your visors. You can breathe fine. Really.”
“I’ll do it in my own time,” Ruthie said forcefully. “The weight of this thing is bad enough for now.”
“We don’t have time to waste. It’s only a week and a half until the race.” Penny Sue took her helmet off. “You should wear yours as much as possible so you get used to it.” She wagged her finger at Ruthie.
Ruthie snatched the paper and huffed to the kitchen counter. “Watch it. If you’re not careful, you may be short-circuited by a stream of saline, if you get my drift.” Jaws locked, Ruthie hunched over the paper and started to read.
Still wearing the helmet with her sea blue, silk pajamas, Ruthie was a veritable sight. If only I’d had a camera handy, her pose was worth a fortune. Of course, the taser belonged to her, too. Best I didn’t have a camera, on second thought.
Penny Sue started for her bedroom to get dressed, and I had my coffee midway to my lips when Ruthie squealed.
“Oh, my God! Listen to this: ‘Key Witness In Mob Trial Found Dead!’�
�
Penny Sue and I were peering over her shoulder in a millisecond. “Jack Simpson, a twenty-year-veteran of the FBI and DEA, was found dead in his room at a plush Orlando hotel this morning. The cause of death has not been disclosed. Authorities will only say his death appears suspicious.
“Mr. Simpson was in Orlando for the trial of a New Jersey Mob boss who faces a long list of charges including drug smuggling, murder, and money-laundering.”
Ruthie and I turned toward each other, knocking our helmets together hard. I stumbled backward; her head ricocheted into Penny Sue’s boobs.
“Ouch,” Penny Sue cried. “Be careful. Y’all have protection, I don’t.”
“This is where the frozen bra might come in handy.” I tapped Ruthie’s shoulder. “Good news, I didn’t feel anything, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I guess these expensive helmets actually work.” Ruthie slapped the newspaper. “What about this article? The agent must have been in town for Al’s case, don’t you think? And if Al’s buddies succeeded in killing a DEA agent, we’re sitting ducks.”
“I’ll bet the guy who fell from the balcony was trying to kill us,” I said weakly.
Penny Sue rolled her eyes. “Well, we weren’t sitting ducks in that case. He was.”
“Probably killed by the Russian mafia—the guy found in the dumpster.” Ruthie was getting shrill.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Penny Sue said. “There are lots of Federal drug cases heard in Orlando, and New Jersey is the connection for a slew of criminal activity.”
“How can we find out if this agent was on Al’s case?” Ruthie asked. “Do we have the number of the judicial assistant who keeps postponing our depositions?”
“Calm down. I’ve got it, and I’ll give her a call now. If she won’t tell me, I’ll telephone Daddy,” Penny Sue said, heading for her bedroom to make the calls.
No sooner had her door closed than the doorbell rang. Ruthie and I stared at each other. “I can’t go,” she said. “My nipples show through these pajamas. You have on a robe.”
She had a good point. No proper woman would answer the front door with protruding nipples. “We could ignore it,” I suggested.
“What if it’s the Feds here to protect us or something?”
“All right.” I had the door half open before I realized I was still wearing my helmet. Too late to get the darned thing off. Fortunately, it was Guthrie. Unfortunately, Woody had pulled into the parking lot and was getting out of his car.
“Oh, cool! That’s for the race, right? Turn around. You look sharp, girl.” He clapped his hands. “I was on the deck having coffee when the man delivered them and couldn’t wait to see your outfits.”
I pulled the helmet off and cradled it under my arm. Woody now stood behind Guthrie. I nodded hello, very conscious of my faded chenille robe. “We only have the helmets,” I told Guthrie. “Our suits won’t be ready until Monday. Come back then, and we’ll give you a fashion show.” I noticed Larry, the fisherman, stop in the background, watching.
Clean underwear and your best nightgown, Grammy always said. Wish I’d listened. This place was like Grand Central Station. Here I was in my rattiest robe—cradling a yellow racing helmet—and all of New Smyrna Beach was at my front door. At least Guthrie didn’t notice anything but the helmet.
“I’ve planned the menu for the pit crew,” he said excitedly. “Naturally, brownies—my signature dish. Then, I thought peanut butter cookies. Peanut butter has protein, so the energy lasts. Of course, lots of oxygenated-water—that was Timothy’s idea.” Guthrie gave me a big smile. “He drinks it all the time. Works wonders. On the peanut butter cookies, I could throw in some chocolate chips if you want a little punch. Timothy suggested I mix in some lecithin and B vitamins. The cookies are kind of heavy, but taste okay.”
I glanced at Woody, who was shifting from foot to foot impatiently. “You’re the pro; whatever you want is fine with us.” I gave Guthrie a thumbs-up.
He winked then peered over his shoulder at Woody. “I thought I smelled garlic. I’ll get back to you about the menu, Leigh. I think Mr. Sour Puss is in a hurry.”
“Thanks, Guthrie,” I called as he walked away and Woody stepped up to the screen door.
“I’d invite you in, but as you can see, we’re not dressed.”
“No need.” He focused on the helmet. “Getting ready for the race, huh?”
Flatter your enemies, then go for the groin, Grandpa Martin used to say. Maybe it would work with Woody. “Yes, we thought we should have helmets that fit properly. We’re novices, you know.”
“Good move. No sense getting a head injury for charity. The Driving Experience helmets probably are too big for you ladies.”
What do you know? Grandpa’s axiom worked! Of course, Woody’s comment assumed we’d have a wreck. “I heard you entered a team. I think it’s wonderful that so many people are willing to help the hurricane victims. Let’s hope there isn’t any more damage, like from Frances.”
“It’ll probably turn north. Anyway, I’m here to warn you that a witness for Al’s case was murdered. Y’all need to be very careful. Penny Sue should carry her gun.”
Penny Sue should carry her gun? This from Woody? Things were serious. “What about our liquid taser—can we carry that?”
“I wouldn’t take it shopping, but in the car, yes. Be careful. If you see anything suspicious, contact me or the police.” He put his nose to the screen door. “This is serious; otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
I believed that. I was certain Woody wasn’t so cold-hearted he wanted to see us killed, even though a little hassle—from someone other than himself—would make his day. “Thanks for the warning. We just read about the murder in the newspaper and wondered if it was related to Al. Any information about the murders over here? Do you think they’re connected?”
He stared at his shoes, a bad sign. “It’s under investigation.” He backed up and smiled. “I look forward to racing you at the speedway. A good cause.”
“Of course, we’re only amateurs hoping to get some donations from wealthy friends.”
Woody nodded good-bye, a sincere good-bye for once. Thank you, Grandpa. Lull them with humility and kindness then kick their butts. We’d have to do a lot of practicing, though.
Woody left, and Larry stepped up to the screen door. I felt like a woman at the supermarket deli counter. Next. Dressed in my worst robe—I resolved to throw it away as soon as everyone left—I now had to face Larry.
“I couldn’t help but notice your helmet. May I see it?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw that Ruthie, with her nipple ripples, had scurried away to dress. I pushed open the screen door. “Sure, they just arrived, along with headsets for the spotter and crew chief.”
Larry propped his fishing machine against the wall and followed me down the hall. Ruthie appeared in a sweat suit (with bra) and Penny Sue emerged from her bedroom (still in her kimono) as he sat at the counter and examined my helmet.
“Damn!” Penny Sue bellowed. “The murdered agent was working on Al’s case, and the judicial assistant—little twerp—advised us to be careful. A lot of good that does.” She saw Larry sitting at the counter with my helmet and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Larry, I didn’t know you were here. I don’t usually use profanity,” she drawled.
“No problem,” Larry said without looking up. “I’ve heard that word before and a lot worse. These are good helmets. I’m happy to see you didn’t scrimp. This is the most important part of your gear. Nice earpieces.” He glanced around. “Where are the headsets?”
I fetched them from the credenza.
We hovered over his shoulder as he examined them. “These are first rate,” he finally said. “I was afraid you’d go cheap, which is why I offered to help. I can still boost the performance of these babies. Give me the helmets and headsets, and I’ll make the modifications today. It’s a simple process; I only need to add a piece or two. And, it won’t cost you a cent. I
think I have the parts in my shop. I can have the helmets back to you this afternoon.”
“We’d like to pay you for your trouble,” Ruthie said.
Larry waved her off. “The parts cost pennies, and I wasn’t in the mood to fish today, anyway. I enjoy doing the old stuff now and then. Makes me feel useful and younger.”
“We appreciate it,” I said.
“Forget it. What’s this stuff about a murdered agent and you should be careful?”
Penny Sue filled him in (with full drama) of our encounter with the Italian Mob and the possibility we may have to give depositions for the mob boss’ trial, which had been postponed repeatedly. She explained that the agent murdered in Orlando had worked on the case.
“Worse than that,” I interrupted, “Woody suggested that you carry your gun, and that we keep the liquid taser in the car.”
“You’re kidding,” Penny Sue said. “Woody wants me to carry my gun?”
“Yes, and he was actually polite. Although, Woody did mention he had a team in the race,” I added.
“He’s trying to spook us, so we won’t win,” Penny Sue said.
“He seemed sincere,” I replied.
Larry broke in. “Where’s the box for this stuff? I’ll take it home and give you the edge you need to kick Woody’s skinny behind.”
Penny Sue flashed a big smile. “Right on. There’s nothing I’d like better.”
Ruthie boiled eggs, toasted bagels, and cut up fruit while Penny Sue and I showered and dressed. Ruthie had already announced that she needed some alone time and was going to spend the morning in meditation. I scarfed down a boiled egg and bagel as Penny Sue made arrangements with the paint shop for the Corolla and the mini-cup car.
Ruthie positioned herself on the sofa in the Lotus position, the taser within reach.
“Happy meditating,” Penny Sue said, waving a swatch of cloth from our suits. She started down the hall, then stopped abruptly. She hustled into the utility room and returned with a brown grocery bag. “If you’re going to meditate, you might as well put a bag over your head, so you’ll get used to it.” She made a move toward Ruthie.
