Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders

by Darlene Franklin

  I shook my head at that. Getting the key from the manager might be a step above breaking and entering, but not by much. “No. I suspect it’s still illegal. We’re already in enough trouble if Reiner learns that we’re looking into Spencer’s death.”

  “Can we at least peek in the windows?” Dina moved in the direction of Building C where Spencer’s unit was located.

  “Don’t you feel all the eyes looking at us?” I did. Multiply Grace Gulch’s penchant for gossip tenfold in an enclosed community like the condos, and that might come close to describing the sense of unease I felt.

  “Well then, what bright ideas do you have?” Sometimes Dina treated me like her doddering grandmother instead of her slightly older sister. Okay, a decade older.

  “As a matter of fact, I do have an idea. If Spencer was behind the robberies, where did he fence his stuff? I thought we could check with local pawn shops and see if any of them ever did any business with him.” I saw a protest forming on Dina’s lips and hurried ahead. “You can help by compiling a list of stolen items. They were in the police reports published in the Herald, weren’t they? And maybe you can find a photo of Spencer somewhere? Find out if he ran an ad for his services in the paper?”

  “I’m way ahead of you. Here’s the list.” Dina was speaking when someone tapped on our car window. We both jumped. A young woman with natural bright auburn hair waved at us. I knew her. Polly, Penny, Peppi, that was it—Peppi Lambert. She attended college with Dina; maybe she didn’t have any classes today either. I knew her from her involvement with the theater. She got to play the romantic interest, opposite Lauren Packer in a surprising turn as Mortimer Brewster—provided she was willing to remove most of the earrings that ran up and down her left lobe.

  Dina rolled down her window.

  “Hey, Dina, what are you doing in my neck of the woods? Are you thinking about moving here?”

  “Maybe.” Maybe she’d like to move into her own place, but Dina knew the advantage of free rent at home. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

  “Yeah, well, I might want to move somewhere else now.” Peppi nodded in the direction of Spencer’s unit. “That guy who was killed lived here, you know.” Her green eyes registered recognition. “Hey, he died in your store!”

  Gulp. “That’s right. Did you know him?”

  “I saw him every now and then. We didn’t talk much.” Peppi shrugged. “Can I interest you ladies in a cup of coffee?”

  “No.” I wanted to get going.

  “Yes.” Dina surprised me. What did she have in mind? She turned to Peppi. “Can you bring me back to Cici’s store later?”

  We synchronized our watches, like spies in a movie—and planned to meet back at the store at noon.

  I took advantage of the time to research pawn shops in the area and ran to Gaynor Goodies for something to eat. Dina would be hungry. At the stroke of noon, Dina waltzed into the store, followed by Peppi. It was a good thing that I had bought an extra croissant.

  “I hope you don’t mind if Peppi comes along.” Dina peeked in the lunch bag. “Hey, great, turkey cranberry, my favorite.” She unwrapped the croissant and dove in. “Peppi’s interning at the Herald this spring. She wants to join us while we investigate. Be another Jane Marple.”

  Peppi flashed white teeth. “I’m a big Agatha Christie fan.”

  Perhaps I should have warned Dina not to talk about our plans. I didn’t think I needed to. Had word spread through the entire GGCC campus? Well, if so, it was too late to change anything. I put on my best smile and said, “Sure. Why not? And have a croissant before we head out.”

  We studied the list of stolen items, as well as the ads Spencer ran for his cleaning service—no pictures.

  “We checked the morgue, in case we had any kind of photo—no luck.” Dina sucked down her drink.

  “Too bad.” I chewed the last bite of croissant and threw away the wrapper.

  “No photograph—a sure sign of guilt.” Peppi ate the salad from inside the croissant with a plastic fork. “At least that’s what they say on television.”

  “More likely, he didn’t need it for his business.” I avoided pictures myself, and that didn’t make me guilty. “You’re reporters, both of you. How would you describe him?”

  “I didn’t pay attention.” Peppi screwed up her face in concentration. “He was just around, you know?”

  I remembered Spencer only too well. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could picture his body lying on the floor of my store. The memory made me shiver, so I struggled to remember him from the MGM. A few details emerged. Height: five eight or five nine. Weight: a little chunky. Hair color: Salt and pepper gray. Between us, we came up with a decent description.

  The three of us piled into my Civic. Dina opened the passenger side door in the front, then changed her mind and joined Peppi on the back seat. I felt a bit like a chauffeur, but I didn’t mind. I could ignore their chatter and let my mind wander. Soak in the April sunshine and the blooming flowers. April had to be one of the prettiest months in Oklahoma. Trees and flowers burst into life again after the long brown winter months, and temperatures didn’t climb too high. The investigation gave me an excuse to travel backcountry roads to places I did not ordinarily visit.

  By mid-afternoon we had checked the pawn shops closest to Grace Gulch and debated whether or not we should head to the county seat in Chandler. We stopped at a café in Arcadia. I paused by the entrance, checking to see if the owners had added any more license plates to the wall since my last visit. Historical plates and out of state samples plastered the exterior by the door; there wasn’t room for one more. Did they replace them from time to time?

  Minutes later, the three of us were seated at a polished pine booth. We asked for three spoons and one dish of their berry cobbler à la mode.

  “No luck so far.” Dina’s pink hair looked as out of place in the quaint restaurant as snow in July. But given the café’s location on Route 66, the server must have seen stranger things. Dina took a bite of the cobbler before she continued. “I guess it was a long shot. Why should anyone remember Spencer?”

  Someone had known something about Spencer. The blackmail e-mail sprang to mind, but I didn’t want to discuss it in Peppi’s presence.

  “Unless he came in all the time or they learned he was handling hot merchandise?” Peppi suggested.

  “And no one would admit that.” Why would they?

  Dina swallowed her bite of cobbler. “And the police have probably checked local pawnshops about the stolen merchandise already. A big zero.”

  “Maybe Spencer wasn’t the robber after all.” I dug into the bowl for a blackberry. “Audie said he came with good references. No one suspected him. I would have heard—you know how the grapevine works.”

  “Besides, he would have received one of those threatening emails,” Peppi spoke with assurance.

  Dina and I stared at her.

  “How did you know about that?” My sister demanded.

  Too late to warn her not to talk.

  A satisfied look flew across Peppi’s face. “I thought so.” She grinned. “I stopped by Gaynor Goodies myself. The whole town has heard about the emails by now. I received one myself, just last night.”

  “You did!” Dina’s nose quivered like our dog Ralphie’s. “What is Elsie accusing you of?”

  “Oh, she said I cheated on my essay and didn’t deserve my internship at the paper.”

  Peppi spoke so carelessly that I couldn’t believe any truth existed in the accusation.

  “So what did Elsie accuse Spencer of?” Like any good reporter, Peppi refused to lose the scent trail.

  I held my breath. I didn’t want Dina spilling the beans about the second alias. I shouldn’t have worried.

  “Nothing specific,” Dina sighed. “That’s the problem. I know!” She dabbed at a blueberry on her face with a napkin.

  “Maybe he had a partner. Someone who could help him fence stuff,” Peppi offered her opinio
n.

  “A partner.” I mulled that over. That possibility had come up before. I tried to remember where I had first run across Spencer. “His name always comes up when people mention they need a cleaning service.”

  “Who uses—used—him?” Peppi asked.

  “Good question!” Dina beamed at her friend as if she were her own personal discovery. In different circumstances, I would laugh at the notion of my teenage sister mentoring Peppi, who looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She had appeared in Grace Gulch in the fall and thrown herself into community life, between school, the paper, and the theater. She also worked part-time as a waitress at The Gulch, the town’s steak-and-potatoes restaurant.

  Dina dug out the steno pad that she carried with her everywhere. “We know that he cleaned the theater. And I’ve seen him at the Herald offices. Cici, do you know what other businesses he cleaned for?”

  I thought back to snippets of conversation from recent Chamber of Commerce meetings and gave her a few names. He cleaned half the businesses in our three-block downtown area, and it didn’t seem to matter if the business was owned by a Grace or a Gaynor. If you needed a janitor, you used Spencer’s services.

  “But didn’t he clean homes, too?” Peppi pointed out. “What about those customers? Do we know any of their names?”

  We pondered that question while we each took another bite. “Audie may have a list of references,” I said. “I’ll ask him.”

  When we finished the cobbler, I paid for the check. What else did I expect, eating out with two college students? To give Dina credit, she left the tip.

  “That’s enough for one day. I need to get back to work,” I told the girls when we buckled into my Civic. I checked my side view mirror and glanced over my shoulder. A van approached on the highway, but the van didn’t signal its intention to pull into the diner. I backed out of the parking space.

  Crunch. I heard the sound of a taillight shattering, and the car rocked a little. The van I had expected to move down the road had instead turned into the parking lot—and the back of my car.

  7

  From: Elsie Holland (Snoozeulose@ggcc.com)

  Date: Sunday, April 20, 9:39 PM

  To: Cord Grace (cgrace.Circle_G@ggcoc.net)

  Subject: Parking tickets?

  Last month your truck failed the emissions test. You spoke with Officer Frances Waller and mysteriously received your renewal tag. Did you fix the problem. . .or the police?

  Expect further communication from me on the subject.

  Monday, April 21

  I stopped the car and rid my mind of angry thoughts about irresponsible tourists.

  Sure enough, the license tag indicated the driver came from out of state. Route 66 brought business to our county, but it also brought people who ignored traffic laws. The van driver had already pulled into an empty space, and a family with two small children, a rarity at a restaurant at midday, piled out. They appeared oblivious to the damage they had done to my car.

  I sighed. My windshield suffered enough damage from the county’s dirt roads; now I’d have to replace the taillights, too. Oh, well.

  “What are you doing?” Dina’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  Peppi had already unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. She ran after the van driver, a young mother not much older than she, and screamed, “Hey! What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you look where you’re going?”

  The woman paused in mid-stride, holding on to her children’s hands. “I’m sorry?”

  “You ran into my friend’s car.” Peppi got a few inches away from the stranger’s face.

  Dina and I stared at Peppi, then at each other.

  “Bounced us around in that car like ice cubes in a glass.” Peppi didn’t lower her voice. “What are you going to do about it?”

  I’d heard enough. I got out of the car. “Peppi.”

  She didn’t budge, but instead pulled out her cell phone and started dialing.

  I darted forward and grabbed the phone before she could finish dialing. “Peppi, please. I'll handle this.” I turned to the startled family.

  Two toddlers clung to their mother’s skirt, their last defense against angry strangers.

  I sought to soften their worry with a smile. “Excuse me, ma'am, I'm sure you didn't realize you dinged my car when you turned into the parking lot.” I thought about apologizing for not looking, but I’d be lying, and I might open myself up for trouble. “We need to exchange insurance information.”

  “We—collided?”

  Peppi sputtered.

  “Look at my taillight.” I spoke before Peppi could interrupt.

  The mother studied the shattered plastic and appeared to take in the situation for the first time. Together, we looked at the front bumper of her van. Sure enough, we found a splinter of red glass that matched the center point of my broken taillight.

  “I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

  Beside us, Dina coaxed Peppi back into the Civic. I exchanged insurance information with the woman. By the time I sat behind the steering wheel, Peppi’s tirade had subsided to muttering under her breath.

  We drove in silence for a few minutes while I waited for an apology from Peppi.

  “Why did you let her get away with it?”

  So much for an apology. “I have her insurance information.” Although the more Peppi carried on, the less I wanted to pursue the matter.

  “Careless drivers like that woman cause a lot of damage. Be sure you report her.”

  Why won’t she let it go? “My car, my choice.” I would think twice before inviting Peppi to accompany us again.

  “Whoa, ladies,” Dina piped up. “Don’t worry, sis, Peppi overreacts to all kinds of things. Pop quizzes, last minute changes at the paper—”

  “But it’s not right.” Peppi spoke in self-defense, then shrugged. “Guilty as charged.” She settled into the back seat and didn’t speak of the accident again. An hour later we pulled into the parking lot behind the store.

  “Anyone want some tea? Water?” That was me, always playing the perfect hostess. Although I wished Dina would take Peppi and disappear, I knew how thirsty we all were. The girls followed me into the storeroom. Dina fetched the bottled water while I listened to my messages.

  Audie had called to remind me of the play rehearsal that night. The second call came from Frances Waller.

  “Cici. I’ve got good news for you. Mrs. Mallory called up Chief Reiner, and he’s agreed to let you go ahead and have the pearls back for the play as soon as we’re done testing them. They should be ready on Thursday.”

  “That’s great!” Dina had heard the message. As props person for the theater, she had goggled at the chance to use the Mallory pearls in the production.

  “Some people think they can get anything they want.” Peppi dipped her napkin in the water and wiped it across her forehead. “Only a Grace could get away with that. And only in Grace Gulch.”

  Here we go again. Peppi sounded ready to start another tirade, this time against the special privileges afforded to Magda Grace Mallory. Peppi’s attitude didn’t make sense. She sounded for all the world like a Gaynor holding a grudge against a Grace—a feud harking back to the founding of our town—although as far as I knew she had only recently moved to town and wasn’t related to either clan.

  The cold drink seemed to soothe her, and she let it go without further comment. “But I’m not complaining. I get to wear the pearls in the play.”

  “I don’t care who pulled strings. I’m just glad we get to use the pearls. Only think.” Dina’s hazel eyes danced. “You should auction the pearls to the highest bidder. They’d bring a good price now that they’re evidence in a murder investigation.”

  “The theater could use the funds.” Even so, I would hold on to the pearls for a while. The police might change their minds and want them back for the trial.

  In fact, that was what Frances implied. I had them back—for now. Oh, well. Eventually I could sell t
hem to make a tidy profit for the store and the theatre.

  “I know what I’ll do.” Dina pulled out her steno pad and made a note. “I’ll write a piece for the paper, how the pearls that Peppi is wearing in the play are the same ones that were discovered with Spencer’s body. That ought to sell a few more tickets. People will want front row seats, just to ogle them.”

  Peppi laughed at that, and the earlier uneasiness I felt about her dissipated.

  “Are we going to check out more pawnshops tomorrow?” Dina asked.

  Peppi shook her head. “I’ve got classes and work, and then there’s my aerobics class at the gym. I can’t make it.”

  “You work out all the time. You can afford to miss one class,” Dina chided her friend. “But you’re right. Work and school for me, too.” Her hazel eyes warned me not to go sleuthing on my own.

  The girls left a few minutes later, and I debated about what to do until the rehearsal started. Since they wouldn’t wear costumes until the last few rehearsals, I didn’t need to attend these early run-throughs. But I enjoyed watching Audie at work. He had a knack for getting the most out of his amateur actors, even people like Reiner, who portrayed a police officer in the play. Audie had teased me about coming to the theater every night. I smiled when I remembered the conversation.

  “Watch out. If you come here any more often, you’ll catch the acting bug.” Audie’s eyes had swept over me as if assessing me for a role.

  I blushed under his appraisal. “The only thing I want to catch at the theater is the director.”

  In answer, he kissed me.

  Before tonight’s rehearsal, I went home long enough to mix together a cold pasta salad for a late supper, and then I headed over to the MGM.

  The same soupcon of pleasure the theater always gave me tingled my fingers when I walked into the dark back of the auditorium. Even in the dim light coming from the stage, the room reminded me of the Paris Opera House in Phantom of the Opera, the inspiration behind the design.