Poor Francine, he thought.
Myra’s eyes took on a dreamy nostalgic look. Then in the next instant, her voice turned threatening. “You needed all those other women to feed your ego, didn’t you? You’re no better than Harry. I wasn’t enough for him either. But I took care of him just like I took care of the one in Pittsburgh. And just like I’m going to take care of you.”
“But I am satisfied with you, Myra. Believe me, I really am.”
“You don’t get it, Rushmore. You can’t worm your way out of this. It’s too late for you. You had your chance—and now you’re going to die.”
She sighed ruefully. “It’s just too bad you underestimated me.”
“Oh no, Myra. I think you’re very smart. You certainly had me fooled. It wasn’t until now, when I saw Francine eating that cupcake, that I realized that your homemade, diamond-shaped sprinkles are in the exact shape of a Viagra pill. That’s how you did it, isn’t it? You mixed poison in your handmade Viagra shaped pills and substituted them for the real ones in Harry’s vial.”
Myra smiled kittenishly. “My culinary training has paid off in more ways than one, I suppose.” She smiled proudly, then, in the next instance, looked at Oshansky with disdain. “You men are all such fools when it comes to sex.
“Harry made it so easy for me. I, of course, like all his other women had a key to his condo. I knew he had taken Bea out that night. So I simply walked in and substituted my poisoned pills for the Viagra ones. Harry never could keep his pants zipped.” She laughed ruefully. “Unfortunately none of you men can. I knew he’d have to take his pill. If not that night then some other night. I didn’t care when,” she sneered. “Only that he did.”
“And that other fellow you dated in Pittsburgh after your husband died? He took one of your homemade pills too?”
“Oh yes, but I was there when he took it. I watched him die. A slow, painful death. But you’ll be pleased to know that Brenda’s death was quick, however.”
“Brenda,” Oshansky nodded sadly, “no wonder she didn’t answer my calls. She was already dead.”
“You weren’t smart enough to figure that out, were you? Oh, that bitch was really fun to kill. Poor, poor Brenda. Always snooping around. Always talking too much. Especially that morning at the coffee shop. I heard her yelling at you. Unfortunately for her, I also heard her say something about knowing how Harry died. So of course I had to kill her.”
Poor Brenda, he thought. And now poor Francine. Neither one of them deserved such a fate.
“No one gets in the way of Myra Pfefeneuger.” Myra’s lips curled malevolently. “No one.”
She came towards him with the knife.
“You won’t get away with this…”
“Oh, won’t I? After I kill you I’ll uncuff you and push your body onto Francine’s. It’ll look like a lover’s spat. Although a more violent one than your usual lover’s spats. You certainly have a lot of those, Rushmore. You really should be more choosy, you know.”
“But the notes!” Oshansky said trying to buy time. “You wrote the pink notes, right? But there was one in Bea’s purse tonight.”
“I put it there at the prom. It was a warning to stay away from you. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t listen.”
“But, Myra, she never got the note. I took it from her purse to read it. I thought Bea had written it and that it was meant for me.”
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I never liked her anyway. She was so pushy. So common.”
“Please don’t tell me you hurt Bea.”
Myra didn’t answer. She smiled at him as she lifted the knife overhead. “I guess you’ll have to die, wondering, won’t you, darling?”
She closed her eyes and held the knife with both hands. “Too bad, I actually liked you, Oshansky. We could have had a good life together...” Myra brought the knife down simultaneously with the plank that came down on her head. It made an unpleasant cracking sound which caused Oshansky to wince.
Oshansky had heard a sound in the doorway and had spotted Bea standing there, watching them, a faint smile on her bruised face. He kept Myra occupied with questions as Bea quietly advanced toward them. Then raising both her arms, she brought the wooden plank down hard on Myra’s head, making the unpleasant cracking sound.
Then, with a satisfied smile, Bea settled into the chair opposite the bed and, like a hunter with its prey, rested one foot on Myra’s lifeless body. She stared at Oshansky without speaking.
“Is it possible you could look in Myra’s raincoat or purse for the key and unlock these cuffs?” Oshansky asked meekly.
“Of course, it’s possible. Anything is possible.”
Oshansky waited. “Well, could you maybe do it now?”
“But I prefer you this way, Oshansky. You’re right where I want you. Where you can’t jump to any more conclusions about me. Actually you can’t jump at all. One might even say you’re now my prisoner.”
Oshansky knew it was hopeless to argue with Bea. “Perhaps you could call the police. Francine may be dead. She needs to get to the hospital. Plus Myra could come to any minute.”
“I already called the police. They should be here any minute. And don’t worry about Francine. She’s already coming to. Besides she’s got a hard head.”
He groaned but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well then at least tell me how you knew to come back to my condo. And where you got that nasty bruise.”
“After I left you, Oshansky, or rather after you accused me again of sending you pink letters, I started to walk home. I had the feeling I was being followed. At first I thought it was you. Then I figured it was my imagination. I was almost home when, the next thing I knew, I felt this blow to my head. I remembered falling against the fence. However I caught a glimpse of Myra’s face right before I passed out.
“When I came to—I had no idea how long I was out––I started putting two and two together which made me think that she might be heading to your place. The board she whacked me with was lying nearby. So I decided to play the good samaritan and hopefully return the deed.” Bea smiled mischievously. “Despite, of course, your not deserving to be saved”
“You saved my life. I’ll make it up to you, Bea. But first, the key to these handcuffs. Or at least untie them from the bedpost.”
“Oh, no, Oshansky, I have you just where I want you. But clue me in. What’s been going on between you and Myra? And why is Francine here? You must have been having some wild party once I left.”
“It’s a long story, Bea. But I found out. Harry didn’t die from natural causes. Myra was even more creative than I gave her credit for, it seems.”
“I guess she wasn’t too clever, trying to outsmart an over-the-hill detective.” Bea said.
“I’d appreciate that you not refer to me that way. But, you’re right. One could say, Myra was one smart cookie. Only not smart enough. Just rich. And elegant. Actually I prefer a sadist who enjoys watching a man lying on his bed, naked and handcuffed. Now that I told you everything, would you please get these cuffs off, and we’ll have some of Myra’s champagne and wait for the cops. We can have it with her cupcakes from the bake sale. They should be defrosted by now.
“And the pink letters, Rushmore? What was that all about? What pink letters were you accusing me of writing?”
“Yeah, well I guess I was wrong about that. Myra was sending Harry pink letters. Then after he died, she started sending me, pink letters. When I found a pink letter in your purse at the dance I naturally thought you were the writer of the letters. Myra put it there when you and I were dancing. That’ll teach you to leave your purse lying around. Anyway that letter was intended for you.
Chapter 42
When the police finally arrived, they handcuffed Myra, hustled her into a squad car, and took her to the Palm Springs police station. Francine was taken by ambulance to the hospital to be checked out despite her protestations that she was now fine—a fact that she attempted to prove by shamelessly flirting with the offi
cers.
Two cops remained behind to question Bea and Oshansky. Once they seemed satisfied with their account they took one last look around and prepared to leave. Unfortunately for Oshansky though, they heeded Bea’s request that they leave Oshansky as he was—in the handcuffs. Though they had removedi the rope.
“Hey, guys,” Oshansky pleaded, “I was a detective. In New York. How about the cuffs? How about unlocking them. You’re not going to leave me like this.” His pleas only seemed to add to their enjoyment of the situation.
“Now don’t hesitate to call us, ma’am, if he gives you any trouble. And just make sure he comes down to the station tomorrow morning to give a statement.”
The cop searched through Myra’s bag and handed Bea the key to the cuffs. “Remember, call us if he gives you trouble.”
“Why thank you, officer. You’re very kind but I don’t think he’ll give me trouble,” she smiled innocently.
******************
“No, no trouble at all,” Bea said as she struggled to unzip her dress for the second time that night. In desperation, she gave it a tug, breaking the zipper. She let it fall to the floor, then slowly made her way to the prone Oshansky. “Now I’ll finish where Myra left off.”
Epilogue
Bea, a small satisfied smile on her face, lay curled up in bed, sound asleep, alongside Oshansky.
Oshansky, equally happy and satisfied, quietly crawled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the cabinet drawer and removed the pink letters. One by one, he checked through them until he found the two letters he was looking for.
He reread the last letter that Myra had sent to Harry:
must i warn you again
you do not listen
remember there will be no more notes
and now you must pay the piper
Oshansky then reread the last note that he had received.
men play around
you are different
remember to not spread your love
always you will be mine and mine alone
He laid the two notes side by side. The clue to Harry’s killer had been there the entire time. Oshansky circled the first letter of each sentence in both notes:
m
y
r
a
Elegant Myra had left calling cards.
The End
Be sure to read the second book in the Senior Snoops Series:
Murder She Typed (starring Izzy Greene, female senior snoop)
Check out my short short parody: Fifty Shades of Desire
Sylvia Selfman - Rushmore Oshansky 01 - Murder Never Retires Page 16
