Gayle Trent

by Between a Clutch

  “Good morning!” I said in a chipper voice with a chipper smile on my face. “How are you this morning?”

  Melvia frowned and squinted at me. “What time is it?”

  “Why, it’s going on ten o’clock. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

  “Not very.” She nodded at the tin foil covered pan I carried. “Is my nose lying to me, or have you got cinnamon rolls?”

  I grinned. “Your nose is true blue. We haven’t sat down for a breakfast chat in I-don’t-know-when. I thought we were due.”

  She stepped aside, and I went on through the living room and into the kitchen. I put the cinnamon rolls on the table while she got saucers and napkins and put on a pot of coffee. By unspoken consent, we decided to wait for the coffee before diving on the buns.

  Melvia has a cozy little house—not pretentious like Tansie’s house. Melvia’s kitchen is small, but it’s tidy and done up all in yellow—yellow curtains, yellow wallpaper, yellow stove eye covers, yellow throw rug. She sat down across the table from me. “This is about what you and Tansie talked about yesterday, ain’t it?”

  I nodded. “I’m worried she’ll go off half cocked and say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

  “Like Jim?”

  “Jim, or whoever she knows at the library in Wells County.” I raised my eyes. “Who does she know there?”

  “Vera Hughes, the library director. They went through school together.” Melvia looked over her shoulder and saw that the coffee was done. She got up and poured us both a cup and then put sugar and creamer on the table.

  I spooned plenty of sugar and creamer into my coffee. Melvia don’t make the world’s best java. “Did she call Sheriff Norville last night?”

  “No. She said she wants to talk to Vera first.” She took the tin foil off the pan and got her a cinnamon bun. “I love these things.”

  “Did she say when she’s gonna talk with this Vera?”

  Melvia shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of bun. “I figure she’ll go over there after her hair appointment.”

  “To see if I made up the story about Flora, or what?”

  “No. I think she believes that. I think she just wants to get Vera to confirm your story and to tell her everything she knows about Flora.” She took a sip of her coffee. “She really liked this man Jim, and I think she’s hurt.”

  “Do you think she’ll confront Jim?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If she happens to call you, or if she comes home before going to the library, please ask her not to say anything to Jim. If she compromises Sheriff Norville’s investigation, he’ll have both our hides.”

  Okay, he’d have my hide; but if I went down, I was gonna take Tansie with me. This whole mess was mostly her fault anyway. First, I had to get her daughter out of that trouble a while back. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t know what a good detective I am. Plus, she’s the one who sent me to that stupid consignment shop. See? We can lay this whole predicament right on her front porch. And now that she’s made this mess, I was gonna have to clean it up.

  I hurried home, got Matlock, and we hit the road. I knew it’d take a good two hours for the crew at Tilt-A-Curl to fix Tansie’s hair. If I hurried, I could get to Vera before Tansie got out from under the dryer.

  I was still hurrying, mind you, but I decided to take a detour by Sheriff Norville’s office. First off, I wanted to see how much hot water I was in with him. Maybe Tansie did call him and just didn’t tell Melvia. I had another reason, too. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

  I put the car windows down for Matlock and told him I’d be right back. He laid down in the back seat like he didn’t give a hoot when I’d be back.

  I went in and asked to see Sheriff Norville. The police station was a noisy place—typewriters clacking, phones ringing. I looked around but didn’t see anyone in handcuffs and shackles. That was a little bit of a letdown. The secretary said Sheriff Norville was in a meeting; but luckily for me, he came out while she was still talking.

  “Ms. Crumb, how nice to see you again.”

  I couldn’t read his face, so I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or being sarcastic. He said his good-byes to the uniformed officer he’d been meeting with and ushered me into his office.

  “Did you think of something else you needed to tell me about the Adams’ case?” he asked as he shut the door.

  “In a way,” I said slowly. “See, right after you left yesterday, my neighbor Tansie Miller came over. She’s been seeing Jim some, too.”

  “Seems Mr. Adams gets around.”

  “Right. So, naturally, when she got to nosin’ around in my business and askin’ why you’d stopped by and everything, I told her about Jim bein’ a murder suspect.”

  “You did what?” His eyes bulged out, making me think of Ricky Ricardo. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d called me “Lucy” and asked me to “splain.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I—”

  “You’ve compromised my investigation!”

  “No, not really.”

  “What do you mean ‘not really’?”

  “Tansie ain’t about to go runnin’ to Jim to ask him whether or not he killed his wife. As a matter of fact, when I first told her, she thought I’d made the whole thing up. Jim told her he’s been a bachelor all his life.”

  “Then how do you know she won’t talk with him about what you told her?”

  “One, because if she makes him mad, he might kill her, too. And, two, she knows that me and you are working together to bring this case to a close.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Which brings me to the other reason I stopped by. Is there any way I can get some sort of honorary or temporary badge? I feel it would go a long way in—”

  “Good day, Ms. Crumb.” He got up and opened the door. “I’ll ask you to leave now before I say something I’ll regret.”

  I stood up, fluffed my hair and smoothed my jacket. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “One more thing,” he said as I stepped past him. “Leave the investigation to us!”

  I told Matlock about it when I got back in the car. “He didn’t have to be so huffy,” I said, as we drove to the library. “What harm would it have done for him to give me some sort of temporary badge? I could use it for the duration of this case and then give it back to him.”

  Matlock gave a little woof, which is sayin’ a lot for him.

  “It makes me mad, too, sweetie. Gracious sakes, they used to deputize people right and left on ‘The Andy Griffith Show’ . . . and I’ve got a lot more sense than Floyd and Gomer.”

  By then, we were at the library. I didn’t see Tansie’s car, so I figured we’d made it. I even took a minute to let Matlock pee on the library’s shrubs before I put him back in the car and went in to talk to Vera.

  The library director’s office was right behind the circulation desk, so I could see that Vera was in. When the young, cheery librarian working the desk asked if she could help me, I said I was there to see Vera Hughes. I even gave Vera a little wave like I’d known her for years. Vera gave me a little wave back, and I could tell she was trying to figure out whether or not she knew me. That’s one of the advantages to aging—a spotty memory—and you can often make the most of it . . . yours and other people’s, too.

  “Hello,” Vera said, stepping out of her office. She certainly looked the part of your stereotypical librarian in her brown nubby skirt and jacket and her black orthopedic shoes. If I ever put on a pair of orthopedic shoes, shoot me right then and there; would you?

  “Hello, Vera,” I said, smiling. “Can we speak privately for a

  moment?”

  “Of . . . of course, we may.”

  Well, there was that librarian/English teacher thing of correcting your grammar in that sneaky way of theirs—trying to one-up you. I could see why she and Tansie got along. Plus, Vera had great big hair like Tansie’s, except Vera’s was every bit as white as Sheriff Norville’
s . . . no blue tint for this gal. I guess pastels are a bit frivolous as far as she’s concerned.

  “I understand you’re friends with Tansie Miller,” I said.

  Vera still looked like somebody had taken her on a snipe hunt and hadn’t clued her in yet. She merely nodded.

  “I’m a friend of hers, too; and I’m trying to keep her out of mortal danger.”

  “What?”

  I took a deep, dramatic breath so Vera could see just how grave this situation was. “Tansie has been seeing a man named Jim Adams. I know Flora Adams used to work here, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And I’m aware that she disappeared.”

  Vera gave me an intent stare and kept her mouth shut. I had to admire her for that. I figured Sheriff Norville had told her to keep mum about Flora and this whole case, and she didn’t want to get herself in trouble.

  “Sheriff Norville has spoken with me about the case,” I said. “He told me Jim Adams, Flora’s husband, is being investigated on suspicion of . . . ” I leaned in and whispered, “Murder!”

  “So, you . . . um . . . you’re a police officer?”

  I shook my head. “Informal investigator,” I said. “Sheriff Norville and I would appreciate your keeping quiet on the subjects of Mr. or Mrs. Adams, especially with regard to one Tansie Miller, until this case is closed. Understand?”

  “Of course,” Vera said. “You have my full cooperation.”

  “Thank you, Vera. I knew we could count on you.”

  I was on my way out of the library when I nearly ran smack dab into Tansie. The scent of heavy-duty hair spray like to have knocked me out.

  “Myrtle!” she cried, “what’re you doing here?”

  “I came here to do you a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I made sure the employees of this library won’t compromise Sheriff Norville’s investigation by giving you information about Flora or Jim Adams.”

  “How’s that doing me a favor?”

  “It keeps you out of trouble with the law.”

  “Darn that Melvia. She’s the one who told you about Vera.”

  I huffed a big breath right at her. “You don’t give me any credit at all, Tansie. I could tell you knew somebody at this library from the way you took off out of my house yesterday. Had to hurry and fix dinner, my foot!”

  Tansie pursed her pruny lips and looked all around the library before looking back at me. “Did they tell you anything about Flora?”

  “Not much. They said she was nice, fed ham to the animals at the dog pound every Friday, and she liked to read mysteries. That’s about all I know.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t mentioned, so I’d be inclined to think not.” I cocked my head. “You know what I’m tryin’ to say?”

  “Yeah, like when you try to fix an ugly friend up on a date, you stress her other good qualities.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Rather than say ‘she’s ugly as a mud fence,’ you say, “she’s awfully kind to animals.”

  Tansie nodded. “Still, I’d love to see a picture of her.”

  “Me, too. Maybe you can talk your friend into letting you look at any photographs of library employees . . . like at a picnic or something.”

  “You reckon they have any?”

  “Won’t hurt to ask.” I smiled. “And it wouldn’t compromise a thing.” I got my keys out of my pocketbook. “If you run across any pictures of Flora, copy ’em and bring ’em home with you, all

  right?”

  “I’ll think about it.” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to compromise the sheriff’s investigation.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said, “but you keep me out of your loop, and I’ll sure as shootin’ keep you out of mine.” Then I went and got in the car and told Matlock that if he ever took a notion to bite somebody Tansie would be a good choice—plump and juicy, but maybe a tad sour.

  My next stop was the dry cleaners. I decided not to go through the drive-through this time because I was determined to talk with that manager they claimed was their authority on Jim. There wasn’t a sign saying, “No Dogs Allowed,” so I took Matlock in with me. After all, it was a dry cleaners; what could Matlock do to something that they couldn’t fix?

  “Hi,” I said loudly as I stepped up to the counter. “I’m here to pick up Jim Adams’ tablecloth. You all know Jim?”

  There was a longhaired man who stepped out of the back. He smiled at the little redhead who was waiting on customers and said, “I’ll take this one, Maura.” He looked at me. “You said you’re here to pick up Jim Adams’ tablecloth?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You a friend of Jim’s?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. He’s kind of a kooky dude, ain’t he?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you don’t meet too many cross-dressers his age . . . or, at least, I don’t.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  My mouth suddenly went dry as a bone. I wet my lips. “Did you say Jim is . . . is a c-cross . . . a cross-dresser?”

  “Yeah, man. Isn’t that wild?”

  “Are . . . are you sure we’re talkin’ about the same person?”

  “Uh, yeah, I believe so.” He went back in the back and got the tablecloth. “I’m talkin’ about the Jim Adams that lives at this address right here.” He pointed to the ticket. “Zat the one you know?”

  I nodded. “Zat sure is. But what makes you think he’s a cross-dresser? Is it just because he brings in both men’s and women’s clothes?”

  “Aw, no, man; lots of people do that. I’ve seen this dude as both of his personas.”

  “You’ve seen Jim dressed up as a woman?”

  “Sure, man, only then he uses the name ‘Flora.’”

  “Oh, no,” I said with a laugh. “Flora is his wife!”

  “Then they’re twins who were separated at birth or something, man . . . like those two kids on that cartoon where you can only tell the boy from the girl because she has a bow in her hair.” At that, he did some donkey braying/laugh combo while I stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

  I nodded slowly, paid the bill for the tablecloth, and went back outside and got in the car.

  I looked at Matlock. “Do you believe that guy? Thinking Jim is some kind of a . . . a . . . well, you know.”

  Matlock just sighed and laid down in the back seat. I didn’t blame him. I might’ve done the same thing, but I wanted to get away from this dry cleaners as fast as I could.

  “What do you reckon I oughta do now?” I asked Matlock. “I can’t go to Jim’s house after hearing what I heard in there. He’d say, ‘Why are you acting so funny, Myrtle, dear?’ And I’d say, ‘Because the man at the dry cleaners said you were a cross-dresser. He thinks you and Flora are the same person!’”

  Matlock might’ve wondered what Jim would say to that; and although I was wondering the same thing, I didn’t want to find out.

  I thought about it as I drove back up the road, and the only solution I could come to was to go by and see Sheriff Norville. I didn’t really expect him to be thrilled to see me again so soon, especially after he all but threw me out of his office just a while ago, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. That man was simply gonna have to put his pride on the back burner and realize that I was the best chance he had of solving this case.

  This time, I took Matlock in with me. No sense in him stayin’ out in the car and missin’ all the fun. Besides, I didn’t know how long I’d be.

  I marched into the jail, but before I could even ask to see Sheriff Norville, out he came.

  “Ms. Crumb, what in the world are you doing back here already?” he asked.

  “I’ve come across some new developments in the case, and I’d like to discuss them with you.”

  He rolled his eyes and opened his office door. Matlock and I went inside, and I sat down in the same chair I was in before. It was the one front-and-center of the desk.

/>   Sheriff Norville slumped down in his chair. “What now?”

  “I need to see Flora Adams’ driver’s license.”

  “I don’t have her driver’s license,” he said. “What do you want with it anyway?”

  “I need to see her picture. Remember, I told you how Jim didn’t have any personal photographs in his home? Well, today I went to the dry cleaners to pick up the tablecloth I got spaghetti sauce on the other day, and the manager there told me that he thinks Jim is a cross-dresser.”