by Libby Klein
Georgina nodded.
I had started the car and was about to leave them standing there. Aunt Ginny needed me.
Georgina grabbed the door handle and jerked it open. She flopped into the front seat as I took off with the passenger door closing by the force of my determination.
I’m coming, Aunt Ginny. Hold on.
Chapter 38
“I had one job. Take care of my aunt. That was it. I just had to keep her safe, and I failed.”
I was driving up and down random streets of Cape May with tears in my eyes, and I didn’t care who saw me. My heart was sick. Nothing else mattered right now but finding her.
Georgina was trying to comfort me and be encouraging. “Maybe Ginny is off on one of her wild activities. You know you can’t control her.”
“Sure she’s a handful. She’s determined to squeeze every drop of excitement out of her golden years and live to the extreme, but she’s also well up in years. What’s a minor accident or illness at my age could easily lead her to a stroke or heart attack that she’d never recover from.”
Georgina patted my arm. “We’re going to find her. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. She’s probably at a friend’s house.”
The tears were streaming down my face and my nose was running. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.
I can’t lose her. She’s all the family I have left in the world. If only I hadn’t wasted so much time numbed out in front of the television when I could have been with her. I didn’t have a great plan, and I couldn’t seem to focus on making one. I was spinning out.
“I don’t know where I’m going.” I banged the steering wheel with the palm of my hand.
Georgina handed me a tissue from her purse. “Why don’t we call your friend. The one with the boy name. Maybe she’s heard from Ginny.”
I pulled over and blew my nose. I dialed Sawyer’s number on my cell. Please pick up this time.
“Hello?”
My voice broke with a surge of fear. “Sawyer?”
“Oh God, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Aunt Ginny is missing and the police are looking for her. Is she there with you?”
Sawyer gasped. I could hear the quiver in her voice. “No. She’s not here. I haven’t seen her. Where are you now? I’ll come join you and we can look for her together.”
“I’m just a few blocks away, I’ll come pick you up.”
Five minutes later, I screeched to a stop in front of Sawyer’s condo. She was waiting in the parking lot holding two bottled iced coffees and a box of Kleenex. Sawyer jumped in the back seat and offered me my pick. I took the coffee. I didn’t read the ingredients. I couldn’t have cared any less about my diet than I did right then. I popped it open and chugged.
Sawyer offered the other coffee to Georgina, who politely declined. “Have you checked any of Aunt Ginny’s old haunts?”
I shook my head no.
“How about the fire department? I think they have bingo tonight.”
“That’s a good idea.” Georgina patted my arm again. “Let’s go there.”
I took off for Cape May Station One, while Georgina filled Sawyer in on the drama with Amber.
I pulled into the parking lot of the big white building. The three bay doors for the ambulance, pumper, and ladder trucks were all open—ready in case a fire broke out. A sign was posted on the front door. THIS IS A SMOKE-FREE FACILITY. Even for Bingo.
They were using the auxiliary room since the dining hall was still undergoing repairs from another ill-fated bingo night a few weeks earlier. The less said about that, the better.
I quickly looked for Aunt Ginny, up and down the rows of tables in the brightly lit hall. You would think her purple hair would make her easy to spot, but apparently a lot of these ladies got their hair done at Vo-Tech Beauty School.
“Poppy! Over here!”
I followed the voice to Mrs. Dodson and her daughter Charlotte. I rushed to their table to ask if Aunt Ginny had been there.
Mrs. Dodson was one of Aunt Ginny’s best friends and coconspirators. Fleshy and jowly, her head slightly tilted back, her lips pursed in the modicum of proper British gravity. She offered me some of her contraband cookies she’d sneaked in. “I haven’t seen Ginny tonight. Why?”
“She’s missing, and I’m afraid she could be hurt or worse.”
“Are you sure she isn’t sleepwalking again?”
“She’s not on that medicine anymore, and she’s been gone all day.”
Charlotte asked her mother, “Do you think she took off because she’s being accused of murdering Brody Brandt?”
Mrs. Dodson replied, “Not Ginny. The Scarlet Dragon doesn’t back down from anything.”
“Okay, well, if you see her, please call me right away.” I wrote my number on one of their used bingo cards.
Mrs. Dodson stood, and grabbed her cane and her purse. “Play my cards, Charlotte.”
“Ma! Where you going?”
“Don’t give me lip, missy. I’m going to help find Ginny.”
“But Ma! It’s getting late. What about your hypertension?”
Mrs. Dodson snatched her tin of cookies from the table. “I’ll take a pill. Come, Poppy.”
I called back to Charlotte, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Mrs. Dodson climbed into the back seat of my Toyota and greeted Sawyer. Sawyer introduced her to Georgina.
Mrs. Dodson offered everyone some of her cookies. “Have you tried the Senior Center? I think there’s a class of some kind tonight.”
“On my way.” I took off for the Senior Center and said a prayer that Aunt Ginny would be there.
“Great juniper! What is in these cookies?” Georgina began to fan herself.
Sawyer wheezed and took a slug of her iced coffee.
Mrs. Dodson replied with a reserved pompousness. “The secret is a good stiff shot of Irish whiskey.”
Sawyer choked. “That’s more than a shot.”
I hoped we wouldn’t get pulled over. I’d be forced to take a Breathalyzer just from the second-hand fumes in the car.
“It’s good for the constitution. Here”—Mrs. Dodson held the tin out to Georgina again—“you look like you could use another.”
Georgina held her hand up to wave her off, but reconsidered and helped herself to two more.
Mrs. Dodson put the lid back on the tin of cookies. “Now what’s this business with the humanitarian all about?”
Sawyer filled Mrs. Dodson in on the details so far, including the new information about the eyewitness.
“Could it have been in self-defense?” Mrs. Dodson asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I know Ginny would never hurt anyone unprovoked, but if attacked first, well. That’s another kettle of fish.”
“No. I’m afraid not. Mr. Brandt was lying in bed when he was hit with the murder weapon. There was blood all over the mattress and none on the floor.”
“I didn’t see that when we were in the house,” Georgina said.
“You were in the bathroom.”
Georgina popped her third whiskey ball in her mouth, and looked out the window.
“Well, if you ask me”—Mrs. Dodson tilted her chin up and half closed her eyes—“it was one of them hooligans who were always hanging around his house that done it.”
“What hooligans?” Sawyer asked.
“You know I don’t like to tell tales,” Mrs. Dodson cautioned. “But Myrtle Pickler, who attends my quilting club, told us that Philomena Crawson, who lives across the street from Mr. Humanitarian himself, said that Brody Brandt is one shady character.”
“Shady how?” Georgina asked.
“Well. His neighbors had to start a Neighborhood Watch program just to keep an eye on him.”
Sawyer’s phone chimed and she checked it. “Just on him?”
Mrs. Dodson gave her a knowing look. “He was the only one selling drugs to teenagers out of his house.”
I pulled into th
e Senior Center parking lot and parked half in the spot and half up on the curb. I looked in the rearview mirror at Mrs. Dodson. “How do you know he was selling drugs?”
“That many hooligans would only be about for one reason.” Mrs. Dodson tapped her nose with her finger. “Philomena suspects he was using the Teen Center as a front for his drug-lord operation.” Mrs. Dodson pursed her lips and nodded sagely.
I jumped out of the car and so did Sawyer. We ran down the sidewalk into the redbrick building and followed the sounds down the hall to the activity room. The seniors were busy kneading dough while a young lady at the front of the room demonstrated how to work an electric pasta cutter. A little white-haired man doubled over a walker on tennis balls was having some trouble. “Help! Help! I got my necktie stuck in the roller!” The young lady rushed over to unwind him from the machinery.
“What are you girls doing here?” Thelma Davis was at one of the long tables in the pasta class. Short and plump, her old lady hairdo was tinted just slightly pink. She was dressed in a pink sweat suit that had been bedazzled with a giant flamingo. She’d apparently gone rogue in the pasta class, and had decided to make a necklace and rings out of her dough instead of vermicelli.
“Mrs. Davis, have you seen or heard from Aunt Ginny?”
She shook her head, “No. I don’t think so. Not today anyway.”
Sawyer took over. “Aunt Ginny is missing and we’re checking all the places she would normally go.”
Mrs. Davis peeled her dough jewelry off. “Do you think she might be out sleepwalking again?”
“She’s not on that medicine anymore, and she’s been gone all day,” Sawyer repeated.
Mrs. Davis grabbed a pink pocketbook off the shelf. “I’m coming with you.”
“Hey! That’s my purse.” Another little old lady wearing an apron that said Hot Stuff Coming Through cried out to Mrs. Davis in alarm.
“Sorry.” Mrs. Davis replaced the pink purse and picked up a blue one next to it. “This one must be mine.” She checked the room to see if anyone else would claim it. The room was silent. “Okay, let’s go.”
We piled back into my Toyota, and the ladies all said hello. Mrs. Davis was introduced to Georgina. She then had a couple of Mrs. Dodson’s whiskey balls. So did Georgina.
Sawyer was trapped in the back in a geriatric sandwich between Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis. If I did find Aunt Ginny, how would I fit her in the car? One problem at a time.
Mrs. Davis offered up the suggestion, “Why don’t we check the bowling alley? There’s that new senior league Ginny may have joined. I think they’re playing tonight.”
I took off toward Wildwood for the Bowling Lounge with my search posse. The gnawing fear in my stomach grew with each disappointment. Maybe the bowling alley would bring me some relief. I checked my phone. No messages from Smitty or Tim. They hadn’t found her either. I caught a snippet of conversation between the gals in the back.
“Then he was accused of molesting that poor girl,” Mrs. Dodson said. “Myrtle Pickler said the father wants the girl to see a professional therapist over the matter. But she won’t go.”
“I never trusted that Erika Lynch. She dresses way too hotsy totsy for my taste.” Mrs. Davis had taken out her crochet needles and yarn from her purse and was working on an afghan. “I wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth.”
“Well, innocent until proven otherwise. That’s what I always say.” Mrs. Dodson nodded. “But if you ask me, he’s guilty as sin.”
I got a text from Smitty. Aunt Ginny was not at the beach down from our house, the boardwalk, or the Acme market. He’d also tried Cape May Point and various frozen-custard stands. He was going to show her picture around to some of the local shops to see if anyone had seen her, but so far, she was a ghost. Aunt Ginny was gone, girl.
Chapter 39
The Bowling Lounge was a fifty-two-lane bowler’s paradise. I don’t think it had been updated since the ’50s. The neon sign showed a ball rolling toward a tower of pins and striking. Sawyer was wedged in, so Georgina jumped out of the car to go in with me. From the lobby we could smell the rental shoes, lane wax, and Ellio’s frozen pizza cooking in the oven.
There was a sign by the register that said NO OPEN BOWLING. The lanes were all reserved for leagues until midnight. I asked the guy working the shoe rentals if he could page someone for us.
“Would Ginny Frankow-ski, please come to the shoe rental desk. Ginny Frankow-ski.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk while scanning for Aunt Ginny. “Do you see her?”
Georgina answered, “Not yet.”
A hefty older black woman wearing a bright yellow bowling shirt shuffled up to the desk. “Poppy? I thought that was you.”
“Mother Gibson.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Is Aunt Ginny here with you?”
“No, child. I’m here with my church’s senior league, Livin’ on Spare Time.” She showed me the team logo on the back of her shirt. “We’re playing the Bowl Movements tonight. I haven’t seen Ginny. Is she lost?”
“Well, I don’t know. She’s missing.” I started to tear up again.
“Do you think she could be out sleepwalking again?”
Georgina answered, “She isn’t on that medicine anymore, and she’s been gone all day.”
Mother Gibson thought about that. “Well, that’s not good, child. The police are gonna think this proves she’s guilty.”
“They already think that.” Georgina swayed.
“Thank you, Mother Gibson, we’re going to keep looking.”
“Well now, hold on a minute. I’ma get my sweater and my smokes, and I’ma go with you.”
She returned with her belongings and we went out to my car.
“Oh. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I already have a car full with the other ladies, and I don’t have any more room, I’m afraid.”
Mother Gibson looked around. “Come on. We’ll take the church van. The team will be playing for a couple more hours and they won’t even miss it.” She opened the door and the keys were hanging in the ignition.
I tried to protest, but it was falling on deaf ears. These ladies knew what they wanted, and right now they all wanted to move over to the Brethren of the Guiding Light’s blue church van.
I took the keys from Mother Gibson because I wanted to live long enough to rescue Aunt Ginny, and other than Sawyer I might have been the only driving candidate who didn’t have cataracts and night blindness.
The ladies piled in. Georgina headed to the back so Sawyer could sit up front with me. Hellos and introductions went all around, followed by Mrs. Dodson’s whiskey cookies.
Sawyer suggested we check the clubs since we were already in Wildwood. “Aunt Ginny likes dancing, doesn’t she?”
“I know just the club to check too.” I headed toward Caliente, a salsa club, and prayed that God wouldn’t smite me for taking the church van someplace so seedy.
Tim called to tell me he didn’t find Aunt Ginny at the hospital or any of the urgent care facilities. “No one has seen her all day. Where do you want me to go next?”
“I don’t know. It’s already past ten. Most places are closed now.”
“You know what, I’ll call some of the chefs I know to see if she was spotted in any of their restaurants tonight.”
“Thanks, Tim. I’ll talk to you soon.” I clicked off the phone and caught up with the conversation in the back.
Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis brought Mother Gibson up to speed with the investigation and the Hunt for Red Octogenarian. Sawyer and Georgina filled in any missing details.
Mother Gibson took out a cigarette. “I bet it was an inside job. You know, someone in that teenager center.”
Mrs. Davis grabbed the cigarette and threw it out the window. “Don’t you even think about lighting up in this van, Lila. These whiskey balls are ninety percent alcohol. If you light that match you could blow us to kingdom come.”
Mother Gibson went on without sk
ipping a beat. “What I can’t figure out is why. What reason would those kids have for killing him?”
“Especially since he was the one supplying them with drugs,” Mrs. Dodson said. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Mother Gibson went on. “I heard their teenager hangout was about to be shut down.”
Sawyer turned around in her seat to better see the group of informants in the back. “Shut down? Why?”
“They were about to lose their funding because the director was caught in a compromising position with one of the girls.”
Mrs. Davis chimed in. “I bet it was that Erika Lynch. I told you that girl was up to no good.”
Mrs. Dodson tutted in judgment. “I hear tell his daughter won’t have anything to do with him either. He abandoned her when she was a baby.”
Georgina joined the biddies. “Well, who could blame her? Hit me with another of those whiskey balls, Edith. Poppy, are you doing okay up there? Do you need anything?”
“I’m hanging in.” I put the van into park and opened my door. “We’re at the salsa club. I’ll go in and check for Aunt Ginny.”
Mrs. Dodson flung her door open. “I’ll come with you. I need to stretch my legs.”
The club was bright and loud. A neon sign in the parking lot flashed a dancing margarita and promised that EVERY NIGHT IS LADIES NIGHT. A wave of laughter spilled out into the parking lot on the beat of the bongo drums.
The place was shoulder to shoulder at the bar, and a conga line was dancing around the room. I tried to spot my feisty little old lady in the crowd, but it was no use. There were too many people. It was Saturday night, and Saturday night at the shore was made for clubbing.
“Look, there, the conga line.”
My eyes darted up and down the line of dancers. “Where? Is it Aunt Ginny?”
“No, but it’s someone who might know where she is.”
Mrs. Dodson trudged through the crowd, cane first, up to the front of the conga line. A tall, silver-haired man wearing tight black tuxedo pants and a red silk ruffled shirt open to the waist was the engine. It was none other than Mr. Shake Your Boom-Boom Ricardo, himself.
