Grannies, Guns and Ghosts
by
Madison Johns
Dedication
Dedicated to the spunky seniors of the world.
In memory of Elsie Becker.
Copyright © 2013 by Madison Johns
Grannies, Guns and Ghosts Madison Johns
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental
Edited by Cohesion Editing and Proofreading.
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Book Cover by http://www.create-imaginations.com/
Chapter One
I, Agnes Barton, of sound mind and body, promise not to throttle my partner in crime, Eleanor Mason, no matter how much she tries to get a rise out of me.
I must have lost my mind when I decided to partner with Eleanor in our new detective agency, Pink Ladies. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Truth be known, she had saved my life. I wonder if I’ll ever hear the last of that? Oh, who was I fooling, she’s the only one I’d want to snoop with. While we are quite the odd couple, we’re also a great team. So what if the official paperwork and licenses are out of date, that won’t stop us from investigating whatever we had a mind to.
Charter Arms couldn’t have made a better pistol than The Pink Lady. What woman wouldn’t love a pink, ultra-lightweight .38 Special. It’s perfect for women to tote around in their handbags. Not that you would call a carpet bag a handbag by any means. Some of them are large enough to conceal an arsenal of weapons, if a body had a mind to do such a thing.
Unlike the fictional bounty hunter Stephanie Plum, I like to keep my sidearm handy. Nobody really gave a squat what a person of a certain age had concealed in their bags. I suppose most younger folks think we all knit and do all sorts of creative things. Oh, I have a creative mind all right, but not creative enough to dodge Eleanor. Poor dear wouldn’t know what to do without our adventures.
I had taken up residence in a camper of all things, parked in a camp-ground in East Tawas, Michigan, on the tranquil shores of Lake Huron. Lucky for me I got a larger spot at the camp-ground and I had adjusted to living in a Winnebago. My house had been fire-bombed during our last case. It’s not so bad. I get to enjoy the misty lake as the sunrises and some of the most spectacular sunsets in Michigan.
I eyed my cat, Duchess, and said, “I hope it doesn’t take ‘til winter for our house to be rebuilt.”
Duchess responded with, “Meow.”
“I know girl, no mourning doves here,” I said to her. I strode by the mirror as I made my way into the bathroom and deep lines formed as I grimaced. I’m still wearing my pink bathrobe with pink ruffles, white sandals covering my feet. My unruly salt and pepper hair was tangled and I tried to work my fingers through the knots. Every dang morning it’s the same thing, my hair looks like a rooster did it in my sleep. Puffy dark circles were apparent, obviously from the restless slumber as my hip ached something fierce last night.
I made my way into the kitchen and poured coffee grounds into my new fancy-dancy coffee maker that is supposed to make a good latte. If I ever figure out how to use the damn thing! It’s only seven in the morning and I’m already cussing, if only in my head at the moment.
I jumped and bumped against the counter and clutched my chest when my door vibrated nearly off the hinges. Whoever could that be and this early?
I pulled back the pink lace curtains to reveal a familiar pair of friendly blue eyes. Eleanor, had her face pressed to the window with both her hands against my door like a lost puppy begging to be let in.
I yanked open the door and watched in amusement as she tried to steady herself, resembling a Weeble Wobble. What is the saying? Weebles Wobble but they don’t fall down.
“Have you been camped outside my door all night waiting for me to let you in?” I body blocked the doorway. I wasn’t ready to let her in just yet.
She puffed up her chest, trying unsuccessfully to act offended. “Of course not, Agnes. I just didn’t want to bother you if your hot-shot lawyer man is here.” She giggled, her large belly jiggling. “Unless you want an audience,” her eyes danced.
She wishes.
“Who?”
“You know perfectly well whom I’m talking about. The last time I came here the camper was rockin’ so hard that I thought there was an earthquake occurring inside.”
“It was earth-shattering.” I frowned. “Andrew Hart has gone back to wherever he came from, just as I knew he would.”
“Did he say when he’s coming back?”
She actually sounded sincere. “I don’t know nor do I care. I’m seventy-two and I don’t have the time for the entanglement a man would create in my life.” I cared all right, but I’d never let her know it. If I gave it too much thought I’d be no good to anybody. Andrew left, and I wish under better terms, but me being the stubborn woman I am, we left on a sour note. An argument over coffee creamer of all things, and I crossed the line when I insisted he stay in town, but no sense in regrets now. It’s too late.
Eleanor interrupted my thoughts, “Yes, you do, or else you wouldn’t be acting so moody today.”
“I’m not moody!” So much for making pledges to myself; I should have remembered who I was dealing with.
“Maybe I should buy you one of those mood rings and prove it to you.”
“That’s ridiculous, and you should know it interprets body temperature, not moods.”
Eleanor continued on completely ignoring the fact I wasn’t playing along. “You’d be black today I think.”
I pushed El aside and closed the door behind me, descended the metal stairs and made my way to the picnic table, fidgeting with the floral arrangement in its center.
Eleanor frowned; she sneaked a peek inside, but joined me at the table.
I caught sight of the burgundy awning swaying in the wind. Although only morning, the distinct scent of smoldering campfires lingered in the cool air. Quiet, solitary campers moved about in neighboring campsites, while others made their way to the showers. Small children stayed close to their mothers with towels thrown over their shoulders.
I watched Eleanor give the exterior of the camper a once over from the table. Her eyes enlarged to the size of saucers, but she kept her tongue for the moment. Her thin hair looked to be styled. She must have been to the hair salon. I hope I won’t be the talk of the town now. Being a beautician is kind of like being a detective except that people are more than willing to spill their guts. Eleanor had herself poured into a lime green Capri and matching tee set. It was a few sizes too small and didn’t complement her fair skin, but I won’t be the one to say so. She’s eighty-two and I know those would be fighting words. She resembles the actress Betty White with plenty of sass.
“Pretty fancy digs if you ask me,” Eleanor said.
“I suppose, but I’ll be glad when they finish rebuilding my house.”
“Why bother, why not just collect the insurance money and buy a new place? Shucks at your age, you might not live long enough to even enjoy the place.”
“Is there something I should know? Have you hired a hit man to off me?”
She gave me a hard stare, “Who would
I annoy then?” She laughed.
“Who indeed?”
I doubted she’d understand why I wanted my house rebuilt. It was taken from me. I didn’t have a choice, and dammit, that’s my property with the perfect soil and all the steamy memories of Andrew.
Stop it, Agnes.
I met Eleanor’s eyes. Her lips curved into a hint of a smile yet her eyes softened. She knew me too well.
“I suppose you’d like to check out the inside?” I asked.
“You betcha.” She grinned.
I led the way inside the Winnebago. I poured coffee into two mugs, spilling a generous portion on the floor. Duchess scampered over and proceeded to lap it up. Eleanor gave the interior a careful inspection. Her eyes cut to mine; her mouth gaped open, and her eyes practically bugged out of her head. “Where did you get this camper?”
“Oh, one of those police auctions.” Trying to act nonchalant, I said, “I got a real good deal, too.” I gazed at the purple walls with hot-pink couches and dinette seats equally adorned. “I wonder why nobody else wanted it.” I tried unsuccessfully to hide a snicker.
“Holy moly… it looks like someone threw up purple in here.”
She grinned, revealing two holes where teeth used to be. She had them pulled the week before and it was sort of an ongoing joke between us. Eleanor is the perfect target for ill-placed jokes, but I only do it because that’s what she would and has done to me.
I placed my hands on my hips and grinned. “I know isn’t it great?”
“Fits right in with our Pink Lady P.I. agency.”
I placed my hands at my hips. “I hope Elsie Bradford or one of the other social icons in town doesn’t find out about this place.”
“I’m sure they’ll hear about it soon enough. A little birdie will probably tell them,” El said, glancing toward the ceiling.
“I think its name is Eleanor.” I wiped up the remaining coffee with a towel. “Maybe little bird isn’t the correct word.”
Her eyes met mine, “Watch it, Aggie, or I might let it slip about the rockin’ camper. The girls were so disappointed you never introduced them to Andrew when he was in town.”
I rolled my eyes. “I bet. So what’s up? You have been making yourself scarce lately.”
“I was giving you some space.” She avoided my gaze, never a good sign when dealing with Eleanor.
“Since when do you leave me room to breathe?”
Eleanor’s face turned red. “I do have other interests, you know.”
“Like what?” I asked. I had the feeling there was something going on and I was being left out of the loop.
When she spoke, she did so quietly and I barely heard what she said. “What? Speak up, you know I can’t hear you when you don’t speak up.”
“Ghost ship.” Her face looked completely serious, deadly serious.
“Ghost ship?” I asked, bursting into a fit of laughter.
El’s face screwed up into a sneer. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d act like this.”
“Like what?”
“Agnes Barton, you are the biggest sour-puss sometimes. If you stayed out from under that man long enough you’d know it’s the talk of East Tawas.”
“You don’t have to be so testy dear. What ghost ship?”
“Erie Board of Trade, it’s the most exciting thing to happen around here since our last adventure.”
Changing the subject, I said, “Andrew’s gone now, I guess you’ll have to catch me up on all the local gossip.”
I heard banging in my bedroom and I made my way there. Duchess leapt into the air doing a half-turn somersault. I then heard a drawer thrown open behind me and metal utensils sailed to the floor. Eleanor had squatted down and the sound of either a fart or rending fabric echoed through the room. She retrieved a pancake turner, jumped up, and swatted at something flying in the air.
I froze, another damn bee got in. Before I had time to react, Eleanor had turned on the water and picked up the sprayer.
“Don’t you dare spray that bee!” I shouted.
Her eyes widened. “If you have another idea you better get at it, because that’s the biggest bee I have ever seen.”
I raced into the bathroom and brought back a can of hairspray. I removed one sandal and showered the bee with freezing hairspray. “Duck!” I yelled.
Eleanor ran toward the front and hid behind a chair while I waited to move. It took a few more sprays, but the bee dropped to the floor where I was able to smash the bugger. “It works every time,” I said with confidence.
“I missed you, Aggie. Who else can I have this much fun with?” She eyed Duchess. “You’d think that cat of yours would be more help eradicating insects. Does she bring those in too?”
“Actually,” I laughed. “Duchess is a notorious bee slayer. Her wanted poster is hanging in every hive in the county.”
Chapter Two
I was dressed appropriately for my first outing of the day. With my bathrobe still on, I made my way toward the communal showers with Eleanor in tow. When we walked in the brick building, and I saw the crowd ahead of us, a loud sigh escaped my lips. I had to wait like the rest of the campers for the showers, and from the looks of it, I’d be waiting a good while. The tiled floor of the bathroom was layered with sand like a sandstorm had just blown inside, from beach goers no doubt. Seriously, can’t they clean the floor more often? Not entirely bothered by the inconvenience as of yet, I shrugged in Eleanor’s direction. It’s not like we had a case yet.
When a tall brunette exited a shower stall, Eleanor stopped a teenager before she entered.
“I don’t think so. You don’t expect this old woman here to wait any longer do you?” She pointed toward me. “I mean what if the poor thing can’t stand up that long?” El gave me the eye as if expecting me to play along.
I stood there and right on cue tried to act feeble enough by leaning to the right on one hip.
“Go ahead, Grandma,” the girl giggled, much to the amusement of her friends who all joined her in laughter.
She won’t be laughing when she’s seventy-two, she’ll be crying. Although acting my age had its benefits, such as getting me into the shower sooner.
Eleanor entered the shower with me.
I shot her a look. “Whatever are you doing, Eleanor?”
“I thought we were friends,” she pouted.
“Yes, but we don’t need to be that close.”
Eleanor stomped out acting like I had offended her. Sometimes I worry about Eleanor. Last I had heard, Mr. Wilson, Eleanor’s last friend, was sporting a neck cuff. This was under the, ‘I don’t want to know’ category.
I stood under the weak spray that came from the shower head, soaped myself up and washed my hair real quick-like. Lord knows you can’t count on the hot water lasting. Sweet memories of my house came back to haunt me; memories of Andrew and the day that he had hopped in my shower with me. I remembered how mad I was at the time, now I just wished he were here.
No point in regrets now, it’s best to just let these thoughts vanish from my mind. If only that were possible.
I pulled on my yellow panties and push-up bra. The last thing I needed was to be seen looking like my boobs were heading south, which at my age isn’t that much of a stretch. Although just last week at my physical, the girl that did my mammogram complimented me on them. It’s a blessing to get any compliment no matter where it originates. I’m not what you’d call top heavy, unlike Eleanor. I have worn a bra since they were invented, I think. They had made the cups all pointy it those days like you’d see in some damn Madonna video.
I pulled on white shorts, a white tee, and carried my sandals, knowing the beach is where we planned to go next.
When I exited the shower, I decided not to thank the girl next in line. She giggled at me when I passed by, and I felt the urge to trip her but didn’t. Younger folks don’t get what it’s like to be a senior citizen. I hoped I’d live long enough to see this girl grow older. I�
�ll run her over with Eleanor’s electric wheelchair like some of my friends do, just for kicks.
Eleanor was waiting outside and followed me back to my Winnebago from a comfortable distance.
Clackety-clack.
We both turned sharply and watched a black camper that swayed and shimmied as it went past. The wood paneled sides resembled—
“Damn gypsies,” Eleanor muttered, “or witches.”
I turned and gave Eleanor a sharp look. “Are you kidding me? What nonsense is traveling around inside that head of yours, El?”
“Well… the trailer is black.”
“Meaning?”
El’s bottom lip appeared, but I moved her along and back to my camping spot. Sure enough, straight across from my Winnebago the black monstrosity of a camper was backing in. Whoever drove the blasted thing must have taken the same drivers course as Eleanor because they almost took out the camper next to them.
“See, Aggie, there is somebody that drives worse than me.” She nodded in affirmation.
I grimaced. Now I know it might seem a bit rude to stare and all, but I couldn’t look away.
Finally after a few more tries the camper of sorts parked, but had snagged the clothes line from the neighboring campsite. Multi-colored bathing suits now were strewn across the camper. I heard the engine cut off and the trailer shimmied as footsteps clucked down the steps. The door screeched open and two scrawny legs appeared from the doorway with black pointy-toed shoes.
“El, I think you’re right, it’s a witch!” I trembled while El hugged me close.
“I won’t let her get you, Aggie. With that, Eleanor left me, ran into the Winnebago, slammed the door behind her, and knowing Eleanor the way I did, I’m betting she locked herself inside.
The gypsy trailer’s door slammed shut and a woman glared over to where I stood. She had long, black, scrawny hair and wore a black dress. She did look like a gypsy, I thought. When I glanced at the trailer, I noticed the fabric that hung down nearly covering the windshield. No wonder the woman parked like she did.
Madison Johns - Agnes Barton 02 - Grannies, Guns and Ghosts Page 1
