Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series)
Page 4
Miss Bea’s choice of traveling music was, surprisingly enough, classic rock. I had a brief flashback to when Neva and I were much younger and used to hide in my brothers’ rooms listening to their collection of Lynyrd Skynyrd, CCR, and the Rolling Stones. I was impressed by her knowledge of the lyrics as well, and even Derek looked suitably in awe. Leslie had leaned into LJ’s massive arm and had begun snoring almost as soon as we were back on the road. LJ was asleep, too, his head bobbing in time to the gentle swerving of Miss Bea’s driving.
Surprisingly enough, I was not carsick. Instead, my mind was preoccupied with the performance tomorrow night and with wondering exactly what our accommodation would be like. I had never stayed in a KOA campground before. I had never left home before, at least not this far. And I had never, ever, been away from my mother.
There were a lot of ‘nevers’ in my life right now, I noticed.
There’s a lot to be said for a KOA site. Clean, organized, usually family-friendly, with enough modern amenities to keep even someone like me happy. The place we found ourselves was set just to the south of town, far enough off the main highway to appear isolated, but close enough when a quick ice cream run was called for.
The manager’s office resembled a log cabin but, as I approached it, I could see that the ‘logs’ were actually preformed resin siding, which was a pretty good idea out here in the cold wilderness of northern Colorado. I shivered just thinking about the drafty buildings that people once lived in; definitely not my style, I can assure you.
Percy and Oleta McLaughlin, he tall and slender, she short and plump and a twin for Miss Bea (minus the hair), greeted us with the fervor of long-lost relatives. Before we knew what had hit us, the five of us were settled down into furniture that looked to have been made from random pieces of wood, but was really very comfortable. Mugs of steaming hot chocolate, complete with a snowy dollop of whipped cream, were handed out by Mrs McLaughlin, and Mr McLaughlin followed behind her with a platter of home-made cookies. Apparently Coloradans are as bad – or as good, I should say – as Southerners when it comes to plying guests with food.
I was not going to complain. Neither, I noticed, did anyone else.
I soon discovered the reason for this display of bonhomie: our trailers had been let to two other families (‘Purely by accident,’ said Mr McLaughlin) and could we wait until tomorrow to check in?
No, we most certainly could not, I retorted silently, waiting to hear what Miss Bea would say. To my surprise, she smiled pleasantly, agreeing that it would be no problem at all.
That Miss Bea – always one to pull the proverbial rabbit out. ‘I’m sure that you wouldn’t mind if we stayed with you overnight,’ she suggested, a tad too sweetly. I stifled a laugh. Derek did the same, Leslie stared, and LJ watched Leslie for his cue.
Oleta McLaughlin, perhaps a bit fierier than I had given her credit for, fairly snapped out her answer. They were not, she bristled, the local YMCA. In fact, she noted, that might be the best place for us. ‘I’ll make a phone call right now,’ she offered, turning and walking through the door at the back of the office. I assumed that it led to their private living quarters, the ones Miss Bea wanted to make use of.
Fifteen minutes and much negotiating later (Miss Bea having agreed to bring us back on the morrow in return for one free night and no complaints to the KOA powers that be) we were once again in the wagon and headed out on to the freeway. Thankfully, Derek had thought to ask Mr McLaughlin for the directions, as the two women were still being a bit snippy with one another, so we made it to the Manchester YMCA without a hitch.
It was your typical small town gym and hostel: one large block and stucco building, subdivided inside into the workout areas and the rooms. At least the plumbing was good, and the thought of a long hot shower appealed to me. Hopefully, it appealed to LJ as well; after five hours crammed in next to him, I deduced the boy had forgotten his personal hygiene that morning. Maybe Leslie’s olfactory senses were on the fritz, I concluded.
Leslie and I were assigned to slot in with Miss Bea. The room, although strictly utilitarian, was clean, and the bunk bed was a triple-stack, the first one I had ever seen. The boys were just down the hall at the men’s end of things – they kept the sexes separate here – although I could still hear them quite clearly. Those two had more bodily noises than my seven brothers put together!
It’s safe to say that my rest that night was slightly less restful than I was used to. Miss Bea, I discovered, snored. It was, to be sure, more of a delicate, ladylike snuffle, but I still heard it quite clearly from my perch atop the third bunk. Leslie snored as well, a whistling sort of noise, leaving me the odd woman out in their nocturnal duet. Somehow I managed to get in a few hours of sleep. I was not looking forward to being roommates with my two companions for six more nights.
Breakfast was taken in our rooms. We had stopped at a local grocery the night before, purchasing items that would not require any refrigeration or heating. Hence, I found myself munching on a shiny Gala apple, supplemented with a handful of Swiss cheese-flavored snack crackers. Good enough; I would get something more substantial later. Miss Bea nibbled on a few pieces of Melba toast, no doubt concerned with her girlish figure, and Leslie snapped open a diet cola from the YMCA’s vending machine to wash down her own apple and crackers. Certainly not the level of eating to which we had become accustomed, but “it’s an ill wind”.
I really had no idea what that particular adage meant, but I remember my Crazy Great-Aunt Opal mumbling those very words whenever anything did not go as planned, which was definitely the case here.
Following our sparse breakfast, we took turns going to the shower. I put on my favorite jeans, another sweatshirt advertising my beloved LSU Tigers, and a pair of high tops. A denim jacket completed my outfit. The local weatherman had promised a sunny day with a high of 50, so I figured if I got too warm during the day, I could just tie my jacket around my waist. Finally, all five of us were ready to rock and roll, and we trooped back out to the faithful station wagon, tossing our overnight bags into the area that would have been the trunk in a smaller vehicle. Miss Bea turned the key, the motor roared into life, and we were off.
Posters announcing the Silverton County Fair were plastered on every available space throughout the town of Manchester. The fairgrounds, we were told, lay to the west of the town itself, replete with a track for racing pigs, a huge barn enclosure for the Future Farmers of America and their contests, a covered area for local art displays, and the ubiquitous barbecue pit. I had discovered that most Coloradans preferred a barbecue to a fish fry, but I supposed it was tribute to the Western roots of the state. When I recalled the fish fries and crawfish boils back home, my mouth watered and I found myself feeling a bit odd. Could I be homesick? No – I was merely reminiscing about the food of my childhood, nothing more.
Shoving the memories firmly back to the place from whence they had sprung, I turned my immediate attention to the town that was Manchester. Tidy sidewalks lined with flowerfilled planters and judiciously placed iron benches could be seen everywhere I looked. It appeared that Manchester and messiness did not get along. The stores, while small and generally of the mom-and-pop variety, kept the window presentations tasteful and even the newspaper cases displayed neatly folded daily editions. In short, the entire downtown looked like a movie set, at least in my humble opinion. Piney Woods residents, although neat enough, would have never lasted in such environs.
Derek wandered over to a store window to examine more intently the fair poster neatly taped to the inside of the glass. He gave a low whistle, motioning the rest of us to move in closer.
‘Did you see this, Miss Bea? They’ve given us top billing! We’re “Becklaw’s Murder Mystery Tour, here for a six-night engagement only! Get your tickets while they last! Entrance to the performance includes a home-made barbecue supper. Drinks extra.” That’s pretty cool.’ Derek looked at Miss Bea, a fond look on his face. ‘You’ve done well, Miss Bea.’
My thoughts must have telegraphed themselves to Miss Bea, who looked at all of us and announced that we had a nine o’clock meeting at Skinny Joe’s Steakhouse and Brewery. ‘To meet the folks I’ve taken on to help us,’ she clarified. I felt relieved, while the boys looked disappointed. It was a bit too early in the day for indulging, I thought.
That gave us enough time to stop at a local restaurant for a hot meal. My toasted English muffin sandwich was absolutely delectable, oozing egg and molten cheese from the sides, the thick piece of Canadian bacon bigger than the muffin itself. A large frosted glass of OJ sat at my elbow, and I alternated between sips of it and my mug of coffee. The cottage fries that came with the sandwich were almost as good as Miss Bea’s. Ah. Much better than crackers.
When we had all eaten to our heart’s content – well, I know that I had, but I can’t speak for LJ, whose appetite seemed endless – we paid the bill and waddled out to the wagon. With a slight groan, I heaved myself into position on the back seat. I hoped I would be hungry enough to enjoy lunch because I had spotted the restaurant’s menu and was determined to get back there.
Skinny Joe’s Steakhouse and Brewery sat at the juncture of the town’s two main streets – a large brick building with a roof of some type of metal that had been formed into fancy shapes. Quite metropolitan for such a small place, I thought to myself, remembering the modern buildings that punctuated the cityscape of Alexandria. I was surprised, then, to see the rough refectory-style tables and benches that marched in lines across the middle of the great space inside. I guess I thought that the interior would match the outside, but there’s no accounting for taste, as my mother always says. It was still impressive to a small town girl from Piney Woods, where the biggest building we had was Queen of Peace, the Catholic church, and its adjoining Madonna Hall.
Skinny Joe could have been a member of the Anderson bunch; his name no more matched his build than Sleepy Uncle Pete’s did his character. He stood at more than six feet tall, and was about that same distance around. His belly stuck out alarmingly from behind a dirty apron, and the rolls that formed his waist jiggled and bounced with the effort of movement. I found I was holding my breath while watching him teeter toward us, wiping his hands on the apron, a broad smile on an equally broad face.
‘Welcome to Manchester, folks,’ Skinny Joe announced in a voice that was surprisingly musical and mellow. I guess I expected something rough and gravelly, or high and flighty; that’s usually the range for bigger men, I’ve noticed. ‘The young ’uns are on their way, so sit tight. Could I offer you a drink on the house?’
Derek and LJ perked right up, but Miss Bea stepped in and declined, saying that we’d just had breakfast. ‘But a nice pot of coffee would be a right treat,’ she added, looking around for confirmation. Leslie and I nodded in agreement, while the boys just looked irked.
Skinny Joe rolled back in the direction of the bar, and soon the aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled the air. We settled alongside a table, segregating ourselves, boys on one side, girls on the other. Isn’t it funny how even adults still do this? Leslie and I chatted a bit, discussing the various ideas for our roles that we had come up with on the ride up to Manchester from Copper. Derek and LJ sat with their heads on their hands, looking vaguely bored. I guess they thought they needed that drink on the house in order to perk up a bit.
Miss Bea sat silently, gently kneading the meaty part of one hand while her eyes stared at something in the distance. She did this when she was deep in thought, I had noticed. I wondered what she was thinking about then.
Joe came bustling back into the dining room, balancing a large metal tray with six coffee mugs – it was break time for him as well, I guessed – a sugar bowl, a little pitcher of cream, and a carafe of coffee. With a groan, he set the tray in the middle of the table, then heaved his bulk onto the bench beside Leslie.
Someone had forgotten to tell him about the segregation thing.
Chapter Six
The coffee was smooth, and I could tell that the beans were of a higher quality than I usually purchased for myself. The cream was really cream, complete with a bit of foam on top, and the sugar was really sugar. No imposter ingredients for Skinny Joe. That was at odds with my overview of the town itself, but I could have been wrong about that anyway.
We sat and sipped in silence, the aroma of the coffee wafting above our heads as gently as a spring breeze. From somewhere outside, I heard a car door slam, then another. Voices could be heard, and Joe got up to greet the three young men who came noisily into the restaurant.
‘Miss Bea, this here’s Andy Grimes, Bert Landy, and Julian Sweet. They deal cards at the local casino, so they’re perfect for what you’ve got in mind.’ Joe patted the arm of the one called Andy. ‘Andy’s my brother’s kid and I know he’ll do right by you. I’ve known these other two for as long as I can remember. Boys, say howdy to Miss Bea.’
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that even Skinny Joe was trying to get ‘into character’, as Miss Bea might say. But the three ‘boys’ didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, so maybe I was wrong about Skinny Joe as well.
‘It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,’ Andy stuck out his hand and pumped Miss Bea’s plump one vigorously. Bert and Julian did the same, and I was fearful that Miss Bea’s hair would come tumbling down around her ears with the motion. I didn’t carry any hairpins with me, and I was certain that she had already used her entire collection today in her hairdo.
Miss Bea looked them over, a pleased expression on her chubby face. I thought for a minute that she was going to walk around them much like a farmer at a cattle show, but thankfully she restricted herself to a quick look up and down. Probably sizing them up for a costume, I realized. The woman really had a talent for that sort of thing.
‘Come sit down and have a cup of coffee with me,’ invited Miss Bea, leading the trio over to the table. They lined up on the same side as Joe had; maybe in Manchester, they didn’t segregate as much as we did in the South. I saw that LJ’s beefy hands had moved across the table toward Leslie, and that the newcomers had spotted it. This seemed to give them the impetus to begin flirting with Leslie while ignoring me, and I could picture the closeness of the cast evaporating into thin air.
Miss Bea picked this up as well, because she suddenly stood up, marched to the end of the table, and directed us to move down toward her ‘with the regular actors on my left and the local talent on my right.’ We moved as we were told to do, and LJ’s face seemed to smooth out a bit as he settled into his accustomed place next to Leslie. Derek sat on the other side of her, and I smiled inwardly. Our boys had closed ranks against the intruders.
‘All right, we’re still waiting on a couple more to get here, but I’ll get started with your parts in this.’ She nodded at Andy, Bert, and Julian.
She then proceeded to outline the plot of the story, describe their characters and the parts they would play, and talk a bit about what she intended the outcome to be audience participation-wise.
‘We’ve already performed this and have worked out some kinks in the storyline. Hopefully we’ve gotten them all, but if not, we’ll modify as we go. I want the audience to be able to have two or three characters to look at as the murderer; that’ll make it a bit tougher to guess, which will keep them interested.’ Miss Bea turned to Derek. ‘Did you remember to pick up those cigars?’
‘Sure did, Miss Bea. I got the cheapest, so they won’t be super mellow, but at least we’ll have the ambience.’ He grinned at the locals. ‘Hope you boys smoke.’
‘I sure do,’ piped up Julian. He was the quietest of the bunch. ‘I smoke, too,’ added Andy. ‘But no
t Bert here.’
Bert nodded, his face solemn. ‘Gave it up three years ago.’
‘OK, that’s taken care of. Leslie, we got a few more sizes for the local girls, right?’ Miss Bea looked down the table at Leslie.
‘Yes, Miss Bea. I’m prepared for whatever size … for all possibilities.’ She grinned at me. We were both thinking about that conversation back in Copper.
I was aware of the door opening once more, and looked over my shoulder to see two gals in their mid-twenties or thereabouts walking into the restaurant. Andy jumped up right away.
‘Josie. Lily. Nice to see you two. Are you a part of this play as well?’ He bussed each young woman’s proffered cheek, lingering a bit longer with Josie. Hmm. I wasn’t sure that we needed another couple here on the tour with us.
Lily headed for the table, pausing shyly before choosing a spot next to Julian. She had a sweet face graced with brilliant blue eyes, a lipsticked mouth that smiled at each person in turn, and dimples deep enough to sink a finger in. ‘I’m so excited to do this, you have no idea!’ she exclaimed. ‘When Skinny Joe came to the library and told me about this, I couldn’t believe my luck.’ She beamed at Miss Bea. ‘Thanks, ma’am, for letting me join your troupe.’
Miss Bea smiled back. ‘Call me Miss Bea, Lily. And I’m delighted that you were able to join us. Leslie, could you take a moment and tell Lily what she’ll be doing?’
‘Sure thing, Miss Bea.’ Leslie got up from the table, motioning Lily to follow. They settled into chairs near the front door, and I could see Leslie rattling on about the part, and Lily’s earnest manner as she listened and asked questions.
By this time, Josie had made it over to the table, very much aware of the effect she was having on the male occupants. Her face was as pretty as Lily’s but there was something harder in her eyes and in the way she looked each person over. I thought about the different costume sizes that Leslie had chosen and packed, and I sincerely hoped that there would be one to accommodate her, well, extremely ample figure on top.