I mentally gave Derek a high five.
Poor Percy McLaughlin was simply supposed to go over to the trailer and keep us occupied instead of us keeping our appointment with Officer Kingsley, which he knew about, after eavesdropping outside our open living room window while his wife was cleaning dirt out of her eyes. Unfortunately, when he had arrived, not only did he not have the master key he normally carried, but four of us had already left to keep the appointment.
Truly afraid of his niece Lola, he had kicked down the trailer’s flimsy front door and had taken Miss Lucinda and LJ by complete surprise. It wasn’t much of a chore to round them up and march them down to the KOA office. Anyone who might have been looking outside at that instant wouldn’t have seen anything suspicious, just the kindly manager taking care of an issue for two of his happy campers.
Lola was already there, having arrived early in the morning and let herself into the McLaughlin’s private residence with a key she’d had made on the sly. That threw her aunt off guard, and when Percy had turned up with his two prisoners, Oleta had nearly had a nervous breakdown. Things had gotten completely out of hand, she had complained to Officer Kingsley, but what were she and her husband to do? They were victims as well.
Thank goodness the District Attorney did not see things her way, I thought.
Percy and Oleta McLaughlin were formally charged and indicted on second degree kidnapping since there was no intent to harm either Miss Lucinda or LJ. They were also facing charges of ‘aiding and abetting’ for helping Lola in her dirty scheme. They were looking at plenty of time to think about what they had done, we were assured.
As for Lola, she was definitely looking at some serious time behind bars. The evidence showed a cold calculation in the planning and commission of the two deaths, and she was charged and indicted on two counts of first degree murder as well as the second degree kidnapping charges, although I personally do not agree with that. I truly believed that she would have hurt or even killed Miss Lucinda and LJ, as well as her own flesh and blood. That woman was just plain nuts.
Speaking of crazy women naturally brought my thoughts back to Crazy GreatAunt Opal and Piney Woods, Louisiana. I had missed her – and my home – more than I cared to admit. I wasn’t ready to throw in the proverbial towel, though; I had contracted with Miss Bea and Becklaw’s Murder Mystery Tour for six months, and six months it would be.
Chapter Twenty-nine
With our stay in Manchester over at last, we had packed up and set off for Copper early in the morning. This time, we traveled as a group of six; Miss Bea had asked Miss Lucinda to come back with us and to consider making Copper her home.
I was delighted. With Leslie and LJ mooning over one another and Derek sinking back into his role of Reticent Man, I needed some lively conversation to stimulate my mind. Miss Lucinda certainly fit the bill.
The trip back to Copper flew by. The sisters-in-law kept me entertained with stories of their early meeting, of Desmond and Beatrice’s courtship and subsequent marriage, and of the many trips around the United States and the world they had taken. I was amazed at just how different the Becklaw family was from my own. The Anderson clan would have never even considered a trip to another state, much less one that required obtaining a passport and crossing deep bodies of water.
Shortly after the sun had sunk into its western bed, drawing cloudy curtains of purples and oranges and pinks around it for the night, we reached the turn-off for the town of Copper and Miss Bea’s house. I was tired, my backside was numb, and my mind was still full of the events of the previous few days. All I wanted was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep in my own bed. I briefly wondered where Miss Lucinda would be sleeping, then figured that she would bunk in with Miss Bea; those two had really become inseparable.
The driveway to the house had never looked so sweet to me. I started grinning at the beginning of the rough, bumpy trail and didn’t quit until my head hit the pillow that night. I was sure glad to be back and in one piece.
None of us were hungry enough to make a proper meal, and the refrigerator had been cleared out before our jaunt up to Manchester. I rummaged around and found a frozen loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Peanut butter on toast would have to do for dinner. I’d need to restock before too long or I’d starve to death.
With my stomach finally full and with a glass of cool well water in hand, I went up the creaking stairs to my room. Leslie had already retired for the night, tired from all that lovey-dovey handholding, I thought wryly. I tiptoed past her door on my way to the bathroom, not wanting to wake her. She would need her rest to get ready for another day of billing and cooing.
I made my toilette and returned to my room, happy to be home, or at least to be in Miss Bea’s comfortable house. I walked across the room, careful to look at my feet as I stepped on the wooden floor, not wanting to make the acquaintance of another mouse. I unlatched and pushed open the window, leaning out into the cool, crisp Colorado night.
My thoughts turned toward Piney Woods, and the wistfulness I had managed to push down during the day welled back up in full force. I was, to put it succinctly, well and truly homesick.
I thought about my seven brothers, about how they had alternately made my childhood happy, terrifying, mysterious, and delightful in turns. I let my mind wander through thoughts of their many offspring, their spouses and their houses, and I had to smile. I had a wonderful family.
I thought about Crazy Great-Aunt Opal and our many visits together at her ‘luxury apartment’, of the many hands of gin rummy we had played and the jokes we had told one another … and played on the other residents. I could hardly wait to see her again and tell her about Lola; that was one gal who could rival my Great-Aunt for sheer kookiness, I reflected.
And finally, I thought about Mama: about her carefully coiffed hair and always neat clothes; of her cool hands on my forehead when I was sick; and her sweet voice reading a myriad of bedtime stories to me when I was a child. I felt my throat tighten and my eyes fill with tears, and I leaned my head onto my folded arms and let myself ‘weep a little weep’, as my mother would say.
Wiping my eyes, I made up my mind: I would ask Miss Bea in the morning if I could be released from the troupe. With that settled, I closed the window, got into bed, and promptly fell asleep.
The morning light moved across my face and awakened me. I stretched, holding my arms up high in the air while I reached to the end of the bed with my bare toes … and froze. Something tiny and furry was moving down there.
I leapt out of bed faster than I had ever had before. Leslie told me later that I sounded as though a strange language was coming from my mouth with nothing making sense. I can only remember clutching at her arms and pointing frantically at my bed.
Derek, once again, was my savior. He flipped back the covers and retrieved the frightened little mouse that had burrowed further down toward the end of the mattress, trying to get away from the crazy girl and her big feet. I huddled closer to Leslie as Derek walked past with the tiny creature in his cupped palms. LJ, who had joined the crowd gathered in my room, followed Derek down the stairs and held open the front door for him, allowing the frightened mouse to make good his escape.
Miss Bea and Miss Lucinda, awakened by all the commotion, stood side by side in the front room, nightgowns billowing around their legs, which were surprisingly spindly considering the other proportions of their bodies.
I wasn’t sure whose hair defied gravity the most: Miss Bea’s or Miss Lucinda’s. It was an amazing sight, the tufts of frizzy grey and hanks of lavender hanging this way and that. I managed to keep my face straight though; these two women had been like fairy godmothers to me.
I resorted to my typical method of handling any crisis involving a creature and marched directly into the kitchen for a round of enthusiastic cooking. This morning’s episode required something hearty and satisfying, so I decided to whip up my mother’s famous Piney Woods Pecan Pancakes. Bare cupboards yawned back at
me in the early morning light; time for that trip into town.
With a less than enthusiastic Derek at the wheel of Miss Bea’s wagon (he’d made movements back toward his bed but I nixed that), we set off for Copper in hopes of finding at least one store open. I was a woman on a mission and after all I’d been through, securing the ingredients for a real Louisiana breakfast seemed like small potatoes, if you catch my drift.
At last, we were gathered at the breakfast table, stacks of the steaming cakes on each plate, thick with real butter and maple syrup, a heaping platter of crispy bacon standing within reach of the six of us.
We ate in comparative silence for a while, making comments on the day’s plans and the food; no one, I noticed, even mentioned Mouse Incident Part Deux. Maybe they just assumed that I attracted critters the way some folks attracted mosquitoes.
My talk with Miss Bea went much easier than I thought it would. We both cried a bit and laughed a lot, and hugged each other like the mother and daughter we had become. I thanked her over and over again for my foray into the world of character acting – neither of us mentioned that we actually only performed the Murder Mystery Tour once – and it was confirmed that I would depart in two days’ time.
I spent the rest of my time in Copper relaxing with my friends, exchanging email addresses and cellphone numbers. Leslie assured me that I would be invited to the wedding, and LJ, to my surprise, unlatched from his intended and gave me a hug farewell when it was time for me to board the train back to Piney Woods. Derek gave me a salute, then turned back to help Miss Bea and Miss Lucinda back across the station platform and down the stairs. He was staying on indefinitely, he had confided; this was home to him in a way that no other place had ever been. I fervently wished him all the best. He’d need it, dealing with the Becklaw gals day after day.
Goodbyes over and done with, I settled back into my seat, determined to rest on the eight-hour trip. I was not going to make eye contact with anyone this time, I promised myself, especially if they had lavender hair.
Epilogue
The 06:36 train pulled into the Piney Woods station some fifteen minutes late, which to the locals meant ‘right on time’. I could see a contingent of Andersons standing off to one side of the platform, talking, laughing at something that had been said, and their hands swiping fondly across shoulders, the mass of children running around screaming and having a raucously good time.
My family. They weren’t perfect, but they were mine.
The cars jerked to a full stop and I stood up, ready to disembark. I was stiff from sitting in one place for so long; in fact, I’d slept most of the way. I retrieved my cases, joined the queue in the aisle, and stepped off the train … straight into the open arms of my mother. Her eyes were bright and she looked as if she would cry at any moment.
Time to head that one off at the pass, I thought. I gave her a tight squeeze.
‘Hey, Mama! I was just thinking: have you ever thought about training my useless brothers to do something worthwhile, like maybe a circus act?’
She dropped her arms, giving me that familiar indignant look. I smiled. I was home.
Also by Dane McCaslin
Murder at the Miramar
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Copyright © Dane McCaslin 2014
The right of Dane McCaslin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN 9781783754656
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) Page 19
