A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "I actually said I assumed she was in the parlor," Lexie replied. I could tell she was reflecting back, trying to visualize the sequence of events leading up to the murder. As she played the scene over in her mind, she said, "But truly, for all I know, Lori could have been in the pantry and rushed out to spike the drink when I went outside to assist her mother. And now that I think about it, the mother/daughter tag team theory is not a totally far-fetched possibility. It was Georgia who asked me to help her carry in the tray of meat, not the other way around. And this was after the woman had hauled in a number of other heavy loads without requesting assistance."

  "Yes, and Lori and Georgia could have worked it out in advance on how to coordinate the timing. The only thing that bothers me with this theory is how in the world could they have known Trotter would ask you to make him a drink?"

  "Yeah, I'm not clear on that one either. But since all the other pieces of the puzzle fit together so perfectly, I think we have enough evidence to take to the detectives," Lexie said with a grin that showed exactly how relieved she was to have reason to believe the light at the end of the tunnel was drawing near. Now, if the light wasn't glowing from the front of a train that was about to mow us down, we might have just clinched the case and tracked down Trotter's real killer.

  * * *

  Standing with Lexie in the police station's parking lot an hour or so later, I said "I hate to use a cliché, but—"

  "Rapella, since I've met you I've heard you use every cliché in the book," Lexie said, interrupting me. "Not to mention a few originals I'm sure you concocted yourself. So why stop now?"

  "Um, well then, if you put it that way, I—"

  "I was kidding, dear. I love your cliché habit. Go on with what you were saying."

  "Okay. I was going to say we should have known there'd be a fly in the ointment."

  Lexie laughed and replied. "Yes, I agree with you. There's always a fly in the ointment whenever I'm involved in a situation like this."

  Lexie and I had planned to relay the information to Detective Russell and then call another pow-wow at the inn. We were anxious to tell Wendy, Stone, Rip, Mattie, Andy, and Veronica our incredible news over supper. We'd even stopped at a local barbecue joint on the way to the station and picked up ribs, beans, and slaw to go. We were both too wound up to take time to scratch up a meal ourselves. Veronica had so graciously prepared a fabulous supper the previous night, and we didn't want to ask her to do so again.

  Detective Russell told us he didn't have the leisure of going above his boss, Chief Smith's, head. When he ran our theory past the chief, he was chastised for even listening to two old airheads, one of whom he felt certain had killed his stepson and would concoct any story she could to draw the focus of the investigation away from herself. He stood firm on his decision and couldn't be budged. Chief Smith even told the detective he wasn't going to waste time and manpower chasing down off-the-wall theories and tarnish the reputation of the Piney family without an iron-clad reason. Short of a signed confession by Georgia or Lori Piney, he refused to even consider them as suspects in the murder case. "We don't have the luxury of chasing wild geese all around the county," he had told the lead detective.

  "Now that just ticks me off to no end!" I declared.

  "Me too!" Lexie agreed. "Especially because the chief's well aware of the rape his stepson perpetrated against Tori Piney ten years ago, and that the Pineys blame Trotter for her suicide. He knows her family's anguish might make for a very strong motive to take revenge on Trotter, as well. But for some reason he'd rather pin the murder on me."

  "That really, really ticks me off!" I reiterated. "How dare that moron call us 'airheads', or even worse, 'old'?"

  "Well, yeah, that's irritating too," Lexie replied with a chuckle. "But I was actually referring to Chief Smith's attitude. I can't believe he refused to look deeper into what I believe is a very logical and credible supposition. He's so dead-set on charging me with the murder that I don't think any amount of evidence will convince him otherwise. A 'signed confession', that hardhead said. Seriously?"

  "We need the Pineys to voluntarily admit on paper that they killed Trotter and then sign their confession to get the chief to even consider them as potential suspects? Seriously?" I guess that really was the word of the month, so I might as well throw it out there every chance I got too. "And here I thought Rip was bullheaded! But the chief's remark about the 'signed confession' made me wonder. Do you reckon there's any way we actually could coerce a confession out of one, or both, of the Piney women? Not necessarily signed, but maybe on a tape recording, you think?"

  "I don't know, Rapella. But I think we should give it our best shot! Do you have any ideas on how we can get back inside the Piney home? We aren't likely to be welcomed with open arms, nor can we force our way in."

  As we walked to Lexie's little car, we contemplated different strategies. An idea hit me just as we took our seats in the Volkswagen. "Think back, Lexie. Do you have any photos that have your Anchor Hocking bowl in them, even just somewhere in the background? I'm determined to get your family heirloom back from that slick swindler. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone."

  I didn't know what caused Lexie to start laughing until she said, "See what I mean about the clichés, Rapella?"

  "Oh, yeah, sorry about that! I'll try to work on that. I guess I need to start thinking first before I open my trap."

  "Don't you dare! I adore you just the way you are and wouldn't want you to change one little thing about yourself. Your penchant for old clichés just makes you that much more loveable."

  "Oh, thank God," I replied. "Cause it'd be nearly impossible for me to turn over a new leaf at my age."

  Lexie burst out laughing again. She reached over and slapped me on the knee and said, "That's all right, dear. I understand how hard it is to teach an old dog new tricks."

  We were both cracking up when Lexie stopped abruptly and said, "Hey! I just remembered that I have a photo from a long ago Thanksgiving dinner. Grandma's at the end of the table holding that bowl in her hands. I don't recall what was in the bowl—"

  "Does it matter what was in the bowl?" I asked. Wendy was right about her mother's habit of getting bogged down in details that had no bearing on the conversation.

  "No, I guess not. But it is proof it belonged to my family at one time."

  "Could you come up with it in fairly short order?" I asked.

  "I'm almost certain it's in an old family album I keep in an upstairs closet. I know it'll be easy to locate. And I get where you're going with this. Let's pick up the photo and pay the Pineys another visit. Okay?"

  "Sounds like a plan to me!"

  * * *

  While Lexie was going through what had to be six million photos distributed amongst a dozen plastic tubs, I used a small bathroom off the inn's little library. When I reached down to drop a used tissue in the trash can, something behind the can caught my eye. I remembered then that Mattie Hill had utilized the toilet right before she left, so I wasn't surprised to discover it was a cell phone. And since it had an apple engraved on it, I was certain it was the one Mattie had misplaced. I had noticed the apple emblems on her phone and my tablet the evening she tutored me, and I'd asked her what a piece of fruit had to do with all these new-fangled gadgets.

  I took the phone into the kitchen to find her work number which Stone had scribbled on a memo pad attached to the freezer door by a magnet. In the process, I accidentally pushed a few of the buttons on the phone's face. At first, I was afraid I'd called the Russian Prime Minister like Rip had previously done, but when I looked at the screen there was a message on it that read, "I dare you to try."

  Just at that moment, Lexie walked in holding an older faded photo in her hand. She exclaimed, "Isn't that Mattie's phone?"

  "Yes, I'm pretty sure it is," I replied.

  When I handed it to her, she looked at the message with a puzzled expression, and said, "This says the text is from Trotter Hayes and was se
nt to Mattie no more than twenty minutes before he was killed."

  "Could she have sent it to him to tell him he'd better leave Wendy alone after Mattie noticed he'd shown up as Joy White's date?" I asked. "Maybe she even told him if he even looked at Wendy, Andy would tear him a new one."

  "Probably so." Lexie then pushed a few buttons and came up with another text. "This one's from Mattie to him just a minute or so earlier. It says 'I'm warning you!' So, I'm sure what you just suggested is exactly what happened. As you know, she was not at all happy to see him there, at Wendy's party of all things. She's always been extremely protective of Wendy. Like she said, they've been as close as sisters for many years."

  After spreading all the photos out all over the master suite's floor like a five-thousand piece jigsaw puzzle, Lexie finally tracked down the photo she was searching for. Before we left, I called Mattie and told her I'd found her cell phone. I apologized for not thinking to search the bathroom earlier. She assured me it was no big deal and said she'd be right over to pick it up, even though she'd just purchased a coveted iPhone 6 to replace it. Mattie was tickled to have gotten one of the new models that had just been released by Apple. I told her I'd leave the old obsolete iPhone 5, that she'd been forced to tolerate for six long months while the iPhone 6 was being developed, on the kitchen table after Lexie whispered that Mattie had a key to the front door and could let herself in.

  Chapter 18

  For the second afternoon in a row, Lexie and I found ourselves standing on the Pineys' front porch. This time our knock went unanswered. We continued to ring the bell and knock off and on for five minutes. Both Georgia and Lori's vehicles were in the driveway so we felt confident at least one of them was home. And Peanut was raising such a fuss, there was no way they couldn't have known someone was at their front door. We knew we were being deliberately ignored.

  Finally, Lexie whispered to me. She told me to follow her to the car. We drove about halfway up the block and parked out of view from the plate glass window of the Pineys' home. We walked stealthily through backyards and skirted around the Piney home to a position on the right side of their house.

  Lexie pulled out her phone and placed a call to her daughter. Wendy, whose voice wouldn't be recognizable to Georgia or Lori, put her cell on speakerphone before she called the Pineys on her office phone. With intermittent, and impossible to decipher, responses, we listened to Wendy's side of the conversation.

  Wendy asked, "Is this Mrs. Piney?"

  "**************"

  "Good afternoon, this is your neighbor up the street, Claire Keller."

  "**************"

  "Oh, well, you see, I just moved in last week. I'm hoping I'll know everyone in the neighborhood soon too."

  "**************"

  "Thank you. Yes, I'll be happy to stop by for coffee one morning soon to get acquainted with you. Unfortunately, today I'm getting my hair trimmed at the Klip Joint in an hour."

  "**************"

  "I use Charlene too. And, like you, I wouldn't trust Kerri within ten feet of me with a pair of scissors in her hand. However, the reason I'm calling is to let you know I just drove by your house and saw a package on your porch that UPS probably left there."

  "**************"

  "I don't have any idea why he didn't ring the bell, ma'am. Are you certain you didn't hear the bell, or perhaps knocking, just a few minutes ago? You know, maybe even a dog barking?"

  "**************"

  "I agree, wholeheartedly. Solicitors should be lined up and shot."

  "**************"

  "I don't have any idea what's in the box, ma'am."

  "**************"

  "Yes, I understand. Could someone have sent you a gift you're unaware of?"

  "**************"

  "Nonetheless, Ms. Piney, there's a package on your porch. And whether or not it was meant for you, you probably ought to take it indoors. With my arthritis I can always sense when rain is on the way."

  "**************"

  "Oh? You too? Well, I'm telling you, if the throbbing in my knees is any indication, this storm's going to be a doozey."

  "**************"

  "Despite the forecast, ma'am, a fluke shower could pop up. Meteorologists are not always one hundred percent accurate, you know."

  "************"

  "I agree. I'm sure I could walk outside on my porch and guess at the forecast just as accurately as most of the weathermen on the tube, too. Oh, dear. The timer on my oven's going off and I don't want to burn the cookies. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know the box was there, just in case whatever's in the package might be damaged if it gets wet."

  "**************"

  "You're welcome, Ms. Piney. You have a nice day too."

  After Georgia rang off we listened to Wendy say, "That should not have been that complicated. But Georgia's heading to the door now, I'm guessing. Better get ready to close in on her."

  As we heard the creak of the screen door, we rushed around to the front of the house. Lexie smiled pleasantly and said, "I'm so glad we caught you at home, Georgia."

  The look on Georgia's face was priceless. She obviously hadn't seen this ambush coming. This time we didn't feel it was necessary to enter her home. Once Georgia got over her shock of seeing us again, and had greeted us in a fashion that could not have been any less welcoming, Lexie exclaimed, "I know you'll be as pleased as we are that we solved the puzzle about the blue bowl."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Here's a photo of my great-grandmother holding the bowl many Thanksgivings ago. I thought maybe you could go get the bowl and we'll compare it to this photo. You know, just to make certain it's the same bowl you forgot at the inn."

  "Thanks for bothering, but there's really no need to compare my bowl to the photo. I have absolutely no doubt they wouldn't be a perfect match because my bowl is definitely the one you so graciously returned to me. But I do appreciate you stopping by with your concern."

  Lexie must have mentally raised the white flag because her desire to get her bowl back vanished. She looked at me with a resigned expression.

  Ever getting Lexie's bowl back seemed a remote possibility, but I was too stubborn to give up that easily. I'd come up with something eventually. But for now I turned to Georgia and said, "While we're here, dear, we wanted to give you a head's up. We just spoke with the police chief and the lead detective on the Trotter Hayes murder case. They told us they had undeniable proof that your daughter slipped the cyanide in the victim's drink at the party that night, and they plan to apprehend her in an hour or so."

  "What in the world are you talking about, lady?" She asked with utter shock on her face. If she'd been holding Lexie's bowl at the time it would have been shattered by then anyway.

  "I'm sure you're as astonished as we are, but I'm sure, considering the circumstances, they'll go easy on Lori," Lexie added. I know she was thinking the same thing I was. No mother worth her salt would let her daughter take the fall for her if she herself committed the crime or had any part in the murder whatsoever. So when she didn't take the blame and sincerely appeared stunned by our comments, we felt even more convinced that, unbeknownst to Georgia, her daughter was the sole perpetrator of the crime.

  "Pardon me for saying this, but you two ladies are plum crazy!" The irate woman exclaimed loudly in a no-nonsense tone.

  "Take it easy, Georgia," I said to calm her down. "We only meant to warn you, not upset you. The investigators dug up the report your husband filed after Tori was assaulted by Trotter Hayes. And further investigation discovered that, although the police chief was able to cover up the crime, he couldn't expunge the rape kit report that concluded Tori was raped, and the rapist was indeed the recent murder victim, Mr. Hayes."

  Georgia was staring at me silently. It seemed to me she was considering the possibility her surviving daughter could have committed the crime, given her altered demeanor and odd behavior since the suicide of her twin sister. She finally replied, "I do
n't need a rape kit report to know Trotter Hayes is the person who assaulted my daughter, ladies. But what does that have to do with Lori? It was her sister he raped, not her."

  I ignored her comment because there was no arguing with the facts she'd just pointed out. I continued. "And we know about the cyanide your husband acquired at the fertilizer plant, that not only was the likely cause of his cancer, but also the poison Tori used to kill herself and Lori used to kill Tori's assailant."

  I knew Lexie was recording the confrontation with her cell phone. We were hoping we could get Georgia to make some implicative comment that would be as close to a confession as Lexie and I were apt to get from the woman. Hopefully, we could edit out the blatant lies we told Georgia before turning the incriminating tape over to the police. Telling an individual, not even on the authorities' suspect list, that the detectives were planning to apprehend her soon, might not sit well with the investigating team. Regardless, I plunged right in. "We just wanted to give you advance warning that the detectives may already be on their way as we speak. Lexie and I both think it'd be better in the long run for Lori if she went down to the station and turned herself in."

  This time Georgia Piney did respond, but not with what we'd hope to hear, which was a confession of guilt. "You two got it all wrong. Yes, Peter did bring home the cyanide for a project he was working on and yes, it did ultimately cause his death. But Lori had absolutely nothing to do with Trotter's death. For one thing, every trace of the cyanide in this house was disposed of after Tori's suicide. More importantly, I know my daughter better than anyone, and can promise you she's not a vicious, revengeful type of person."

  Georgia paused for a response from Lexie or me, and when we didn't give one, she continued. "My husband was trying to develop a new and better fertilizer recipe. After the factory he was employed at refused to take responsibility when a co-worker was diagnosed with brain cancer, my husband was determined to create a safer product. Peter worked tirelessly for years trying to develop one, with hopes of getting it approved and patented in his lifetime. He wanted to prevent anyone else from suffering like his friend had in his last year of life. Did you know that it was primarily hydrogen cyanide that was used for mass murder in the extermination camps during the holocaust?"