Murder on Memory Lake

by J. D. Griffo

  Since the love between Alberta and Helen could get sidetracked amid their comments, Jinx thought it best to intervene before things got out of hand and their mission derailed.

  “You both have very pretty hair that suits your styles and personalities,” she stated. “And don’t be mad at Gram, I told her not to tell you because I wasn’t sure you’d approve of us sort of breaking and entering into Lucy’s storage unit.”

  “Sort of?” Helen contradicted.

  “Well, we do have the key,” Jinx said weakly.

  “That you stole after breaking and entering into Lucy’s house!” Helen shouted. “Thou shall not steal, remember that one? Anybody?”

  “Thou shall not renege on your word, Helen, remember that one?” Alberta asked. “You said you would be part of this little team, so now you’re getting a chance to do just that. What the hell else do you have to do today anyway?”

  “My shift at the shelter starts at four!”

  “We’ll be done in plenty of time, Aunt Helen, don’t worry.”

  “Good, because tardiness puts a smile on Satan’s face,” she announced. “And remember, one beep means I see the fuzz approaching, and two beeps means I have to go and use the ladies’ room.”

  Sighing heavily as she got out of the Buick, Alberta replied, “You’re a regular Angie Dickinson, Helen.”

  A few minutes later Alberta was the one channeling Ms. Dickinson’s iconic role as Sergeant Pepper Anderson on the 1970’s TV series Police Woman as she and Jinx walked down the aisle of the U-Store-It Urself storage facility trying to act nonchalant, as if they had a legal reason to be on the premises. Alberta glanced ahead at Jinx, who was half a step in front of her and was impressed to see that her granddaughter possessed an even more purposeful stride. Jinx was definitely taking the lead, and Alberta was delighted to follow in her footsteps.

  At the end of a long row of mint green metal units, Jinx looked down at the ticket she was holding and without pausing pointed to the right to indicate that was the direction their path should continue to take. This new stretch of units was electric blue and twice the size of the green ones, each one the size of a small, outdoor shed. When they got three-quarters of the way down the aisle, Jinx stopped and pointed to the left.

  “Here we are,” she announced. “Number 152.”

  “I wonder what we’ll find in there,” Alberta whispered.

  “Only one way to find out,” Jinx replied, holding the ticket in the air so the key dangled like an enticing carrot in front of them.

  Gleefully, Alberta snatched the key from Jinx’s hand and entered it into the lock. She felt like she was standing at the entrance to the tomb that housed the Holy Grail. But after she opened the door to the storage unit she felt like that entire piece of biblical folklore was a hoax.

  “It’s empty!” she cried.

  “It can’t be!” Jinx added.

  Alberta entered the unit and pulled on a string hanging from a light fixture that housed a single, bare lightbulb. The unit was suddenly bathed in a harsh, fluorescent glow that made both women squint. When their eyesight adjusted they saw that Alberta was technically a liar.

  “It isn’t completely empty,” Jinx said, trying to sound much more optimistic than she felt.

  “Lovey, three empty cardboard boxes doesn’t a collection make,” Alberta replied. “I stand by my word, this place is empty.”

  “But within this emptiness, Gram, there still might lie a clue.”

  While Alberta pondered Jinx’s cryptic comment, Jinx took out her cell phone and started taking pictures of the logo printed on the boxes.

  “Wasserman & Speicher,” Jinx said, pronouncing the second name Spi-ker. “Why do I know this name?”

  “Oh my God! Really?” Alberta gasped.

  “Yeah, it says so right here, look,” Jinx instructed. “You know who they are?”

  “Yes, but it’s German and pronounced Spei-sher,” Alberta corrected, “And you should recognize the name, it’s the big real estate firm in town.”

  “Oh right, of course,” Jinx replied. “But how do you know that?”

  “It’s the firm that I had to deal with when I got Aunt Carmela’s house,” Alberta explained.

  “I thought you dealt with the crazy Italian lawyer.”

  “Giancarlo handled most everything, but there was some paperwork I had to sign dealing with land rights since the house borders the lake, and all that was handled by Wasserman & Speicher.”

  “Okay, that makes sense,” Jinx started. “But what doesn’t make sense is why you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Alberta took a deep breath, “Because Wasserman & Speicher is where Vinny told me Lucy used to work.”

  * * *

  “That’s a pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”

  Joyce’s question hovered over the table and mixed with the delicious aroma of the Entenmann’s glazed cinnamon Bundt cake that served as the centerpiece. The women were gathered around Alberta’s kitchen table playing canasta, eating dessert, and sipping flavored vodka out of small jelly jars. It was their weekly ritual, but this week, they were a bit distracted from their weekly ritual as the evening held an added attraction: discussing the latest details of the investigation into Lucy’s murder.

  “I mean the storage unit contains boxes that just happen to be from the real estate firm that handled the transfer of title on Alberta’s house,” Joyce concluded.

  Not everyone shared her opinion. “It doesn’t mean a thing,” Helen said, inspecting her cards. “Lucy worked at the real estate firm, so it makes sense that she’d steal boxes to house her collection or just to store things. It’s a well-known fact, everybody steals.”

  Ignoring Helen’s cynicism, Jinx said, “It’s definitely an interesting connection, Aunt Joyce, but I don’t think it adds up to anything significant. I’m much more curious to find out what this collection is.”

  “And why the storage unit was empty,” Joyce added, taking a sip of vodka. “Also too, fluffy marshmallow vodka is fluffilicious!”

  “For Pete’s sake, Joyce, will you stop saying that!” Helen shouted, melding five jacks. She slammed the cards so hard on the table that she woke Lola up from her nap. The drowsy cat purred at Helen before burying her head again into the oversized pillow that doubled as her bed.

  “She’s right, Helen,” Alberta stated. “Lucy rents a huge storage unit and the only thing in there are three empty boxes? That’s very strange, if you ask me. And, yes, this vodka really is delicious.”

  “I’m not talking about that!” Helen snapped. “I’m talking about the ‘also too’! How many times do I have to tell you Joyce, it’s redundant! Also means too, so what you’re really saying is ‘also, also.’”

  Shoving a bit of Bundt cake into her mouth, Joyce responded, “Maybe that’s what I mean to say.”

  “Not so fast Aunt Helen, she could mean to say ‘too, too,’” Jinx added with a smile.

  “I give up!” Helen declared. “And, also too, I won!”

  She tossed down all her cards to reveal a score of 5,210. Helen may have lost the war on grammar, but she won the game of cards.

  “Nobody’s got the malocchio on you, Aunt Helen, that’s for sure.”

  “What?”

  “The evil eye thing that Lucy put on Gram from heaven or, you know, wherever she is.”

  “I know what the malocchio is,” Helen corrected. “What I want to know is why your grandmother is teaching you such nonsense.”

  Alberta refilled the empty jelly glasses with fluffy marshmallow vodka and took a long drink before replying. “It isn’t nonsense, Helen. Lucy always put the horns on me when she was alive and that’s exactly what she’s doing now. It’s the only reason I got dragged into this whole mess.”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Helen, I should’ve known you don’t believe in such things.”

  “What are you talking about?” Helen asked. “I devoted most of my life to the Catholic Church, of course I believe in the
evil eye. I just don’t believe Lucy’s spirit put it on your grandmother’s head.”

  “Well, I do,” Alberta announced. “And I’m the one Lucy tormented practically her entire life, so I should know. End of discussion.”

  Despite Alberta’s declaration, the discussion as to whether or not Lucy’s powers could extend beyond the spirit world lasted for a half hour. When they came to a stalemate on the subject, they spent the next half hour debating if they should share their newfound information with Vinny and the police department. Alberta’s instinct was to call her friend and fill him in on both the mysterious connection and the empty storage unit, but Jinx wanted to keep their intel private until they had more specific details to share.

  “And just how are we supposed to get more details?” Alberta asked.

  “Follow the facts, ladies,” Joyce said. “Who else knows about this collection?”

  “Just Enza and her boy toy, Donny, as far as we know,” Jinx answered.

  “Then go to the source,” Joyce announced. “March right back over to Lucy’s condo, but this time ring the bell instead of breaking in through a back window.”

  They all agreed that it was the smartest, most direct route to take, but they also agreed that Enza was not the cooperative type and was not going to be a willing participant in a straightforward Q&A session. They had to figure out a way to dupe her into telling them what she knew.

  Standing at the kitchen sink, feeling the breeze from the lake coming in through the window, Alberta figured she would probably have as much luck engaging Enza in a substantive conversation than she would with her own daughter. Over the years she was sure Lucy had spoken about her in front of Enza and could guarantee that Lucy hadn’t rambled on about her virtues. No, the dislike for Alberta would have been transferred from mother to daughter like some congenital disease.

  She also realized that Enza wouldn’t waste time speaking with Helen after their run-in at the wake. The woman looked like she had wanted to rip Helen’s head off for her not-so-subtle comments. The only candidates for the mission were Jinx and Joyce.

  “I agree, Gram,” Jinx said. “But even if she doesn’t hate us for being related to both you and Aunt Helen, what pretense could we use to try to have a sit-down with her?”

  “How about dragging her butt into confession?” Helen suggested.

  “I think Enza is beyond being swayed by an act of contrition,” Alberta said.

  “But she might be swayed by the power of the church!” Jinx announced.

  Jinx explained that if she and Joyce were going to visit Enza they couldn’t go as themselves, it would be too risky given the recent and distant pasts. What they needed to do was to go undercover. Sort of.

  “You mean we should wear a disguise?” Joyce asked.

  “No, just disguise our intentions,” Jinx replied. “We should visit Enza as members of her mother’s church, St. Winifred’s of the Holy Well. Show up with a casserole or a fruit basket and tell her that we come to offer her the prayers of the congregation during this, her time of sorrow.”

  “So basically you want to use the Lord’s name in vain?” Helen asked.

  “I think He’d understand that it’s for a good cause,” Jinx replied.

  “You know something, Jinxie?” Helen said. “I think you’re right. Go for it.”

  “But be careful,” Alberta added. “I trust Enza less than I trusted her mother.”

  “Also too, belle parole non pascono il gatto,” Joyce added.

  “Wow, Aunt Joyce, I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”

  “She can’t!” Helen barked. “That sounded like Yiddish.”

  “Shush, Helen!” Alberta scolded. “Joyce is right, fine words don’t feed the cat. Sometimes you have to take action.”

  Helen pursed her lips and adjusted her eyeglasses looking every inch like the stereotypically stern nun who doubled as a Catholic schoolteacher. When she spoke, she sounded like one, too. “Also too, make sure when you take action and confront the cat, she doesn’t scratch your eyes out.”

  As if sticking up for her species, Lola meowed loudly without lifting her head from the pillow.

  * * *

  The second time Jinx entered Lucy’s condo, she did so through the front door. Crawling with her grandmother through the back window, however, was an easier and more pleasant experience, as it turned out that Helen had been right and Enza was acting like a tomcat whose territory had been breached by two trespassing felines.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Enza said, not meaning a word she uttered. “But I’m gluten and dairy free, so I can’t eat macaroni and cheese.”

  “We’re so sorry,” Joyce said, accepting the tray back from Enza. “We also brought some fruit, which is free of any nasty gluten or dairy, so you should be fine.”

  “Is it organic?” Enza asked.

  Before Joyce could answer and disappoint Enza for the second time, Jinx pulled something out of her bag. “How about a bottle of wine?”

  Finally, the tiniest of smiles formed on Enza’s otherwise expressionless face. “Now that I’ll take.”

  Pushing their way into the living room, Jinx and Joyce sat down on the gold velvet couch before Enza could escort them to the door. She clearly wasn’t happy having visitors, but other than throwing them out, she really had no choice except to act as a semi-gracious hostess. It was a role she failed at miserably.

  Enza sat in a high-backed chair across from the couch that was made of the same velvety smooth material, but was the color of the burgundy wine she was clutching in her hands. Her grip around the neck of the bottle was so tight Jinx thought Enza was going to twist off the top with her bare hands and to hell with a corkscrew.

  “So how did you know my mother?” Enza asked.

  “We’re members of her church, St. Winifred’s,” Joyce began.

  “Of the Holy Well,” Jinx finished.

  “That place is still around?” Enza asked.

  “Oh yes, it’s thriving,” Jinx said, even though she had never set foot inside the church so she didn’t know if it was a beacon for the community or a blight. “People come from all over just to hear our chorus sing. Your mother had such a beautiful voice.”

  “My mother was tone deaf,” Enza contradicted.

  “But she sang from the heart,” Joyce interjected. “And when you sing from the heart, God only hears the intention, not the sound.”

  Jinx and Joyce smiled at each other and it was obvious that they were enjoying this tête-à-tête far more than Enza was. In fact, she was hardly listening and kept glancing at the closed bedroom door. Jinx may have only been a private eye for a few days, but she knew what Enza was hiding in the bedroom, and that the what was actually a who named Donny.

  Emboldened with this knowledge, Jinx felt it time to be more direct and not tap dance around the reason they were here. “I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt your mother, do you?”

  Enza’s eyes said yes, but her mouth said no. “I really have no idea . . . what did you say your name was again?”

  “Gina Maldonado,” Jinx said, thinking it best to use her real name since her nickname was so recognizable.

  “I have no idea, Gina,” Enza continued. “My mother was a simpleton . . . I mean a simple person, who was nice to everyone, nice to a fault actually, and kind of lived in her own reality.”

  “She did love watching TV,” Joyce ad-libbed. “She could spend hours watching reruns, old sitcoms, westerns, and she loved her soaps, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did love her stories,” Enza answered, finally warming up to the conversation. “I feel like you two really knew my mother.”

  Jinx and Joyce both answered in the affirmative, quite enthusiastically, and at the same time. If Enza hadn’t forced herself to have a coughing fit to cover up Donny’s sneeze from inside the bedroom, she would’ve noticed that their response was manufactured and hardly sincere.

  “I’m sorry, sometimes I get very choked u
p when I talk about my mother,” Enza lied. She yanked a tissue out of a Kleenex box on the table next to her chair and dabbed at some imaginary tears. “So then, you must know about her collection.”

  Joyce almost dropped the tray of macaroni and cheese she was holding in her lap and Jinx dug her fingernails into an orange in the fruit basket.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Jinx replied.

  Joyce stepped on Jinx’s foot in an attempt to remind her that they needed Enza to give them information about the collection and not the other way around.

  “But, you know, only in the abstract,” Jinx backtracked.

  Suspicion crept into Enza’s face and she sat back in the chair, crossed her legs, and for the first time relaxed in their presence. She was acting as if she were a woman with nothing to hide even though she was hiding her lover in the other room and clearly guarding a secret she had no interest in divulging.

  “So, my mother never told you about her collection?”

  “Not in so many words,” Jinx replied, all bravado and confidence swept away by Enza’s icy glare.

  “How in the world is that possible?” Enza shrieked. “My mother couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it!”

  Joyce matched Enza’s glare “Maybe it did.”

  * * *

  After getting thrown out by Enza, Jinx and Joyce held a postmortem on the drive home and surmised that Lucy had a possibly valuable collection that her daughter knew about, but for some reason, now can’t find. The only other link to the collection was that it might have been housed in a now empty storage facility and packed in boxes taken from Lucy’s job. If there were any answers to be found, they could probably be found at Wasserman & Speicher.

  “Well, there’s only one way for us to get closer to the truth,” Jinx announced.

  “And what’s that?” Joyce asked.

  “It’s time for my grandmother to go back to work.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Chi ha nome, ha robe.

  The last time Alberta was employed, there was no e-mail, no Internet, no fax machine, nor was there a no-smoking policy. She also had a twenty-four-inch waist. It was a very long time ago. When Alberta opened the glass door and entered the rotunda of the Wasserman & Speicher building it was like stepping through a time tunnel.