Sun Scream

by Barbara Silkstone

  “Her poor car looks like what Dave does to empty Coke cans,” Lizzy said.

  Chip turned to the tow trucker. “Take this mess to the dealership. The manager is expecting it. I’ll see him in a few days. I’m sure my wife will want to have some sort of burial ceremony—she was seriously attached to this thing.”

  “Tell him to check the brakes!” I said to the tow-trucker. “It’s important!”

  A black pickup truck paused halfway up the drive. Planks and sheets of plywood jutted from the rear and bounced as the vehicle pulled off the drive making room for the tow truck. The middle-aged driver and his passenger popped out of the pickup and strode over to Chip. They wore identical black overalls and bright yellow T-shirts.

  The Toasts’ private road was beginning to look like a pit stop at a truck rally.

  “I got this, Mr. Toast,” the driver said. “We’ll board it up nice and secure. Gonna take some time to get a new one. Weeks, maybe even a month.”

  “Just do it quickly,” Chip said. “I’m headed out of town in less than thirty minutes. I want it finished before I leave.”

  “No problem!” The handyman said, trotting back to his truck. He pulled it closer to the door and began to unload the lumber. The two carpenters jumped into action looking like a pair of caffeinated bumblebees.

  Monk-hair and his son finished winching the crumpled soda can of a car onto the flatbed and chained it down. The wrecker rattled out of the driveway in time for a white Hundai sedan to pull in.

  Dr. Holland stepped out fixing his eyes on Chip.

  The good doctor wasn’t wearing a happy face.

  Chapter 4

  Chip waved at Dr. Holland then signed a form on the insurance man’s clipboard.

  Dr. Holland was a pillar in Starfish Cove. At one time or another he had treated practically everyone in the community except me.

  Doc looked at Chip with pity as he lifted his black satchel from the backseat. Bushy white eyebrows framed his bright blue eyes. His slender build indicated his dedication to healthy living.

  “I don’t think she was drinking.” Chip said preemptively. He led the doctor up the stairs into the house. Lizzy and I tagged behind.

  The open floor plan possessed the cool style of a multi-decked island hotel. An entire wall of sliding glass faced the Gulf of Mexico— the view made up for what the huge room lacked in cozy.

  Grams had her arm around Jaimie as they sat side-by-side on the linen sofa with large pale blue pillows propped behind their backs. Never one to tolerate Jaimie’s snarkiness, Grams’ concern for the Loud Mouth of the South startled me.

  “Have you been at it again, young lady?” Dr. Holland said in a voice thick with irritation. “Let’s have a look at you. Bedroom? Bathroom?”

  “You can check me here. I’m not shy.”

  That was an understatement.

  “I only dinged my head—not the first time—won’t be the last.”

  “As you wish.” Dr. Holland put his bag down on the floor reached inside bringing out a small flashlight.

  Chip slipped into place on his wife’s right while Grams remained on the left, keeping her boney arm over Jaimie’s shoulder. Odd that Jaimie didn’t resist. She was usually a tough cookie about cuddles.

  Dr. Holland shined the light in Jaimie’s eyes, pulled down her lower lids and gingerly touched her head. He plucked Grams’ hand from around Jaimie and felt the back of his patient’s neck.

  “How fast were you going?”

  “Driveway speed of course. How fast can you go in a driveway? And I wasn’t drinking.”

  Jaimie had a history she couldn’t outrun.

  “I swear. I pumped the brakes, mashed them to the floor.” She nodded at Lizzy and me. “They can tell you I wasn’t going fast but the car had a mind of its own. It smashed through the door and crashed against the wall.”

  “I’ll call the hospital and put in an order for an MRI—neck and head. Get it done right away. They’ll call me with the results. Meantime, take it easy. The only liquids that pass those swollen lips should be water or tea. No alcohol!”

  Jaimie shook her head stubbornly. “I’m not going to the hospital! There is nothing wrong with me.”

  Dr. Holland stood and closed his satchel. “If you don’t show for the MRI, I’ll have Kal Miranda issue a warrant for your arrest.”

  Jaimie chuckled. “I give up!” She gave Lizzy and me an impish look. “Who’s up for a round of MRIs?”

  “Her acerbity is intact,” Doc Holland said to Chip. “She’s just shaken—not rehabilitated.” The physician raised one abundant brow at Jaimie like a father would at a naughty teen.

  While Chip walked the doctor to the door, Jaimie whispered to us. “Poshookly! I wanted to plot with you gals. I’ve got a fun twist to add to our murder mystery party. We’ll talk about it on the way to the hospital.”

  Jaimie appeared to have her wits and mischief about her but just in case I made an offer. “Want company tonight?”

  “Somebody take me for the stupid test, then I want to be alone to mourn my car.” Jaimie grabbed her purse from Lizzy and rummaged in the orange straw bag. “Good thing I wasn’t toting a bottle. This bag is a Gucci and not liquor proof.”

  She ferreted around and pulled out her phone. She pressed a button and my cell rang. “Good. It’s working. I can call you if I need you.”

  Chip joined us, a wheelie bag at his feet and laptop case in his hand. He gave Jaimie a peck on the cheek. “I ordered a limo. My car keys are on the foyer table. Use it while I’m gone, but do not drive tonight.”

  “She won’t because I’m taking the keys,” I said, “until tomorrow.” I scooped them up as Lizzy and I walked to the front door.

  Grams lingered holding Jaimie close. It was so unlike either of them to bond and kind of surreal to observe.

  “Come on you two. We have a date with an MRI machine.”

  Chip hesitated. He dropped the handle of his wheelie bag. “I should stay. I should be the one to take my wife to the hospital.”

  “You get your happy butt out the door now.” Jaimie ordered. “I want to see you back here in forty-eight hours with a smile on your face and that deal done. Now let’s get the poshookly out of here!” She led us out the door.

  After he set the intrusion alarm, Chip joined us outside.

  “You all have my cell phone number. Please keep an eye on her while I’m gone.” He kissed Jaimie’s cheek.

  Chip stepped into the hired limo waiting in the driveway. He rolled down the window and said, “Stay on your toes. Jaimie doesn’t want to have that MRI. You know how tricky she can be.”

  “Do ducks quack?” I whispered as the tinted window rolled silently up.

  Once the limo pulled out, we made our way to my car parked on the street. I helped Lizzy and Jaimie into the back and then discreetly guided Grams into the front passenger seat. The dear lady had a thing against being helped—ninety-four years old and independent as any of her suffragette ancestors.

  No sooner had we started down the road than Grams spoke up. “Somebody is stalking Jaimie.”

  Chapter 5

  “Grams is right,” Jaimie said. “She understands what’s going on as opposed to that useless Kal.”

  As I turned onto Starfish Boulevard Grams cleared her throat. “I’ve been giving this some serious thought. Jaimie needs a bodyguard like those wives on Chick Chat—the ones who survived.” She paused. When no one spoke she continued, “It should be someone nobody would suspect was armed and dangerous. Someone who would look good on television.”

  I peered in the rearview and locked eyes with Lizzy.

  “You’re not listening to what I’m saying,” Grams grumbled. “Jaimie, tell them how you heard prowlers at night a couple of times. You may think it’s her imagination but I don’t. I saw this very same thing on Chick Chat yesterday. No one believed the wife about her stalker until she was dead.”

  “Who would want to shadow Jaimie? With her mouth?” I teased
. Truth was Jaimie had ticked off enough people in her thirty-one years on the planet to hotwire a stalker. There were folks in Starfish Cove who cringed when they saw her—but to kill her?

  “I’m not worried. Don’t you concern that little Q-tip of yours.” Jaimie leaned forward and tousled Grams’ hair. “Chip would never let anything happen to me.”

  “That’s not what they said on Chick Chat. Half of all woman who are murdered are killed by their romantic partners.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Chip is pretty darn romantic wouldn’t ya say?”

  “Grams!” I took my eyes off the road to give her a quick cautionary glare. “Don’t even joke about that. Enough.”

  I wasted my breath. Grams said, “It’s mighty suspicious her brakes failed. What if she was driving near a cliff?”

  Lizzy groaned. “Florida is as flat as a pancake. We’re fresh out of cliffs.”

  “Fine. You mock my words but I know what I feel.” She pulled down the passenger visor and tilted it to see Jaimie in the makeup mirror. “I’m offering my services as your bodyguard. No one will suspect me ‘cause I look harmless but I’m not. I can keep an eye on that husband of yours.”

  I had enough of Grams’ speculation, which could harm Jaimie and Chip and their relationship. And the only thing more ludicrous than Grams being a bodyguard was Chip harming Jaimie. “Grams, that’s way more than enough.”

  Lizzy hummed the first few bars of a tune that sounded like the theme from The Pink Panther.

  “You scoff but the day will come when you’ll wish you had me and my secret weapon!”

  Grams’ secret weapon wasn’t exactly a secret. Her discovery that a certain hefty brass candlestick—more than half her height—made a great weapon was one of those missteps the universe sometimes makes. She had more faith in that decoration than it warranted. Grams could probably bop someone on the noggin but he’d have to stand still for her to land the blow. Or if he was tall she’d have to get on a chair.

  “I can spend the night with Jaimie. Just need to stop at my place and pick up my weapon.”

  Jaimie seemed to be drifting. An adrenalin let down or a concussion? I didn’t want her to fall asleep before we reached the hospital.

  I caught Jaimie’s eyes in the mirror and spoke to her. “What about the murder mystery party? Tell us about the surprise you have for Chip.”

  She revived at the notion of mischief. “Remember it’s a Roaring 20s speakeasy setting. Your scripts are at the house. I’m the victim. Lizzy’s the killer because no one will suspect her. Chip is the lead detective, and Grams—you’re the owner of the nightclub.”

  “Oh, I like that!” Grams said.

  I turned into the hospital parking lot and pulled under the emergency entrance canopy. “You’ll have to finish telling us about it after the MRI.”

  We made our way to the registration desk where Jaimie pulled her insurance card and driver’s license from her purse. I explained the accident to the intake lady and referenced Dr. Holland’s name. The attendant pulled up the order for Jaimie’s MRI.

  Minutes later like a parade of ducklings the four of us followed a nurse down the hall to the imaging department. “Y’all have to wait outside,” the young nurse said. She indicated a series of those butt-breaking fiberglass chairs in an array of primary colors.

  “Are you claustrophobic?” the nurse asked Jaimie.

  “No. I’m Episcopalian.” Jaimie handed me her purse and strode through a door marked Imaging. “Be right back. Don’t start the party without me.”

  The door swung shut and Grams swung into action. “I love Jaimie like my own granddaughter.”

  Maybe I had the concussion. Since when? I gave her the squint eye.

  “And Chip is like a grandson to me but he’s still a husband.” She said husband like it was a dirty word.

  “They explained on Chick Chat, there comes a time when a man can crack.” She pushed up the sleeves on her Dali-print dress and tugged at the bodice stuck to her bony chest. “There’d be no harm in me hiring out to protect the girl.”

  The thought of Grams as a bodyguard was no less ludicrous the second time around. I squeaked out, “Bodyguard?”

  She returned the squint eye. “Don’t you think it’s odd Chip scripts this murder game and picks Jaimie for the victim?”

  Lizzy guided her grandmother to a chair and sat next to her. “Grams it’s just a play. It’s for fun. It’s their party and Jaimie can die if she wants to.”

  With a wink at me, Lizzy continued. “We have to find the perfect outfit if you’re going to be the owner of a nightclub. A jazz speakeasy! Won’t that be fun?”

  My friend’s diversionary tactic worked. Grams began to describe what her costume should look like. It sounded like an old Hollywood evening gown. “I saw a pink feather boa in Connie’s Consignments. It would be the perfect accessory!” Her excitement was shortened by the opening hiss of the automatic doors from the imaging department.

  Jaimie staggered out leaning on a young brunette technician’s arm.

  I rushed forward. Was Jaimie having a delayed reaction to the trauma?

  Chapter 6

  I stepped up to take hold of our wilted friend. “What happened?”

  The technician whose scowl clearly showed she wasn’t happy with our friend said,

  “She’s okay,” as she relinquished Jaimie’s other arm to Lizzy.

  “We had a slight miscommunication,” the brunette said. “Mrs. Toast doesn’t listen to instructions very well, does she? I told her to slip off her shoes but didn’t check to see if she complied.”

  “You notice how many straps there on these sandals?” Jaimie stuck her foot out and wiggled it.

  The technician rubbed her brow as if warding off a headache. “Mrs. Toast lay on the patient’s table. I placed her head in a clamp to prevent movement. Standard for a head and neck scan. It’s important her jaw remained immobile.”

  Jaimie with a motionless jaw was hard to imagine.

  “Most shoes contain an SEG,” the tech said. “It’s a metal plate inserted in the sole of shoes to make them last longer. MRI scanners use extremely powerful magnets to produce the image. They also pull anything metal into the machine—with force.”

  Jaimie opened her mouth as if to speak but didn’t.

  “Mrs. Toast went into the scanner with her shoes on. I was behind the safety glass watching the image on the screen when the magnet in the machine drew her in by her shoes. Her feet were pulled up and over her body—almost touching her head.”

  “I went butt over teacups!” Jaimie continued to rub her back. “I was folded in half like some sort of yogi!”

  “Only Jaimie!” Lizzy whispered in my ear.

  “Can we take her home now?” I put my arm around our friend. Jaimie had been toasted and not in the usual way.

  “You’re free to go. I’ll call her doctor and let him know the results and email a written report to him tomorrow.”

  “Julie, can’t you give us a hint?” Grams piped up.

  The technician turned her head toward Grams. “Oh hi, Grams. Didn’t see you there.”

  She looked around and in a soft voice said, “I’m not supposed to do this but since it’s you, Grams…Everything is normal. No damage from the accident or Mrs. Toast leaving her shoes on.”

  Grams smiled. “Thank you, Julie. You’ve always been such a sweet child. Say hello to your grandmother for me.”

  A nurse pushed a wheelchair in front of Jaimie. The patient resisted for a second and then plopped into the seat. “I can’t take another day like this,” she moaned.

  Grams gave me an elbow in the ribs.

  Lizzy and I helped Jaimie and Grams into the car. Once we were underway I spoke. “Jaimie, someone should stay with you, at least for tonight.”

  She sat in the back with her head resting on Lizzy’s shoulder. “No company, please.”

  “What you need is an armed bodyguard.” Grams said pressing her point.

  “I
’d shake my head but my neck hurts.” Jaimie said. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  The trip back was quick and quiet. I pulled my car into the Toast driveway as close to the front steps as possible. The outdoor security lights cast a spotlight on the boarded and patched garage door. It looked like a slum shanty at the foot of a palace.

  “Alone, please. I promise I’ll call you if I need you,” Jaimie said as she took Lizzy’s arm. “Right now I just want to crawl into bed, put my binkie in my mouth, and my blankie over my head. I’m too tired to care about my stalker tonight. Tomorrow’s another day.”

  Silently I counted the twenty-four steps up to the front door. When we reached the top I handed Jaimie the keys from her purse.

  She opened the door, sighing with relief. “Home sweet home.” She tapped the release code into the alarm pad.

  With the lights on in the living room and the glass walls uncovered, we were fully exposed to anyone on the beach. “People who live in glass houses should close their blinds.” I said.

  Unseen eyes crept up my neck. Contagious paranoia. Thanks, Grams.

  Jaimie walked to the panel next to the sliding glass and pressed a button. Textured white shades rolled slowly from the ceiling to the floor. We were no longer on exhibition.

  “You can’t be here alone,” Grams said. “I can be back here armed and ready within ten minutes.”

  “If you ask again,” Jaimie said, “I’m going to have to sedate you.”

  Biting her lip, Grams backed away.

  We bade Jaimie goodnight and then stood outside the front door listening for the ping indicating the intrusion alarm was set. After the ping, I heard the door lock click and then led the way down the staircase.

  Halfway down I threw out my arms halting our little parade. I pulled my hairspray from my purse.

  Chapter 7

  I motioned for Lizzy and Grams to stay put and eased down the stairs. I raised my hairspray like in the police TV shows—except for some reason they usually have a pistol instead of hairspray. I turned toward the bushes. A pair of eyes shined at me then the raccoon scurried back into the brush.