Molly Grey Cozy Mystery Collection

by Donna Doyle

  "Albert Gravel. It was his car. I suppose this was not his best week ever."

  "Really?" I scratched my head.

  "And, it gets better," Molly Gertrude added. "Do you know who sold Gravel that car?"

  I cocked my brows, waiting for Molly Gertrude to tell me.

  "Marlow Messerschmitt from MTC. There's a definite connection there."

  I let out a soft whistle. That was indeed a rather strange coincidence. But what to make of it, I didn't know. Nothing made any sense, at least not to me, but Miss Molly Gertrude seemed to be in her element. She radiated a contagious sense of excitement, and at that moment I understood why she could crack cases that even the police couldn't.

  *Proverb 15:1

  6

  Trouble at the garage

  I had been at MTC once before. Not because I had needed a car, but because nature was calling, and I was forced to make a quick sanitary stop. It turned out, MTC with its wide, glassy windows, right next to its own noisy shop, was the only suitable place around.

  I still remembered the massive, sparkling showroom, full of polished cars with doors wide open, hoping to lure potential clients onto the soft, leather seats and entice them to grab the ivory colored steering wheels.

  It smelled just as I remembered it. A rich, pleasant smell of rubber, mixed in with the scent of plush car seats hung over the place, and soft classical music made for a relaxed atmosphere.

  I wasn't sure what Miss Molly Gertrude expected to find, but it didn't matter to me. I was just observing. The old woman had to carry the torch.

  "May I help you? " A tall, slender man in a polyester suit welcomed us with a cheap, plastic smile. His hair was slicked back and as we approached his desk, I could detect the fragrance of his aftershave.

  Creed, the same brand my boss, Jack Stapleton, used on his puckered face. But to me, the man rather smelled like Greed. I didn't like him at all.

  He cast us another one of his warm, summery smiles, trying to make us feel welcome, in the very same way he had smiled at the thousands of customers who had come before us. "Are you looking for a car?" he asked jubilantly.

  "We already have a car," Molly Gertrude said as she offered the man her hand. "We were hoping to speak to your boss."

  The man's face darkened. "I am the boss. Marlow Messerschmitt." He shook Molly's hand. "Why do you need me?"

  "My name is Molly Gertrude Grey," Molly said, as she studied Marlow's face. "And this here is my assistant, Dora Brightside, and this…" she turned to me, "… is a reporter from the Calmhaven Sentinel."

  I could tell Marlow was getting uncomfortable as his tongue darted back and forth in his mouth. "All right," he said, trying to sound confident. "Can I offer you some coffee?"

  Molly Gertrude shook her head. "Thank you, Sir. This will only take a minute."

  "Fine," he said. His smile was gone now and instead, a cold expression had taken its place. "Be quick then. I am busy."

  "Have you heard…" Molly Gertrude began, "… of the unfortunate death of the tycoon Albert Gravel?"

  "Of course," Marlow said, almost sneering. "It's in all the newspapers, including yours," he cast me an angry glance.

  "I was just wondering if you knew Albert Gravel?" Molly went on.

  Marlow grinned. "Knowing is a big word. When do you really know somebody? But, yes, I've heard of the man."

  "You sold him a car."

  "I did?"

  Either Marlow was just dumb, which was very unlikely, since he was running a profitable car business, or he was acting dumb. I figured it was the last.

  "Yes," Molly Gertrude said. "You sold him a Pontiac Trans Am 6.6. I heard that car came from your place."

  I could almost hear Marlow gnashing his teeth. Surely, the man was hiding something, but he kept a straight face. "Maybe," he said at last while smacking his lips. "I sell lots of cars, lady. I don't recall everyone I do business with. What's more, I have a bit of a problem. As a child, I fell off the swing. Landed right on my head and since then I have these amnesia spells."

  How convenient.

  "I am sorry to hear," Miss Molly Gertrude spoke in a soothing voice. "Thankfully, that's why bookkeepers have been invented. You must have a record of your interaction with Mr. Gravel."

  I could detect a flash of anger, but Marlow kept his cool. "I do, but I will not let you look at," he said, while he wrinkled his nose. "Who are you anyway, coming in here like that, stealing my time with stupid questions about former clients?"

  "Dead former clients," Molly Gertrude corrected him in a firm voice.

  "Whatever," Marlow hissed. "I want you to leave. You are not even from the police."

  "There's a man in jail who has been charged with murder," Molly Gertrude fired back. "His wife hired us to find out what really happened, and we are planning to do just that."

  "Good luck with it then," Marlow said and defiantly waved both of his hands, indicating he was finished. "Goodbye, Miss Grey."

  "Thank you for your time, Mister Messerschmitt," Molly said. "Oh, by the way… may I use your facilities. I am sorry to bother you much longer, but I am an old lady, and… well, you know… I have to go more often than you youngsters."

  "Whatever," Marlow grunted. "It's over there." He pointed to a door that led into the shop. "Go through that door, the first door to your right says toilet."

  "Thank you, dear," she mumbled.

  I had to chuckle as I was convinced Molly Gertrude didn't consider that man a dear, but she was as shrewd as she was old.

  It took long, but at last she reappeared again, all smiles and rather chirpy.

  "Let's roll, Dora," she said as we walked out. "We've got much to do."

  "Are you satisfied," I asked, after I climbed on the back seat. "We did not learn a great deal, did we?"

  "We did, Virgil," she spoke mysteriously. "In fact, we learned a great deal. I think we'll have this case cracked before you could say Jack Robinson." She frowned, and turned to Dora who was just taking off, "That is the proper expression, isn't it, Dora?"

  "It is, Miss Molly," she said as she began to steer away from the parking.

  "There's just a few more loose ends," Molly Gertrude continued. "I was thinking we need to—"

  But she could not finish her sentence, as at that moment a loud crashing sound splintered the air, and Dora's car swerved violently to one side and made a full U-turn. It skidded to a halt right near the front door of Marlow Messerschmitt's garage.

  Another car had hit us.

  "Are you both all right," I cried out to Dora and Molly Gertrude. Dora nodded and Molly Gertrude even managed a smile. "I am like my cat, Misty," she chuckled. "I've got nine lives. I just used one."

  When I stared out the window, I saw that another vehicle, a red BMW, had rammed into us from the side. The side mirror on Dora's side was gone, and I imagined the front of the Kia Rio had known better days as well.

  Thank God, it appeared no one was hurt.

  The driver of the BMW, a middle-aged lady with short, blonde curls and a flimsy red cut out dress, (I noticed immediately her back was bare) climbed out, her eyes as dark as my first cup of coffee in the morning. She had covered her face in thick layers of makeup, and her lips were so red, it almost hurt my eyes. But then, when she opened her mandibles, and a stream of curses rolled out, curses I had not even heard on television, I feared we were in serious trouble. She shook her fist at us while kicking Dora's bumper with her boot. The thing had been so damaged that it came crashing down, barely missing her feet.

  "Can't you look where you're going, you dimwits," she yelled. "But you will pay for this. You've ruined my car."

  Dora's face paled. "I-I didn't see her. Where did she come from?"

  "It's not your fault," I said. "That woman was on the wrong side of the road. It's my guess she roared into the parking area without looking, and just crashed into you."

  "I think Virgil is right," Molly Gertrude added, a little pale around the nose herself. "You did nothing
wrong."

  At that moment Marlow Messerschmitt ran out, and we were amazed by what happened next. He ran up to the lady in the red dress and pulled her into his arms. She burst out crying, which made Messerschmitt unleash a volley of soft kisses on her forehead while he stroked her white curls.

  "It must have been his wife," Dora whispered.

  At last we heard him say, "Go inside, sweetheart. I'll handle this."

  He pulled her towards the door of the garage, and when he had made certain she had left, he turned to us, and motioned for Dora to roll down her window.

  "Sorry, we crashed into your wife," Dora bit her lower lip as she stared into the man's face.

  "She's not my wife," Messerschmitt corrected. "Just a client, that's all."

  A client? What sort of garage was this place?

  "But I am very sorry," he continued. "I saw what happened. My client drove way too fast. I'll handle this."

  "We need to call the police," Dora said, still a little shaken.

  "No police… eh, I mean, there's no need for that," Messerschmitt answered. "It wasn't your fault. Listen, just leave your car here. I'll fix it on my bill, and you come back tomorrow to pick it up."

  "Really," Dora asked. "Just like that?"

  "Just like that," he gave her a grin. "I sell cars, remember. Fixing cars is what I do. In the meantime, you can have a loaner." He forced a smile on his face and pointed to a Chevrolet that was parked nearby. "There," he said. "The gas tank is full. Take it, no questions asked. Just be back here same time tomorrow."

  Dora looked at Molly Gertrude and she looked at me. "W-What do I do, Miss Molly Gertrude?"

  The old lady readjusted her glasses and said, "Well, I think we all want to go home. Let's do it."

  Thus, only moments later Dora revved the engine of a majestic Chevrolet. The car was just about twice the size of her Kia Rio, but she got it on the road, and we were on our way again, shaken but unharmed.

  "What a weird accident," Molly Gertrude mumbled. She turned to Dora and said, "Will you ask your friend Digby to run a check on Messerschmitt? He's hiding something." She thought for a moment and then added, "And ask him if he has any idea who those thugs may have been that I saw on the day Gravel died?"

  "Isn't that like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack? Dora asked. "I mean, you are the only one that saw them. They could have been anybody."

  "Not anybody, Dora. These folks were mean. Very mean and very dark. There are not that many people around like that. Such folks have a tendency of being known by the police."

  Dora nodded. "Sure, I'll ask him. Anything else?"

  "I want to get in touch with Gravel's ex-wife. We need to find out where she lives. I want to talk to her."

  Miss Molly Gertrude was right.

  Police deputy Digby had news. The deputy ran a computer search on Marlow Messerschmitt and something rolled out… Gravel and Messerschmitt were involved in a court case. Gravel was suing the owner of MTC, and although Digby could not find out why, it was clear the two men were fierce enemies.

  "We are talking millions of Dollars," Digby told Dora over the phone. "Something about a business deal gone sour."

  But that was not all. He also had news about those thugs. Right after he and his boss, JJ Barnes had left the scene at the Crystal Grill, they had bumped into three rough-looking fellows.

  It had all been a coincidence, Dora explained after her phone call. Barnes had taken the long route back to the police station, a road that led through Walnut Grove, the poor part of town.

  And there, as they slowly drove through the street, Digby spotted three fellows with baseball bats.

  "Barnes wanted to ask them what they were doing there," Dora told the others, "but they panicked and ran as soon as they saw the police car. A guilty conscience, I suppose. One of them stumbled and fell, and Digby, fast as a jaguar, (Dora said this with shining eyes) caught and arrested him."

  She knew his name. Leonel Pike, a small-time crook, and he was still in custody at the police station. "The man fits the vague description you gave," she said as she turned to Molly Gertrude.

  Molly Gertrude slapped her hands together, almost as if she had won the lottery. "Wonderful news, Dora," she said. "Why don't you go to the police station and talk to him. They can't hold him for long as he did nothing wrong, so go there right away. In the meantime I’ll see if I can track down Albert Gravel's ex-wife."

  "Sounds great." Dora grinned.

  "And me," I asked. "What will I do?"

  Molly Gertrude tilted her head. "You?" She thought for a moment and then replied with a slight smile. "You go where the action is, Virgil. If you want inspiration for your article, it's best you go with Dora to the station."

  7

  Caught

  I posed the question to Molly Gertrude. "I imagine, she is the one who killed him."

  Dora was just overtaking a milk truck, and I noticed Molly Gertrude was clenching her jaws. The accident from the day before was still in the forefront of her mind. But when we were back in the right lane, she relaxed and said, "Good thinking, Virgil, and there’s more."

  She turned to look at me. "Do you know what we saw when we got to her place? "

  I had no idea.

  "A purple fence," she said while she lifted her finger.

  "So?" I had to agree with her that fences should be white, green or brown and not purple, but why was this a big deal?

  "It was the same color purple that somebody threw over Albert Gravel's Pontiac." She peered into my eyes and asked, "Remember… his car, parked under that tree?"

  I did and tried to make sense of what I'd just heard. "You mean matching, identical, corresponding?"

  "That's what I mean, Virgil."

  A little smile appeared on Molly Gertrude's face. "The woman was home, and she told us all about it."

  "She let you into her house?"

  "It wasn't easy at first," Dora chuckled. "When we first arrived, she made quite a stink, but when she realized we were not there to cause trouble, she relaxed, and yes, she invited us."

  "We learned a lot about Albert Gravel," Molly Gertrude said. "In fact, once she had calmed down, she was a fairly decent person."

  "Yes," Dora agreed, "she even cried, and confessed she was the one that bashed up Albert Gravel's Pontiac."

  "It's a long story," Molly Gertrude continued, "and I will spare you most of the details. But Albert Gravel did not treat her well at all. A few days ago he came to her house which, as it turns out, was really his house. He wanted to evict her. "Two weeks dear, and then you need to out." That's when she bashed his Pontiac and threw that bucket of purple paint over the car. She's got quite a temper as we witnessed ourselves, but Gravel just laughed about her actions and told her he would sue her."

  "But you don't think she could have killed Gravel? She had all the reason in the world." She had a perfect motive.

  Molly Gertrude shook her head. "In all respect to the dear woman, getting the poison into Gravel's body took planning and skill. She is all passion and fury, but this was calculated."

  “But do you know who painted her fence?” Questioned Dora. I knew it was rhetorical and she was about to let me in on the secret. “Leonel Pike!”

  The greasy bruiser with the baseball bat? Seemingly he was casing the couple and posing as a handyman meant he had access to their house unnoticed.”

  "Whoa, is he the killer?"

  Neither Molly nor Dora said another word.

  8

  The puzzle pieces fall into place

  When we entered the police station my excitement was rising rapidly. I had only been there once before when I was a kid. My neighborhood friend, little Jack, had convinced me that throwing mud into the hallway of fat Mrs. Steinmetz would be the ultimate thrill, but later that day, when I felt the steely hands of a husky policeman around my neck, and had been hauled off to this very station, I knew little Jack had been lying. The police made me sit in a grungy room for three whole hou
rs, after which my Dad came to pick me up and brought me home where he gave me a belting. I had not forgotten it.

  But now I came as an investigator, not as a timid rascal.

  Dora explained to a grumpy, bored looking lady with messy hair why we had come, and she paged Digby. Seconds later a door opened and the young man I remembered from the scene in the Crystal Grill stood before us. He seemed overjoyed to see Dora, but his smile froze at once when he spotted me.

  He leaned back to scrutinize me a bit better and slipped into police-mode. When I first saw him, I thought he was a likeable fellow, with his boyish grin and blond curls, but now, as I felt his suspicious stare, I realized here was a man that would not hesitate to fine me to the full extent of the law, if he would ever catch me breaking even the smallest of traffic rules.

  "Who is that?" he grumbled to Dora, without asking me.

  "A journalist from the Calmhaven Sentinel," she giggled. "He's doing an article on the Cozy Bridal Agency."

  "I did already," I corrected her, "but now I am doing a second article on Miss Molly Gertrude and Dora's detective work. Pleased to meet you. The name is Virgil Shepherd." I stuck out my hand. Digby hesitated, but then he shook it.

  Dora leaned over and whispered something in his ears, but not so soft that I couldn't hear it.

  I couldn't help but blush as I heard her say, "Don't worry, Digby. No need to worry, he's a funny little fellow, but he's not my type."

  I had to swallow hard. As if you are my type, Dora Brightside, funny little girl with your silly glasses.

  But, at least Digby's stance softened somewhat. He nodded, and his smile returned. "All right," he said, "you both are in luck. JJ Barnes just left the office and he won't be back for another hour. That Leonel Pike is a nasty fellow, but who knows, maybe he'll talk to you."

  Digby led us into the dumpy, dark area where they held the more undesirable characters of Calmhaven until they could be processed to a more suitable place, and pointed to a holding cell near the end of the hallway.