Case of the Burned Brownies

by Jessica Lansberry

  “Good afternoon sir,” she exclaimed with a wide smile and pleasant face. “Welcome, welcome. How may I help you today?” It was only after she had said this that she remembered the two tissues still wedged firmly up her nose. She quickly yanked them out, hoping the young man didn’t notice.

  The young man was, for want of a better description, pretty. He had plump lips, sparkling eyes and very soft looking, marble white skin that was perfectly offset by his dark black hair. Even the way he walked seemed to be effeminate.

  “Oh, hello,” he said as he approached the desk, even his voice was soft and a little high pitched. “I was wondering if Susie was here?” When he reached the desk, he placed both hands on it, revealing a cast on his right arm. It looked fresh too.

  “I’m afraid she just ducked out,” Beatrice responded, eyeing the stranger. He must have been a local to know Susie, but she didn’t recognize him from the funeral. “May I take a message?”

  He clicked his tongue, as if deciding whether it was worth leaving a message or not. “Ah yeah, if you could just tell her that Derrick came by to pay his resp —”

  “Derrick!” Beatrice blurted, unable to help herself as she did another take of him. “Ms. Parker’s boyfriend?”

  “Well, I preferred to call her Lacey, but yes.” He didn’t sound too upset, Beatrice instantly noticed. He was even able to make a little joke.

  So, this was Derrick, Beatrice thought to herself. For some reason, she had pictured him differently. Bigger, more macho. Of course, she had nothing to base this image on. It was drawn both from the way that Susie gushed over him and the knowledge that this repugnant man beat Lacey every chance he got.

  “Oh, of course. My condolences,” Beatrice said, trying her best to sound warm and grandmotherly. She had noticed lately that the one good thing about getting older was that strangers tended to assume she was a nice, old lady, without a mean bone in her body. It was a stereotype that she played into whenever she could.

  “Thank you. It’s been… well it’s been hard.” He sounded genuinely upset this time, a complete turnaround on where he was a few seconds ago. She could even make out glistening pools forming in his sparkling eyes.

  “Can I ask where you were earlier? I didn’t see you at the funeral.” Beatrice probed. She had assumed that he had skipped town. Why else would he not have made his own girlfriend’s funeral?

  “Doctor’s appointment,” he said quickly, holding his cast up. “Had to get it changed. I asked if I could push it back but I couldn’t. Damn, I was furious at the time, but…. but then again, I don’t think I could have handled seeing Lacey like that.” The tears were in full force now and Beatrice was quick to offer him a tissue, which he took, giving his nose a tremendous blow.

  “It was a hard time for everyone,” Beatrice offered.

  Derrick gave Beatrice a confused look, as if he didn’t understand what she had said. She figured that he was trying to work out if she were being serious or not. ‘A hard time,’ was not how Beatrice would have described the funeral at all, and in all likelihood, Derrick was more than aware of that.

  “OK, look I’ve got to go. If you could tell Susie that I’ll… that I’ll come back another time.” He turned and headed for the door and before Beatrice got a chance to say goodbye, or ask more questions, he was gone.

  Beatrice frowned as she stared at the door which he had disappeared through. Why did everyone in this town have a cryptic response to the death of Lacey? Some seemed happy, others sad, some seemed to be faking their responses entirely. Really, everyone seemed like a suspect at this point.

  She remained where she was for a while as she pondered on the increasing difficulty of the case. Every case that Beatrice had ever been involved in she had at least felt like she had some sort of grip on it. Yes, they were all difficult, but this one was turning out to be impossible.

  She was just starting to feel down on this realization too when a dribble of snot ran down her face and into her mouth, forcing her to reach for yet another tissue.

  10

  Susie was not gone for just over an hour, in fact, she was gone for a total of four hours. At first, this annoyed Beatrice a little bit. Because she was asked to watch the front desk, she felt like she was stuck to it. She didn’t want to duck out to the bathroom or the kitchen in case a customer came through and she was gone.

  But after Derrick visited, she began to see the positive aspect of her newly appointed role. Although Derrick was the first to come past and pay his respects, he wasn’t the last. During the four hours that Beatrice worked the desk, she met and spoke to eight different townspeople. They all proved interesting, to say the least.

  They all came for the same reason as Derrick, to pay their respects, although none seemed anywhere near as sincere as Derrick had been. In fact, Beatrice got the distinct impression that most had come here in search of gossip more than anything. Some even acted like they would have rather be anywhere but there, even though they came on their own accord.

  “So,” Ms. Weatherly began. “Has Susie been back at the bottle? I can’t say I would blame her of course. Tragic thing to happen. And Susie never was great with the willpower.” Ms. Weatherly was an elderly busy-body type that Beatrice had met a version of too many times. She dropped off some flowers and then spent ten minutes laying thinly veiled insults toward Susie.

  Beatrice passed this off as simple small town gossip though. She had met these types before and knew it was best to indulge them in their fantasies and then see the tail end of them the moment the opportunity presented itself.

  If it was just nasty, little Ms. Weatherly, then maybe Beatrice would have ignored it, but the funny thing was that everyone that came in to ‘pay their respects,’ seemed glad that Susie wasn't there, only because it gave them a chance to unload a little gossip.

  “Hasn’t been a customer in here in a good three months I’d say. Don’t know how she pays the bills.” Frank, the butcher, pondered as he scratched at his chin.

  “I used to always hear her and Lacey fighting. Screaming sometimes!” the owner of the supermarket who never gave his name, confided in Beatrice. He even waved her in, making her lean over the counter as he whispered it in her ear, as if someone might overhear.

  Although this was all interesting information, Beatrice didn’t really know how to take it, whether she should take it at face value or with a grain of salt. The problem was that she was more than aware of what these small towns were like, where people gossiped just to keep things interesting. One day they might be snarling behind your back, the next day they’ll be singing your praises.

  So, when the last of the well-wishers came by, late in the evening, Beatrice decided that she was going to nod, and perhaps even gasp at the appropriate time. She was going to leave them thinking that they had imparted some incredible source of knowledge, but really, she wasn’t going to pay it too much attention, or so she thought.

  This last visitor was the oldest one yet. She must have been at least ninety-nine years old, maybe more. Hunched over with a walking stick and glasses so thick that Beatrice didn’t know how the old lady didn’t fall flat on her face from the weight. Her name was Ms. Beadly, and she was the town's longest living resident.

  “So, I bet that old cow Ms. Weatherly has already been by, hasn’t she?” Ms. Beadly said seriously. She was the kind of old lady that had been on the planet so long that she just stopped caring what people thought about her and spoke her mind. It was kind of refreshing.

  “Her and about ten others,” Beatrice chuckled, delighting in the refreshing change of pace that Ms. Beadly offered.

  “Oh, I bet I can list them off too,” she said, holding up her fingers as if about to count them off. “Frank, the butcher, Sally, the owner of the supermarket —”

  “Oh no, it was a man that owned the supermarket. I didn’t get his name,” Beatrice corrected.

  “That’s because it’s Sally,” Ms. Beadly said without a hint of humor. “I bet he didn
’t give you his name either. There was a period there he was calling himself Clint, if can you believe it? But it didn’t catch on. Now he just skips the introduction altogether.” she finished abruptly.

  “Why is that — not the name thing. It doesn’t take any special set of brains to work out why he didn’t tell me his name. I meant why are they all coming by? And so specifically too.” She hadn’t realized at the time that there was a connection between her visitors. The fact that there might be was sending her instinct into overdrive.

  “Easy,” Ms. Beadly confirmed. “It’s because Susie is their new landlord. Lacey holds the deeds to all their properties and now that she’s gone and kicked it, that ownership passes to Susie. Susie has just become a very wealthy woman.”

  By the way the room began to spin around her, it felt like Beatrice had just been hit over the head with a shovel. Suddenly the small things that the other visitors had been saying came together like one large jigsaw puzzle. The comments about Susie not having any money, and the fights she had been having with Lacey. What were once benign comments, now spoke volumes.

  Ms. Beadly stayed for another five minutes, content to ramble on about other members of town. She seemed to have gossip surrounding everyone. She even seemed to think that Derrick was gay, although this one Beatrice ignored entirely, knowing what kind of stereotypes old women put on pretty young men.

  For the rest of Ms. Beadly’s visit, Beatrice was only half there. She was there physically, not able to just get up and leave in the middle of a conversation, but mentally, she had long since checked out. She just couldn’t stop thinking about what Ms. Beadly had said.

  As much as Beatrice didn’t want to admit it, Susie was now a prime suspect in the death of her own daughter. If it were anyone else, Beatrice would have been all over such an obvious suspect too. She would have buckled down and put all her resources into uncovering the truth.

  But as it was Susie, the very reason she was here in the first place, she didn’t know what to do. When push came to shove, and if she were guilty, would Beatrice be able to arrest Susie?

  11

  And then we played drunk musical chairs, and I won! Although Mr. Percy almost got to the chair before me, but I rushed at him and scared him back!” Sophie beamed.

  “That’s nice,” Beatrice managed, only half paying attention.

  “And then I suggested that we build a fort and we did! And it was even bigger than the one in my room. If you believe that?!”

  “That’s nice,” Beatrice again managed, and still only half paying attention.

  The two ladies were currently in the bathroom to Beatrice’s room. The reason for Beatrice’s curt, uninterested responses, was that she was laying in the empty bathtub with her head tilted backwards and wads of tissues stuffed up her nose. Her allergies were getting worse and worse and this seemed to be the best position she could find.

  Sophie was sitting on the edge of the bath, her legs shaking up and down in excitement as she went over the events of the afternoon and night. She seemed to have had a great time, which at the very least made Beatrice happy. She still felt guilty about ruining this vacation and wanted nothing more than her friends to enjoy themselves.

  Sophie had come back from her fort building to the hotel room to find Beatrice scouring the bathroom like a mad woman. Beatrice was getting frustrated about her unexplained allergies. Every time that she thought they were going away, she would touch her nose, or accidently brush it, only to send it into overdrive. It was enough to drive her insane. Consequently, she came up with the idea that these allergies might be caused by an external factor, like her soap or shampoo — both provided by the hotel. She had never had a reaction like this before, so it was as good a theory as any.

  Once Susie got back to the hotel, Beatrice scurried upstairs and went through every item in the bathroom, reading each ingredient on every label. She even had her phone by her side so she could google the ingredients that she didn’t recognize. Unfortunately, her search had turned up nothing and as she was already in the bathroom, she collapsed in the tub, where she plugged her nose.

  It was there where Sophie found her ten minutes later. Sophie had just returned from the after-after party, drunk and over excited, that she immediately launched into very detail that she could remember. To Beatrice, the party sounded more like that which a ten-year-old might throw, only with more booze.

  “And then I went into the kitchen where they had the most marvelous dip. I ate exactly five crackers worth before I had enough and then…” quite drunk, Sophie was literally going through every single detail, no matter how small.

  “Mhmm,” Beatrice offered, not even bothering to look at Sophie, who didn’t seem to notice. She had her head in the perfect position and just so long as she didn’t move, she would be fine.

  “And then I spoke to Jackson who told me that Lacey wasn’t Susie’s actual daughter. Then I spoke to Spencer who couldn’t find his glasses and then —”

  “Wait! What?’ Beatrice shot up, grabbing onto Sophie’s leg. The movement immediately caused her allergies to start up again, snot spilling from her nose, but Beatrice didn’t care, not if Sophie said what she thought she did.

  “His glasses,” Sophie exclaimed. “They were on his head! Do you believe that?”

  “No, not that. About Lacey not being Susie’s daughter. Say that again.” Her nose ran like a faucet, her eyes itched worse than ever, but Beatrice powered through it. This was important.

  “Oh. Jackson said that Lacey wasn’t Susie’s actual daughter. Adopted, he said. When she was…. eleven?” Sophie finished, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember the exact details.

  Beatrice let out a long sigh as she sunk back into the bathtub. Her head was again spinning, but again it had nothing to do with allergies. This little nugget of information only further worked towards condemning Susie.

  Beatrice had tried to reason in her head over the last thirty minutes of Susie’s innocence. She had tried to convince herself that the fact that Susie now owned all that property, had nothing to do with Lacey’s death. All of this hung on the fact that no mother could kill her own daughter.

  Yet, here Beatrice was, learning resolutely that Lacey was not Susie’s daughter. This was yet another very important piece of information that Susie had conveniently forgotten to mention. Was it another accident or purposeful?

  Beatrice let out a long sigh as the reality of the moment set in. Things did not look good for Susie. Not one little bit.

  12

  The next day Beatrice found herself in the very last place that she would have liked to spend the morning, or anytime of the day - Buddy’s garage.

  She had called him first thing in the morning, and asked about her car finally getting fixed. As she was struggling to sleep at all in the infested hotel, she was up at the crack of dawn anyway, so she figured she should be able to get in early. Although she had told Susie that she had no intention of leaving until the murder was solved, she still liked knowing that her car would be ready to go at a moment’s notice, just in case.

  Buddy, sounding rather polite for a change, told her that she could come over any time after 9am and he would be free to speak to her. His change of tone caught Beatrice off guard, but it was still welcomed. She hoped that maybe she had just ruffled his feathers on an off day and that they could start out fresh.

  When she arrived, on the stroke of nine, he asked her to wait in his office so he could finish up what he was doing. She complied, more than pleased at his polite tone. She remained there for the better part of two hours, sitting quietly in the only available seat, with no reading material and staring blankly at the wall.

  Every ten minutes or so he would pop his head in and apologize, his voice like honey. He would assure her that he was almost ready before disappearing for another ten. Evidently, he was still a little mad at Beatrice for accusing him of murder.

  After the first few times this happened, Beatrice was going to storm ou
t in a huff and give him a good old fashioned tongue lashing too. It was going to be brutal, that was for sure, so malevolent and down-right nasty that it would leave him bruised and broken. That was the plan anyway, although she never actually got around to do it.

  Unfortunately, Beatrice was quick to realize the pointlessness of this. Her car needed to be fixed and as she was here, she may as well stay. There was no other mechanic in town and he would get around to her eventually, for the money if nothing else. Plus, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had angered her.

  “Ms. Fletcher,” his voice suddenly called from the doorway.

  Beatrice, half asleep, snapped to attention. “Yes?” she asked in her most pleasant voice.

  “I just got an urgent phone call. Someone has broken down on the highway. They need me to come and take a look. Obviously, I couldn’t say no. So, do you mind waiting oh… let’s say another twenty minutes? The moment I’m back we can look at your car.” His smile, as insincere as it was big, stretched from ear to ear.

  “Not at all. You take your time,” Beatrice said, offering the same fake smile, clenching her jaw so tightly she wouldn't have been surprised if her teeth cracked.

  The moment that Buddy was gone from the garage, Beatrice exploded in a rage. She couldn’t exactly fling the chair across the room or risk breaking anything, so instead she punched the air and swung her arms around violently, spewing words that aren’t worth repeating.

  It was only when she calmed down, that she began to see the benefit of her current predicament. She had just been given free rein to wait in Buddy’s empty, very unguarded office. As Buddy was a current suspect in her investigation, this made for the perfect opportunity to do some snooping, so she did.

  Shuffling through his desk, she was quick to come upon some already open bills and receipts. The most eye catching of these was his most recent phone bill. Scouring down the numbers called, there was one in particular that came up more than any other. And even more than that, he seemed to call it every other day.