by Emmy Grace
I exhale loudly. “Gavin’s dead. His body is behind my house. Wrapped in my Christmas lights. Clive, the town sheriff and chief of police, told me he thinks Gavin was electrocuted at a power substation and then brought here. I was trying to help find out who did it before his family found out, but I accidentally told his mother that he’s dead.”
All eyes are fixed on me, staring. There is silence but for the sounds of Burl Ives coming from the stereo until Beebee starts to laugh.
Hard.
Like, a big belly laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
I’ll admit it. I’m a little incensed. Of all the ways I’d describe my current predicament, humorous wouldn’t be anywhere on the list.
“You have the worst good luck of anyone I’ve ever seen, but Lucky, God has His Hand on you.” She waddles over and pats my arm. “Don’t you worry one bit. This will work for your good. I promise you that. Now, let me get my coat and we can be on our way.”
“Wait, what? On our way where?”
Beebee doesn’t even bother to turn around. She gets her jacket and then walks over to the stereo to look for the power button, muttering her reply as she does. “Why, to help you find that boy’s killer, of course.”
“Beebee, it’s too dangerous. We can’t all go traipsing around town like—”
“Like you?” she asks, turning toward me with an expression of pure mischief on her face. “What’s good for the goose, Lucky. What’s good for the goose.”
That’s Beebee speak for if I can do it, she can do it.
Momma Leona scrambles for her coat, too. Regina merely shrugs, sets her mimosa down on the coffee table and grabs her purse. “I’ll drive.”
The three of them head to the door, leaving Liam and me staring after them.
“I guess that’s decided then,” he mumbles.
We follow along behind them. I think Liam realizes there’s not much point in arguing.
We’re filing out the door when the crunch of gravel calls my attention toward Mrs. Stephanopoulos’ driveway. A familiar hearse creeps slowly toward us.
There’s only one person in town who drives a hearse. Or rides in one without being the dead person in the back. Miss Haddy.
Old Malcolm is driving, as usual, and the town’s sweetest, oldest and probably most dangerous woman is sitting in the passenger seat. Also as usual.
The long, blood-colored vehicle pulls to a stop right behind Regina’s car, but before they can get out, a door bangs across the yard. Mrs. Stephanopoulos comes racing out the rear of her house, hobbling toward us.
My group pauses on the porch as we wait for the others to reach us. Despite her original distance and compromised gait, Snuffleupagus arrives first.
“Why in tarnation is there a toilet on your front porch?” She asks in the gruff voice that’s always accompanied by a deep scowl.
“I’m testing a new one,” I explain. “What are you three doing here?”
Miss Haddy arrives next, Malcom not far behind. She’s winded, but she manages to pull enough air into her lungs to answer my question. “We heard what happened, sugar plum, so we rushed right over to offer our help.”
Miss Haddy smiles. It makes her look even more like Mrs. Claus with her rosy cheeks and white springy hair. Only this morning her ample form is covered in a red and black plaid wool coat rather than typical Mrs. Claus gear. Although, to be fair, she could very well be wearing a Santa dress underneath for all I know. The coat covers her from neck to wrist to ankle.
Then again, she could also be wearing only her underwear underneath it. That’s a disturbing thought, but not out of the realm of possibility. Regina and I have long believed Malcolm to be Miss Haddy’s boyfriend. He’s much younger, but then again, everyone is. Miss Haddy is the town’s only centenarian. But the two of them getting freaky together, even at their respective ages, wouldn’t really surprise me.
“What she said,” Mrs. S. grunts, jabbing at Miss Haddy with the cane she’s leaning on today.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Stephanopoulos? Why are you using a cane today?”
“Hurt my foot at the gun range yesterday. Got myself a new shot gun and it’s got a bit more kick than I remember ‘em having.”
My landlady is old, foul-tempered, and as stubborn as the day is long. She’s also a widow with the worst Dirty Harry attitude I’ve ever seen.
She’s a menace.
Seriously.
“I warned you about that thing. Your old bones are too brittle to be messing with shot guns,” Miss Haddy says.
“I’ll be too old when I’m in the grave, and not one day before,” Mrs. S. grouses in reply.
Miss Haddy grins at me, winking one cornflower blue eye. “I love getting her riled up. Don’t you?”
My phone rings just in time to provide me with an excuse to extricate myself from answering. “Pardon me,” I say, holding up a finger.
I suppress a groan when I see the strange numbers on the screen. There’s only one person I know of that has such a number. When I hit the green button to answer it, the voice that greets me confirms my suspicion.
It’s Felonious.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
9
Felonious speaks before I can even say hello. “Stepped in it good this time, didn’t you?”
“Stepped in what?”
“Ex-boyfriend drama. I didn’t peg you for the type, but then again, you do have a way of landing in trouble, so I guess it makes sense.”
“Thanks a lot,” I murmur dryly. It occurs to me that Felonious has never called me. Not out of the blue anyway. Normally, I only talk to her when I’m in a jam. “Wait, why are you calling?”
She tries to sound casual. “I heard about your latest mess and thought maybe I could help.”
My jaw goes slack. “What?”
“Don’t bust your spleen. I was bored.”
“Bored? And you thought my personal life could fix that?”
I don’t believe it. Not for one second.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. You don’t even have to break a sweat to help me. I doubt you even have to be awake. Excitement for you probably includes toppling foreign governments or trading in war secrets or something a little less…normal.”
“Are you calling yourself normal?”
There’s derision in her tone. I could probably take exception to that, but I won’t. We both know I’m far from what most people would call normal.
“Never mind, but now I’m suspicious.”
“Oh, don’t be so extra. I figure it’s the least I can do. I mean, without me, you’ll probably get the chair. I’m saving a life. That’s pretty exciting stuff.”
Saving a life?
“What?” My heart stutters at just the thought.
“I’m kidding. Calm down. You need some wine or something. You’re way too tense. Makes you look guilty.”
“Says the cyber-criminal who probably broke more laws before breakfast than I have in my whole life.”
“Look, do you want my help or not? Because if you’re just going to give me grief, I can—”
“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m just… Actually, I really appreciate the offer.”
That seems to pacify her. “That’s more like it. So, where are we with things? What are you thinking?”
Something in her tone makes me wonder if she enjoys being in the thick of things. Being in the know. Even if it’s for small-time, small-town situations like the ones I get myself into. But still, I explain anyway. It’s not like I couldn’t use the help, especially if it comes without strings attached.
“Well, Regina and I went looking for his car and couldn’t find it. It’s old, though, so I’m sure you couldn’t find it without a low jack.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she says enigmatically. “Go on.”
“The medical examiner said he was electrocuted by a high voltage source, like maybe a power substation, so we’re heading over the
re now. I’m hoping something will turn up at one of those places that will point to his killer. Or maybe at least something that might’ve been motive for murder.”
Saying the words out loud makes it sound dismal and impossible. And just like that, my optimism drains like a pool with a Volvo sized leak. It’s like being on an emotional roller coaster. Hope one minute, despair the next.
And did I mention I’ve never been a huge fan of rollercoasters? Not this kind anyway. I much prefer the smoothly upbeat track of my normal life to this.
One alarming thought darts through my mind and nearly steals my breath. I purposely put it on the highest shelf of my brain space where it can’t interfere with the things that I have to do first. But when this is all over with, I’ll have to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Beebee’s blessing really is wearing off and life as I’ve known it for the last decade will be over.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
“You go do that and I’ll slip through the back door of the power plant and see what I can find,” Felonious says.
“I assume you don’t mean a real back door, right?”
“Of course not.”
“And I assume I shouldn’t be at all surprised that you have access to the electricity that supplies the entire town, right?”
“Of course not,” she replies again, this time with a smug tone.
“You’ll be doing forty illegal things before the end of the day, won’t you?”
“Like you won’t?”
I pause.
Then I shrug.
Good point.
“Touché,” is all I say.
“Anything else?”
“Well, there’s a woman I wouldn’t mind knowing more about. Gavin’s fiancée.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Uh, no.”
I can practically hear Felonious rolling her eyes with the sigh that hisses into my ear. “Never mind. I’ll call you when I have something.”
And then, without so much as a goodbye or good luck, she’s gone. As usual.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and glance around. All eyes are on me. All these people are here for me. Then another thought occurs to me, one I determine to keep at the forefront of my mind, not stuffed away where I can’t focus on it. Whether my “luck” goes away or not, I’m still blessed. My life is full of wonderful people who love me as much as I love them. They show up for me on my worst day and refuse to leave. What more could I ever ask for?
Except maybe to catch this killer and clear my name. After that, nothing.
I feel my lips begin to curve. The smile starts small, but quickly grows big and bright. Mrs. S. is the first to comment on it. “What’re you smiling about? You’re a murder suspect. You should be drinking right about now, shouldn’t you?”
I shake my head. “Nope. It’s Christmastime, my house is decorated with purple lights, and I get to solve a mystery with all the people I love. I’m pretty sure this is my happy place.”
Mrs. Stephanopoulos drops her head and mutters under her breath, “Bunch o’ crazy people.”
Says the little old lady who carries a gun everywhere she goes.
“Nothing like an adventure to get the blood pumping, sugarplum,” says Miss Haddy, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Why don’t y’all pile in the back of my car and we’ll go together?”
To this, Mrs. S. takes exception. “What about all the guns and ammo?”
Miss Haddy waves her off. “Oh, Malcolm and I took it all out to haul my Christmas tree and haven’t put it back yet. We can all fit.”
“Guns and ammo?” Beebee asks.
Miss Haddy turns her sweet smile to my grandmother and explains, “For a sleepy little town, we’ve had a lot of mischief of late, so I travel with plenty of protection.”
This interests Beebee. “Like what?”
Snuffleupagus answers first. “A few pistols, an assault rifle, a grenade launcher, some knives. A grenade or two.” She rattles off the list like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Beebee’s eyes round as they flicker toward me. I shrug. I don’t even know what to say. I mean, a bunch of old people traveling around town in a hearse filled with ammunition somehow seems par for the course in Salty Springs. Beebee will learn that soon enough if she stays more than a day or two.
In fact, she might be fixin’ to get a big taste of life in South Carolina on this very day.
“Never fear, though,” Mrs. S. says, patting her right hip. “I’m always packing.”
Beebee chuckles and points a finger at my landlady. “I knew I’d like you.”
Maybe that’s why the folks around here don’t surprise me more than they do. Beebee has always been quite the lively character. Growing up with her probably prepared me for ballsy people of all ages.
“Let’s get going then,” Miss Haddy suggests, stepping off the porch and heading to the hearse.
Liam and I stand back and watch everyone follow her like ducklings following momma. From the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“This will probably be the beginning of every nightmare I have from now on.”
I giggle and loop my arm through his. “Oh, come on. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“It’s taking a backseat to my spirit of common sense.”
“In that case, do what I do. Ignore it.”
He turns a withering gaze on me. “That could be the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”
I beam up at him. “I try.”
Before I can tug him off the porch, he pulls me up short. “Weren’t you going to the bathroom?”
“Not on that thing,” I explain. “The way my luck is going today, it would swallow me whole and drown me in the sewer.”
The sad thing is, I’m only partly kidding.
10
If you’ve never ridden in the rear area of a hearse surrounded by five other uncomfortable people and the tangy scent of gun oil and formaldehyde, you haven’t lived. Of course, most people who ride in the rear are not only alone, they’re dead. At least we have the whole alive thing going for us, so there’s that.
Malcolm is driving, painfully slowly I might add, Miss Haddy is riding shotgun as always, and the rest of us are piled in the back. We hopped in all haphazardly. Regina first, followed by Momma Leona and Beebee, then Liam and me, with Mrs. Stephanopoulos climbing in last so she could stretch her wounded leg along the door after she closed it. The interior is the color of blood, owing to the daylight trying to make its way through the maroon curtains that cover the long, narrow hearse windows. It makes for an interesting experience that will probably feature prominently in every scary dream I have for the rest of my life.
After a couple of minutes of bumping along the road, I relax into the curve of Liam’s side. His arm is behind me, draped across my shoulders. His knees are drawn up close to his chest. He’s by far the most ill-fitting of us all. He’s way too tall for this confined space.
I’m about to comment on it when a rancid smell assaults my nose. It overtakes the previous disturbing smell like a shark overtaking a guppy. I gasp in response to it.
And immediately regret it.
“Oh my God, I can taste it,” I mumble, the words coming out garbled as my gag reflex gets stirred up.
Seconds later, I hear Regina groan, “Sweet Jesus!” just before she pulls her sweater up over her nose.
“Good lawd,” Beebee says, waving a hand in front of her face. “Who did that?”
Without turning in our direction, Mrs. Stephanopoulos speaks from her place at the door. “Had a late lunch. Can’t be helped.”
Wide-eyed, I glance at Liam and then Regina, and then we all burst into laughter. Well, everyone except Mrs. S. She just keeps grumbling. “Damned beans,” she says, which only makes me laugh that much harder.
By the time Malcolm rolls to a stop and cuts the engine, my eyes are watering profusely and I’m not sure my nose will ever smel
l again.
When Snuffleupagus opens the back door, it’s a mad dash to see who can make it out first. I fling myself across Liam toward the opening, so I’m at least the first to get fresh air, which I take in gulp by gulp. The others push past me, trampling me with frantic hands and feet as they scramble out of the hearse.
At the back of the hearse, we stand in a semicircle, each of us in varying states of disgust. Beebee’s face is scrunched up like she bit into a rotten apple, Regina’s complexion is a little green, and Liam looks like he needs to spit. Momma Leona just looks faint, and Mrs. Stephanopoulos doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed or concerned that she nearly gassed us all to death.
Of course, had one of us expired from exposure to her digestive by-product, at least we’d have already been inside a hearse.
We’re still recovering when Miss Haddy makes her way around to us. She pops around the corner of the hearse and stops when she sees us. Then she smiles. “Did I forget to mention Marge’s intestinal issues?”
She cackles when I glare at her. “Yes, you must have.”
“Bunch of wussies,” Mrs. S. grouses. “The main thing is that we’re all here. And in one piece. Even though it took twice as long with Malcolm driving.”
She nearly suffocated five people with her toxic fumes and she’s fussing about slow driving?
Malcolm raises one bent, arthritic finger, but before he can defend himself and further ruffle Snuffleupagus’ feathers, Liam interjects. “Let’s just look around and find what we can find.” He adds softly, under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “So we can all go take a shower.”
I smother a smile as I voice my agreement. “Yeah, we’re here to find clues to our killer and what might have happened. We don’t need our sense of smell to do that.”
Regina giggles and Mrs. S. growls. Pretty much standard for both.
Under the glare of my landlady, I turn and walk toward the Salty Springs Electric power plant substation. It looks just like I expected it to, just like they do in the movies—a big bunch of gray metal boxes, a million feet of wires, some curly cues sticking up here and there, and yellow caution signs dotted around like periods and exclamation points. All of that lives behind a chain link fence that’s at least a story tall. Or at least it looks like it to me.