Pineapple Pack III

by Amy Vansant

  “Good morning,” she said, giving him a kiss. He’d missed a tiny spot shaving beneath his bottom lip and it scratched at her own. Something about the curve of his mouth made that spot the arch-nemesis of his shaving routine, but she liked the curve of his mouth just fine. “Here’s your coffee.”

  “Here’s your paper,” he said, handing her the plastic-sheathed bundle. Abby jumped to grab it so Charlotte snatched it from him and pulled off the plastic. Abby immediately lost interest.

  “Thank you. You have to de-fun it or you’ll lose it.”

  He cocked his head in Abby’s direction. “Is it me or is Abby a little needy today?”

  “It isn’t you.”

  “And you look a little more tired than usual today.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.”

  Declan chuckled. “You’re still gorgeous, don’t get me wrong.”

  “Oh of course.” Charlotte flashed a model’s duck-face for him. “Thanks. And yes, those two things are related. The things that kept me from sleeping are the same things that have Abby worried her world is coming to an end.” She moved to the box sitting in her living room and tipped it over. Three squirming puppies bounded out, tripping over each other as they ran at Abby, who jumped to her feet and skittered away from them as if they were howling wolves. The Wheaton knew from experience that remaining low to the ground where the pups could nibble on her ears was a bad idea.

  Declan’s eyes popped wide. “You bought puppies?”

  “Didn’t buy. Temporarily inherited. Someone left them on people’s doorsteps last night.”

  “What people?”

  “Seemingly random Pineapple Portians.”

  Declan picked up a pup and held it above him as it tried to attack his face. “Gosh, they’re so cute. Who would do that?”

  “No idea.” Charlotte removed the soiled towel she’d used as a liner for the box and tossed it into her laundry room. “Though, after listening to them cry all night I sort of get it. Can you keep an eye on them for a second while I get a new towel?”

  “Um...” One puppy in hand, Declan stared at another. Charlotte followed his gaze to the one now squatting on her rug.

  “Great. Whole room is tile and it picks the rug to poop on. Why do they always do that?”

  The puppy finished its business before Charlotte could get to it with a paper towel. She was about to pick up the droppings when she noticed something odd and squinted at the small brown blob.

  Declan frowned. “Don’t tell me you see worms. This one just licked my whole face.”

  “No, something shiny.” Pinching the chunk with one end of the paper towel, she used the other end to pluck out the object of her fascination.

  “Ew,” said Declan. It wasn’t a helpful thing to say but he clearly couldn’t help himself.

  With the paper towel Charlotte gave the remaining poop a squeeze to make sure nothing else lay hidden in it, balled the mess up and threw it out. The shiny bit she rinsed clean beneath the tap.

  “It’s an earring,” she announced.

  “Really?” Declan tucked the puppy under his arm and joined her at the sink.

  Clasped between her fingers she held up a tiny, round silver ball with a post attached to the back.

  “That just came out of the dog?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is it yours?”

  “Nope.”

  They turned from the sink as a comically high-pitched growling began behind them. Two of the puppies were trying to pull a blanket off the arm of a chair. Abby stared at them dolefully.

  She didn’t approve.

  Charlotte huffed and ran from the room to return with a towel. Folding it inside the puppy box, she gathered up the three furry clowns and returned them to their cardboard prison. They immediately began to whine.

  “What are you going to do with them?” asked Declan, seeming to drink his coffee a little faster than usual.

  She shrugged. “I guess I’ll take them to the no-kill shelter, assuming Frank is done with them.”

  “Frank? What’s he have to do with them?”

  “A lady in the neighborhood died yesterday and she had one of the puppies. Frank wanted a little time to make sure the puppies and her death weren’t related and at some point I volunteered to hold on to the little furball. Next thing I know, two more people are handing me more.”

  Declan put down his mug. “Hm. Well, I’m off to work.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Bolting out of here before I give you a puppy.”

  He grinned and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Maybe.”

  She wiped at her face with exaggerated drama. “Hey. Didn’t you just say your face is covered in puppy germs?”

  He grinned. “I’ll wash it at the store.”

  “You’d better. You’re a carrier now, Typhoid Declan.”

  She watched him walk to his car and waved goodbye before heading back inside, half-expecting to find Abby carting the puppies to the toilet one-by-one to flush away her competition.

  Nope. Abby had found a perch on the sofa to mope and the puppies had launched into a whole new level of whining.

  Charlotte hefted the box and took it outside to dump the puppies into the grass, with Abby tagging along behind. Charlotte herded the pups like a cattle dog to keep them on her little patch of green, begging them to do their business. They looked identical and she’d lost track of which one had already relieved itself of the earring.

  Eventually, another did its business, which was earring-free. When the last one followed suit with no more evidence of jewelry, Charlotte came to terms with the fact she wouldn’t end up with the complete pair.

  Just as well.

  “What about you?” she asked Abby.

  The Wheaten stared back at her, evidently refusing to go unless she had a proper walk. Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Fine, but we aren’t going far.” She scooped the puppies back into the box and clipped Abby’s leash to her collar. Abby perked up and began trotting.

  “Slow down, I can only go so fast holding a box of puppies.”

  Charlotte steered the dog down Alice’s street. Trash bags lined the front yard like a phalanx of stocky soldiers. Judging from the bits spilling from the top of the half-tied bags and bins, it appeared as if someone—Crystal, no doubt—had thrown away everything unsellable that Alice had ever owned. Old clothes, wall hangings, shoes, even a chair for sitting in the shower with a broken arm rest.

  Charlotte felt her pocket for her phone and called Frank’s cell.

  “Hello?” said a sleepy voice.

  “Frank?”

  There was a pause. “Charlotte? It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m standing in front of Alice’s house and the yard is filled with her things.”

  She heard Frank grunting as if he were shifting in his bed. “What? Like a tornado hit the house?”

  “No, it’s in trash bags but—”

  “Oh crap. It’s trash day. I forgot to take it out last night. Hold on.” More grunting.

  “I’m saying it looks like Crystal is emptying the place.”

  “You called me this early to tell me Crystal is housecleaning?”

  “Doesn’t she seem a little eager to move on?”

  “People deal with grief in different ways. I had a lady once acting hysterical after hearing her husband had been in a car accident. And by hysterical I mean she was laughing her head off. Her emotions had short-circuited.”

  “Or he was a terrible husband.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Anyway, I’m only saying because she’s moving awfully fast. Maybe she did kill Alice.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. We don’t have enough proof of wrong-doing to charge her for anything. We can’t arrest people for being ungrateful granddaughters.”

  Charlotte frowned and shifted the box to her other arm and the phone to her other ear.

  Stupid course of justice. So slow.

  “
Did you find out anything new?”

  “Yeah, hold on.” She heard Frank’s automatic garage door opening. “They confirmed the cake had nuts in it.”

  “Sprinkled on top or inside?”

  “Almond flour baked inside. If Crystal did it, she didn’t just push a peanut in there or something.”

  “No. It had to have been added before the stollen was baked. But Mariska said—”

  “I know what Mariska said.”

  “Maybe Crystal made another stollen, one with nuts. An imposter stollen. An impostollen.”

  “Maybe. We’ll be looking into it. Damn it—”

  Charlotte heard a cabinet bang and the rustling of plastic bags. While waiting for Frank to finish wrestling with his trash, she looked at the houses surrounding Alice’s with renewed interest.

  “Maybe someone saw Crystal up that night, baking the spare stolen?”

  “Charlotte, look, I have to go catch this trash truck…” His voice grew muffled but she could hear him talking to someone else. “It’s Charlotte. Crystal’s got all Alice’s stuff on the curb.”

  “Did you wake up Darla?”

  Frank’s voice returned louder as he barked a laugh. “Did I wake up Darla? Don’t you mean did you wake up Darla? And yes. You did. She woke up long enough to call Crystal a name I won’t repeat and now she’s off to bed again before I can ask her to help with this damn trash. Good-bye.”

  “But wait, what do you want me to do with the pup—”

  Charlotte heard the line die and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Maybe if she hurried back she could catch him dragging his cans to the curb.

  She gave Alice’s house one last glance and spotted a pale face staring at her from the front window.

  Crystal.

  Charlotte gave Abby a tug and walked on.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte sat in a chair beside Pineapple Port’s Olympic-sized pool with Darla and Mariska, the box of puppies perched on a large round table beneath a shady umbrella. Two Yorkies were curled up in the box and one slept on Darla’s lap. Charlotte had let them run around the house for an hour after walking Abby and the little things were pooped. Literally and figuratively. She’d never been so happy to not have wall-to-wall carpeting.

  She yawned wondering if she could steal a nap in the sun to make up for her rough evening and prepare for the next. Frank had refused to answer his phone since their morning conversation, so she still didn’t know if she needed to keep the puppies another day. Another night with them and she’d be like one of the walking dead.

  At least she didn’t have to show up at work like Declan and the other nine-to-fivers. One of the joys of becoming a private investigator was she could keep a “retired” schedule. Poolside at ten in the morning was a luxury she’d hate to lose.

  Music played in the background as the locals went through the paces of their water aerobics. Instead of exercising, Mariska and Darla had spent the last ten minutes bandying back and forth ideas on how they might prove Crystal had killed her grandmother. Not only would pinning a murder on Crystal clear Mariska, but legitimate excuses to avoid water aerobics were like gold. Whenever one of the other ladies asked them if they were getting in, Mariska told them they were helping Charlotte with a big case.

  “Crystal can’t stay here whether she killed Alice or not. She’s too young,” said Darla, invoking Pineapple Port’s fifty-five-plus rule.

  Charlotte clucked her tongue. “I stayed.”

  Darla dismissed her with a wave. “You’re a nice girl. And you were too young to go anywhere else. She’s old enough to get an apartment like a normal person.”

  Mariska agreed. “Though I feel terrible I’m sitting here hoping she killed her grandmother. It’s awful. But I know I didn’t bring any nuts with me.”

  “Uh oh,” said Darla, lowering her sunglasses.

  Mariska and Charlotte followed her gaze to a woman entering the pool area.

  “What?” asked Charlotte.

  “That’s Gina. Dirty Dirk’s weekend nurse.”

  All three of their heads swiveled towards the pool, where Helen, Dirk Skiff’s regular housekeeper and cook, stood in the pool hopping from one foot to the other with the aerobics ladies. The neighborhood had nicknamed her ‘Helen Bed’ when the scandal of her romance with her employer first hit the gossip mill, but that was nearly eight years ago. Now, she was just Dirk’s housekeeper-slash-girlfriend.

  Until Dirk hired Gina for the weekend shift.

  Darla shivered with what looked like excitement. “This should be good.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Charlotte.

  Mariska jumped to answer. “You know Dirk’s been planning that trip to Naples, right?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why Mariska and Darla imagined she kept up on the more salacious gossip in the neighborhood. “No, but okay.”

  “Well, he promised to take both of them but he can only take one. He’s been playing them off of each other all week.”

  Charlotte’s lip curled. “Surely both of them can do better than some old horndog like Dirk.”

  “He’s got money,” said Darla, shrugging. “And those housekeepers are both first class gold-diggers.”

  “But Helen’s getting a little long in the tooth for him, I think,” said Mariska.

  Charlotte studied Helen. She was a good ten years younger than Dirk. Shifting her attention to Gina, she decided the new housekeeper had to be at least fifteen years younger. All of them were well over fifty-five.

  “Gross,” she mumbled.

  Darla continued, still as excited about the gossip as when she’d started. “When Helen found out he’d hired Gina to work on her days off, she nearly lost her mind.”

  “Look at her. She’s built like Sophia Loren,” Mariska added, nodding to Gina, who’d picked a lounge chair and removed her cover-up to reveal her curvy figure, hugged by a two-piece bathing suit. Charlotte guessed her to be about fifty-seven, but Dirk was in his seventies, so for him she was quite the young chickie.

  From the pool, Helen watched Gina as she bounced through her routine, her gaze locked on her rival as if she were an F-16 targeting system. Certainly if she could release missiles from her eyes, she would. Helen was in her mid-to-late sixties. For years she’d traveled everywhere with Dirk, but if now he was threatening to take Gina instead...

  Oh boy.

  Charlotte closed her eyes and rested her chin on her chest. Time to change the subject before Mariska and Darla leapt up and started cheering for blood as if they had ring-side seats at an MMA bout. “Frank said it was almond flour.”

  “What?” piped Mariska.

  “It wasn’t nuts, per se, that killed Alice. It was almond flour in the batter.”

  Mariska poked a crooked finger at her. “See? I’ve never bought almond flour in my life. It couldn’t have been me.”

  “It was probably hidden in Crystal’s room,” muttered Darla. “We should go look. It’s probably full of weird powders.”

  Charlotte cocked open an eye. “Was she on drugs?”

  Darla shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Addiction is a motive. Drugs aren’t cheap,” said Mariska. “It’s always drugs.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Darla.

  Charlotte opened her eyes. There was no point in trying to nap with the ladies yammering about drugs, romantic rivals and murder. “Was Crystal around while you were baking?”

  Mariska swatted away a fly. “I remember Crystal wasn’t there because in the middle of baking I got to thinking why doesn’t she get Crystal to help her? Young, healthy girl like that, living in the house and being no help. It’s shameful. I asked her where her granddaughter was and Alice got that look on her face that said don’t ask.”

  “Alice was the best thing that ever happened to that girl. If it hadn’t been for her, she would have ended up in an orphanage,” said Darla.

  Charlotte smiled. “We could have been room
mates.”

  Mariska huffed. “You were never going to end up in one of those horrible places. But even without us, you wouldn’t have turned out like that girl. You’ve always been so sweet. Remember how sweet Charlotte was as a little girl, Darla?”

  Darla nodded. “Darling. Cutest little—”

  “All right, all right.” Charlotte held up her hands in protest. She had to nip the lovey-dovey talk in the bud, or the ladies would have her baby albums out within the hour.

  Time to change the subject. Again.

  Charlotte nodded towards the pool.

  “Gina’s getting in.”

  Darla and Mariska’s gazes whipped to the pool as they watched Gina enter the water to join aerobics. She took a spot directly behind Helen.

  “Ooh, she is cheeky,” muttered Mariska, clearly enjoying every second of the unfolding drama.

  Mission accomplished. Darla and Mariska had forgotten all about her as a little girl.

  Now back to business.

  “I never asked, how did Crystal end up with Alice? Did her parents die?”

  Mariska pulled her gaze from Gina and bobbed her head from side to side. “That’s not exactly how it happened. Alice’s son was a good enough boy, but Alice didn’t approve of his wife. Crystal’s mother was a wild child. When he died—”

  “Car accident,” interjected Darla.

  “—his wife went even crazier. Doing the needle drugs.”

  “Wrong crowd,” said Darla, pressing her lips tight and adding a disapproving head shake to drive home her point.

  “And she overdosed?” guessed Charlotte.

  “No. Worse. She started sleeping with men for money to buy the drugs. Endangering little Crystal.”

  “There were rumors she tried to sell Crystal to men,” added Darla in a fierce whisper.

  Now it was Mariska’s turn to frown and shake her head.

  No one could do synchronized disapproval like Mariska and Darla.

  Mariska continued. “Those were rumors…too awful to even think. I don’t know if they were true, but Alice called the police on that woman for one thing after another. Eventually she had the child taken away, took custody and had her mother arrested.”