Prudy's Back!

by Marja McGraw

  The town is located on the once famous Route 66 and has seen its heyday, but now it had become more of a tourist attraction. I had a great time browsing through the shops and bought a realistic looking ceramic roadrunner for my mother. It didn’t look like the roadrunner of cartoon fame, and it was very different from any bird I’d ever seen before. It had a prehistoric looking face and body.

  “We spent too much time visiting Oatman,” my mother said. “Let’s drive back to Bullhead City and have some lunch before we do anything else.”

  We drove to town, stopping at a few antique stores along Highway 95 on our way. By the time we reached the city, we were ravenous, but made what was supposed to be a quick stop at Suzanne’s Rattan Interiors. Mother said she’d spent hours browsing the store to find her southwestern décor. She picked up a couple more items, telling Suzanne she couldn’t help herself. Suzanne gave her a smug grin. I liked the little redheaded store owner.

  When I starting whining about food, Frank drove us out to Lake Mohave where we ate at the Tail of the Whale, a restaurant that overlooked the lake. We sat by the window and watched boats coming and going while we ate.

  My mother immediately began talking about Prudy. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d like her?”

  “Yes, Mother, and you were right. I just don’t know about taking her back to Los Angeles with us. I mean, she’s not a teenager anymore.”

  “She said she’d stay with her son, Sandra, so she shouldn’t be any trouble for you.” Mother sounded like she was scolding me and I didn’t like it.

  “I understand that, but what you’re not taking into consideration is that she wants to become involved in the case. I’m not sure that would be wise.” How had my mother moved Prudy from frail old lady to investigator so quickly?

  “Well, you saw her in action at the buffet this morning. She can still take care of herself.”

  “That’s a stretch, Mom. It was an isolated incident involving a misguided teenager. And we were there if she’d needed help.

  “Even if the murder happened fifty or sixty years ago, there could still be a killer out there who doesn’t want to get caught. Prudy might put herself in danger.”

  “Ha! The killer would be old now, too.” Mother was being obstinate.

  “Just because someone is old doesn’t mean they can’t take care of busi…” I stopped talking. I knew I’d just made my mother’s case for Prudy riding back to L.A. with us.

  I glanced at Pete and he was grinning. “Just couldn’t leave well enough alone, huh?” He turned to my mother. “Yes, Livvie, Prudy can ride with us. And she can supply us with information, but that’s going to be the extent of her involvement. I’m not taking responsibility for her safety.” He clamped his lips together. He’d stood up to my mother and he wasn’t backing down.

  I glanced at her and saw she realized he meant business. They studied each other carefully and came to a silent agreement. Prudy was returning to L.A. with us. However, Pete wouldn’t allow her to take much of a part in the investigation and mother would settle for that decision. I could see both the triumph and resignation in her expression. Chalk one up for Pete.

  “Let’s go home and talk to Prudy,” I suggested.

  Frank and Pete reached for the bill at the same time, and Frank was the winner. “This weekend is our treat,” he said.

  We thanked him and headed back to the house, ready to tell Prudy of our decision.

  I left my mother, Frank and Pete to their own devices while I walked over to Prudy’s house. Knocking on the door, I heard movement inside while I waited.

  “Sandi,” she said with delight when she opened the door. “I’m all packed and ready to go.”

  I grinned. “You knew we’d take you back with us, didn’t you?”

  “Sure. You’ll need me to provide information. And I’ve saved copies of the old police reports. With me around, you won’t even have to fuss at the cops for information. Come on inside and sit for a spell. Do you like tea? I’ll fix you some while we talk.”

  “I’d like that.” I stepped inside and found an eclectic living room filled with both southwestern decor and antiques. Prudy was a saver. She had a bit of everything. I noticed the house was very quiet. No television blaring, no radio playing. It had a calming influence on me. I sat down on the couch and took a good look around, noticing Prudy had a large cardboard box sitting on the floor.

  She watched me while I took it all in. “You’ll be glad I kept things when you see what I can offer for the investigation. I already told you about the police reports, and I also have photos of all of the suspects. Of course, they were a lot younger then.”

  “I’d like to see those. May I use your phone to call Pete? I’d like him to see them, too.”

  “Phone’s in the kitchen,” she replied. “Be my guest.”

  I called Pete and told him about the photos and police reports. He knocked on the door about two minutes later.

  We gathered around the box while Prudy began to pull things out.

  “This is my Brian,” she said, handing us a photo. “I was proud of him for joining up during the war, but at the same time I’ll never forgive him for not coming home.” The photo showed her husband, a tall John Wayne look-alike, with his arm around Prudy. She was sporting a forties hairstyle, with the front rolled back and a snood covering her long tresses.

  “Great looking man,” I commented.

  “Yes, Brian was quite the looker.” I heard pride in her voice. “But his looks sure didn’t matter to me the day he told me he’d joined up.”

  ~ * ~

  “Prudy, I’ve got something I need to talk to you about,” Brian said. “Come sit next to me.” He’d told her he had to run an errand and had just arrived home, heading straight for the living room where he sat on the couch.

  “You look awfully serious, honey. What’s going on?” She sat down next to him and looked into his beautiful brown eyes, the eyes that never missed anything.

  “I’ve come to a decision, and I hope you – we – can live with it.” Brian fidgeted with his hat after taking it off and setting it on his knees.

  Prudy watched him with trepidation, knowing something big was coming, feeling that she might not like it. She nervously patted the hair she’d so carefully rolled into a more formal style that morning.

  “I’ve reenlisted in the army.” He said it in a rush as though if he didn’t spit it out quickly it would choke him.

  “Oh.” That’s all she said for a few very long moments.

  “Prudy, I love you and Junior, and I don’t want to let you down, but this is something I feel I have to do. There are so many young men losing their lives in this war, and they need me.”

  Prudy gave him an incredulous look. She and Junior needed him – at home. And he hadn’t even discussed the decision with her.

  “You know what I mean. I’m older and experienced. I’ve served before, even if it was peacetime. I can help them, and help our country. I’ve talked to some people – ”

  “What people?” she demanded.

  “Just… People. I know I’ll see some action, but mostly I’ll be there using my investigative skills.”

  “You mean you’re going over as a spy?” She couldn’t believe her ears. What could her husband be thinking? But what good would it do to argue with him? She knew what a patriot he was, and so was she. They loved their country and the freedom it afforded them. In his shoes, she’d probably be doing the same thing. But the government didn’t take women unless they were nurses or had a special skill, and Junior needed her.

  “I won’t actually be a spy, but I will be doing some investigating. That’s all I can tell you. It’s confidential.”

  “Confidential, my left foot!” She sighed, glancing up to see her husband’s pained expression. She knew he felt he was betraying her, but he believed he was doing what was right. She fought back tears because she knew it would just make him feel worse. “Okay, Brian. I guess I understand. I don’t like
it, but I do understand. When do you leave? And how long will you be gone?”

  ~ * ~

  “So your husband signed up?” I asked. She’d been reminiscing. I could see it in her eyes.

  “Yes. I still remember the day he left. I had the radio on in the kitchen and I could hear The Andrews Sisters singing Pistol Packin’ Mama with Bing Crosby. Seems kind of appropriate now that I think about it, with me taking over his cases and all.” Prudy sighed and shook her head. “Now wouldn’t you think I’d remember something sweet or romantic? But no, that’s what I recall. I remember every detail of that day, just like it was yesterday. I saw a speck of dust on the coffee table and I’ll bet I wiped at that speck for half an hour after Brian left. Huh.” Her gaze was focused on something we couldn’t see. A speck of dust?

  She shook her head again and refocused her eyes. “Enough of that. Let’s get to this.” She tapped the cardboard box.

  “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” Pete started to reach into the box and I placed my hand on his arm. She needed to do this in her own time and in her own way.

  She handed me a picture of a scrawny looking boy whose dark hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb that day. He appeared to be about twelve years old, but times and styles have changed so much that I couldn’t tell for sure. He didn’t look happy about having a camera pointed at him, and his hand held up the braid of a little girl in a teasing gesture. She didn’t look any too happy either.

  “This here is a photo of fourteen-year-old Slim Framer and his younger sister, Frannie. Slim’s real name is Milton. Right after I took this he knocked her down and ran away, saying he didn’t want his picture taken. Skinny little snot-nosed kid was always gettin’ into some kinda troubles. Anyway, he had an argument with Matthew a couple of days before Matt died.”

  “Do you know what they argued about?” Pete asked.

  “As I heard it, Matt told Slim to stay out of his yard, and Slim cussed at Matt, telling him he was a useless old man. Slim was always cutting across Matt’s yard instead of staying on the sidewalk. Matt told Slim to take his cussin’ and his big feet and go home. Slim did a bit more cussing and threw a rock at Matt. When Slim threw the rock, Matt went after him with a broom. Slim hightailed it outta there like the devil was after him.” Prudy paused. “There was another incident, but I don’t want to go into that right now.”

  I pulled a pad of paper out of my backpack and started a list of names.

  “No need to do that. I’ve already got a list made up for you. The paper is old and yellow, but the list is still good.” Prudy handed me a piece of paper. I read the names. Slim was the fourth one down on the page.

  She pulled out another photo.

  “Now, this kid was Trouble with a capital T.” She passed the picture to Pete.

  Seven

  I studied the photo when Pete passed it to me and saw what looked like an ordinary kid, except for his facial expression. He was standing with Slim, and had his arm hanging over the boy’s shoulder. I was sure they were brothers, but the older one had combed his dark hair, unlike the younger sibling. A lock fell down over his forehead and the young man looked very intense with one of those Don’t Mess with Me looks. He appeared to be around twenty and had none of the younger boy’s gangly posture. Slim appeared to be as uncomfortable as his sister looked in the other photo.

  “That’s Slim’s older brother, Stretch. Cute nicknames, huh?” She chuckled to herself. “His real name is Walter. He’s tall and slim, like his little brother, and the name seemed to fit. But he wasn’t a typical kid. No, he was a real meanie.”

  “In what way?” Pete asked.

  “Stretch was always causing trouble in the neighborhood. He wasn’t a happy guy and he didn’t want anyone else to be happy either. His father passed on when Stretch was a teenager and the mother remarried. He didn’t like his step-father, but he didn’t have the moxie to move out and get a job. Stretch tried to join the army but they wouldn’t take him. He had polio as a boy and he limped.

  “Anyway, he was always picking on people. He tried it with me once, but I let him have it. He never bothered me again.”

  I could believe that after what I’d witnessed in the buffet line. Prudy didn’t take well to being pushed.

  “Stretch found particular enjoyment in picking on Matthew. I remember he’d lean on a tree in front of Matthew’s house with a toothpick between his lips, just waiting for the old man to tell him to go away. When Matt came outside, Stretch would yell obscenities at him and walk away laughing, his limp less pronounced.

  “As far as the younger kids, Stretch was always pushing them, taking their toys and breaking them and generally making their lives miserable. He was the kind of guy who’d kick a dog just for the fun of it.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s move on to the next one.”

  “First, let me tell you the rest of the story. Matthew called the police several times about Stretch’s car because it was too loud. It needed a new muffler. And Matthew told the boy’s girlfriend what a bad boy he was. Matt had seen him smooching with another girl, and he told the girlfriend about it. She broke up with Stretch the next day. That didn’t do much for Stretch’s mood. The next time he saw Matt, he threatened him. I don’t know the specifics though. All I know is that Stretch made Matthew very nervous.”

  “A possible motive combined with a threat,” Pete commented.

  Prudy shuffled through the pictures and handed another one to him.

  “This is Opal Stanton, the nine-year-old girl who said Matt tried to take her doll. The man standing behind her is her father, Nick Stanton. Opal’s mother ran away when Opal was just a baby. If you could have met Nick, you’d understand why. He was a real woman-hater, except when it came to his little Opal. She was the only female he seemed to tolerate.”

  Pete handed me the picture and I studied the pair. Opal was a chubby little girl with blonde hair and a sad face. Her long hair hung over her shoulders in tight curls. It didn’t suit her and it didn’t look natural.

  “Opal’s father thought those curls were very feminine and he set her hair in pin curls every night.” The hair must have struck Prudy, too. “That was something women used to do, put their hair up in pin curls. And Nick was a no-nonsense guy. Opal knew better than to complain. If her daddy liked her hair in curls, then it was okay with her.”

  I turned my attention to the father. He was big man with muscles that made him look like Popeye after a spinach fix. His very dark hair looked like he’d put some kind of grease on it, and his intense eyes were fixed adoringly on his little girl. I couldn’t help wondering why she appeared to be so sad. Her father obviously doted on her.

  I glanced up and saw Prudy trying to read my expression.

  “Sandi, appearances can be deceiving. Nick loved his little girl, but he also made his daughter take her mother’s place. At nine years old Opal was cleaning house and cooking, doing the laundry and basically making up for what her mother had done to Nick. The neighbors tried to help her out, but Nick told us all to keep our noses out of it and to stay away. While Nick was at work, Opal would go to school and then come straight home to start working on the house. That poor little pumpkin didn’t have time for a childhood. However, as long as the work got done, Nick doted on Opal.

  “They moved away not long after the murder. I tried to find out how Opal was doing, but Nick wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “So this Nick thought Matthew had done something inappropriate to Opal?” I asked. “Did Opal tell him that the old man had done something to her?”

  Prudy’s eyes glanced back in time while she answered my question. “Nick never would tell anyone what Opal told him. All we knew was that he went after Matthew, and Nick would have hurt him if Brian hadn’t stopped him. My Brian wasn’t afraid of anyone.” Once more I heard pride in her voice when she spoke of her husband.

  Her eyes refocused and she continued her story. “But I want you to remember that I proved Opal had never been in Mat
t’s house. When I told Nick what I’d learned, he turned his back and marched into the house without speaking to me.”

  Prudy reached into her cardboard box and pulled out another photo, passing it to Pete.

  “This is Hector Brown. He was nineteen when I took the picture. I probably wouldn’t bring him into this, but he was absolutely sure that Matthew had money hidden around the house. Hector figured if he could find some of it he’d have it made in the shade.

  “One morning when we returned from breakfast, Brian found Hector inside Matthew’s house, searching it. My husband and this nineteen-year-old almost had a fist fight, but Hector chickened out and ran. The thing is, he told anyone who would listen that he was going to find Matthew’s treasure and start a new life somewhere else.”

  Pete glanced at me when Prudy mentioned a treasure.

  “And was there a treasure?” I asked.

  “Heavens, no. Matthew had some antiques, although no one cared about antiques back then. They were just used junk to us. And he had a little money, but certainly not enough for someone to start a new life.”

  “How did Matthew come by his money?” Pete asked. Good question.

  “Inheritance. His parents were big time ranchers and Matt was an only child. They died not long before that girl hurt him so much. He got everything. It was enough so that he never had to work.” Prudy smiled. “Good thing that girl didn’t know about his money.”

  I examined the photo of Hector Brown when Pete handed it to me. He was just an average kid. He appeared to be younger than nineteen, but not by much. He had light brown hair, or so it appeared, and he’d put on a silly smile for the camera. There was nothing spectacular about him. He was just plain. Average height, weight and appearance.