Wells scribbled on the notepad. “Why are you driving your brother’s truck?”
“Mine’s low on gas. Drove straight to Arlene’s place when I got the news yesterday. Nearly didn’t make it.” He held up a five-gallon gas container. “I was just headed to the gas station to pick up some more go juice.”
“Speaking of Mrs. Jenkins, do you know if she quarreled often with Lester?” Wells asked.
Chambers sighed. “Yessir.”
Wells jotted a note. “How about you?”
“Me and Lester?” Chambers took off his ball cap and ran his hand through his unkempt, graying hair. “We had our share of brotherly squabbles. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Wells scribbled something on the notepad. “What about you and Arlene. Did you two get along?”
Chambers coughed. “Sure. Why? Did she say something?”
Wells shook his head. “No. But her doctor says she’s been acting a little off since she came out of that bunker.”
Chambers’ face grew red. “Well, who wouldn’t? Poor woman just lost her halibut.”
“Halibut?” Wells asked.
“What?” Chambers said.
“You said she just lost her halibut.”
“Clean out your ears, son. I said husband.”
“My apologies,” Wells said in a tone that negated his words. “There were reports that this vehicle was seen out at McGreggor Funeral Parlor yesterday.”
Chambers’ bulbous red nose twitched. “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I was with Arlene all day. Listen. Are we done here? I don’t want to leave Arlene alone too long. Like that doctor said, she’s mighty shook up.”
“Uh ... sure,” Wells said. “Thank you for your time. Here’s my card.”
Chambers took the card and tossed it onto the dashboard.
Wells took a step back from the truck. “We might need to examine this vehicle for evidence. I’ll be in tou—”
Chambers hit the gas. The back tires spun gravel. Wells joined our gape-mouthed conga line.
“He sure was in a hurry,” I said to Wells, then coughed at the dust.
He nodded. “There’s definitely something off about him.”
“Yeah,” Earl said. “He got the haint stank.”
“I’m going to tail him,” Wells said, ignoring Earl. “Grayson, you’re a private investigator. Could you drive over and keep an eye on Arlene Jenkins’ place until I can get there?”
Grayson winced. “Well, we were going—”
“Oh! Oh! Can we? Can we?” Earl asked, jumping up and down like a kid.
Grayson shot me a look.
I shrugged. “Earl doesn’t get out much.”
Grayson sighed. “Sure, Officer Wells. We’d be happy to assist.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
AFTER A QUICK RUN THROUGH the Taco Bell drive-thru, we settled into a spot in front of Arlene Jenkins’ place behind a huge hydrangea bush. Earl thought it made the perfect hide.
“You think that bush is gonna cover this huge truck?” I asked, taking a taco from the bag. “That’s like trying to smuggle an elephant behind a paper church fan.”
Earl sneered. “Well, you got any better ideas Miss Smarty Pants? I’m—”
“Can it, kids,” Grayson said, and nodded toward a white Chevy pickup parked at the Jenkins’ residence. “That must be Chambers’ truck in the driveway. The good thing is, Arlene doesn’t know Earl or his truck. We can use that to our advantage.”
Earl was about to take a bite out of his burrito, but stopped. “Hold up. What do you mean ‘to our advantage’?”
Grayson’s lips curled upward slightly. “We need to get a better assessment of the situation. You know, get inside the house.”
Earl frowned. “How we gonna do that?”
Grayson lifted an eyebrow. “What you mean is, how are you going to do that.”
“Huh?”
Grayson grinned like a mad scientist. “You wanted to play investigator, Earl. Now’s your big chance. Go up and ring the bell. Ask Arlene for a glass of water or something.”
Earl cringed. “Can I finish my burrito first?”
“Time waits for no beans.”
Geez. Grayson has absolutely no grasp for metaphors whatsoever.
“Yes, sir,” Earl said. He stuck his burrito on the dashboard and climbed out of the truck.
I elbowed Grayson and whispered. “Shouldn’t you give him some kind of instructions?”
He locked eyes with me and raised an eyebrow. “Did that ever work for you at the garage?”
My face went limp. “Good point.” I smiled to myself and settled in for the show as Earl slinked down the driveway like a hunchbacked crab.
“Earl’s the kind of guy better off winging it, anyway,” Grayson said.
“Sure,” I said. “You keep telling yourself that. Admit it. You get your jollies throwing newbies to the wolves, don’t you?” I shoved the last bite of a taco into my mouth.
“Don’t you?” Grayson grinned and nodded toward the house. “See? He’s doing fine.”
I looked past Grayson’s shoulder at Earl. He was at the door talking to Arlene. She smiled and let him in.
I nearly choked. “Well, I’ll be.”
I took a sip of Dr Pepper to clear my throat, then scrounged around the bottom of the Taco Bell bag. I pulled out a taco, wadded the empty sack, and tossed it onto the floorboard.
I glanced over at Grayson coyly. “I wonder what Earl said to win Arlene’s confidence.”
Grayson eyed the empty bag. “You gonna eat the last taco?”
I unwrapped it, took a bite, and smiled up at Grayson. “Nah. She would’ve never fallen for that line.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I’D BARELY HAD TIME to regret my lunch choice when Earl came flying out of Jenkins’ house as if he were being chased by a gun-toting madman.
Correction: madwoman.
Arlene Jenkins was hot on Earl’s heels, a pistol in one hand, a hammer in the other. If she hadn’t tripped on a garden gnome and fallen face-first into a planter bed made from an old tire, I think she might’ve done Earl harm.
“That woman’s plum crazy!” Earl hollered as he yanked open the driver’s door. He heaved himself up into the cab, twisted the keys in the ignition, and stomped on the gas.
The G-force of Bessie’s 540-horsepower Hemi engine sent my cheap wig flying off my head. It flopped like a platinum squid onto Earl’s horrified face.
“What the?” He grabbed a handful of it and flung it out the window.
The sharp blast of a gunshot sounded behind us. I looked back just in time to see Arlene fire again. My poor wig flew apart like a dandelion in a hurricane.
Grayson hollered across me at Earl. “What the hell happened in there?”
“Damned if I know!” Earl punched the gas again. “Everything was going fine and dandy until she found out I wasn’t the life insurance guy.”
“Did she say how much she was expecting to get?” Grayson asked.
“All of it, I reckon. Call me a prude if you want, but I don’t go for recently widowed women. Especially those of the lunatical variety.”
My eyebrows met my hairline. “What? Are you saying Arlene Jenkins came on to you?”
Earl bit his lip and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Yeppers.”
My nose crinkled. “Then she really must be nuts.”
I turned around and stared out the back window of the cab. Arlene was smaller now, but I could still see her waving the pistol in the air. Earl hooked a right and the bleach-blonde, would-be assassin disappeared from view.
“That’s not what I meant,” Grayson said. “I was talking about the insurance policy. How much was Arlene expecting for a payout?”
Earl eased up on the accelerator and shrugged. “Told me she had a couple policies. The biggest was Mutual of Malaprop for seventy-five grand.”
Grayson sighed. “Were any of these life insurance policies actually real?”
&nbs
p; Earl’s lips pooched out as he thought. “Pretty sure, yeah. She had a calculator, and papers spread out all over the dining room table.”
“Hmm.” Grayson rubbed his chin. “Anything else suspicious?”
“Well, now that you mention it, her house smelled like Clorox and Pine-Sol. I had her figured for the slobbenly type.”
“Sloven—ugh!” I said. “You think she did a murder-scene clean-up?”
Earl’s eyebrow shot up. “Huh. Well, that’s a thought. But I tell you what. That place didn’t smell like no collard greens to me. If that Hank feller brought her a mess of collards, you sure wouldn’t know it by the stink. Unless a course, she done ate ’em all.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “If Chambers brought Arlene the collards from his place, wouldn’t his truck be the one that smelled, not Jenkins’?”
“Good point,” Grayson said.
I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back. “And if he lied about that, Chambers could’ve also lied about the gas can. Maybe he’s planning on burning Jenkins’ body with gasoline.”
Grayson looked at me funny. “A brother barbeque? Sick idea. But okay, I’ll bite. Why would he do that?”
“To hide the evidence that he killed him. What else?”
“Nice idea, cadet, but Jenkins body’s already been autopsied. What would be the point in destroying it now?”
I slumped back in my seat. Earl picked up the debate.
“Well, what about to hide a suicide? Them life insurance policies don’t pay jack crap if you do yourself in.”
Grayson smirked. “So you’re saying Jenkins beat himself to a pulp for fun and profit?”
“Nah,” Earl said. “I’m saying maybe somebody else did, after they found him already deader’n a doornail. They figured they’d cover up the suicide and get ’em some insurance money for their troubles.”
Grayson sighed. “Like I said, the body’s already been autopsied. I saw the report.”
“What was the cause of death?” I asked.
“Indeterminable.”
Earl laughed. “An insurance company ain’t gonna settle for that. Not for a big payout anyhoo. I watch Forensic Files. Them fellers would exhume the body. Burnin’ it to cinders would take care of that option.”
I turned to Grayson. “I think Earl’s on to something. But Arlene couldn’t have taken the body. Crum had her sedated. Could Chambers have done it?”
Grayson said nothing, but I could almost see the gears in his mind turning.
“Well, look who we got here,” Earl said, and hit the brakes.
Officer Wells’ patrol car was approaching in the opposite lane. He stopped alongside us and rolled down his window.
“Chambers seems legit,” the young cop said. “I followed him. He picked up the gas like he said he was going to. Then he stopped at Walmart. I figured I’d get over here and interview Arlene while she’s alone. Anything to report on your end?”
“No sir.” Earl waggled his eyebrows. “We got her all warmed up for you, Officer.”
Wells’ face went slack. “What are you talking about?”
Grayson leaned across me and yelled out Earl’s window. “You might want to get Dr. Prepper to give her another sedative before you go in there.”
A vein on Wells’ neck popped out. “Aww, nuts. What did you all do now?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I WAS DOING AN ENCORE of my sandwich performance, this time with Earl and Grayson the bench seat of Earl’s monster truck. Officer Wells sat stewing in his patrol car beside us. We weren’t exactly in what you’d call the cop’s “good graces,” but he didn’t have much choice.
He needed us for what was about to go down.
The mission at hand was to capture and sedate a rather crazed and pissed off Arlene Jenkins. To that end, both vehicles were parked around the block from Arlene’s place, waiting for the star of the show, Freddy Crum—aka Dr. Prepper—to arrive.
Earl was just about to get on my last nerve with his inane knock-knock jokes when finally, like manna from 1976, an orange Ford Fiesta sputtered into view. The driver, a pudgy guy wearing pink glasses and a green-and-orange pineapple shirt, waved at us as he drove by.
“That’s him,” I said.
Earl lifted an eyebrow. “Dr. Quack, M.D.?”
I jabbed him with my elbow. “It’s a cover, okay?”
“Could a fooled me.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s kind of the point.”
Earl cranked the ignition on Bessie and we rolled in behind Wells’ patrol car, forming a three-vehicle convoy with the Fiesta in the lead. We rounded the corner, then converged in front of Arlene Jenkins’ house. Wells and Crum got out of their vehicles. We, like delinquent teenagers, were relegated to staying in the truck and awaiting further orders from Wells.
“It may take all of us to restrain her,” Crum said, peering up at us from our high perch in the monster truck.
Wells frowned. “You sure we need them?”
“It pays to be on the safe side,” Crum said.
Wells blew out a breath. “Okay. Here’s the plan.” His words were aimed at us, but his eyes stared at Jenkins’ house as he spoke. “I’ll ring the doorbell. You guys hide in the bushes by the house. You are not to move unless I tell you to.”
“Got it,” Grayson said.
Earl sucked his teeth. “If y’all don’t mind, I think I’ll wait this one out in the truck. I already done my round a hammer time with that crazy woman.”
I winced. “Maybe I should wait with him.”
Grayson shook his head. “Nothing doing, cadet. You want that P.I. license, you gotta learn to hang with the big boys.”
I looked over at Earl. “You heard him.”
My cousin grinned. “What? I never said nothin’ about wanting to be no P.I.”
“Come on,” Grayson said, tugging my arm. “They’re already almost to the front door.”
I slid out of the seat, then Grayson and I ran across the front yard, skirting a virtual obstacle course of tire planters full of prickly-pear cacti. Crum lay in wait up against the wall beside the front door, a syringe full of happy juice at the ready. Grayson and I took position behind some overgrown hedges. Crum stuck out an arm and gave Wells the thumbs-up sign.
Wells nodded and rang the doorbell.
Nothing happened.
He rang it again.
As he reached over to make a third attempt, the door flew open. A wild-eyed, wild-haired Arlene Jenkins came barreling out, delivering an encore performance of her infamous Maxwell’s Silver Hammer routine.
“Oh, crap!” Crum cried out.
Right before the hammer came down on Wells’ head, he grabbed Arlene’s striking arm. Crum seized the opportunity to jab her bicep with the syringe. He hit the plunger. A second later, Arlene dropped the hammer, then collapsed like a cardboard box in the middle of a monsoon.
“Help us get her inside!” Wells yelled at us.
Grayson and I scrambled to assist. Each of us grabbed an arm or a leg and hauled Arlene to the couch as she muttered crazily the whole way.
“Don’t touch. Prickle people. Who are you?” she said as we carried her into the living room. Suddenly, Arlene’s eyes flew open and she screamed. “Help! I’m gonna die in here!”
As we laid her on the sofa, Wells asked, “What’s wrong with her, Freddy?”
“Post-traumatic hysteria,” Crum said. “Here, this will help.” Crum gave her another shot. “Arlene? It’s me, Dr. Freddy.”
She shot him a bleary glance. “Froggy?”
“Freddy.” He smiled and reached toward her.
Arlene squirmed to avoid his touch, babbling like a sloppy drunk. “Stop prickling me, you fleak. Where shank. We die shank don’t ... come bah.” Her eyes rolled up in her head, then she passed out.
Crum shook his head. “I’ve been her doctor for years. This behavior—it’s totally out of character. I’ve never known her to act so aggressively. She’s definitely displaying sign
s of paranoia.”
“Could she be ill? Poisoned, maybe?” Grayson asked.
Crum pursed his lips. “I suppose it’s possible. I’ll get some blood from her and run some tests.”
“Hot in here,” Arlene muttered, coming back to consciousness. “Kill you all.” Her eyes closed again.
“That does it,” Crum said. “I’m calling 9-1-1. Sorry, but it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers out of Arlene Jenkins today.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
AS THE AMBULANCE DROVE away with a wigged-out Arlene Jenkins in tow, we sat in Earl’s truck and debated whether the weirdness going on in Plant City had a down-to-earth explanation, or it originated from somewhere off-planet.
Earl was still an ardent proponent of alien implants. I was torn between poisoning and early-onset dementia. Grayson, apparently giving up on his buddy Pan, was insisting the whole thing could be chalked up to your basic, garden-variety domestic homicide.
“The only way life can be a bed of roses,” he philosophized, “is if you’re buried under one.”
I shot Grayson a dour look. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
“Let’s ask the law,” Earl said, nodding toward the house.
Officer Wells was coming down the driveway with Dr. Crum. If I didn’t know better, I’d have suspected the doctor himself was under arrest. His expression was textbook nerdy bewilderment.
As they got close, Wells took a quick glance at us, then studied the ground a foot in front of his shoes. “Thanks for the backup. Things could’ve gotten way out of hand.”
Crum shook his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Arlene. But I’m going to find out.”
I dragged my gaze up from the hula-dancing pineapples on the doctor’s shirt and locked eyes with him. “Dr. Crum, if Arlene was poisoned, could the same thing have happened to her husband, Lester?”
Crum raised his open palms. “I guess. But why would anyone want either one of them dead?”
“Insurance money,” Grayson said. “Lester and Arlene didn’t have any kids. With Lester out of the way, Arlene would be the sole beneficiary of his policies.”
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