Flamingo Realty Mystery Box Set

by CeeCee James

  “Wow! That’s impressive.” I smiled and stuck out my hand. “I’m Stella O’Neil, by the way.”

  She shook it. I was surprised by how soft her hands were. “O’Neil. O’Neil,” she rolled my name over her tongue, as if trying to taste what it was that it reminded her. Then her eyes cleared and she clasped my hand tighter. “You’re the one up on the hill. Selling the Valentine’s place? I’ve seen that flamingo of yours popping up all over these parts.”

  “Oh, thanks. Business is good, I guess.”

  “Yeah, the people are selling out. It’s a shame.”

  A prickle grew under my collar. I swallowed. “I can imagine you’ve seen a lot of changes around here.”

  “Mmhmm, honey you have no idea.” She eased some of her weight off her feet by leaning against the side of the table again.

  “Did you know the Valentines?” I asked.

  “Well, you sure could say I did. Went to school with Gladys Valentine.”

  “I, uh, I saw a wedding picture of you.”

  “You did?” Her eyes narrowed.

  I nodded. She wasn’t looking so friendly all of a sudden.

  “Hmph. I didn’t think there was any left of those,” she murmured.

  I wracked my mind, trying to find a way to suggest that she might be able to get a copy of the photo from the Valentines, when she blurted out, “Wish that one would burn too.”

  Uh oh.

  “That boy was nothing but bad news.” Her mouth puckered in distaste. “I couldn’t be rid of him soon enough.”

  “So you got a divorce?” I asked. “That must have been hard.”

  “We weren’t even married a year. I divorced him while he was away in Korea.”

  Interesting.

  “I was best friends with Gladys. Of course, that ended badly too. In the end, I had nothing more to do with the Valentines. Not my fault. They just wouldn’t talk to me. Even Mr. Valentine looked awfully sheepish when he saw me go by.” She sighed. “I remember him helping my ma change a tire years ago, when I was a bitty thing. Thing was so bald it was practically a rubber band held together by threads. He ended up buying a new tire and everything. Wouldn’t take a dime for it.” Marla shook her head. “He was a good one, but he was never the same after his wife died.”

  She was best friends with Gladys Valentine? Why had her friendship ended? I nodded, sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. My ex was a cheater and I was better off.”

  The kitchen dinged the bell. Marla glanced back that way and then at me. “Sounds like you have a little more digging to do. I like you. Spunky. Inquisitive. But be careful. You may be curious, but you ain’t a cat. You don’t come with nine lives.” She patted me on the shoulder. On the last pat, her hand rested. “I mean it, I’m warning you. The Valentine’s aren’t people to mess with in these parts.”

  The bell dinged several times in a row. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” Marla hollered. Then to me she muttered, “Calling me like some busboy. Geez, you’d think I didn’t own this place.” She continued to complain as she tottered back.

  A few minutes later, the waitress returned. I ordered the bacon burger Kari recommended, along with a basket of fries.

  While I waited, I grabbed the local newspaper that someone had left behind. I opened it with a smile. I remember reading the Sunday comics with my dad. It was one of the few times he’d let his hair down. Peanuts was his favorite. Mine was Calvin and Hobbes. Dad never understood it. “Is the tiger alive or not?” he’d ask.

  “Dad, he’s alive to Calvin,” I’d try to explain.

  He’d shake his head and grumble something about how comics had gone downhill since he was a kid. But give him a comic about Snoopy flying his doghouse and he’d crack a smile.

  I flipped it to the front page where the headline proudly announced, “Missing hiker found safe after four days.” The article immediately grabbed me with its first line, stating a hiker had been found in the National park. It got me thinking if there had been any missing persons filed around this area. How long did it take a person to turn into a skeleton? Wrinkling my nose, I grabbed my phone and typed it in the search.

  Barring extenuating circumstances, the answer was ten years.

  All right then. Let’s see what was going on in this little town ten years ago.

  Chapter 18

  It was seven o’clock. I searched for the closing time for the Brookfield’s library and saw I had another hour. I needed to hurry to make it.

  I shoved one last fry in my mouth then reached for my wallet. I left a twenty under the plate and grabbed my stuff.

  Several of the retired men at the counter told me to have a good night on my way out. Made me smile.

  About two seconds later the smile got wiped right off my face. I ran into Sharon, Jan’s cousin and the beautician from A Cut Above. She had several friends with her and they were talking as fast as a gaggle of hens, all with the same bouffant hairstyle.

  She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me. “Well, honey! What have you done with your hair?”

  “Oh, I’ve just been working all day,” I said, brushing it behind my ear.

  “I see.” She nodded. “Well, maybe don’t tell anyone I cut it unless it’s styled, okay?”

  I nodded, dumbly, suddenly feeling like a sheep dog.

  “You have a good night!” she said cheerfully, unaware of the karate chop she’d just given my confidence.

  Well, who is she anyway? My haircut alone was bad for her business. Huffing a little, I got into my car. I was fuming and it took me three typos before I was able to punch the library into my GPS. As it searched, I yanked down the visor and peered into the mirror.

  I look okay. What’s she talking about?

  I flipped the visor back with a snap and started the car. A streetlight flickered until it blinked off as I drove under it. It reminded me of my dad. I smiled, thinking of how he believed it was his personal electromagnetic charge swirling in his body that caused lights to do that. I never had the heart to break it to him that I’d heard they were on timers. He was happy thinking it was his superpower.

  The GPS led me down the street a few blocks and then directed me to turn. Over here was the more quiet side of the town. The streets were lined with old fashioned balloon lights, which added to the charm.

  I pulled into the library parking lot and parked.

  I was lucky I made it all the way in the stall, because I’d just caught a glimpse of something that made me suck in a breath.

  Standing in front of the door was a bronze statue of a mom bringing her daughter inside.

  I sat frozen, my hands locked into two claws on my seatbelt. Unannounced, and frankly unwanted, tears stung my eyes as a memory replayed of my mom taking me to a library very similar to this one.

  It had been at Christmas time and the library was putting on a puppet show of the Nutcracker. I don’t know how old I was, I must have been under five. I remember squealing when they flashed the lights for the angry mouse’s appearance. Mom had scooped me up on her lap and I’d finished watching from the safety of her arms.

  A tear trickled down my cheek. I sniffed and wiped it away. It was odd. Her face was a blur of dark hair and a smile, but her scent. I could remember that like it was yesterday. She’d used Baby Soft cologne. Even now, when I caught the scent of baby powder, it would be enough to remind me of her.

  And then she left. Dad never told me why.

  One day, I’d find out. I promised myself.

  I took in a deep breath and blew it out. Okay, Focus. Let’s just go inside and see if your hunch is reliable or not.

  The darkness was welcome as I got out of the car, allowing me to hide my vulnerability. I took a few cleansing breaths. Feeling stronger, I walked up to the entrance and patted the bronze girl’s head on the way to the door. I was glad I’d seen it, now that I had time to process that flash of memory. It was a reminder that I didn’t need to squash the good memories, tryi
ng to protect myself. I saw my dad doing that, and it still made me feel sad.

  My hand was on the door when I noticed there was a book drop that opened into the building. A large sign next to it said, “When you drop in a book, please holler, ‘Not a squirrel!’”

  What in the…? I chuckled. I needed the story behind this.

  I opened the door and walked inside to be immediately wrapped in the lovely scent of books, the quiet hush of pages turning, and the click of computer keys. I was surprised to see so many patrons here at this time of night. Made me wonder if people read more in small towns because there wasn’t a lot else to do.

  The librarian was over by the long check-out desk, rearranging books on a metal cart. She seemed extremely focused as she muttered to herself.

  I walked over and waited quietly, but she never looked up. After a moment, I said, “Can I bother you? I’m not a squirrel.”

  The librarian glanced up with surprise. Her glasses were askew and her face flushed. She nudged her glasses in place. “Oh, were you standing there long? Sorry, we just had a huge inventory come in from the holds.” She smiled. “So how can I help you, Not-a-squirrel?”

  I pointed to the front doors. “I have to know what that’s about. Are there a lot of squirrel readers?”

  She laughed. “We have several beech trees out front. You’d be surprised how many of those varmints try to get through that flap to hide their nuts. We’ve tried everything to deter them. Now, whenever we hear rattling, one of us runs over with a net if the noise goes on too long.”

  The image of librarians flying around with nets, chasing squirrels made me chuckle. “That’s hilarious. Well, while I have you, I’m trying to find some newspaper records for the last ten years.”

  “Oh, sure. You just head to the back where you’ll see a microfilm catalogue. It’s as ancient as the hills, but it gets the job done.”

  “Thank you,” I said and left her to sort out the stack of books.

  I was embarrassed to admit how much time had passed since I’d actually been in a library, but the layout was the same. There were the expected long shelves of books, each row labeled with a genre, and scattered stools and chairs.

  I walked past a row of tables, each lit with a desk lamp. Some had computer monitors and some were bare. In the darkest corner of the building, I found the cabinet she’d referred to.

  Okay, where to start. I slid open a drawer and scanned the folders. The microfilms were organized by topics. I quickly found the Brookfield Gazette and flipped through years.

  Starting at a decade ago, I slid a microfilm out of the plastic envelope and put it under the light of the viewer. I spun the dial to get it to focus. Slowly, I pushed the film to scan it on the screen.

  There was news on the stock trades, news of our troops overseas, store announcements of openings and closings, gas prices, and grocery store sales. There were also lots of weddings, funerals, and birth announcements.

  But I didn’t see one article for a missing person. I grabbed another at nine years ago and scrolled. Still nothing. I continued until I was at just five years ago. I wasn’t comfortable going any closer. I didn’t think a body would be reduced to a skeleton any sooner.

  Nothing.

  Now I began checking the years after the ten-year mark. I have to admit, I was starting to get that tight, frustrated sensation in my guts. Maybe I needed to expand my search for the entire county, rather than just this one town’s newspaper.

  Then, something popped up on the twelfth year. There’d been a big crime that happened in the county and headlines about it showed up again and again throughout that year.

  Two police officers had been shot during an attempted bank robbery.

  Curious, I zoomed in on one of the articles. Police No Closer to Solving the Robbery.

  I read through the story. It said that one officer had been injured with shots fired as the suspect ran away. One thing that stuck out was that it was at a jewelry store. I remembered the shiny watch on the skeleton’s arm. Was that just some weird coincidence? Still, I took note of the officers’ names who were involved in it that day. Maybe I could track them down to ask a few questions.

  Funny how, being that my grandfather was a former FBI agent, I was getting into this detective gig ever since I moved back to Pennsylvania. Maybe it was in my blood, after all.

  Chapter 19

  The drive home was uneventful but that’s not what my fresh paranoia led me to believe. Every time a car pulled out behind me, I stared into the rearview mirror, searching for those perfectly round headlights.

  Back at the house, I brought in my bags of clothes and purse and dumped them all on the counter. I’d deal with this mess tomorrow. Right now, I wanted to do a search to see where those police officers were now.

  It turned out, the first one had retired, which was no surprise given his age. I was pretty happy to see that the second was still working at the Brookfield police force.

  There was a recent picture of the police officer, which I quickly zoomed in. He had to be close to retiring, as well. His face had more wrinkles than a silk scarf that’d been accidentally washed. By comparison, his shock of hair was surprisingly thick and black. Was it hair dye? A toupee? I jotted down the police department’s number. I’d call tomorrow and see if he was available to talk. At least I could ask if a watch had been among the stolen goods.

  But if the skeleton was the robber, why would he break into the Valentine’s house? There were hundreds of houses closer. Heck, if you were shot and bleeding, was it even possible to break into a room on the third story? This just didn’t make any sense.

  Still, it was all I had.

  Sighing, I pushed away from the computer and got into my pajamas. It’d been a long day. I grabbed my great-great-grandmother’s stack of letters and climbed into bed with my notepad. After flipping on the table lamp, I snuggled into the pillows and opened another letter, before finding my translate app on my phone. Lots of henpecking, squinting and guessing ensued after that. It took a lot of deciphering but in the end, this is what I had.

  My Dearest Mother,

  I’ve made the arduous journey to Ellis Island. There were many times I did not think I would escape Poland. Our sweet land. I was given food by farmers several times. Once, I hid in a haystack outside of Krakow when the troops made their search. I could hear them march by and I was terrified they would question the farmers. I was able to get passage on the Wojtek. The trip on the ship was long, but I’m here and safe. I wait for you to join me.

  Your loving daughter,

  Wiktoria

  I had chills as I read it. Grandma Wiktoria, I’m figuring you out. You were incredible!

  Yawning, I placed the stuff on the table and flipped the light off. I pulled up the blankets and stared up at the ceiling. I was still smiling.

  The next morning, I called the police station. Amazingly, I was able to set up a meeting with the officer later that day. I picked up the lucky charm from the kitchen counter and flipped the squirrel in my hand. I was ready for some answers.

  That day was fairly slow at Flamingo Realty, with Kari mostly chasing down a few leads from the open house the day before. She let me leave early with a wave of her hand, the phone pressed against her ear.

  I drove to the sheriff’s office which, coincidentally, was right behind the Darcy’s Doughnuts that Kari had met me at earlier in the week.

  It took me a minute to find parking since all of the available spots were filled with police cars. Finally, after finding one about half-way up the block, I walked back to the building. Two officers were leaving as I entered, and one held the door open for me.

  Okay. Here it goes. I walked up to the front desk. There a very tired and harried looking woman sat in a visibly broken chair. She was sorting through a plastic filing cabinet. It was hard to miss the fact that the back of the chair was swathed in duct tape.

  She must have heard me come in. Her chair squeaked loudly as she turned to face m
e. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I have an appointment with Officer Benson?”

  She glanced at her planner and nodded. “Go down the hall. His is the first desk on the left.”

  “Thank you,” I said, but before I even had the words out, she had already returned to her task.

  I walked down the hall. It was freezing in the building and felt like the thermostat hadn’t been touched since last year. I crossed my arms and peeked into the main room.

  It was filled with desks, not sitting in neat rows, but haphazard as if scattered by giant children who were done with their play. Each desk had a pair of metal folding chairs in front of it. Most of the desks were empty, but a few had officers sitting in front of their computers.

  There was a large man at the second one. I recognized him from the photo last night.

  He looked up as I walked over.

  “Officer Benson?” I asked.

  “Oh, you must be my three o’clock. Miss…?”

  “Stella O’Neil,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I should shake and thrust out my hand anyway.

  He ignored it, shuffling through a stack of papers instead. I brought it back, caught a little off guard.

  “Please, have a seat.” He indicated one of the chairs with a raise of his bushy eyebrows, still not looking up.

  I pulled it out and sat, immediately gritting my teeth from the cold metal. I pressed my hands together between my knees and squeezed to keep from shivering.

  “Thank you for meeting me, Officer Benson,” I said, glancing around.

  It was a little weird to be back here. I knew cops had work spaces but I’d never actually been in one before. I mean here it was, a desk, with a cop staring at me from across it. I giggled inside, so wanting to snap a picture and send it to my dad with the words, “Help!”

  Officer Benson finished sorting his papers and leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Miss O’Neil?”

  “I ran across a robbery that happened twelve years ago.”

  He pressed his lips together and exhaled heavily. “Mmhmm.”