by Maia Chance
Light from the library bounced off of a beat-up white pickup truck, a silhouetted man with close-cropped hair at the wheel.
“Evidently the sloth is Jentry’s totem animal,” Effie said. Her tone was carefree, but I saw her cigarette cherry tremble in the darkness.
“And why is he staring at us?”
“Is he? It’s difficult to say.”
“Of course he is!” Jentry’s eye sockets were in shadow, but he was definitely turned in our direction. Adrenaline spurted into my bloodstream. My fingers twitched. “Let’s get out of here. It’s fairly obvious that he and his boom stick want to finish what they started at the farm yesterday.”
Effie started the engine. “Nonsense. He wouldn’t shoot us in town, surrounded by houses.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Gracelyn’s leaving.”
Gracelyn seemed to have said good-bye to Popped Collar. They walked down the steps together and retreated to their separate cars.
Popped Collar zipped out of the parking lot in a black BMW. Gracelyn followed in an antique purple pickup truck. But while the BMW went right, Gracelyn turned left out of the parking lot.
“Let’s tail her,” I said.
“Why?” Effie was already in drive.
“Um, because she’s one of our murder suspects? And she isn’t heading home right now? She lives on Third Street next to Dorrie Tucker, but she’s heading east.”
“What about Jentry?”
“We’re not going to stop, okay? Let’s just see where Gracelyn stops and then keep on going.”
“Fine.” Effie’s headlights washed across Jentry in his pickup, and I saw a flash of his face. He was definitely staring at us.
Yikes.
We left Jentry behind and tailed Gracelyn’s pickup at a block’s distance. Effie smoked placidly as she drove. I kept looking out the rear window, but no headlights tailed us. Which was a relief, but the panicky relief of, say, the last puppy in the box. Like, Phew! I’m safe! For now . . .
We hadn’t followed Gracelyn far—five blocks through leafy residential streets—when Gracelyn parked. Across the street from the McGrundell Mansion, as a matter of fact.
“What’s she doing here?” I whispered. “This is very weird. Should we stop?”
“I thought we weren’t going to stop.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t see Jentry around, so it’s probably safe.” Truth was, even though I was creeped out by Jentry, I was also about to spontaneously combust with curiosity. And curiosity was winning.
Effie slid to a stop halfway up the block and switched off the headlights. “Maybe she’s going to steal something from the McGrundell mansion. I never trust redheads.”
“The mansion’s totally empty while Roland Pascal works on it—oh. Look.”
Gracelyn had climbed inside Roland’s Airstream trailer and shut the door.
“Oh-ho,” Effie said, tamping out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray.
“You don’t think Gracelyn and Roland—”
“Why not? He’s a ladies’ man. She’s a lady.”
“They could be accomplices in murder.” I shoved open my door. “I want proof that they’re an item.”
“What about Jentry?” Effie called out her cracked door.
“Stay in the car if you’re worried.”
Effie got out of the car.
We went down the dim sidewalk. Televisions flickered blue in house windows. I heard the clatter of pots and pans being washed somewhere, and a cat yowled.
Roland’s Airstream was all lit up, but the curtains were closed. I stood on tiptoe and peered through a crack in the curtains. An involuntary urk came out of my mouth; Roland and Gracelyn were engaged in a very athletic embrace. They were crashing around, Roland fumbling with Gracelyn’s bra hooks and Gracelyn digging around in the front of Roland’s trousers.
“They’re at it,” I whispered to Effie.
“At what?”
“It. So I guess that’s our proof. Let’s go so I can wash my eyes out.”
“I want to see,” Effie whispered.
“Trust me, you don’t.”
Effie peered through the crack.
Something hard yet bouncy hit the base of my skull. My glasses went flying. Pain jangled, stars exploded, and I dropped to the sidewalk like a sack of potatoes.
“That’s for snooping, you fat dork,” a man snarled.
I heard another sickening thunk, and Effie cried out. I heaved myself to sitting. My elbow screamed with pain.
A lean figure was jogging away down the sidewalk, a bucket swinging in his hand. I was too blind without my glasses to make out any details, but I knew it was Jentry.
Effie lay crumpled in the gutter.
“Aunt Effie!” I crawled over to her. “Are you okay?”
She sat up slowly and rubbed the back of her head. Her usually sleek hair tufted like a rocker’s. “My. Quite the front hand on that one.”
“It was Jentry.”
“No surprise.”
“I didn’t know he was following us.” I found my glasses and put them on. The frames were bent. Dammit.
“What did he hit us with?”
“A plastic bucket with something heavy inside. Maybe dirt. It must’ve been handy in his pickup.”
“Then, on the bright side, as long as he’s hitting us with buckets, he’s isn’t shooting us with shotguns.”
“That’s incredibly comforting.”
Chapter 14
Once we’d locked ourselves into the Cadillac, Effie lit a Benson & Hedges first thing.
I could’ve used a slice of pie. I guess everyone has their vices. “Let’s go to the police about Jentry,” I said. My heart was still wringing itself, and I peered between strips of duct tape on the windshield, scanning the neighborhood.
“I thought you weren’t—”
“It’s getting way too creepy!” I gingerly touched the back of my skull. No bump, but it felt tender and throbby. “Do you know what he said to me right before he hit me? ‘That’s for snooping, you dork.’” I left out the fat part. Forgiveness or no, discussing the teen model thing had brought up a bunch of sore feelings.
Effie started the engine. “Perhaps we should report the assault to the police and risk the consequences.”
I nodded.
We drove through the dark streets. Every pair of headlights I saw made my neck tense, but we didn’t see Jentry’s pickup again. “This Gracelyn-Roland tryst is pretty darn interesting, if you ask me,” I said. “Gracelyn loathed Kathleen—at least that’s what Dorrie said. Kathleen had a problem with Gracelyn too.” I explained how Kathleen had ripped Gracelyn’s poster off the door that day at the library. “Roland also seems to have hated Kathleen. He complained about her micromanaging his work.”
“Mmm.” Effie blew smoke.
“Don’t you get it?” I said. “Gracelyn and Roland are lovers. Gracelyn and Roland both hated Kathleen. And—remember?—Roland hinted that he was with a lover at midnight the night Kathleen was murdered. So Gracelyn and Roland are each other’s alibis. Which means, technically, they could’ve been accomplices in murder. Heck, maybe they started that rumor at the coffee shop together.”
“Good God, you’re right.”
* * *
White lights shone from the first-story windows of the police station. The rest of the building was dark. I glanced at the dashboard clock as Effie parked. Almost nine thirty.
Detective Albright wasn’t there. “He’s got a bowling tournament in Lucerne,” the secretary said.
“Is there someone else we could speak to?” I asked. “It’s urgent.”
“Police chief’s here.”
Effie spun on her heel and clicked toward the doors.
“Euphemia Winters!” a man’s voice boomed.
Effie was gone.
Police Chief Gwozdek stood in a doorway and adjusted his saucer-sized silver belt buckle. He looked me up and down. “Every time your great-auntie comes to town, she stirs up a who
le mess of trouble,” he said. “We’d all be better off if she just stayed away, don’t you think, Agnes? And I sure hope you two aren’t up to more mischief. Your dad will be so disappointed in you, after all he shelled out for that fancy college of yours.”
Effie was right. No way was Gwozdek going to treat us fairly.
“I just, um, remembered something that I, uh, forgot,” I said and hurried out after Effie.
“Wait just one goldarn minute, young lady!” Gwozdek yelled after me.
I ignored him.
I found Effie in the Cadillac and got in.
“He was going to give us the little lady treatment,” Effie said.
“What?”
“You know, like John Wayne. Treating us like lobotomy patients because we haven’t got boy parts.”
“Oh, yeah. ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head’ and all that?”
“Exactly.” In the buzzy yellow light of the streetlamps, Effie looked delicate. Her bright lipstick was almost worn away.
I felt a surge of protectiveness. “Forget Gwozdek. We’ll tell Detective Albright about Jentry and risk the trespassing charges, okay? And if you’re worried about being treated fairly, well, we can keep trying to crack this thing ourselves. We’ve got leads, right? We’re probably ten steps ahead of those idiot police. We might even know stuff they don’t, like the fact that Roland Pascal is likely an ex-con, and I’m not so sure they know about Kathleen’s will.”
“But it has gotten dangerous. Aren’t you frightened?”
I thought of Jentry’s shotgun and Roland Pascal’s prison tattoo. We were in it deep. For real. With no quick fix and zippo help from the police. “Honestly, maybe I’m a little scared. But it doesn’t make me want to stop. It makes me really pissed off.”
Effie’s lips twitched up. “I really do like you, Agnes Blythe.”
“Ditto, Auntie.”
* * *
Dad and Cordelia were bundled in their robes in the breakfast nook with cups of tea when I let myself into the kitchen.
“Oh. Hi,” I said. I willed myself not to wonder why they both had their robes on. But when you will yourself not to think of something, you think of it. So, yuck.
“Agnes, are you all right?” Dad said, concern in his voice. “You look a little stressed out—and is that dirt on your pants?”
“There are some veggie sticks in the fridge,” Cordelia called.
“Off to bed!” I speed walked all the way upstairs.
* * *
I woke up the next morning to the tinkling of my cell phone. My own fully charged cell phone. Beautiful, beautiful sound. Except—I smushed on my glasses and looked at the screen—it was Aunt Effie.
I poked answer. “Yeah?” I mumbled.
“Chester and I are outside waiting for you in the car.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine thirty. What better time to visit Megan Lawrence?”
“Why is Chester coming?”
“We’re stopping at the supermarket because Chester is infatuated with one of the checkers there.”
“Give me five minutes.”
I dressed in another high school special from my closet: a long, shapeless floral dress with about twenty buttons down the front. Maybe that doesn’t sound too bad, but let me assure you, it looked like the polar opposite of terrific once I’d tied my orange sneakers on. I looked like the least favorite wife of a cult leader.
I splashed water on my face, brushed my hair and teeth, bent my glasses’ frame mostly back into shape, and grabbed three muffins on my way through the kitchen. I heard Cordelia vacuuming the living room, and Dad had already gone to work. I was only too happy to avoid talking to Dad. His kind, ponderous presence made me feel not only guilty about all the fibs I’d told him but kind of like a teeny-bopper sneaking off to see her bad-boy flame. Except that instead of a James Dean look-alike in a Corvette, I had Aunt Effie and Chester in a Caddy.
Outside, the day was blue and gold. I tasted fall in the air. The Cadillac idled in Dad’s driveway, looking pretty worse for wear with dirty wheel wells and that duct-taped windshield. Chester was hogging the front seat, so I got in the back.
“Why thank you for bringing me a muffin,” Chester said, stretching a hand around the seat.
I passed a muffin over.
“Can you see your brain when you roll your eyes like that?” Chester asked through a mouthful. “If so, I say hi.”
“Well, the inn is most definitely haunted,” Effie said as she vroomed out of Dad’s driveway.
“What do you mean?” I said.
Chester said, “Superstitions are for kids and hippies, Auntie.”
“I know what I saw,” Effie snapped.
“What did you see?” I pictured one of those swirling movie poltergeists. But Aunt Effie wouldn’t be afraid of a poltergeist; they looked like clouds of cigarette smoke.
“It moved my cigarettes.”
“The ghost moved them?” I said.
Chester looked back at me and rolled his eyes.
Effie went on, “And while I was searching the inn from top to bottom for my cigarettes, I started hearing strange noises. Creaking floorboards. Little rustles.”
“Aren’t you scared to sleep in a building where someone was murdered?” I asked.
“The only thing I’m scared of, Agnes, is being a scared old lady.”
“When did all this ghost stuff happen?”
“The noises were around midnight.”
Okay, I was getting creeped out.
“Then,” Effie said, “I found the cigarettes on the windowsill in the dining room. I didn’t put them there. Why would they be there?”
“So what we have here is an insomniac phantom who smokes,” I said. “Eerie.”
“Fine. Don’t take me seriously.”
“Why don’t you stay at Dad’s, Aunt Effie?” I said. “His house is big, and I’m sure he’d be glad to—”
“No. I’m not running away from a ghost, for God’s sake.”
* * *
Once again, Megan Lawrence’s housekeeper answered the door with the snarling Maltipoo in her arms. She told us that Megan was out.
“Where is she this time?” I asked.
The housekeeper studied Effie and me. Chester was waiting in the car. “Are you some kind of private detectives or something?”
“What?” I tried to make a that’s so silly! laugh, but it came out like a goose honk.
“What happened to your windshield?” the housekeeper asked. “Did someone shoot at it?”
“Listen,” I said, “we’re Megan’s friends, and we’d like to see her.”
The housekeeper lifted her eyebrows at my floral tent of a dress. “Mrs. Lawrence is getting a mani-pedi. She should be back in an hour.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Effie and I returned to the car.
“Isn’t it strange that Megan is getting her nails done?” I said, buckling myself into the back seat.
“Why? Look at her house. She’s a rich housewife. She probably lives at the nail salon and the spa.”
“Yeah, but her mother was just murdered.”
“Maybe she hated her mother,” Effie said.
“True. And maybe she chipped her nail polish while cranking her mom’s scarf in that washing machine wringer.”
“Do you guys realize how you sound?” Chester asked.
* * *
We needed to kill time, so we stopped by my bank, but they wouldn’t issue me access to my account until I got a new driver’s license. Sigh. In the parking lot, I crossed paths with Susie Pak as she was power walking to her Mercedes SUV.
“Hi, Susie,” I said. Here was one of our six Black Drop murder suspects we hadn’t learned much about yet. “How are you?”
“Busy!” she barked. She beeped her Mercedes unlocked and climbed in.
Next, Effie drove me to the pharmacy, but they were sold out of my kind of contact lenses. So I was stuck with my slightly bent glasses
for a few more days.
We stopped at the Flour Girl Bakery and then the Green Apple, where Aunt Effie bought vegetables and cigarettes, and Chester tried to impress a tattooed checkout girl by purchasing a two-pound tub of body-builder protein shake mix. The girl didn’t seem impressed.
I looked around for Gothboy but didn’t see him bagging groceries. Effie and Chester were already heading out of the supermarket; I lingered at the tattooed checkout girl’s register.
“Excuse me,” I said to her, “could you tell me when the bagger with the sort of Goth hair and makeup will be in?”
“Pete?” she said. “He was fired.”
“Really?”
“For selling weed out by the delivery dock. The manager caught him in the act.”
“Did the manager call the police?” I asked.
“Naw. It’s just weed, you know?”
“Do you know where Pete lives?”
The checker looked me up and down and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you looking to score?”
“Uh, yeah. I am.” I thought about claiming to have glaucoma but nixed the idea.
“Pete’s always selling at Club Xenon.”
Oh really. “Thanks,” I said and hurried out of the supermarket.
In the car, I told Effie about Gothboy selling weed at Club Xenon. “Jentry’s weed, I assume.”
“Of course,” Effie said. “Do you think Bud knows about it?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” I said. “Aunt Effie, this could be the crucial piece to the puzzle. Here’s a theory: Jentry and Gothboy are supplying Club Xenon kids with weed, and Bud knows about it—maybe he’s taking a cut, maybe he’s just turning a blind eye, but either way, it’s criminal. Then Kathleen Todd finds out about the drug deals somehow, so Bud or Jentry kill her.”
Chester said, “There are about sixteen missing pieces to your puzzle, Agnes.”
“No, no,” Effie said, twiddling her fingers, “I think Agnes may be onto something.” She swiveled in her seat to regard me through her sunglasses. “The question is, how do we look into this?”
“Well, for starters,” I said, “we go to Club Xenon and try to take photographs of drug deals.”
“Wow, sounds supersafe,” Chester said.
Effie said, “I’m glad you think so, Chester, because you’re coming with us.”