by J. C. Eaton
“You know what would be good?” My mother continued on as if she hadn’t asked a question. “A whiteboard and dry-erase markers. I’m going to give the library a call and make sure they bring a large whiteboard and markers to the social hall tomorrow. You’ll need them in order to present your findings. Unless, of course, you planned on doing something fancy with the computer.”
I was stunned and it took me a few seconds to respond. “You mean a PowerPoint presentation? I’m not giving a lecture on water rates or gardening in the desert. I want to present the facts as we know them and let people see for themselves who was orchestrating this entire charade and why.”
“So, the whiteboard, then? Much more dramatic, I think. Draw big letters and be sure to underline when you emphasize something. And articulate when you speak. Articulate.”
Honestly, she was beginning to sound like my tenth-grade English teacher. I looked her straight in the eye and enunciated every word. “I need to call Nate. Now. I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.”
“See, you’ve got the knack of it.”
Groaning, I walked into the guest bedroom before my mother could say anything else. It was bad enough this meeting was going to be televised on major networks, but now this? It was as if that outrageous book had a life of its own and was manipulating everyone. And why should Gretchen Morin invite a psychic when she told Nina Alvarez there was no such thing as a book curse? Was she trying to exonerate herself at the book club or what? I grabbed my phone and dialed quickly.
Voicemail. Maybe Nate was still in the office. I dialed the switchboard for the Mankato Police Department and asked to be connected to Detective Williams. More voicemail. My lucky day. Meanwhile, my mother’s phone rang. Mayberry couldn’t hold a candle to this place.
“That was Herb,” my mother shouted. “Look out the window. There’s a news crew interviewing Jeanette about the attempted murder. They must have arrived right after you came in. They had the wrong address and went to his house first.”
“This is worse than I thought. Those news crews aren’t going to let up until they milk this thing dry. There’ll be more spin-off stories than you can imagine. ‘Who styled Thelmalee’s hair?’ ‘What was Minnie Bendelson’s last meal?’ ‘What kind of golf cart did Marilyn Scutt drive?’ Right down to calling in some expert to discuss ‘the pollination habits of the local bees in Sun City West.’”
“Hold on. That’s the phone again.”
I stared out the window as my mother took the call. A van from a local TV station was parked across the street. Jeanette was going to make the early evening news. I’d catch the segment later that night.
“That was Cecilia,” my mother yelled. “She’s at the library. They’ve got a news crew there interviewing people about their reading preferences. Said if I hurry, I can be on the news.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of going over there, are you?”
“Of course not. The only place I’m going is to the beauty parlor. I have an appointment in less than an hour, and I need to get a move on. You don’t think I’d risk being on national television tomorrow looking like this, do you?”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“Say no more. I’m having my roots touched up and then getting a quick trim. Did you ever consider adding some blond highlights to your hair?”
“I have natural highlights.”
“This is television, Phee. No one is supposed to look natural on television. Besides, your hair could use a boost.”
I knew it. Harriet Plunkett couldn’t keep her mouth shut when it came to my hair. If it was short, it should be long. If it was long, it should be curly. I learned to ignore the suggestions. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got some more digging to do on the computer. If I decide to go out, I’ll leave a note.”
My mother grumbled and then proceeded to shuffle around until it was time for her to leave to go to her appointment. The TV van across the street was gone as my mother drove down the block. I was about to turn away from the window when I noticed Jeanette’s garage door opening and her car pulling out. I was all but blinded by the shine on that KIA Sportage. Well, I could have had one, too, if I was willing to trade mine in. Stop being so jealous.if
It did handle beautifully during my test drive. And those sleek lines looked nothing like the older models. Well, maybe something to consider when I get back to Minnesota . . . Oh, who was I kidding . . . ? Then, it was as if someone had lit a firecracker in front of me. Holy cow! Holy, holy cow! No one tried to murder Jeanette. No one! I should have realized this before. Vivian Knowlton or not, I was going to have my say tomorrow at the book club.
Chapter 25
With my mother safely out of the way at the beauty parlor and Streetman snoring on the couch, I pulled out my stack of notes and the charts I’d made, spreading them all over the kitchen table. The names of the victims reminded me of that old silly game we played as kids by pulling off the petals from daisies and saying, “He loves me, he loves me not,” only this time I was muttering, “Dead, no foul play. Dead, with foul play.” I still had the same results as before—foul play for Edna Mae and Thelmalee, natural circumstances for Marilyn and Minnie, and downright lying as far as Jeanette was concerned.
The only thing I was missing was the financial end, and that was paramount if anyone was going to believe me tomorrow. I stared at the kitchen clock, knowing it wasn’t going to make Nate call any sooner. I’d asked him earlier to find out if Rolo checked the accounts for the Nolans since they all seemed to be connected. That had, apparently, pulled up a dead end as well.
“This is so damn frustrating!” I yelled out loud. I was certain Lily Margot Gerald was really Gretchen, but if that was true, then the money trail would be leading to her and it wasn’t. Nate had told me that Rolo scrutinized every conceivable derivation including Lillian, Margaux, and Gerauld. Not to mention all sorts of combinations for the initials LMG. Again, nothing. Lily Margot Gerald. I Googled her name to see what I could turn up, but all I found were a few Lily Margots, and they seemed to be in their twenties and living in France. Well, good for them. And no, I didn’t want to connect on LinkedIn.
What a waste of an afternoon. The only thing I accomplished was to produce a neater set of notes for tomorrow’s meeting, provided Vivian Knowlton didn’t upstage me completely. I was staring at Lily’s name, hoping a trance would come over me and give me the answer I needed when I emerged. That didn’t happen either. Streetman must have heard my mother’s key in the lock, because he jumped from the couch and stared at the foyer just as she came through the door.
“I’m back! Oh, there’s my little man. Were you Momma’s good little boy?”
The dog was jumping up and down, pawing at her legs.
“Isn’t that cute? He should have a treat. So, what do think of my hair, Phee? I decided having her touch up the roots wasn’t enough, so I had her add a few ribbons of creamy caramel to set it apart.”
Creamy caramel? It sounded like a Halloween candy.
“It looks nice.” In an off-beat sort of way.
“I thought so, too. I wanted something that would stand out. Everyone’s going to be vying for attention. It was a circus at the salon. A circus. Do you know that they put a sign out front that said, CAMERA-READY LOOKS IN AN HOUR? The place was mobbed. Good thing I made my appointment when I did. The only saving grace was the fact the supermarket wasn’t too crowded. I ran into Herb Garrett, and he told me he’s decided to attend tomorrow’s book club meeting. Can you imagine? Herb. I don’t think he’s picked up a book in thirty years! Oh no! Would you look at the time? It’s close to dinner. I got us some stuffed cabbage from the deli. It was on special.”
The fifteen or twenty minutes we ate dinner was the only break we had from a relentless string of phone calls that began at five-thirty and didn’t end until well past ten, when my mother swore she was going to unplug the landline. It was worse than the day before. Again, I listened as my mother responded to each caller.
“What? Your church choir decided to come? All of them? And they want to sing?”
“No, I have no idea if Anderson Cooper will be there.”
“Movie rights? Movie rights to what? That book or Sun City West? You’re not making any sense, Shirley. Where did you hear that? . . . Uh-huh. No wonder.”
“Refreshments? No, I don’t think we’d better bring refreshments this time. It would be like feeding a stadium.”
“Tell her that dogs are NOT allowed in the social hall. Even if they are small. And besides, a twenty-five-pound beagle isn’t my definition of small.”
Unfortunately, none of those calls was Nate, and by eleven I was more than a little twitchy.
“This is a nightmare, Mom. A veritable nightmare. Nate hasn’t called and that’s because Rolo Barnes wasn’t able to track down the money. I can’t pin this on Gretchen or anyone else, for that matter, if I don’t know whose account is receiving the money from online sales. The only thing I’m fairly certain of is there is NO Lily Margot Gerald.”
My mother let out a sigh and muttered, “I know,” before turning up the volume to the TV. “Can you believe this? They’re showing the original Disney Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs at midnight. I haven’t seen that since you were a little girl.”
“There’s a reason for that. And don’t tell me you’re going to stay up and watch it now.”
“No, I’m too exhausted. Besides, we’ve both outgrown that tired theme of the lily-white princess who has to be rescued by the handsome prince. Even though I wouldn’t mind hearing a rousing chorus of ‘Heigh-ho, heigh-ho.’”
“What did you just say?”
“I said I wouldn’t mind hearing a rousing chorus of—”
“No, no, before that. Something about the princess.”
“I said the theme of the handsome prince having to rescue the lily-white princess is getting pretty old.”
“That’s it! That’s it! And it was right in front of our eyes. How could I be so dense? I don’t care if it is midnight in Mankato, I’ve got to get ahold of Nate!”
“What? What was in front of our eyes?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Jerry White, that’s who. Look at the name—Lily Gerald. Gerald is formal French for Jerry. And Lily. What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of that name? White. Lily White!”
“But isn’t that author’s name Lily Margot Gerald?”
“Yes, it is. And I’ll bet dollars to donuts that somehow Margot translates to Gretchen. Turn on your computer, Mom, and go to Google translate. Try French and German while I call Nate.”
My mother lasted about twenty minutes on Google Translate before declaring she was too tired to think in English, let alone another language. Meanwhile, I managed to wake up Nate, and in his stupor he agreed to place a call to Rolo.
“Do it now, Nate,” I said, “Don’t go back to sleep.”
A garble of incoherent words followed and, just like that, the conversation was over. The rest of the night I wondered if he placed the call. The next morning, I got my answer.
Chapter 26
It was six a.m. Arizona time, and I was the one who was groggy when my phone rang. Sure enough, Rolo had been up all night working on this. Unfortunately, the results turned out to be a big fat zero.
I was all but whining. “Are you absolutely sure there are no accounts linked to Jerry White?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no monies are being cyphered into Jerry White’s account from any book sales.”
“And I was so certain it was him. I would have bet my life on it.”
“Hey, it was a good lead. Heck, more than a good lead. It just didn’t pan out. Things like that happen all the time.”
“My God, Nate. That must be so frustrating. And I’m so sorry that Rolo lost a night’s sleep.”
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I don’t think that guy sleeps anyway. Look, given the info you have, you can still shoot down that book curse. Plus, you have the evidence to incriminate Josie Nolan for Thelmalee’s death, plus some decent circumstantial evidence to point a finger at the people responsible for Edna Mae Langford’s death. I’d say that was pretty darn good for a week’s work.”
“I suppose. Anyway, I can’t wait to get back to Minnesota tomorrow night. I’ll give you a call after this book club fiasco is over.”
“Don’t forget to smile at the camera. I’ll be tuning in to CNN and Fox this afternoon. Should be a doozy.”
“That’s one word for it. Which reminds me, ever hear of a Vivian Knowlton from Psychic Divas?”
“Not a show I watch. I think that’s all a bunch of crap. But hey, showmanship is everything, so I hear.”
“Thanks, Nate. And thanks for not being too mad at me for waking you up. And thank Rolo, too.”
“No problem. When this is over, you can buy Rolo a Cuisinart or whatever the latest juicing machine happens to be. Catch you later.”
I jumped into the shower and rehearsed what I would say when the meeting started. I knew Gretchen would introduce Vivian first. I just never expected what would come next.
My first clue we were in for trouble should have been the traffic as we headed to the social hall. My second came later.
“Can you believe this?” my mother said as I pulled into the parking lot. “Our book club meeting doesn’t start for another hour and a half, and it’s already impossible to find a spot. This place is packed tighter than a can of sardines.”
It was more than packed. It was crammed. Cars, minivans, golf carts, emergency response vehicles, and a full fleet from the sheriff’s department. Worse yet, television crew vans from at least four stations were front and center.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this. Like things might get out of control or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like senior day at the supermarket. They’re not giving away anything. And look, there are a few sheriff cars parked here, too. Everything will be under control. Just take out your notes and articulate. Remember, underline the important stuff on the whiteboard.”
I sighed and pulled up to the front of the social hall. “I’m going to let you out so you won’t have too far to walk. Then I’ll park the car and meet you inside. At least we don’t have to worry about getting a seat. Our table should be in the middle, right?”
“Yes, it’s all set. I made those arrangements for the meeting days ago.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you inside.”
“Oh, look, Phee! At the bus. It’s the Psychic Divas bus and it’s huge.”
Sure enough, a bus the size of a large Greyhound was off to the side of the main entrance. Its façade was painted pink and lavender with cutesy curls and flowers that formed the words Psychic Divas. I wanted to throw up. That was before I caught sight of the other vehicles—shuttle buses and limos from every resort and retirement hotel in the area. I could see The Golden Heritage, The Royal Lifestyle, The Monte Carlo, and of course, The Lillian. And those were only the ones parked on that side of the building. In addition to its shuttle, The Lillian had four or five white stretch limousines, the largest one with ornate signage that read, GRACEFUL LIVING FOR DISCERNING RETIREES. At that point, I wanted to throw myself under its tires.
“The entire state of Arizona is here! This is horrendous.”
“Horrendous? It’s a wonderful turn-out. Maybe more people will enroll in the book club.”
Or turn on us like those peasants from the horror movies.
At least a dozen people were making their way to the entrance and my mother was about to join them when she noticed something. Actually, someone.
“Look to your right, Phee. Look to your right. It’s that wretched Miranda Lee from Bingo along with Paula Darren. Those two are joined to the hip like nobody’s business. What are they carrying?”
“Looks like bottled water to me. Those huge containers.”
“I’ll bet it’s that ridiculous Fiji water they bring to the Bingo games
for good luck. I hope they don’t plan on sprinkling it around at our meeting. Cleansing properties or not, none of us want to be doused with water.”
“I doubt that’s what she has in mind. And I don’t think it has more cleansing properties than tap water.”
“Quick. Unlock the passenger door. I’m getting out. I’ll walk behind them and see if I can hear what they’re up to.”
“Let it go, Mom. They probably brought water in case they get thirsty.”
“Oh, I suppose you’re right. See you inside.”
I pulled away from the curb and scanned the lot for a parking space. Who was I kidding? I’d have to walk from hell’s creation and back the way this place was filling up. Suddenly, I remembered something. I could park on the other side of the building near the dog park and walk around. It would be much shorter and not as packed.
As I rounded the corner of the complex, I saw a few people with their dogs, and the parking lot wasn’t as crowded. I grabbed a spot next to a minivan and started to walk toward the social hall when something caught my eye. It was a license plate that read, MISSYGRL, and I knew, in that split second, exactly where the money was being funneled. Jerry White had another name for this bank account, and I wagered he had a fake social security number to go along with it. I reached for my cell phone and took a deep breath. Voicemail. My second clue that this wasn’t going to go well.
“Don’t shoot me, Nate, but this time I think I’ve got it. Find Rolo. Tell him to look up anything under Izzy, Izzy Boy, Izzy Baby Boy, Izzy Dog, Izzy White, or any combination of Izzy and dog that you can think of. Promise him a juicing Ninja if you have to, but get him to check it out. And call me as soon as you hear this voicemail.”
I knew the process would be expedited if I had a social security number or a bank routing number, but at least with a name, Rolo might be able to track down the money. From what Nate told me, Rolo was like a shark. Once he bit into something, he wasn’t going to release his jaw anytime soon.