“Did you get the results back on that fingerprint yet?” Gertrude asked.
“No!” Hale barked. “Is that why you interrupted my supper? Dispatch said it was life-or-death!”
“Oh, it absolutely is,” Gertrude assured him. “I know what she was after.”
“What who was after?”
“The burglar! It was a salt and pepper shaker that I got at a lawn sale in Waterville last summer. It was an awful humid day, but my friend from church took me lawnsaleing. Maybe you know her—her name is Sally? Awful nice lady, though much older than myself. I think that’s why she likes spending time with me. I keep her young with all my youthful energy—”
“Please get to the point.”
“I’ve already told you the point! The burglar was after the salt and pepper shaker set, the ugliest things you ever saw, but I guess they’re worth a pretty penny. Anyway, you should ask her—”
“I highly doubt she broke into your home, more than once I might add, to steal salt and pepper shakers.”
“But she did! I just saw it on Antiques Roadshow. One of their hotshot antiquers said it was worth eighty-five grand! And I’ve got the same set! Mine are in good shape too!”
Hale paused.
“You still there?” she prodded.
“Yes. Well, all right. I’ll ask the suspect.”
“Thanks. Can you also ask her if she broke in back in September?”
“What? Why?”
“Well someone broke into my trailer back then, but I thought it was the stripper, so I chased her out with a bat.”
Hale actually laughed. “A bat, huh? All right. You get some sleep, Gertrude, and please, don’t call back.” Hale hung up.
So did Gertrude, a broad smile on her face. Nothing felt quite so satisfying as solving a mystery.
17
In the morning, Gertrude knew it was time to go talk to Sherri and resign from her Goodwill position. She had enjoyed working at Goodwill, but she really wanted to devote all her energy to her gumshoe business.
Norman picked her up, and Gertrude regaled him with the whole story, only embellishing a little. In this version, she had been the one to dive headfirst through the window, and she had been the one to drive the forklift in the desired direction. Norman nodded politely as she talked and looked a little relieved when she disembarked at Goodwill.
When Gertrude found Sherri, her eyes were swollen and red, and black eye makeup ran down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Gertrude asked.
“Gertrude, I’m sorry,” Sherri said, ignoring her question, “but you don’t have a job here anymore. You can’t just come and go as you please. It’s not fair to the other employees.”
“I understand,” Gertrude said. “Now, why are you crying?”
Sherri took a deep breath. “Well, the good news is, Roderick has been cleared of all charges. The bad news is, they found the murder weapon, and apparently it had a bloody fingerprint on it.”
“And?” Gertrude prodded. So far, none of this was news to her.
“And Azalea has confessed to the murder.”
“Azalea?” Gertrude exclaimed. She hadn’t seen that one coming. “Why on earth would she kill someone? She’s as sweet as cherry pie on Sunday!”
Sherri half-chuckled through fresh tears. “Apparently, Azalea saw the customer hiding items in the cosmetics section. Sometimes people do that when they want to come back and buy them later, when they’re half-price. Anyway, Azalea got angry and hit her with a lamp. She says she didn’t mean to. She said she just wanted her to stop cheating.”
“Hm. That’s too bad, Sherri. I know you like Azalea.”
Sherri looked at her. “I more than like her. I love her. She’s been here with me a long time. She’s a sweet girl. You’re right, sweet as cherry pie. She really didn’t understand what she was doing. I don’t think she’d even hurt a fly on purpose. I once saw her pick up a spider in the back room and set it free outside.” Gertrude shuddered. “She has a developmental disorder. I know that she did a horrible thing, but I still don’t want her to go to prison! I just wish none of this had ever happened.” Overcome by a new onslaught of tears, Sherri looked at the floor.
“There, there,” Gertrude said, and patted her spiky head with one hand. “Don’t fret. I think I’ve got a plan.”
Gertrude called Norman back.
“Take me home, Norm, but I only need to be there for a few minutes. Then I need you to take me to the Antiques Mall.”
“I hardly think the Antiques Mall is a necessary stop,” Norman said.
“It is. Trust me. This is life or death.”
“Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?”
“Yeah. What about him?”
18
There were two antique stores in Mattawooptock. Both were enormous, and due to some bizarre circumstance Gertrude had yet to figure out, they sat on adjacent properties.
The store to the north was called the Mattawooptock Antiques Mall, and it was a highfalutin, upscale place Gertrude had never stepped foot in.
The store to the south was one of Gertrude’s favorite haunts. It was run by a man named Jeff, who didn’t talk much but knew everything there was to know about stuff. His store was so full of odds and ends that the walls bulged and the floors sagged. One genuinely had to risk his or her life and limb in order to shop there. The items for sale spilled out of the doors and were stacked atop the roof. Much of his parking lot was taken up by piles of things too large to fit in his stuffed-to-the-gills store.
It was the parking lot of this second store, the one bearing a large, homemade sign that read “Jeff’s Junk,” that Norman pulled the CAP bus into.
“Not this one,” Gertrude snapped. “I said the Antiques Mall.”
Norman turned around to look at her. “Seriously?”
“Yes!”
Norman took a deep breath and turned the van around. Gertrude could have just walked the twenty feet between the two parking lots, but several years before, the Antiques Mall had erected a ten-foot tall fence, so that their customers wouldn’t have to degrade themselves with the sight of Jeff’s Junk.
Finally in the correct parking lot, Gertrude opened the van door. After she climbed out, she said to Norman, “If you wait for me, I’ll give you a big tip.”
Norman laughed. Gertrude had never tipped him in the three years he’d been driving her around. His laugh suggested that he doubted she had ever tipped anyone at all. Still, he waited.
Gertrude couldn’t help sauntering into the Antiques Mall, her treasure safely stowed in her walker pouch. She had even wrapped the shakers in bubble wrap.
She approached the counter, where a slender woman in a black pantsuit stood typing on a computer. Immediately, Gertrude disliked her. Never trust anyone in all black—they obviously don’t have cats. Unless of course, they have only black cats. Then they might be all right.
“Can I help you?” the probably-catless woman asked.
“I need to talk to the smartest antique expert you have,” Gertrude announced.
“All right. I believe I can help you.” The woman smoothed out the front of her jacket as she offered Gertrude a fake smile.
Gertrude leaned in to examine her clothing for cat hairs, and found none. “I also need to talk to the second smartest antique expert you have.”
“Just one moment,” the woman said. She was still smiling, but her voice came out with a hint of snarl. She picked up a phone and pressed a button. Then she said, “Evan? Could you come to the front please? A customer would like to speak with us.”
The woman hung up the phone and stared at Gertrude expectantly. Gertrude stared right back.
“What brings you in today?” the woman tried.
“I’ll just wait for Evan,” Gertrude said.
Evan eventually appeared. He was wearing a bolo tie and multicolored cowboy boots. This was incredibly strange garb for Mattawooptock, and Evan made Gertrude nervous. She though
t about asking to talk to the third smartest expert, but didn’t want to press her luck. She also thought about scaling the fence to deal with Jeff, but realized he probably didn’t have the kind of cash on hand that she needed.
“Now can we help you?” the woman in the pantsuit asked.
“I suppose so.” Gertrude reached into her walker pouch and pulled out an old hood ornament, an equally old Zippo, and the salt and pepper shaker urns. She carefully placed them all on the glass countertop. “One of these three things is incredibly valuable. I’ve come to test your knowledge. Can you tell me which one is worth the most?”
The woman looked exasperated, but Evan looked amused. He looked down at his shorter comrade. “How about it, Miranda? Are you up for a little friendly competition?”
It was clear that Miranda didn’t want to play. Evan was growing on Gertrude.
“May I?” he asked Gertrude, motioning to her treasures with one hand.
“Of course.”
He picked up the Zippo and looked it over carefully. Then he did the same with the salt shaker. As he flipped it over, he gave a little gasp, which he quickly tried to make up for with a poker face. He failed.
“Are you interested in selling?” he asked, completely abandoning the game.
“For the right price,” Gertrude said.
Miranda looked confused. She picked up the salt shaker, looked it over carefully, and then put it back down. Then she looked at Evan, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t recognize these. You do?”
“Well,” Evan began, “they are old, though not terribly valuable.”
“Oh Mylanta!” Gertrude exclaimed. “You’re actually lying to her!”
Evan’s face flushed. “I most certainly am not!”
Gertrude looked at Miranda. “These are incredibly valuable, and I’ll even give you first dibs.”
Miranda looked baffled. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’d have to do some research.”
“I’ll give you twelve hundred dollars,” Evan said.
“Thirteen!” Miranda immediately exclaimed.
Gertrude laughed, and pretended to scoop up her treasures. “Fine. I had a feeling I’d have to go to Bangor to get a real offer anyway.”
“Wait,” Evan said, putting his hand over Gertrude’s, a little more aggressively than she liked. Seeing her expression, he withdrew it. “How much do you want for them?” he asked.
“One hundred thousand dollars!”
Miranda burst into laughter.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Evan said.
“And I’ll need the money today. Cash or check.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said, “I think you’ve been misled. There is no way these are worth that much—”
“I’ll give you thirty thousand,” Evan interrupted.
“Evan!” Miranda exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!” Then she looked at Gertrude, “I’ll give you thirty-one.”
“One hundred thousand,” Gertrude repeated, her face stoic.
No one moved or spoke.
Gertrude roughly grabbed the set, intending to shove them back into her walker pouch.
“Careful!” Evan cried, the color draining out of his face.
She slowly removed her hand from the tiny urns.
Evan gulped. “I’ll give you 63,000 dollars. It’s all I have.”
Gertrude looked at Miranda.
She just stood there with her mouth hanging open.
Gertrude extended her right hand across the counter, with pomp.
Tentatively, Evan took it in his own.
“You’ve got a deal,” Gertrude said, and smiled.
***
Gertrude climbed back into the van, exhausted.
“Where’s my tip?” Norman asked.
“I need to cash this check first.”
“Really? You actually got money?”
“Yes, please take me to the credit union.”
“Which one?”
“Don’t care. Then I need to go to the Law Offices of Hibbard and Mead.”
“Lawyers? What have you done, Gertrude?”
“It’s not for me, Norm. Let’s go. Time’s a wastin’.”
“I know, I know, it’s life or death,” he said, and put the van in drive.
Gertrude marched into the fancy law office and up to the gaudy welcome desk with confidence.
“May I help you?” a well-dressed woman asked.
“Yes. I need to talk to the best criminal lawyer you have.”
“Very well. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But I do have a lot of money in my satchel.”
The woman looked amused. “All right. If you will just have a seat in the waiting area, I’ll find someone who can speak with you.”
Gertrude sat down in a leather wing chair, which she figured cost more than her trailer, and almost fell asleep. But soon she heard a man’s voice say, “I’m Charlie Hibbard. Can I help you?”
She looked up at him. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was clean shaven and wearing a tie. “Are you a lawyer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you a good one?”
“I believe I am, yes.”
“Good. Because I need to hire you to defend my friend Azalea. I sold some ugly urn shakers so I could pay you. She killed someone, but she’s a nice girl. So you’ve got to keep her out of prison.”
“My retainer is twenty-five thousand dollars,” he said doubtfully.
“That would be fine.”
“All right then, won’t you step into my office?”
***
Norman dropped Gertrude back off at Goodwill. She found Sherri in the back, her eyes still raccooned with smeared mascara.
“It’s going to be right as rain,” Gertrude told her.
Sherri looked at her questioningly.
“I’ve just hired Charlie Hibbard to represent Azalea. I gave him the facts of the case, and he said he could help. He was actually quite full of himself, which I suppose, in this case, is a good thing. Anyway, he said that he would help Azalea go to a nice place, where people can help her. He said the trial would be a piece of cake.”
“No prison?” Sherri said hopefully.
“No prison. He practically promised it. When I left, he was calling the district attorney, who is an old college buddy of his. I guess they were in the same fraternity or something. They still play golf together. Though not right now. On account of it being December and all.”
Sherri stood there, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
Gertrude waited for her to say something.
Finally, she said, “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure? Of course I’m sure! I just left there!”
“But Gertrude, how could you ever afford to hire a lawyer?”
“Oh that. Well, I just sold some tiny urns at the Antiques Mall.”
Sherri burst into laughter at that. It was a disconcerting, out-of-control cackle that made her look, not to mention sound, a little unhinged. Gertrude took a step back.
“For real?” Sherri cried, still laughing. “This is real? Azalea won’t go to prison?”
“I just said that.”
“Oh, Gertrude!” Sherri cried and bear-hugged her.
“Sherri!” Gertrude squeaked. “You’re squeezing me really tight!”
Sherri let go and held her out at arm's length. “Oh, sorry.” She laughed maniacally again. “Gertrude! I take it back! You can work here! You can have as many hours as you like! You’re a hero!” She bear-hugged her again.
Gertrude had a thought. “I don’t really want to work here, Sherri. I was just doing it to catch a killer. But I’ll tell you what you can do for me.”
“What?” Sherri said, still hugging her.
“Can you let me go through the Gorham bins before the truck comes to pick them up? I’ve been banned from the pound store.”
Sherri stepped back and smiled. “Absolutely, Gertrude. I think that sounds like a fine idea.”
Ne
w Creation Publishing
Madison, Maine
GERTRUDE, GUMSHOE AND THE VARDSALE VILLAIN. Copyright © 2017 by Robin Merrill. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover by Taste & See Design
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016963365
Book 3
1
Gertrude was having a bad day. She’d woken up too early and hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. Her lower back was killing her, and she wasn’t quite sure why. All she knew was she couldn’t find a comfortable position. Sitting was almost impossible. Standing wasn’t much better. To make matters worse, it was unseasonably warm for a Maine spring, and she couldn’t seem to cool off.
She had opened all the windows in her trailer, and was digging through a back room full of “summer supplies,” looking for her fans, when she heard a knock on her door. This surprised her—she never got company—and she stood up abruptly, causing a sharp pain to shoot down her left leg. “Ow!” she cried, though her many cats were her only potential sympathizers.
By the time she and her walker got to the door, she was out of breath and sweat dripped down her face. It had been some time since she’d heard the knock, so she flung the door open, afraid that her caller had already left.
He hadn’t.
“Well hi there, Andy! What are you doing here?”
Andy gave her a half-smile. “I’m surprised you remember me. It’s been a while.”
“That it has. Do you still work down at the gentleman’s club?”
“Well, you’re the only one who calls it that, but yes, I’m still at Private Eyes.” He stopped talking and stared at her as if waiting for her to say something.
Gertrude, Gumshoe Cozy Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 18