Perplexity on P1/2 (Parson's Cove Mysteries)

by Rose, Sharon

  Stella pulled up in front of a small Cajun Greek restaurant. It wasn’t quite noon yet but it looked packed inside. One thing I had to say was the people of Yellow Rose sure did know how to eat. They swarmed to restaurants at breakfast and noon like seagulls diving for a crust of bread.

  After stuffing ourselves with blackened chicken ‘po’ boys,’ we decided to check out the last two addresses we had on our list. As it turned out, one house was vacant and a miserable old man and his humongous dog sat on the steps of the other one. I got as far as the gate, saw the man guzzling beer, saw the pit bull watching me, and I was back in the car before the dog hit the fence, running full speed.

  “Okay,” I said. “Forget about finding Andrea. She can read about Grace’s murder in the newspaper like everyone else. So, Stella, I was thinking, what if you and I check out the drug dealers’ places tonight? And, Flori, you could do surveillance from the house. How does that sound? That way, if Cecile comes to the house, you can phone Stella on her cell phone. What do you think?”

  The two women looked at each other and sort of shrugged.

  “I s’pose so,” Stella said, without too much enthusiasm. “You just make sure you keep the lights out, Flori, and he don’t see you.” She turned to me. “What did you want to do now, Mabel?”

  “After all that food, I want to go back to the hotel and have a nap.”

  They both looked as if that was the best suggestion they’d heard all day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stretched out on my bed, trying to shut my brain off, and trying to piece everything together at the same time. The air conditioner in the window blasted out cold air, moving the drapes and blowing in my ear. No matter how much we tinkered with it, there seemed only the one setting so I was huddled under the covers with a comforter on top of that. Flori was lying on her bed on top of the covers, snoring softly.

  Were we on some wild goose chase? I mean, the only thing we knew for sure was that Grace was dead. We knew that she was from Yellow Rose. Now, we knew who her husband was but we didn’t know where he was. Had he followed her to Las Vegas to murder her? Why had he dumped her body behind the nursing home? Was there any connection to the murder and the nursing home? Had she lied to me when she said she wasn’t related to old Mr. Hobbs who used to live there? And, what about Andrea Williams? Where the heck was she?

  I fell asleep and dreamt that Reg Smee came down to Yellow Rose to take me home… in handcuffs.

  When I next opened my eyes, Flori was already up and sitting in front of the window, watching the water. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a tranquil look on her face. Even after giving birth.

  “This is what you needed, Flori. You needed a break from Jake and all your kids.”

  Flori’s face turned pink and her eyes got watery. “Oh, Mabel, and I was sitting here, just thinking how wonderful it will be to get back home and have everything back to normal.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I’m really not into the detective thing, you know.”

  “After knowing you for almost sixty years, Flori, I should’ve known you couldn’t stay away for more than a few hours. Do you think you can last out another day or two?”

  Flori smiled. “I can do that.”

  “Why don’t you phone one of the kids before we go to Stella’s? That will give you a new lease on life.”

  She managed to catch one of her sons but he was on his way out. He didn’t seem to know where she was or whom she was with or what she was doing but it made Flori feel much better. She had made contact.

  Stella was picking us up at six and she told us not to eat anything before we came. I didn’t intend to, not after all that lunch. She informed us that there was no point in searching for drug lords before nine. In all actuality, she said, it would be better to start after midnight but Flori and I vetoed that. We didn’t want to appear like country hicks but our usual bedtime was ten in the summer and nine, in the winter. She picked us up exactly at six. When we walked into her place, the dining room table was overflowing with food and there was background music blaring.

  “Oh, Stella,” Flori said, her eyes lighting up. “This looks wonderful.”

  “Do you think,” I said, “it’s wise to play the music so loud? You know, with all the surveillance we’re going to be doing? Could it draw too much attention?”

  Not that her skin turned pink, but it was easy to tell that Stella was blushing. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “My son arrived home and he tol’ me he’s entertainin’ a lady friend down there and he want the music on, good and loud.” She shook her head. “It jus’ breaks my heart how that boy might be turnin’ out.”

  To myself, I was thinking, perhaps it’s time to be turnin’ that boy right out the door.

  Aloud, I said, “That’s okay, Stella. In fact, maybe it’s even better. Who would think someone was busy doing surveillance with loud music blasting?”

  While Stella was in the kitchen getting the appetizers, Flori said, “Wasn’t that nice of Stella, Mabel? I mean, to play the music for her son? You’d think he would want to play his own kind of music down there though, wouldn’t you? Not all women like country and western. It doesn’t seem too romantic to me.” Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned pink. She leaned closer. “Or, maybe it’s for another reason. I know you don’t know about things like this, Mabel, but perhaps, he’s wanting to drown out the sounds of certain activities going on down there.”

  “You don’t have to whisper, Flori. If you yelled, she wouldn’t hear you.” I leaned over and spoke into her ear, “I don’t think you’d need music that loud to drown out a couple having sex, Flori. To be honest, it seems a little weird to me.”

  At the word, ‘sex’ her cheeks turned a bit pinker. She quickly changed the subject. I love using the ‘s’ word on her.

  “Oh, Mabel, don’t be so critical.” She smiled as she gazed at the table. “Look at all this food. Isn’t it grand?”

  For the next forty-five minutes, we ate, drank, and giggled hysterically. If you’re a skinny person like me and if you’ve ever sat at a table with two jolly over-sized people who laugh until they cry every few minutes, you’ll understand the situation. Even when the music was so loud we couldn’t hear, we still laughed. Of course, the wine may have had something to do with that.

  Our laughter came to an abrupt halt when Stella heard a car door slam. She raised her hand.

  “Listen,” she said. “I’m sure that’s comin’ from next door.”

  Personally, I hadn’t heard a thing and even Flori looked doubtful.

  We tiptoed over to the window and peered through the wooden slats. There was a car parked on the street and a man was walking to the door. He glanced up at the house, obviously attracted by the music. Which was exactly what I didn’t want. Oh well.

  “Who’s that?” Flori whispered. “That doesn’t look like that man in the picture.”

  “It isn’t,” Stella whispered, in return. “That’s not Cecile Tucker. I don’t know who that guy is.”

  “I do,” I said, in a somewhat louder voice. “This is crazy. That’s Mr. Hatcher. He’s the representative from the cereal company. What would he be doing here?”

  “Do you think maybe it has to do with the trip?” Flori asked. We were no longer whispering. “Maybe Grace left something behind. You know, like her passport.”

  “We didn’t need passports. We weren’t traveling to Canada or Mexico.”

  “What about her credit card? Or, a suitcase?”

  “No, Flori. I don’t think so. Besides, if that happened, the company would get UPS or FedEx to deliver it.”

  “I bet he’s there to tell the family that Grace was murdered.”

  “I doubt it. That’s for the police to do, Flori.”

  Mr. Hatcher didn’t return to his car.

  “Where did he go?” Flori asked. None of us had taken our eyes off the house for a moment.

  We waited for about five minutes.

  “He’s gone inside. That�
��s where he is.” I looked at the two women. “I don’t think we’ll have to visit any drug houses looking for Cecile, Stella. We might be busy enough keeping watch here all night.”

  Flori let out a sigh. “Oh, I’m so glad, Mabel. I was worried about you doing that.”

  We decided that one of us would rest while the other two would stay by the window. Who knew? This might go on for hours.

  About nine, when the sun was going down, we started to get some action.

  “Mabel,” Flori whispered. “Come here. There’s another car pulling up.”

  There was a light on in the house now.

  The car door opened and a man got out. He was average height, dark skinned, with longish black hair and wore a black overcoat that went down past his knees. He reminded me of Cecile but Cecile looked a lot shorter in his picture.

  “Do you know who that is, Mabel?” Stella whispered.

  I tried to remember if I’d seen the man anywhere. Maybe in the casino in Las Vegas? No, I’d never set eyes on him before. I should have paid more attention on that trip. But then, how was I supposed to know there was going to be a murder?

  Whoever it was, hurried to the door, hair and coat both flapping. He disappeared from sight and we assumed he must have entered.

  “You know what I’m going to have to do,” I said. “I’m going to have to go over there and see if I can hear something. It looks like that one window might be open a crack. If I can sneak over, I can stand under it and listen.”

  “Are you crazy? I won’t let you do that.” Flori grabbed my arm and glared at me. “You are not going over there.”

  “Then who is, Flori? You or Stella? Not that I want to mention anything about your size but I think I’m the one who can do this and not get caught. What would you do if you had to run? You’d never escape. But I could. Besides, I’m the one who’s most involved. You two are just helping me out. Isn’t that what you said, Flori?”

  Before Flori could get hysterical, I rushed over to the door.

  “Make sure, Stella, that if you see anyone coming or if you think one of them has discovered me, give me a warning of some kind.”

  Stella nodded. “I know just the thing, darlin’. I got this whistle my son gave me. It’s loud nuff to wake the dead. That’ll confuse them so’s you can race back here.”

  “I don’t know, Mabel. What will you do if they have guns? What if Grace was trying to find something out like you are now and that’s why she got shot?” Flori was starting to cry.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be very careful. And, Flori, you might have discovered the reason she was killed. I’m proud of you. Now, all we have to do is find out for sure.”

  Flori wasn’t sure if she should acknowledge that compliment or not. I could see the confused look on her face as I let myself out the door.

  There were no lights on in the suite below Stella’s where her son was doing his entertaining; however, I couldn’t help but let my imagination kick in for a brief moment.

  I would have preferred complete darkness but the men might be gone by then so I had to take the chance. There was no way I could slip through the front yard so I went around to the back lane. Two derelict cars sat deteriorating in Cecile’s back yard. I snuck alongside the one and up to the side of the house.

  In fact, the closer I got to the window, the better it got. The voices were loud. The two men were arguing. I crouched down and listened.

  The man I didn’t know was shouting, “What’s wrong with you? I can’t trust you anymore? And, where the hell’s this Grace? I warned you about using someone you didn’t know.” He had a Spanish accent.

  Hatcher answered but he spoke too softly. I think if Stella’s music hadn’t been so loud, I might’ve heard him. Cursed be that immoral son of hers. Whatever Hatcher did say obviously didn’t sit too well with his companion.

  “I don’t want to listen to your excuses. You promised me this woman would be here. Where is she?”

  Another mumbled answer but I was sure he said something about losing her in Denver.

  “Why didn’t you wait for her then?” the Mexican screamed. “Where’s the money? Are you telling me that this woman took off with the money? Is that what you are saying, Amigo?”

  This time I heard Hatcher’s answer. “Keep your voice down, you stupid fool. You want all the neighbors to hear?”

  I lifted my head to get closer to the window. What were the chances that they would see me? After all, if you’re in the middle of an argument you don’t usually start checking out the windows, do you?

  My head was up and as I strained to see through the dirty window, an earth shattering shrill filled the air. Stella’s whistle! I turned, tripped over a water hose, caught my balance before I hit the ground, and raced to the back. If I tried getting back to Stella’s yard, for sure they would see me so I went in the other direction, down the back lane heading west. I was moving as fast as a woman over sixty could run without having a heart attack. If there were gunshots, I could never have heard anything over the blood pounding in my ears anyway. When my heart was ready to burst, I slipped into the opened door of a garage. There was a van inside. I tried the door. It was unlocked so I climbed inside and slid down in the driver’s seat.

  Why had Stella blown that darn whistle? Was there anyone searching for me? I had no idea. All I knew was that for the time being, I was safe. I stayed there, praying the owner wouldn’t come out as I had no idea how I would explain my predicament.

  It was dark when I crawled out. Perhaps, a half hour had passed. Instead of going back through the lane, I decided to circle the block and come up behind Stella’s house. All was quiet as I approached and as they say, the coast was clear.

  There was only one worry. Stella’s car was no longer on the street. I snuck under the steps and tried the garage door but Stella had locked it. Still no lights were on in the lover’s den of iniquity. Cautiously, I crept up the stairs.

  “Flori, Stella,” I called out, trying to be heard above the music but not down the block.

  No one answered. The door opened into the living and dining room. Although the room was in darkness except for some light from the street lamp shining in through the slats, I could see that dirty dishes and three empty wine bottles still covered the table. Flori and Stella were gone. Either they were out looking for me or they were trailing the men who had been in the house. I was hoping it would be the latter.

  I walked over to the window and looked down. The house next door was in darkness. There were no cars sitting in front. Mr. Hatcher and Associate were gone.

  I’d had about all I could take of Country and Western music but instead of shutting it off completely, I turned the sound down. Stella’s water heater or pipes knocked a few times but even that sounded better than the CD.

  Well, perhaps it wasn’t the water pipes. Some things are better not known.

  Chapter Eighteen

  No one can imagine how frustrating it was for me to sit in that house and feel so utterly helpless. Where could the girls be? Why would they take off and not even leave a note for me? It must’ve been Stella’s idea. Flori always worries about everything and leaves notes around for everyone. It didn’t help that I couldn’t turn any lights on. After a few minutes of fuming, I managed to find the matches and lit one of the candles. I gathered up some of the dirty dishes and carried them to the kitchen. At least, by keeping busy, I wasn’t letting myself get too overly anxious. Besides, there were a couple of wine glasses with a few swallows left and I don’t believe in waste.

  In between trips to the kitchen, I went to the window to check on the house next door. It was still in darkness. I carried the candle into the kitchen and was about to fill the sink up with water when I realized that there was one thing I could do. I didn’t have to sit around twiddling my thumbs. Why not go over to check out Grace’s house while I had the chance. That is, if it wasn’t locked.

  This time, instead of sneaking around the back, I walked straight up to the
front door. I know this sounds very brave but trust me there was no bravery involved. It was mostly orneriness and stupidity. I turned the knob, the door creaked, and I walked in. Just like that. I did it before I could talk myself out of it. Besides, no one suspects you of anything when you do it like that. If someone did happen to apprehend me, I would act drunk and pretend that I’d wandered into the wrong house.

  I was probably half hoping that the men had locked the door. You know, subconsciously. Everyone in Parson’s Cove used to keep their doors unlocked. That is, until it became the Murder Town.

  I closed the door and stood for a moment in the darkness. I was in a small living room filled with furniture. This I discovered when I tried to walk a few steps and banged my knee against the coffee table.

  “Shitrophsky,” I mumbled, and rubbed my knee. That is my swear word of choice. Flori says it’s the same as swearing because she knows what I want to say but since she’d rather hear me say that than the real thing, she keeps quiet.

  A mixture of stale tobacco smoke (or maybe something a little stronger?) mixed in with old food odors and the faint tinge of garbage, filled the air. Not exactly inviting.

  As I stood there, in the middle of the room in the dark, it suddenly dawned on me: why was I there when I could hardly see my hands in front of my face?

  Then, without any warning, the phone rang. It pierced the silence with as many decibels as Stella’s whistle had. Or, so it seemed in that small room. I froze to the floor. My heart hammered in my chest so hard that I could feel it pulsating in my knees. Was I the only person in the house? Could there be someone in a bedroom? What would I do if someone were to emerge from the back part of the house and flip the lights on? If that happened, I would have a heart attack. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. It would be easier than pretending to be drunk.

  The ringing stopped after four times and the answering machine kicked in.

  In the darkness, I heard a woman say, “We are unable to take your call. Please, leave a message.” I wasn’t certain but it sounded an awful lot like Grace’s voice. Then again, it might’ve been the message that came with the machine.