Armed and Outrageous (An Agnes Barton Mystery)

by Johns, Madison

  I looked at her disheveled appearance as she retreated, squared my shoulders, and walked away with my dignity intact.

  This time it was Eleanor who tried in vain to hold me back from hurting Dorothy beyond reparation, and now Eleanor pulled me to the car, laughing the whole way. “I love you, kiddo! You got her good!” she said between laughs.

  We left East Tawas without further incident. Once on the road, Eleanor whistled like a longshoreman and said, “Damn Aggie, and you talk about me.”

  “She had it coming, and she better not mess with me again.”

  “Oh my, what will the girls at the card party say tonight?”

  “Card party?” Then it hit me, of course. “I forgot all about it!” It was our monthly card party at Elsie Bradford’s house. “I really don't want to go, but I know it might be a good opportunity to question Elsie.”

  “Question Elsie about the case?”

  “Come on, she's the only person who knew more about local gossip than you, Eleanor!”

  Eleanor nodded in agreement. “Tadium does have quite a dark history.”

  “One that so far has stayed under the radar. They say if you don’t want to be suspected of anything in this life, keep it under the radar.”

  “You mean in the closet?”

  “Yeah, like that was what you had to do in the past with an unwanted pregnancy. You’re often judged by how you conduct your life.”

  “Yup. If you have ever had trouble with the law, the authorities they'll look at you first,” began Eleanor, speaking from experience in a sad tone. “I've known a number of people in my life wrongfully charged and proven innocent later, but by then lives are destroyed. The simple sorry is not enough for the pain the wrongfully accused go through.”

  I added. “I have at times been labeled a bad apple, and at the time, I really believed it to be true. But who's got the right to label or judge anyone?”

  “Damn Straight!”

  “I am by nature a very passionate woman and have been known to be a little emotional at times. That doesn’t make me bad. It makes me a caring person.” I glanced at my watch. “I have, through the years, learned to take it with a grain of salt.”

  Eleanor chuckled as said, “If you sift your fingers through the salt, you may find something useful, but usually you only find salt.”

  “Nobody knows who you really are unless you expose yourself. I’ve learned not to tell anyone anything unless I want it to be repeated, because, in a small town, it will be repeated no matter how trusted the person!”

  At this, Eleanor's face became red as I didn't hold back, glaring at her. Her reaction was silence as she promptly turned to glance out the window.

  I shouldn’t be mad at Eleanor because she can’t help herself. What else did she have to look forward to except for our crazy outings and her gossip?

  I drove to Robinson’s Manor, and we made our way inside. I led the way, walking up the stairs, admiring the crystal chandelier in the foyer. I moved slowly, waiting for Eleanor. Stairs were not only dangerous, but downright treacherous at our age.

  “Where are we going?” Eleanor asked.

  “To William Martin’s room.”

  Her eyes became large. “You mean... the room?”

  I nodded, and we made our way down the hallway. I was soon tapping on William Martin's door.

  Andrew swung the door open and moved aside so we could enter. I didn’t know what to expect. I saw William gazing out the powder blue gauze curtains, deep in thought possibly or trying to prepare for my barrage of questions. He knew by now just how persistent I was.

  Eleanor’s pallor changed, her knuckles tightly gripped her black bag. Her gaze darted around as did mine. I looked at the four-poster bed with a blue quilted bedspread, the kind you’d expect to see used during the summer. I gazed at what looked to be a European Tudor Cabinet. I gulped, recognizing it as the one from the Robinson crime scene photos. I wonder how they got the blood off?

  William was dressed in black pants and a white shirt. He turned and gave me a somber look, his eyes red and puffy. He walked over to a chair and sat, massaging his temples as if they ached.

  He looked up. “I’m sorry about the other day. I just don’t like to be touched.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you. I don’t like to be touched much either.” I flashed my eyes toward Andrew expecting a reaction, but I was disappointed when he only leaned against the bed. He’s trying to be strong for his friend, admirable under the circumstances.

  At least Andrew put in, “I informed William about Stella's murder.”

  “Well, all right then. Is Stella your wife, sir?” I wondered if I'd get the same story Andrew funneled me.

  “Ex-wife, she left me years ago.”

  I scanned his face for any sign of deception. “And?”

  He shrugged. “I had no clue what really happened to her after she left me.”

  “She just disappeared into thin air?” I countered. “Did you report her missing?”

  He insisted. “No, she left a note.”

  “Let me see if I have your story right. She left you for no apparent reason, and left a note. Leaving her child, Jennifer, behind, and it never occurred you to call the authorities?”

  Andrew's face became tense. “What in the hell are you hinting at, Aggie?”

  “In my experience, women just don't leave their own flesh n' blood behind like that, especially a child.”

  “Some do.” Andrew insisted. “You ought'a remember that working with me all those years.”

  I continued, dismissing Andrew's comments. “What can you tell me about your life with Stella?”

  “She was a great wife and mother, but... “ He shook his head. “She started acting strange and out of character.”

  “In what way?”

  “She started getting a babysitter for Jennifer, and on a few occasions, I was home before her.”

  “Did she explain her absences?”

  “No, but she was acting very nervous. When we went out, she appeared to be looking over her shoulder as if she thought someone would pop out of the bushes.”

  “Did you press her for answers?”

  “No, I just thought she was upset because I was at work so much. She thought for years I was a workaholic, and she was right, but I thought we could weather the storm.” He sighed. “All marriages go through ups and down, I thought that was all it was.”

  “I see, so you had no idea why she was upset other than your strained relationship?”

  “I was sure one day I saw her with a strange man, at least I thought it was her. She wore a red scarf over her head, and she seemed to be having a heated discussion him. When I questioned her that night, she not only denied it, but also became irate. She accused me of having her followed, and ruining her life. I asked her about Jennifer, and she told me she wasn’t my daughter.” He spat.

  I gasped. “Is that true?”

  His eyes were red. “I have no idea, but it killed me to think that the woman I loved would betray me. I couldn’t believe it was true because Jennifer looks just like me. She even has the same birthmark as me–and that was the clincher for me.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Her behavior became more erratic. One night she didn’t come home at all, and when she did, she had bruises on her arms.”

  “Bruises?”

  “She looked bad enough to seek medical attention, but she told me if I made her, she’d tell them I did it to her!”

  “Is there anyone you can think of who would've wanted to hurt your wife at the time?”

  “Hell no, but I wish I knew because I’d have killed anyone that tried. I loved her that much.” William wiped tears from his eyes. “The next day, she left and never returned. I found a note saying she was leaving and not coming back, and to keep the bastard child.” He stood and began pacing. “Poor Jennifer. I still can’t believe Stella would leave Jennifer behind. I mean what kind of mother does that?”


  “I can’t imagine a mother doing anything like that. Does mental illness run in her family?”

  “I can’t say because Stella was adopted.”

  I stared at William, and his story seemed very genuine. Still, I wondered how Roy had known that Stella was his daughter for sure if she had been adopted?

  “Thanks, William. I’m sorry about Stella. I had really hoped finding Stella would bring us closer to finding Jennifer.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Did you have anything to do with Kevin’s beating or the goons in town that roughed up Roy?”

  “They shot out Andrew's car window,” Eleanor piped up.

  “What?” William looked at Andrew. “Is this true?”

  “Yes, but I think they were aiming for Agnes.”

  “I have no idea who would do anything like that. Sure, I was mad at Kevin and blamed him because he was the last person to be seen with Jennifer, but I know he’d never harm her. I hoped to question him myself.”

  “I’m continuing to work on this case and believe me when I tell you: I won’t rest until we find out what has happened to Jennifer.”

  I walked out the door, trailed by Eleanor and Andrew.

  “You’re getting to be a dangerous woman to be involved with,” Andrew said.

  “You weren’t too worried last night.”

  He scratched his head and smiled. “Maybe I should stay there tonight to make sure you, ahhh, stay, safe.”

  “There’s nothing safe about having you stay at my place.” I walked away. “Stop worrying about me, and instead keep an eye on William; he needs a friend today.”

  We made our way outside, and I saw a hint of dark clouds. Unfortunately, we didn't make it to the car before a torrential downpour caught up.

  We leapt into the car, panting like we'd run a marathon. “Jeez,” Eleanor gasped. “I just had my hair done yesterday, and look at it.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh because Eleanor’s hair was plastered to her head and face.

  She shook her head at me. “I wouldn’t laugh missy fancy britches.”

  I gazed into my mirror and saw my own hair looked equally atrocious.

  “Do you think William seemed a little too upset about his ex-wife’s death?” Eleanor asked.

  “I was thinking that, but perhaps he’s telling the truth.”

  Eleanor shuddered. “Horse’s behind that he is, I just don’t trust him.”

  “I'm just not sure what to believe.”

  “Don't let his tears fool you, Aggie. I smell a rat.”

  “Even if he's lying, Andrew won't believe it, I'm afraid. Not without hard facts.”

  After a time, and the rain had let up some, I drove back to Eleanor's house where we changed clothes. I spent at least thirty additional minutes before I could get both Eleanor's and my hair presentable. Lucky for me, I had kept a fresh pair of clothes at El's place.

  Eleanor smiled. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I'm gonna be.”

  Eleanor clapped her hands. “Oh, goodie, I just love Elsie's card parties.”

  “Yeah, you just never know who might be there.” I laughed as we left and rolled back into Eleanor's car and roared up US 23. The dark clouds had moved past and the sun peeked out, displaying a wonderful transparent rainbow.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I gripped the steering wheel and popped a glance over at Eleanor as I drove to Elsie Bradford's house for the card party. “Please, don't tell Elsie about Andrew.”

  “Oh, my, Aggie, the whole world doesn't revolve around you like you think it does.”

  “I don't think that at all” I spat. “I just know how you – “

  She glared at me. “You know most women our age would kill to find themselves a man, any man.” She huffed. “From the way they keep dropping off like flies, it's a wonder you can find one at all.”

  I shut my trap, thinking what's the point? Eleanor was gonna do just what she pleased as always.

  I drove up Elsie Bradford’s paved driveway and saw three other, irregularly parked cars, all displaying scrapes and dents.

  I parked near an elm tree, well out of striking distance. What would Eleanor do if her beloved car got any more dents? I simply could not risk any more damage to it or we'd be shit out of a roomy ride.

  I pounded on the door, knowing that a light tap would hardly be heard over the ruckus of the goings on inside. Elsie yanked the stout door open, and I heard a sizzle that I knew was oxygen funneling through tubes that led to all the senior noses in the room. Oxygen tubes crisscrossed the floor, and it reminded me of trip wires. There better not be a fire because there was no way anyone would escape in time.

  I prayed no one had a match.

  Eleanor and I cautiously made our way so as not to trip. With the ease in which we did so, you'd think we were on an episode of Mission Impossible.

  Inside everything was floral white, even the furniture in the dining room, even the tables and chairs. Most of the seniors’ complexions allowed them, like chameleons, to blend in perfectly.

  Abstract art hung on the walls, the living room walls which were painted in pastel colors. White vases filled with red roses sat on the end tables. The interior resembled a funeral home. The only thing missing was a casket, and I feared I might find one in another room.

  Elsie wore a powder blue outfit that highlighted her complexion and baby blue eyes. Her cheeks were a bit more rosy than usual, and I saw why when we entered the room.

  Mr. Wilson sat on a chair, sipping what looked to be punch that I knew had to be spiked, a staple at every card party here.

  Eleanor strutted over to where Mr. Wilson sat like a bitch in heat. I knew it spelled trouble, but before I could intervene, Bill and Marjory Hays were waving me over, a welcomed distraction.

  They were the cutest couple in town and had been married for over sixty years. In fact, they'd been together so long they'd begun to resemble one another, and played it up to the hilt, dressing alike in the same color. Marjory had put on weight over the years but was dressed respectfully in a matching lavender pantsuit alongside Bill.

  Bill stood six foot, and I could tell from his clothing they had been golfing today. He still wore the standard trousers and polo shirt as he always wore while golfing. I pictured how he must've stood out on the golf course even among all the pastels, dressed as he was all in lavender.

  “Hello Agnes, it’s been way too long,” Bill said. He flashed me a huge smile.

  Marjory pursed her lips for a second, in disapproval perhaps.

  I saw them at last month’s card party, but I doubt they remembered. “Yes, it’s good to see you two.”

  Marjory leaned on Bill's arm like she was marking her territory. “I heard you were in the hospital recently,” she said.

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s true. My hip has been acting up.”

  “Mine too and it hasn’t been right since my last surgery.” She declared.

  I asked, “How is your health otherwise?”

  “I had rectal surgery last month, and I don’t need to tell you what a pain in the ass that was.”

  She said it with a straight face, and I wondered if she meant it as a joke. I bit my lower lip to make sure I didn't smile. She always looked so serious that it was near impossible to judge. Too much information was standard fare with seniors who were ever so happy to share each minute detail about their every medical condition.

  “Are your bowel movements regular?” Elsie asked Marjory.

  “They are but sometimes I have trouble, and the stool softeners don’t seem to help much.”

  “Milk of Magnesia always works for me,” I added just to carry on a pretense that I was one of them. When you get my age, you had fewer and fewer places to go where everybody knew your name, so you sacrificed, pretending small talk of this sort was welcomed. Soon they'd be talking about folding towels.

  “That doesn’t do a damn thing for me,” Elsie countered my Milk of Magnesia remark.

&nb
sp; “I like prune juice,” Bill stated, with a huge toothy grin.

  “You have a colostomy, you twit. It’s not the same thing,” Marjory added.

  “You try carrying around a bag-a-shit everywhere you go,” Bill fired back at Marjory.

  “It would be better than trying to shit your colon out,” she retorted.

  “Have you ever tried a brown cow?” I asked, trying to move the conversation forward.

  “No,” everyone said.

  “It’s Milk of Magnesia and prune juice mixed together. All you have to do is heat the prune juice before you mix them.”

  “I thought they called that the bomb,” Elsie said.

  “No, to make the bomb you need to add coffee too,” Eleanor, yelled from across the room.

  I laughed. “I’m pretty sure if you drink it, you’d drop a bomb.”

  It never ceased to amaze me how the main topic of conversation for anyone over the age of sixty was bowel movements.

  We strayed away from the conversation, and right away I noticed Eleanor and Mr. Wilson had gone missing. Maybe she was helping him to the bathroom. I’d rather not know.

  I sat at the card table laden with enough of the wrong kind of snacks to make blood pressure and sugar levels skyrocket. Most of us had too much bulk on us already, but we still dove into the cheddar crackers, potato chips, puffed popcorn and chocolate bon bons. I swilled down punch that I knew to be spiked with whiskey, more than my taste buds could handle, but I drank it. I needed a stiff drink.

  With Eleanor missing, we shuffled the cards and began to play Euchre, not my favorite game. In truth, I was lousy at anything other than five-card stud, and from the way Elsie peeked over her hand, I knew she would rather have a different partner.

  An hour later, I excused myself in search of Eleanor. I listened through the bathroom door and heard heavy breathing. I didn’t want to open the door, but what if one or both of them needed medical assistance. I feared at their age, it could well be an emergency.