by Ed Lynskey
“The October days are also magnificent for walking, and I’ve worn out the soles on two pairs of shoes doing it. My jaunts are getting longer each time I go out. I like to walk over the paths running beside the Coronet River.”
“I also do a fair amount of walking in making my rounds.” Phyllis laughed a little. “We should team up and do something monumental like walk from the east coast to the west coast. We’ll make it a fundraiser to benefit our favorite charities where our sponsors will make pledges.”
“Your idea is wonderful, and I love it, but my new rule is to steer away from anything to do with the west coast, especially if it’s in San Francisco.”
“I can see why you feel like that, and it was only a suggestion. We can end our walk anywhere you like.”
“That sounds great and I’ll keep it in mind. There is one aspect about Curt’s death that distresses me.” Ladybug paused as if she was considering it.
“What else is bothering you, hon?”
“It is probably no big deal, but the San Francisco authorities never recovered Curt’s body from the bay.”
“Then how do the police even know he made the jump?”
“No motorists or pedestrians were using the bridge at the time. Even the ironworkers doing their constant bridge maintenance hadn’t arrived. Only a dentist named Hallsworth was out for his daily jog. He passed by Curt going the other way on the bridge’s walkway. Hallsworth was able to identify Curt from his driver’s license photo on file.”
“Why didn’t Hallsworth intervene and stop Curt?”
“It all happened so fast Hallsworth said he didn’t have the time to react. He didn’t actually see Curt but heard him scream ‘Geronimo!’ At least he kept a little sense of humor until the end. Anyway, Hallsworth rushed back to the bridge railing, looked down at the bay, and saw nothing unusual bobbing on the water’s surface. He called 911 from his cell phone and reported it to the police.”
“What came of it?”
“What you’d probably expect. The police filed the report of the Golden Gate Bridge claiming its next suicide victim. I’m sure it’s a drill they’ve done all too many times, and he became the latest statistic.”
“It’s just a tragedy,” said Phyllis. “Could this Hallsworth be a crank making up what he saw happen on the bridge to get some attention?”
“He is a credible eyewitness the police official told me over the phone, and I believed her.”
Phyllis keyed on an item. “Why did Curt pack the two suitcases he left in his room?”
“There is nothing weird about that. He was always the neat and meticulous Felix Unger type.”
Phyllis knew Felix Unger was the character in the TV sitcom The Odd Couple she’d watched during the early 1970s.
Ladybug sent her blank gaze out the window into the sunny street. “I was probably the only person left in the world who cared the slightest bit about Curt, but I don’t feel enough concern to take the trip out to Frisco and check into the circumstances surrounding his death.”
Phyllis decided not to remind Ladybug that Isabel and Alma were sleuths since neither lady liked to take long trips. Phyllis wasn’t crazy about flying either. “You might feel better if you went anyway and got some closure out of it,” said Phyllis
“I might find a little peace of mind,” said Ladybug “But it’s less trouble to wait here and get through my shock. Given a little time, it will run its course, and I’ll be back to my old chipper self.”
I certainly do hope so for your sake, Ladybug, thought Phyllis. She smiled with a nod at her friend.
“I guess I’m that hungry, after all,” said Ladybug staring her largely untouched lunch.
Phyllis nudged her dish away from her. “Me, either,” she lied. “I ate a late breakfast.”
“Unless you want to order dessert, I’ll grab the check this time,” said Ladybug.
“I’m all done,” said Phyllis. “Are you sure about paying for us?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Ladybug with a hollow laugh. “Believe me when I say I can afford it.”
“Okay, but only if you insist on it,” said Phyllis. “Thanks.”
Chapter 9
Rosie and Lotus weren’t at home at Rosie’s gingerbread cottage and the lady sleuths left in the sedan. Despite the October day’s cool weather, Alma had a hankering for a tall glass of iced tea, and she insisted they stop to get it. Naturally, Eddy’s Deli was their unanimous choice. They trooped inside and claimed the same window booth where Phyllis and Ladybug had sat down for their lunch the previous week. Phyllis felt a pang of melancholy, but she put off feeling blue because she was too busy right then.
Jet-haired, tall, and willowy Tabitha, Eddy’s longest-tenured server, strolled out of the kitchen bearing a pleased smile on her heart-shaped face. Rumor had it Eddy was sweet on her, and Tabitha just shrugged if her customers asked her about it. She and Sammi Jo had gone to high school together a few years ago.
“Hey there, you all,” said Tabitha. “What brings you in on this awesome October day?”
“This year’s leaves will be breathtaking,” said Phyllis.
“The leaves will be a dizzying pageantry of colors,” said Alma.
“What can I get for you ladies?” asked Tabitha.
“The poetic Alma would like to order a tall glass of your iced tea,” said Isabel, sending her sister a sidelong glance.
“Nothing is wrong with taking five minutes out of the day for a little pick-me-up refreshment,” said Alma.
“Shall I include the usual lemon slice with it?” asked Tabitha.
“That and also a fresh sprig of mint will do me splendidly,” replied Alma.
“You know Eddy doesn’t stock fresh sprigs of mint,” said Isabel. “That’s why it’s called a deli and not a designer bistro.” She looked up at Tabitha. “Just a round of four iced teas will suit us this time round. Thanks a million, Tabitha.”
She left their booth, the extra pep to her stride returning her to Eddy.
“When did you last see or talk to Ladybug?” Isabel asked Phyllis.
“Funny that you should ask me because we had lunch at this same booth about a week ago,” replied Phyllis. “Her big news was her last ex—Curt Miles was his name—had died in San Francisco. He was a suicide victim who’d taken the plunge off the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Brutal stuff,” said Alma.
“Such a shame and a waste,” said Isabel. “How badly did she take it?”
“Ladybug was left shaken,” replied Phyllis. “She had a high-strung nature anyway. Curt and she had remained friendly and kept in regular contact after their divorce.”
“Did she have any theory on what had spurred Curt to do something so desperate?” asked Isabel.
“She didn’t know, and his suicide took her by surprise,” replied Phyllis.
“Curt must’ve had something big weighing on his mind,” said Isabel. “Do you know much else about him?”
“I never visited them during their short marriage,” replied Phyllis. “The eyewitness was a jogger named Hallsworth, and he’s all the police have to substantiate Curt took his life.”
“Eyewitnesses can be unreliable,” said Isabel. “Everybody sees and remembers things a little differently.”
“The police believe Hallsworth’s story lock, stock, and barrel,” said Phyllis. “He’s a dentist who makes for a credible eyewitness.”
“Was Curt’s body recovered?” asked Isabel.
“The authorities never found it,” replied Phyllis.
“Did he write a last farewell note?” asked Isabel.
“The homicide detectives only recovered his two packed suitcases in his hotel room,” replied Phyllis.
“Why all the questions for Phyllis?” asked Alma.
“Did Curt’s recent suicide in San Francisco have any connection to Ladybug’s murder here?” asked Isabel. “Or was it just a mere coincidence?”
“Mere coincidences leave me a little skittish,” sa
id Alma.
Isabel nodded. “I know the feeling. My nose tells me this isn’t a coincidence.”
“Here is our iced tea,” said Sammi Jo. “It’s about time. I was getting worried Tabitha had forgotten about us.”
She arrived balancing the serving tray with the four tall glasses of iced tea. She hadn’t neglected to put the lemon slice over the brim of each glass. Her mussed hair and sheepish grin suggested why she’d taken so long. The seated ladies heard Eddy launch into whistling a snappy show tune while he worked in the kitchen.
“Is everything going okay?” Sammi Jo asked Tabitha.
“What do you mean by asking me that question?” said Tabitha, defensive.
“I was beginning to wonder if you had picked the tea leaves and ground them up in order to fix our drinks,” replied Sammi Jo.
“I stopped and talked to Eddy if you must know,” said Tabitha, setting down the iced teas from the serving tray.
Sammi Jo rolled her eyes at Alma who smiled. As the one who’d insisted they stop at Eddy’s Deli, she took a hearty sip of her iced tea and found it so good she was tempted to smack her lips. So she did just that.
“Have you heard about the fate of Ladybug Miles?” asked Isabel.
“I did just now.” Tabitha cut a glance at Sammi Jo. “That’s what Eddy and I were discussing. He got it from Uncle Jimbo who’d heard about it from Jumpy Blixt who’d talked to Deputy Bexley.”
“The word gets around in our hamlet,” said Alma.
“Did murder also get mentioned in your conversation?” asked Isabel.
“Eddy speculated on as much since we can’t seem to shake off this bloody hex or whatever the hold is on us,” replied Tabitha.
“Do you agree with Eddy?” asked Isabel. “Was murder committed at the swimming hole on the Coronet River?”
Tabitha patted to smooth down her tussled hair. “Eddy likes to exaggerate things to throw a scare in me, so I’m not certain where I stand on it. How would the killer know to find Ladybug using the swimming hole when she did?”
“The killer could’ve followed her out there,” replied Isabel.
“I’ll know to keep an extra eye out if I ever go swim there again,” said Tabitha. “That’s a mighty big if, too.”
“Did you like Ladybug?” asked Alma.
“She was a nice lady who was also a good tipper, and we got along fine. We chatted about this and that when she came for her daily lunches. Eddy grumbles about all the time I spend with our customers, but he doesn’t squawk too loudly because he knows better. Getting back to Ladybug, she once told me about her living in Chicago.”
“Right and she married a man named Curt,” said Alma.
“I know she was married, but she never called her husband by his first name,” said Tabitha.
“Did Ladybug let you in on why they divorced?” asked Alma.
“She told me they ran out of gas, and their marriage turned dull,” replied Tabitha.
“Been there, done that,” said Alma.
Tabitha looked back with longing at the kitchen entrance where Eddy was still whistling away. “How about another iced tea, Alma?” she asked. “I’ve got a new pitcher made up, and it’s chilling in the fridge.”
“No, the one glass is plenty enough for me,” replied Alma.
After Tabitha left the check on their table and hurried back to the kitchen and Eddy, Alma turned to Isabel.
“You haven’t touched your iced tea,” said Alma.
“That’s because I wasn’t all that thirsty,” said Isabel. “But I’m glad we had the opportunity to ask Tabitha our questions. Don’t forget to leave her a nice tip of fifteen percent.”
“Actually an excellent tip nowadays runs from eighteen to twenty percent,” said Alma. “Since it’s a sunny day, and we’ll return to Eddy’s Deli, I’m going with the high end at twenty percent.”
Chapter 10
The four ladies returned to the sisters’ brick rambler. Sammi Jo and Phyllis had other errands to do and soon left. Petey Samson’s absence made the rooms feel vacant and quiet as a tomb without his gallivanting around the halls and barking out the windows at the other dogs that seemed to be walking their owners on leashes. The sisters needed to make some noise, and when Isabel made a suggestion to Alma, she agreed. Isabel selected Charlie Parker’s Yardbird Suite kept in the CD rack, put on his alto sax, and turned up the volume an extra notch. She sat down and began to tap her toe and snap her fingers.
“Isn’t that a zesty jazz beat?” she said.
Alma lowered the CD player’s volume to a softer register. “Now I can hear myself think. I don’t like to second-guess Dr. Ruffian, but I don’t see why Petey Samson can’t spend tonight here where you and I can keep an eye on him.”
“By gum, I sure do like the way you think.”
Alma laughed. “I haven’t heard the by gum expression used since Woodrow ranted and shook his fist at the hail storm shredding our corn crop back on the farm.”
Isabel also laughed. “I can also remember that time. He was quite the colorful character before he got sick like he did.”
Woodrow Trumbo was their late father who’d contracted tuberculosis from an unknown carrier. His sanitarium had been the sunniest room on the southern corner of the Trumbos’ white clapboard farmhouse. If he was feeling up to it, he’d played Solitaire while confined to his wheelchair set out on the wraparound porch. He complimented each of his daughters on baking her specialty homemade pie. His not playing favorites explained why they got along so well together and paved the way for the sleuthing work they now teamed up to do. However, sometimes a difference of opinion flared up in their dealings.
***
Despite seeing the chrysanthemums’ vivid yellow, bronze, and pink colors blooming in their neighbors’ yards on Church Street, Isabel’s favorite autumn flower remained the aster. The dainty asters while attractive also had useful purposes. Their blooms were said to treat snakebites while their roots relieved the pain caused by sciatica.
“Just get an eyeful of Mrs. Lopez’s gorgeous asters,” said Alma as she drove them to Dr. Ruffian’s office. “You know what Nita Redfern told me? She said Mrs. Lopez pokes out after midnight in her clogs and housecoat. She shines down a flashlight while using a watering can to tend to her asters. That’s what I call taking a green thumb’s dedication a bit too far, but she has been rewarded for her efforts.”
Isabel startled at the uncanny knack the sisters had to read each other’s thoughts. Then she realized the asters were so striking that Alma couldn’t miss seeing and commenting on them.
“Exquisite and resplendent are my adjectives of choice to describe the asters,” said Isabel. “They also happen to be my favorite flower.”
“The beauty of the lilac blooming in May is my favorite flower.”
“I grant you lilacs are lovely in their own way,” said Isabel. “The trouble is their over-the-top fragrance overwhelms me like breathing in chloroform, and I almost faint when I come anywhere near them.”
Alma realized Isabel was baiting her to touch off a silly debate over the merits of their favorite flowers. Just the same, she was a bit annoyed at Isabel for criticizing lilacs. Alma brought up a humorous story concerning lilacs and Isabel’s involvement with them.
“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but doesn’t our town drugstore sell a lilac scented perfume?” asked Alma. “Its brand name slips my memory. Do you happen to recall it?”
“The perfume carries the label Passion’s Grip,” replied Isabel. “Even today I can smell it on the perfumes rack when I pass by it.”
Alma turned sly. “Evidently Max was taken by its allure when he passed by the perfumes rack all those years ago.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. If he did such a thing, it was before we fell in love with each other.”
“Keep on fibbing like that, and you’ll give Pinocchio a run for his money.”
Isabel almost touched the tip of her nose to check on its length. “What is that cra
ck supposed to mean?”
“I can see as clearly as if peering through a Ball Mason jar bottom the time when Max brought you a certain gift with a bright red bow on it when we lived on the farm. I can see you opening his gift, smiling like a Cheshire cat, and brandishing the gift as if it were the top blue ribbon you’d captured for your icebox persimmon pie at the county fair.”
“Your memories are confused because I never did any such thing.”
Alma went on recounting her story. “You held up the perfume bottle with its label prominently facing out to Louise and me. You didn’t want us to miss reading what it was your sweetie Max had brought you.”
“I don’t believe I like your story very much, Alma.”
“Uh-huh, I can see why you don’t like it, but I’m not quite finished with my telling it. What perfume brand did you wear for Max every time he came over after that visit?”
“The perfume brand was Passion’s Grip, and I wore it smelling like a blooming lilac when he came to court me. There you go. I’ve come clean with you.”
“Then what happened between then and now that makes you get so down on the fragrance of lilacs?”
“Lilac flowers are fine, Alma, but their powerful scent reminds me too much of Max, and he’s not here with us anymore, so I turn wistful and sad when I think of the lilacs. This getting old jazz ain’t a place for sissies, thank you Ms. Bette Davis for her first saying it so straight to the point.”
“I’m sorry for making you feel sad.” Alma was contrite.
Isabel shook her head and patted Alma on the shoulder. “It’s okay, really it is. Lilacs are wonderful springtime flowers, and I love them.”
“By the same token, the asters are dignified flowers. Now with our floral dispute put to bed, maybe we can wrap our minds back around our latest conundrum.”
“We have not made a dent in solving Ladybug’s baffling murder case.”
Alma nodded once. “This time strangely enough Sheriff Fox has given us the green light to be snooping to our hearts’ content.”
“It’s also strange how we haven’t received his phone call.”