by Wendy Byrne
"What do you mean?" Anxious, I looked at my watch.
"She's a combination of snake oil saleswoman and drug pusher in that if people need more than she's giving them, she hooks them up with the real deal."
"She also claims she's psychic," Mason added.
All I needed was another Iowa City psychic. I'd had enough terror-inducing moments from Cleo the artist/psychic. "Does Cleo know her?"
"Oh yeah. She can't stand the woman. Said she gives psychics a bad name. It's not a pretty sight if they happen to run across one another."
"I'd like to see that," Ramona piped in.
"Last time that happened, they both nearly got arrested for public intoxication, except neither one of them had been drinking." Jefferson burst out laughing. Mason followed. They both were wiping their eyes moments later as they tried to get themselves under control.
"Sounds like a hoot. I sure wish I had been there," Alice said.
"It was quite a sight with Titus's orange wig half off her head and Cleo missing her turban with Titus stomping on it." They both burst into peals of laughter again.
"I guess you had to be there," I said, more worried now than I had been before.
"Maybe. But be forewarned not to mention one to the other. It will get them both off track quicker than you can say psychic."
"Duly warned. It sounds like her sidekick, Rocky, runs interference for her, so should we try to get to her through him?" As always, I was about taking the easy way if at all possible.
"Where one goes, the other follows," Mason said on another big yawn. "Wish we could join you, but I'm pretty sure we'd fall asleep at the wheel. Literally."
"No worries. Seems like a cake of an investigative assignment," Alice said as she rubbed her palms together.
Everybody knew what happened when somebody came out with that kind of declaration. Yes, I was going to be toast.
* * *
"This whole thing is so intriguing, I can hardly stand it," Dolly said. "We always have such a fun time with you."
"People our age can be such fuddy-duddies," Ramona said. "As the saying goes, you know how to show a gal a good time."
"If it weren't for you, Nate and Gabe would probably be sending us off to the casino to try to pacify us, like that's all old people like to do," Alice added.
"It sounds like you've given up any pretense of quilting, then." I couldn't help but smile. The Qs had proven succinctly that age was just a number. It was how you felt and acted that really counted.
I wished I could have reveled in their adulations, but to be honest, it kind of scared me. Despite their protests to the contrary, I always felt like I had to protect them from themselves.
"I think Gabe and Nate have given up trying to convince us to do the grandmotherly thing by now." Viola smiled and wiped her brow. "Although they still think we do a lot of baking. We'll keep that little secret for a while. Maybe forever. We can't be breaking every stereotype without them being disappointed."
I laughed as I pulled into the parking lot of the Long Road Inn and tried to dismiss my inner worries. Surrounded by warehouses and buildings in need of some TLC or a bulldozer, the inn was situated on the outskirts of Iowa City.
"There she is," Alice squealed as she pointed then rolled down the window. Since her voice had a tendency to carry, the couple in question turned to look our way. "Yoo-hoo, Titus, can we talk to you?"
I hadn't even shut off the car when the ladies piled out of the back seat.
I wanted some time to strategize—to think and talk out a plan—but figured that ship had sailed long ago. In fact, I was pretty sure that strategizing thing was overblown at this point. Most times I gave in and did things their way by winging it.
The woman in question sauntered our way, her hips swaying like she was on a catwalk in Milan. I had to give her credit. She worked it unlike any woman I'd ever seen on or off the runway.
The tips of her orange wig bounced off her shoulders, undulating with each step she took. Rocky made short quick steps to keep up with her as she made her way across the parking lot.
"Do I know you folks?"
My first thought was that if she was psychic, wouldn't she know the answer to that question? The last thing I wanted to do was get off on the wrong foot. Mentioning or wading into the psychic waters and bringing up Cleo would be a mistake. I needed to concentrate on where we were headed and how quickly we could get there. Viola's earlier mention about gossip that the county was considering bringing on board that DA who had a vendetta against Nate had me anxious to get to the bottom of things as quickly as possible.
Baby steps. That's all I needed to concentrate on—like getting to Titus before Alice did. She might be under five feet, but those legs of hers could move quickly when properly motivated, and she had a full head of inquisitive steam propelling her along the way.
I sprung out of the car and race-walked across the parking lot, beating out Alice by about two seconds—a minor miracle in its own right. When I held out my hand, Titus rolled her eyes at me and flipped her hair back while Rocky stood in front of her.
"What do you want?" The growling timbre of his voice seemed inconceivable considering his size. He might have weighed less than I, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in bravado.
"Sorry to bother you, but my father, Tony Gallione, mentioned you might have some information that you could share with me about Jen Crowder."
"She doesn't know anybody by that name," Rocky said with his hands placed on his hips while he bounced on the balls of his feet.
"How…do…you…know?" Despite the fact she was still winded, Alice couldn't help but interject. "Back off, shrimp." Of course, she couldn't resist adding fuel to the fire because that was how she rolled.
She and Rocky were practically eye to eye when he scowled at her and emitted an animal-like rumble from his throat. I pulled on her polyester top and slid my arm around her shoulder. Nobody growls at one of my Qs and gets away with it.
Yes, I was feeling awfully brave at the moment. My nearly five-foot-eight stature towered over the guy, so felt I safe. I could so take him.
Judging by the length of Titus's nails, she didn't like to get her hands dirty, allowing for another level of relief. I was a little worried about her spike heels, which had to bring her close to seven feet tall, but for right now, I'd relish in my victory of sorts in nonverbally negotiating a standoff.
The Qs did what they tended to do when faced with an obstacle and linked arms together with me in the middle. It felt kind of like a cross between Braveheart and playing red rover, but they worked it like no one else could.
Rocky didn't seem impressed in the least. Then again, I'd expected as much. Wannabe drug dealers wouldn't get scared off easily.
I cleared my throat to stop the glaring coming from both sides. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Based on our conversation with Jefferson and Mason, I figured we'd come on too strong and had started off on the wrong foot.
"Let's start this over again. A friend of ours is in trouble, and we're trying to help him out."
"Haven't you learned, honey, that men cause you nothing but trouble?" Titus said.
I shook my head. "Not that kind of trouble. His ex-wife is missing, and it looks like they're trying to lay the blame on him, even though we know he didn't do it."
"Are you here for that sheriff that's been in the papers? Because if you are, don't hold your breath. We don't help cops," Rocky said.
"No problem. Maybe we'll call our friend Cleo and have her look into her crystal ball. Her powers of prediction are amazing, aren't they, ladies?" Oh no, she didn't… Oh yeah, she did. Ramona dug the stake in a little deeper while Titus's gaze went wide and she started to twitch. These ladies knew how to hit people where it hurt.
"She's a quack. She couldn't psychic her way out of her own turban," Titus remarked while Rocky snickered.
While I contemplated a way to capitalize on the jealousy that reared its ugly head, Alice spoke up. Some
how, I knew she'd double down before she said the first word, but I was powerless to prevent it anyway.
"How could we forget about Cleo? She's a genius at sniffing out the truth. Remember when she pegged the murderer during our last investigation? She was brilliant. Saved us so much time and aggravation. Getting people to squeal can take some time, but Cleo cut to the chase and eliminated some of that hard work on our part." Alice was on a roll and had no intention of stopping.
Which was part of the problem. She'd talk herself into a proverbial corner if I let her continue. "We'll get back in our car and be about our business. Sorry to have bothered you. We'll take care of this."
"Wait a minute. Is this Jen woman blonde and a little flaky?" Titus's voice boomed in the parking lot.
I nodded, and she continued. "I might have heard she was involved in some trouble on the east side with a guy by the name of Boris. She was looking to score, and he's the guy to hook you up."
Now we were getting somewhere.
"What kind of drug dealer has a name like Boris? That's a weird name," Alice said.
The ladies cackled as Titus gave us the stare down. It appeared to have no effect on any of us, which seemed to really aggravate both Titus and Rocky.
"What? Do drug dealers only have certain names? Is that what you're saying?" Rocky asked.
I ignored the back-and-forth digs and concentrated on the issue at hand. "Where could we find Boris? Maybe he'd know who might be responsible for her disappearance."
Both Titus and Rocky laughed. "You mean besides her sheriff ex-husband who helped her disappear?"
I resisted the bait and bit my tongue. "Where did you say he hung out?"
"I didn't, and I won't. You ladies will only get yourself into trouble. Maybe killed. He's nothing to mess with."
"If I had a penny for every time somebody underestimated us, I'd be rich," I said. Even to my own ears I sounded brave. Little did anyone know my stomach was doing somersaults.
"Boris does have a soft spot for his grandmother. Maybe you could find something out from her. Her name is Purdy. She owns an amazing grocery store called Purdy's General Store just outside Iowa City off Route 6. You take the turn after the first road on the right and follow the lane. The lady will talk your ear off. And if you're lucky, you might get something that's useful." I should have been suspicious when both Rocky and Titus walked away emitting peals of laughter. They didn't stop until the door shut behind them at the Long Road Inn.
I had a really bad feeling about this.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Although it was getting late, nobody was ready to throw in the towel yet, especially when it seemed like we might have our first lead. It didn't take us long to get to Purdy's after we left the Long Road Inn. Based on the number of pickup trucks parked outside, everyone within a hundred-mile radius had shown up to grocery shop late at night.
Right away the hackles on the back of my neck stood at attention. As I considered how best to quell the enthusiasm from the ladies, Alice screeched. "What the heck are they dragging outside?"
Hidden by the trees, it was impossible to figure out if it was a person or a thing, but since I didn't see any movement, I assumed it must have been a thing. Suddenly that bad feeling that always simmered low in my belly barked out and gave me a severe case of indigestion. This was not a real grocery store at all.
"Moonshine?" all of us said simultaneously.
Alice clapped. "Now that sounds like fun. Maybe we should think of making our own and selling it to Otis's Bar?"
I shook my head. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal." Why me? What did I do to deserve this hyperactive grannysitting detail? I could see this whole idea spiraling out of control, and then Gabe and Nate would blame… Yeah, Nate… Whatever this was, it was a lead. I owed it to Nate to see this through.
"You might be right. Besides, it seems like an awful lot of work. I remember growing up in West Virginia, my papa used to have these big copper kettles he'd set out back, and a couple of times a year, he'd light the bonfire, and there'd be a lot of happy people around town," Ramona said.
"Maybe you could find his recipes?" Alice asked.
"We are absolutely not making moonshine. We will never make moonshine. And, most of all, we are not drinking any moonshine when we go in there," I said. Judging by the chuckles and the increase in chatter, they weren't scared off by my rule-setting.
In the immortal words of Rodney Dangerfield, "I get no respect."
"I love these adventures," Dolly said as she got out of the car.
Viola patted my arm. "You know we're not big drinkers, and sugar is our drug of choice, so don't get worried about the Qs. They love new experiences, and around you we always seem to have them."
"That's the part I don't get. I don't try to get stuck in all this madness, but it does seem to happen, even though I don't want it."
"Our lives have never been so exciting. We've always lived vicariously through stories and TV shows, but now we're smack-dab in the middle of the action, and it's exhilarating. I can speak for the ladies when I say we feel like kids again. We're not living our lives through you. We're living our lives just how we want to."
Viola had given me a new perspective to consider. Maybe I needed to dial back the angst. How much trouble could there be inside a place with a senior citizen moonshiner at the helm? On the other hand, I guessed the Boris apple didn't fall far from the tree with a woman like Purdy for a grandmother.
"Well, ladies. Let's do this. All I ask is we all try to keep a low profile." Easier said than done, but miracles do happen occasionally. Not for me, but I suspected sooner or later I'd get lucky.
I moved in front of Alice to lead the way. The last thing I needed was an unforced error. The only way to avoid that was for me to set the tone. Besides, stealth was the way I wanted to handle this. While I didn't think I'd get much blowback from Purdy, with Alice leading the charge, something was bound to happen.
To my relief, nobody seemed to notice our arrival. A blackboard propped against the bar listed the moonshine available along with their proofs and accompanying playful names like Dueling Dynamite and Twisted Sister, which would appeal to the senior crowd for sure. With most of the concoctions listed as north of 80 proof, I figured we all might get high on the fumes alone.
While the exterior hadn't been much, inside the place looked like it could have been ripped from the pages of a speakeasy from the 20s. Very impressive. Not that I'd ever been to one, but I'd seen pictures and did attend a Gilded Lily celebration about eight months ago as part of my first real artistic experience.
As if to solidify my impressions, the Qs were taking in the scene in uncharacteristic silence. Billie Holiday's voice drifted through the air of the wood-clad interior that looked more architectural than functional, with deep wood overtones and a marble inlaid floor. Inside, the patrons were dressed casually, but at twenty dollars for a small glass of Purdy's special blend of moonshine, it kept the riffraff away. Many stood by the bar chatting together while some danced on the small but efficient dance floor. Most were in their late sixties to nineties.
For once we weren't walking into a nightmare. I dared to emit a sigh of relief.
"This place is classy," Ramona remarked.
Like me, I suspected the Qs were in awe. If I were blindfolded until I came inside, this place could easily pass as one of those renovated loft spaces in Manhattan that people flocked to, with overpriced menus but great ambiance. It also seemed to be a bit of a meat market for the senior crowd, if the attention directed toward the Qs was any indication.
This sure wasn't the stereotype of a redneck, moonshine-guzzling crowd. That's what I got for making assumptions once again.
"I don't know about you ladies, but I've spotted a fellow over there I'd like to get to know better. I'm going to go circulate…and see what I can find out." Alice didn't wait for either dissent or agreement and instead headed for a group of men sitting on the right side of the bar. As far as I could tel
l, they greeted her with enthusiastic acceptance.
The remainder of the Qs lingered around, no doubt waiting for me to make the next move. I figured looking for Purdy would be the best place to start. At first glance I didn't see a senior woman walking around looking as if she were in charge. The bartenders, however, broke the senior rule and seemed to be midthirties and male. Dressed identically, they could be clones.
Even more interesting.
"I think we should circulate and meet in twenty minutes by the door. That should give us enough time to get done what we need to do," Ramona offered before meandering away.
Viola and Dolly followed suit while I did the same. I felt strange being the only person—except for the bartenders—south of sixty. I didn't want anyone to think I was looking for a sugar daddy but didn't know how I'd get that point across without wearing a T-shirt indicating as much. Something like Don't Need or Want a Sugar Daddy would have probably done the trick. But it might have been a little crass.
While the ladies chatted it up with the over-sixty crowd, I went into sleuth mode. As inconspicuously as possible, I slithered down one of the hallways toward the restroom. When no one seemed to be looking, I followed another route, where I heard some people talking.
I inched closer. Based on the sounds emanating from it, I guessed it was a kitchen. It had to have been a small one since they didn't have food other than finger food, and I thought I might have caught a whiff of nacho cheese in the air. Or maybe my suddenly ravenous stomach was playing tricks on me.
I put my ear to the door. "Purdy says we're…killing, except…mess Boris got himself in…is going to screw everything up. Sheriff…didn't help…taken care of." Since I didn't hear another side of the conversation, I had to believe he was talking on the phone.
Was I good, or what? Somehow I ended up just where I needed to be. I must have my own psychic connection.
I heard another door open as someone walked in from outside. "Where is she?" a feminine voice asked. Since I'd only seen male bartenders, I had to wonder if it was Purdy, but she didn't have an old-sounding voice.