Madison Johns - Agnes Barton 04 - Trouble in Tawas

by Madison Johns

  “Hopefully they left the beer in the car. I’d hate to see more beer on the beach.”

  Mrs. Barry’s faced reddened. “Nothing wrong with a little beverage on the beach. You folks here in East Tawas are mighty fussy.”

  “We’re decent folks, you mean.”

  Mrs. Barry greeted the bird sisters and glared at us, as did the sisters. Obviously she had shared her dislike for El and I.

  I whispered to El. “I for one wasn’t about to let this Clay Barry win the election. I mean what if his mother moved to town?”

  “It would get mighty lively around here real quick-like.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little booze, but there is a place and time.”

  “Yah, like Elsie’s card parties,” El said with a wink.

  I’d rather not venture as to what Eleanor was referring to. Truth be known, it had been a long time since we had attended what used to be the event of the week. Elsie’s parties were always a doctor’s worse nightmare. There were enough fatty and salty treats to clog everyone’s arteries that attended, not to mention spiked lemonade. They were the best parties, ever.

  Clay gave his a mom a quick hug. “Isn’t my son a looker?” Mrs. Barry asked.

  “I wonder where he got his good looks from.”

  “Obviously his father,” El said with a snicker, gaining her a cold look from the Barry group.

  “My son is going to be the next Iosco County Sheriff come election time,” Mrs. Barry insisted.

  “Thanks mom,” Clay said with a nod. “I sure hope so. It shouldn’t be too hard to win, what with Peterson’s record.”

  I put a finger in the air. “What do you mean, ‘record’?”

  He looked away for a moment and then locked eyes with me. “Well, allowing you and your friend there to interfere in investigations.” He cleared his throat as El gasped. “No offense meant to you ladies, but you’re not even private investigators from what I gathered. Not officially anyway. Yet Peterson has allowed you onto crime scenes and to help with investigations. Don’t let me get started about what Trooper Sales has allowed you to do. He should have been suspended for allowing you to overlook case files on the Robinson’s cold case murders.”

  I squared my shoulders. How could this man know so much about El and I or our activities in and around East Tawas? I smelled a rat. Had a trooper or deputy spilled the beans? Yet, he had it all wrong. “For one thing. I just received my PI license in the mail this morning,” I lied. Well, it was supposed to be coming back any day now. Peterson even sent a letter of recommendation. “Neither Sheriff Peterson or Trooper Sales allowed us at crime scenes. We either were the ones to discover the bodies or were called to the scene of the crime by worried citizens.”

  “Yeah!” El spouted. “He even locked us up once when we interfered.”

  I nodded curtly. “If that’s your whole platform you might as well go back to Hell, Michigan, where you came from.”

  “Redwater,” Mrs. Barry yelled. “We’re from Redwater.”

  “Go back there then. I’m sure he’d stand a better chance at becoming a sheriff there,” El added.

  Mrs. Barry’s fist flew forward and caught Eleanor right under the chin. El flew to the ground with a thump, her body swaying with the impact. I then grabbed Mrs. Barry’s shoulders and gave her a shake, rattling her head, I hope. How dare she hit Eleanor that way? If anything, I was the one who had spouted off the most.

  The bird ladies came forward with claws raised and scratched my arms. I let out a howl, but by then El was back on her feet and she swung her purse at Mrs. Peacock, connecting with her cheek. She went down and El kicked sand in her eyes. Screams and howls echoed from us all as we each inflicted injury on the others until cop cars could be heard in the background.

  “Shit, the coppers are coming,” El shouted at she gripped my arm.

  Sheriff Peterson exited his car almost before it completely came to a stop. He yanked at his waistband as he asked, “What’s going on here?”

  Clay pointed a bony finger in my face. “These ladies attacked my mother and her friends.”

  El and I searched the ground and sure enough all three ladies from Redwater were on the ground. El was hunched over, but I was on my feet, in total control over my body, rubbing my hands over the scratch wounds I received from the bird sisters. “We… I didn’t either. Mrs. Barry started it when she hit Eleanor.”

  Eleanor profusely nodded. “She did, Peterson. I swear.”

  Peterson looked from Mrs. Barry to the bird sisters and back to El and I. “In that case, I’m arresting all of you.”

  Clay’s face reddened and he looked about ready to shoot smoke from his ears. “You aren’t arresting my mom!”

  “Sorry, but I am. I’m arresting Agnes and Eleanor too, so that should make you feel better. I’m not playing any favorites here.”

  Clay shook a fist in the air. “You’ll be sorry for this, Peterson!”

  Deputies came forward and cuffed the lot of us, and escorted us to waiting squad cars—making sure to place Mrs. Barry and the bird sisters into a separate one from El and I.

  Eleanor was sniveling until I shot her a look. “Here we go again,” I vented.

  “I don’t know why we were arrested. They started it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get sprung soon enough,” I reassured El.

  Chapter Four

  When the squad cars rolled into the sheriff’s department, newsmen were at the ready with a boom camera trained on the scene. The two stone-faced deputies all but ignored citizens who held out cell phones—taking pictures and video, undoubtedly. I might think the whole deal strange, but it’s not every day there is a brawl at a political fundraiser. Then again, this was politics. It didn’t help that El and I had a reputation for getting into mischief.

  We were then led towards the back room where I knew from previous experience we would be processed. I almost shuddered at thinking about the upcoming strip search. To my surprise, they simply took our fingerprints and mug shots, escorting us afterward into a holding cell.

  A large female deputy that was pressed into a tan uniform swung back the barred door and ordered us inside. “Look here. We only have one holding cell for women so I expect you all to behave yourselves.”

  El and I went to the right and sat down while the bird sisters and Mrs. Barry sat on the bench to the left.

  Mrs. Peacock stared around the cell. “Well, they certainly could use a decorator in here.”

  “Yes, sister,” Mrs. Canary replied. “Isn’t it dreadful.”

  El choked out, “You do realize you’re in jail and not the Hyatt, don’t you, dear?”

  Mrs. Barry puffed up her chest. “Which we wouldn’t even be in if you and your friend hadn’t showed up at my son’s fundraiser.”

  I squeezed my hands together tightly, my nails digging into my palms. “You swung the first punch, Mrs. Barry.”

  “What was I supposed to do when you kept insinuating my son had no chance of winning the election?”

  “Why should you be bothered by what I have to say? Elections can get pretty dirty sometimes. Maybe it would be best if you went home and let your son handle his own affairs.”

  “My son is not a cheater,” Mrs. Barry insisted. “That Polly girl made up the whole story about my son.”

  That got El’s attention. “Who’s Polly?”

  Mrs. Canary rubbed her hand together. “She’s a woman Clay was reputed to be having an affair with.”

  “But it’s not true,” Mrs. Barry insisted. “She’s lying. She has been trying to get with my son for some time, but he keeps rejecting her advances.”

  I smiled like a cat just then. “That’s what they all say, dear.” So Clay supposedly had an affair with this Polly lady. I wonder how many other secrets he was hiding.

  Half an hour later, the iron-bar door flew open and the female deputy from earlier said. “You’re all sprung. It seems Sheriff Peterson has had a change of heart and has dec
ided not to charge you ladies.”

  “What about my Caddy?” El asked.

  “You can pick it up from impound.”

  El narrowed her eyes. “That’s just great! And I suppose I’ll still have to pay the impound fee.”

  “Well, yes. You should know, Miss Eleanor, how it works. I imagine you saw that on an episode of CSI Miami.”

  I squeezed El’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay the fine for you.”

  “I think Mrs. Barry should be the one to pay the fine. It was her fault we were arrested in the first place.”

  “Fat chance,” Mrs. Barry spat as she walked down the hallway ahead of us.

  When we rounded the counter of the main desk, Trooper Sales was there with my daughter Martha. Her slim body was contained beneath a jungle print cat suit, her long hair in total disarray like she had just gotten out of bed! She flashed her green eyes at me. “Well, Mother. What’s the charge this time? Fight at the beach again?”

  “Sort of,” El volunteered. “We were attacked at a political fundraiser for Sheriff Peterson’s opponent.”

  “Really? I’d have thought you two would be rallying for support for anyone running against ole Peterson. It’s not like you like him all that much.”

  “I thought that until his opponent, Clay Barry, told us he’s using us against Peterson.”

  “He didn’t actually say it that way, Aggie,” El reminded me.

  “No, but if you ask me this new candidate sounds way stricter than Peterson. What if this Clay is actually elected? He might stop us from investigating crimes in East Tawas,” I pointed out.

  El rubbed her knuckles. “He better not try or I’m gonna give him a one… two… three,” she threatened.

  “Seriously, El. We can’t do anything like that to law enforcement, and even though I have been at odds with Peterson—I can’t allow a man like that Clay character to be our new sheriff. We’d be sunk if that happens.”

  Martha rolled her eyes. “Oh boy. I never expected you to say something like that, but what can you do?”

  “We can sway public opinion is what,” I said with a wink. “Mrs. Barry said something about some Polly woman having an affair with Clay. That sounds like perfect dirt.”

  “She also said he rejected this Polly,” El said with a bob of her head. “You had to have heard her say that, Aggie.”

  I sighed nosily. “Of course, El. We need to find this Polly and find out the scoop. Maybe she followed him to East Tawas.”

  “She could be a stalker,” Martha said with a grin. She led the way toward her seventies station wagon. We squeezed ourselves into the backseat that was practically all covered with clothing. Martha all but lived in the car on occasion. For the time being, she was staying with me in my Winnebago. I just hoped by the time I was able to move back into my house that she’d find accommodations elsewhere.

  As Martha adjusted the rear view mirror she asked, “Where to, mother?”

  It grated on my nerves whenever Martha referred to me as mother. It wasn’t so much the word as the tone when she said it. “Let’s head back to my camper. I need to check and see if Eleanor’s dog has torn up the place.”

  Martha cranked the engine and asked, “Since when does Eleanor have a dog?” Making the turn onto US 23, she veered in the direction of the campground.

  I shrugged, and just then Eleanor chimed in. “He’s a stray. Poor dear was panting up a storm.”

  Martha pulled on a pair of sunglasses and asked, “So he just showed up at your door?”

  “Yes, and I had to let the poor thing inside for a bite to eat. Lord knows he needed a healthy drink of water.”

  I gripped the seat as Martha made a wild turn. “You should know you shouldn’t let a stray in the house.”

  “Yah,” Martha said. “Once you feed them you’re stuck with them, or at least that’s what happens with most of my dates.”

  My eyes widened. “You mean before you decided to crash at my place, right?”

  She gripped the steering wheel. “Actually, I have this fella Pete that insists we’re meant to be together. He just won’t take a hint and shove off.”

  I grabbed my purse in a death-like grip. “Getting back to the dog. He has to have an owner somewhere, Eleanor. Maybe we should make up some lost and found posters.”

  “No way. I’m not about to give Mr. Tinkles away. Losers weepers, finders keepers!”

  “Fine, I let it drop for now, but Eleanor, really? He could have a family out there somewhere that is frantically searching for him.”

  Eleanor pouted, just as Martha pulled into my spot at the East Tawas campground.

  The campground was bustling with activity. Campers were trailing their way toward the pier with fishing poles in hand, while children scampered about, heading to the beach. It was promising to be a great day as the sun already beat down on us. I spotted Leotyne Williams across from my site, the same gypsy that rolled into town last summer. She wore a long black dress as always and had a pipe clenched between her teeth. I waved and she simply nodded. I guess I should be happy enough with that. Truth be known, that woman gave me the willies. She was cooking something over an open fire that smelled putrid. I hoped it wasn’t anyone I knew. Sure, we had gotten along much better, but there was something about that woman that rattled me. Folks might think it a mite strange to be scared of a gypsy these days, but I can’t help how I feel. Maybe it was her sunken eyes. She looks like she recently crawled out of the grave. The movie Drag Me Back to Hell came to mind.

  We clamored out of the car and I reached for the door handle, listening intently. There wasn’t a sound to speak of. Had Duchess eaten Mr. Tinkles? I opened the door expecting carnage of sorts. Possibly entrails strewn across my trailer, maybe my cat had eaten the tiny dog whole! I had not expected to see what I did, which was Mr. Tinkles nestled next to my cat, Duchess, and that she was licking him enthusiastically!

  “Well, I’ll be—”

  “You’ll be a monkey’s uncle, Aggie?”

  I gave her a sharp look, knelt and gave the small dog a pat while Duchess lazily gazed toward me. That was until the yapping started. The dog ambled onto its small legs, its pointy nose near my ankle as he proceeded to bark up a storm. “What’s your deal pooch?”

  “He can tell you’re a dog hater,” El said with a chuckle.

  “I am not. They are just too high maintenance.”

  “Oh and Duchess isn’t? Didn’t you say you give her a can of tuna a day?”

  I made tracks for the door and opened it, yelling at Mr. Tinkles, “Out.”

  “You can’t just let him out there without a leash,” El spat. “He might run away.”

  “Hopefully back to where he came from.”

  El scooped up the dog and asked. “Don’t you have a leash for Duchess?”

  I opened a drawer and pulled out the pink leash that Duchess wanted no part of, handed it to Eleanor and waited until she took the dog outside. When she returned I suggested, “Maybe we can get back to business now.”

  “Meaning what, Aggie?”

  “Just that we need to find Hal Peterson.”

  El’s eyes widened. “Really? We’re really going to the casino?”

  “Yes, that is, if Martha swings by the impound yard so we can get your Cadillac.”

  Martha flopped into a nearby chair and said, “Why not take my wagon?”

  I frowned. “For one, I have no clue if it will make the trip without clunking out.”

  “It’s a sound car, Mother.”

  “What year is it anyway?”

  “Nineteen seventy something, but I swear to you that I haven’t had a lick of trouble with it. I really don’t feel like going anywhere right now.” She stretched. “I need a nap.”

  “Great idea,” El said. “Me too.”

  I took Martha’s keys. “You can sleep on the way, Eleanor.”

  We crawled back into the station wagon and when we’d settled ourselves, Eleanor cranked on the radio, but only static blared
from the speakers. I turned a knob and frowned as a political ad came on promoting Clay. He’s gonna clean up East Tawas, whatever in the hang that meant, and not allow any interference with investigations. I think that meant El and I.

  “Does she have any tapes?” El asked.

  I stared at the radio and asked, “You mean 8-track tapes, dear?”

  El giggled. “Wow, this car sure is old.”

  “But not as old as us,” I pointed out. “Look in that box on the floor board.”

  El opened it and the aroma of marijuana about blew us over. “Wow, smells like good shit.”

  “Close it before the whole car reeks.” I didn’t feel good about going anywhere with that stuff in the car. “So no 8-track tapes down there?”

  El came back with an Elton John tape and inserted it into the player just as we rolled down the road, making our way onto US 23. Soon El was snoozing up a storm, obviously more tired than I thought, but us older folks can often nod off quite easily once we get into a comfy position.

  Chapter Five

  Hours later, I drove under the huge Soaring Eagle Casino and Resort sign, with two bald eagles on either side of the sign. I could see they went to great expense to attract gamblers from across the state. Sure, there were other Indian-run casinos in Michigan, but this one ranked as my favorite. I had won a spot of money now and then, but overall I about lost my shirt, I chuckled to myself.

  As I pulled in front of the casino I nudged El, who popped awake. “What? Where?”

  “We’re here,” I told her as I got out of the car, accepting the ticket given to me by the wide-eyed valet upon seeing our mode of transportation. Sure enough, all eyes were on us and our out-of-place wagon. I rounded the car, met Eleanor on the sidewalk and shrugged. “I don’t see what the hoopla is.”

  “It’s not every day you see a vintage ride like Martha’s wagon.”

  El and I linked arms and made our way through the double doors. Bells, whistles, and vibrations hit us like a wave. Security guards stared us down, then shifting their eyes toward the right where a line had formed where you get your membership cards. You simply have only to put them in machines to accumulate credits, which are then uploaded onto the cards.