Found Dead in the Red Head

by Violet Patton

  He asked, “You know what’s the worse thing?”

  I could think of countless worse things. “No what?”

  Walker looked me in the eye, and I wanted to look away, but I knew he needed to see my eyes more than I wanted to see his. “That roller door. The section of the garage doesn’t have security cameras. We don’t keep anything of value back there. And it’s blocked off from the showroom and shop.”

  That was bad news. “I see. Except the Red Head?”

  “It’s not exactly valuable. The only way to get in or out was through one door. Whoever killed him knew he’d bring the Red Head back, and your bathtub.”

  I wanted to pat him, instead I folded my arms, bit my lip and glanced at Fanny sitting in the window sewing . For once she handled the situation properly, no glimmering colors or poking needles. She saw Belly’s passing and her colors reflected her true feelings.

  “Ah-hum… excuse me.” Sandy carried a soap box, jerking her chin over her shoulder. Her look confirmed that Ally left out the backdoor. Good thing since now wasn’t the time to blow Walker’s mind with more mind-boggling news.

  “Do you mind if I replenish the soap plates?” She pulled a soap from the box holding it up.

  I nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.” She wanted to eavesdrop and I wouldn’t stop her. Despite her bristling behavior, having her here was comforting.

  She placed the box on the floor. “Ah, Etta said sorry and went home. She needs… rest… some Gatorade for her stomach virus.”

  Sandy arranged soaps like she did pens and sticky notes, making sure the looked perfect.

  “Listen. Teddy, my friend from the department, is looking around. I’m just as perplexed by this mystery as you are.” I paused, and Walker gazed into space.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

  Flicking dust from the plates and realigning them, Sandy sighed, pretending she wasn’t listening.

  “Dick Strand doesn’t care.” Walker said, “Just another crime to him.”

  I wanted to agree, but fueling Walker’s feelings weren’t a good idea either. To solve a murder a person needed a calm, cool demeanor and with the ability to deduce facts.

  “They dusted the Red Head for fingerprints. Everybody in town musts touched that car the night of the parade.”

  Pursing, I shook my head. “Including me.”

  There would be a long list of fingerprints on the car, finding the one belonging to the murderer would take time, if the murderer touched the car at all.

  Walker slumped, and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. “Dick’s asking for any information. That’s why I came over.”

  Dick pooh-poohed my information, dismissing it and me like I was a dimwit.

  I wanted to ask Walker about any financial problems Belly might have had, but held back. Dick jerked my chain on purpose to make me feel more stupid. He succeeded, I fell for what he said, even though, I knew better.

  “You know that. Most crimes are solvable. You’re distraught and can’t think straight.” Stiff-legged, I walked behind the counter and found the tissue box, grabbed a few for myself and set the box in front of him.

  “That’s true.” Walker said, straightening his shoulders, he wiped his nose on his sleeve foregoing my offer. “How’s Ally? I used to hear from her, but it’s been a while.”

  My chin dimpled, and I squared the tissue box with the counter’s corner. “You did? Last I heard she broke her phone. But… but I know she’s fine.”

  “That new guy? Is he treatin’ her, right?” He looked at the floor, and so did I. The festive lights in the window reflected in the glossy paste wax Teddy had applied to the floor. “You know. People make mistakes. Then they’re sorry for the rest of their lives.”

  Working up my courage, I squeezed the kid’s shoulder avoiding answering his questions about Jason. He was gone, and that was all that mattered.

  “We can make amends. Other times, it’s too late.” I wasn’t going to ask if he was talking about Belly or Ally. He might still have a chance with her, but all of his chances with Belly were forever gone.

  “Thanks. Wish I’d hear from her. Especially now.” He stood. “If you hear anything else, let me know.”

  I walked him to the door, and unlocked it for him. “I will. I will. Go home and get a shower. Eat. Rest. Waiting is always the hard part.”

  “Thanks, Patti. I knew I could count on you to cheer me up.” He leaned over and hugged me. I patted his shoulders, but quickly pushed off. What I wanted to do was to cling to him, tell him about Ally and say everything was going to be all right.

  I didn’t say it because I wasn’t certain everything would be all right, not this time.

  Chapter 18

  Geez Louise

  Sandy plopped the soap box onto the counter and sat on the stool. “Geez Louise. Heavy stuff.”

  I watched Walker leave, making sure he wasn’t jumped by a bad guy on the sidewalk. If a gangster wanted Belly dead, wouldn’t they be out to get his son?

  “Can you handle things for a while? Etta will be here soon… how did Ally leave? She’s not walking again, is she?”

  “I called a cab for her. Sure, I can handle things, especially with the door locked.”

  “Oh, right! Sorry, I’m just jumpy.” I flipped open the deadbolt and turned around the open sign. “You didn’t turn around your sign this morning.”

  She huffed, sulking. “I try to do everything around here, but I can’t. You’re always too busy chasing killers. Speaking of killing, when are you going to mix more bath bombs? I found a recipe for bubbling bath bombs. We should add those to our inventory.”

  Fanny mimicked Sandy’s huffy puffs and poked the air with her needle.

  “Don’t you dare!” I whispered.

  Fanny glimmered firefly green enjoying the idea of poking Sandy, but she didn’t move and continued to sew her red bowtie.

  “Don’t I dare want more bath bombs? Geez Louise, I’ve always reinventing the shop, keeping up with the trends. I was thinking of buying Marvell’s stuff. What do you think?”

  Sandy yammered about everything but the elephant in the Row—Belly’s murder.

  “Teddy and I are going to snoop around.”

  “I knew you would.” Sandy leaned her elbow on the counter. “I’m kinda jealous. I’m stuck here while you two go gallivanting.”

  Trying to think of a decent reply, I stood over the bath bomb bins.

  Mixing bombs was my favorite part of working at the Row. When would I have time to mix more? If I can get Etta past her fears of poisoned bombs, I could teach her to mix them. Soon, she’ll be able to run the entire shop, and I can spend my days playing with Allison.

  “Sorry. Things will settle down… once...” When would things settle down?

  Fanny’s quietness bothered me, so I pretended to look out the display window. With my back turned to Sandy, I whispered, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Sewing. I’m behind on my jobs.” In her nearly invisible hands, she sewed on her never ending task of making a red bowtie.

  “I’m going out again. Can you please stay put and act nice while I’m gone?”

  “Gahd! I’m nice all the time. I’ve stayed put in this hole for almost a century. Do you know how long that is in ghost years?” She giggled, flashing a few brighter lights.

  “What do you know about ghost years?” Were the facts about a dog’s life known in the 1920s?

  “What’s that about ghost years! Don’t make me laugh.” Sandy picked up the empty soap box huffing out, but hollered. “You’re talking whacky and to the wall. Stop it. When are you going to cut more soap? We’re running short.”

  “Oh you! You’re getting me in trouble.” I tapped my toe at Fanny, but I was glad she flickered. “Stay here. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be good.” She snickered. “Maybe I’ll go down to the Southern Club, dance a little bit. See what the vibes say.”

  Casting my gaze, I considered her
options. “Good idea. Hop over there, see who knows what in the—ah underworld?”

  Sandy hollered. “Hop where? You know my plantar fasciitis acts up.”

  The back open sending cold air through the showroom, and Teddy greeted Sandy. They murmured, before Teddy came through the swinging doors.

  “You messaging me?” Teddy asked, swiping off his ball cap.

  Earlier I sent him a brief update text. “Oh, hey you. It was me. I have news.”

  I told him above Walker’s visit and that the Bangor wasn’t a killer.

  He listened, interjecting and hatching a plan. “I’m thinking we need to visit Gretchen, get a look-see.”

  “You’re joking, aren’t you?” I wouldn’t let on that I was a bit afraid of her.

  “Belly said Gretchen beat Bangor, he was bunged up but wouldn’t go to the hospital or report her.”

  “No doubt. He can’t report her, she’d do worse than beat him. It’s across the river out on Floyd Loop.”

  “Yeah, I know where the Floyd junkyard is.”

  Long ago, the Floyds quit selling used car parts. Back in the day, their junkyard was the place to get a rim or hood replacement, and a jar of moonshine. Over the decades, late 50s, early 60s, the junkyard became more graveyard than junkyard. People stopped buying car parts, and started buying drugs.

  “Bloke! She’s a gangster for beating a boy,” Fanny said leaving the window.

  Teddy huffed. “Ugh. Gretchen is a panty weight. Not what I’d call a gangster… more a witch doctor, conjuring up demons and the like.”

  “I didn’t say she was a gangster. What gave you that idea?”

  “I thought you said so. Must be the ghosts rattling their chains in this old building. Baaahaaa!” He put his hands up, dancing a staggering zombie walk.

  Fanny circled him, ready to make him jump.

  “Get out. Stop it. Go back to your seat.” I stomped and pointed at her.

  Bursting into the room, Sandy said, “I heard you! Who needs to go back to their seat?”

  “Sis, I’m just teasing her. Meant no harm. Patti and me—we’re going out to visit Gretchen Floyd.” Jokingly, he stumbled several more silly zombie steps toward the door.

  “Geez Louise!” Sandy tapped her toe. “I wish you’d get her outta here. I need quiet for a change.”

  I grabbed my purse, and luckily, I didn’t throttle her with it for saying geez Louise so many times.

  Sandy continued to grumble. “This blurting stupid stuff better stop. You need medication.”

  Fanny readied her sewing needle. “Blah. Blah. Blah. Take that!”

  She jabbed and Sandy shrieked, hopping backwards. “See what I mean, she’s disturbing the ions, we’re always getting snapped by static electricity. Huh!” She wheeled. “You guys go. Get outta my hair.”

  He smirked at his sister. “What can I say?”

  “Nothin’.” I grinned, knowing Sandy’s demeanor was a ruse. She secretly loves everyone, everything, and is such a big pushover she covers it with meanness.

  Fanny dropped her needle, glimmering happily. “I’m going too.”

  I put my hands on my hips glaring. “No, you’re not. It’s dangerous.”

  She giggled. “What? You afraid I might get shot?”

  She looped her hand into the crook of Teddy’s arm as he said, “I know it’s dangerous and no, I’m not afraid you’ll get shot.”

  “No… no… not you. I mean… ah… I dunno know what I mean.”

  Fanny’s powers were increasing, now Teddy could hear her, but I stuttered because I was afraid of getting shot by Gretchen Floyd.

  Chapter 19

  Junkyard Dog

  Riding high in Teddy’s ‘08 Dodge pickup, I clung to my side. Fanny rode in the middle trying to keep up. The truck creaked like an Army tank, but it sat high and where we were headed, the roads might not be reliable.

  During the ‘30s and ‘40s, the Floyd place was isolated, but now it wasn’t outlying. The oil-topped, rutted roads going down the last grade to the river made me glad we were riding in Teddy’s tank instead of my new car.

  He rolled down the window. “Looks muddy. Better shift into four-wheel drive.” He let the truck roll to a stop, putting it in park, he pushed buttons and switched levers.

  “There we go. It’s a way back in there. You still okay with going in?”

  “No, I’m not, but I doubt Dick will come out here.”

  Dick wasn’t Bubba, who wouldn’t leave a stone unturned especially in a murder case like this one. Belly was a prominent, upstanding citizen and deserved to have his case solved.

  “Ready?” He shifted into low, and the tailpipe rumbled.

  Fanny glimmered golden yellow. “Ready as I’ll ever be. This is so fun. I love this truck. You should get one.” She lovingly rubbed Teddy’s hand resting on the stick shift.

  “Hush, why don’t you? And try to keep up, sometimes you get blurry, like you’re falling to pieces.”

  Teddy glance at me. “Funny, I don’t feel blurry.”

  “Pfft. Did I say blurry… I meant furry? That’s it.” I grimaced and sniffed, trying to cover my blunder.

  “Furry, huh? I get the warm fussies, too.” He let off the clutch. “Here we go, off the see the witch.”

  I stared out the dirty window into the dense underbrush. In Arkansas, the trees grow thick canopies, but the brambles and vines blocked out most of the sunlight.

  Teddy down-shifted. In the distance, dogs barked announcing our arrival.

  “We should’ve called. Made an appointment.” He joked, but I dreaded the Floyd place.

  “If folks wouldn’t buy drugs from them, they wouldn’t be such a nuisance. That’s gypsies for you.”

  Teddy let the truck creep across a big mud puddle. “You know the Floyds don’t do asphalt. Too much work involved. Gypsies are upstanding compared to this gang.”

  “Bloke! I hate gypsies. Why didn’t you say so?” Fanny scooted over almost sitting on my lap.

  Huffing, I pushed on her, but my hand went through her. “Get off. Huh? I tried to tell you. But you insisted on coming. You’ll get your eyeful of gypsy this afternoon.”

  Teddy lifted a eyebrow, smirking. “I thought this was your idea?”

  “It’s our idea. Remember? You want to find Belly’s murderer, too.”

  At an open cattle gate, he hesitated and braked. On both sides of the gate, signs were posted warning about trespassing. On one sign someone artistically painted a primitive skull and crossbones and wrote TRES—ASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

  “Guess spelling isn’t their best subject.” He let the truck idle over the rusted cattle guard. Again, closer this time, hounds howled and chills goose-bumped my arms.

  Fanny leaned over, looking out the window. “I don’t like dogs.”

  To the left on the river side of the junkyard, old cars lay buried in overgrowth under tall oaks and sycamores. Belly was right, Floyd’s was a gold mine of rusting vintage vehicles stashed in the damp Arkansas woods.

  An empty spot nearer the road looked strange, someone pulled a car through the mud and overgrown weeds, gouging deep ruts into the soft earth. Two chopped down sapling pines lay on both sides of the tracks. In the whole of the acreage, nothing else had been disturbed in decades, and the open space caught our attention.

  Teddy saw the empty spot. “A car’s been moved.”

  Fanny whispered. “Look at that? What does it mean?”

  I didn’t reply, but I knew what it meant. Someone moved a car, and that someone might’ve been Belly. He admitted he wanted to get into the Floyd junkyard.

  Had he lied about trespassing?

  At the next bend in the winding road, the junkyard continued. In row after row, later models from the ‘50s until maybe the ‘80s sat rusting. Sapling trees grew in the windows of the newer models, kudzu vines worked its way across a good acre or so. Slithering things, toads to snakes and maybe a few cold alligators crawled in the underbrush.

  If a person g
ot lost in there, they might not ever be found. If a dead body was hidden in there, nobody would want to look for them.

  Nearing the Floyd mansion, which was nothing more than a rotting ‘80s mobile home with patched additions, a pole barn roof, and metal storage buildings linked together by pathways in the weeds, big, mangy looking dogs burst onto the road. Silently, they snapped at the truck’s wheels, they no longer needed to sound an alarm, they found their prey.

  “Wicked.” Fanny whispered.

  In the dooryard, stripped derelict cars lay like picked bones in open graves. Piles of plastic, aluminum and glass littered another area waiting to be loaded into an open tractor trailer. A wide covered porch hung onto the front of the place like a sinking ship moored to a dock of desperation.

  Teddy stopped the truck, and the quiet dogs sniffed at the door cracks.

  “Bad plan, Huh?” He shifted into reverse and let the truck idle.

  “Nobody’s home.” I barely spoke when a woman, an older teenager came out onto the porch. She shaded her eyes and turned, speaking over her shoulder at someone hiding in the shadows.

  “At least, Sandy knows where we went.” Teddy said, tapping the gas when the truck chugged like it was stalling.

  “I didn’t tell her, did you?” Hearing him say that made my belly flipflop. If he was uneasy, I should be terrified.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I told her. Looks like child protective services need to visit. No telling who’s living in that dump.”

  Pointing at us, the girl stepped into the shadows and that’s when I saw Fanny flicker up the steps of the house of horrors.

  “Oh, no. Don’t do that!” I leaned up, staring out the windshield. I hadn’t noticed her leaving the truck. She floated along the front of the house sticking her head through the wall, then coming out, moving a few feet and looking into the shack again.

  “Oh my God, I can’t watch this.” Even though I didn’t want to watch, I couldn’t close or cover my eyes, I might miss something important.

  The truck chugged, and Teddy tapped the gas pedal. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” Slowly, he bent over pulling a pistol from under the seat and put it between his legs. His movement didn’t reassure me, but at least he came prepared.