Found Dead in the Red Head

by Violet Patton

  I searched for an instruction manual on the countertop, but there wasn’t one.

  Frustrated, I looked up. “Do you think Frank had you killed?”

  Fanny stopped pacing. “That’s what I’m thinking. Ralph was a good guy, but Frank… he… was one of Al’s main men. People thought he was crazy bonkers.”

  “Did Ralph think so, too?”

  “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.” She faded into her moody grayscale. “Maybe I don’t want to know who killed me. It was an accident. So many men went crazy. Doing stupid stuff.”

  I turned back to the coffeemaker and pushed its buttons until one flashed a blue light. “Ugh. This stupid thing.”

  Fanny sat on the arm of the loveseat. I didn’t want to discourage her, but if they took the boy to Chicago to work as an indentured houseboy to another rich gangster, records of his whereabouts might be nonexistent. Most probably they changed his name and covered his tracks.

  “We should dig deeper. I wouldn’t trust everything I heard at the Southern Club.”

  Considering it was a notorious gangster hangout, filled with many shady characters, who were now technically hypothetical, partying ghosts, I wouldn’t say Ralph’s information was reliable.

  “Until we have printed records or other proof, let’s not worry about it.”

  Fanny sighed. “It’s the first I’ve heard of him. Anita hasn’t found any records of my boy. I must get to Chicago.”

  “Ah! No way. Chicago isn’t a homey little place like Hot Springs. You can’t just flit up there and find him. Things have changed mightily.”

  How would she get there? A plane would be impossible. Or can a ghost travel 600 miles per hour? Maybe a train? We could take an Amtrak trip.

  “No, you can’t go. I forbid it. It’s too… too dangerous.” I shook off planning a ridiculous trip to Chicago to look for a missing child whose mother was a ghost. How would I explain my reasons for going there to Sandy or Ally?

  Someone unlocked the backdoor. “Hush up, now. Sandy’s coming in. Don’t bug me about Chicago.”

  Sandy opened the door, and I smiled, greeting her. “I adore the new coffeemaker. Show me how it works.”

  “Well, howdy do to you too.”

  Ten minutes later, after looking up the coffeemaker’s model online, we downloaded the instruction manual and made a cup of coffee that we split.

  “So what d’you two detectives find out yesterday.”

  I told Sandy about our trip to the junkyard, and she especially enjoyed the junkyard dogs. Talking, we filled the cake plates, dusted and aligned lotion bottles on the shelves. I cleaned fingerprints off the glass door, and she manned the wand sweeper.

  Fanny sat in the display window, sewing and sighing, listening and pouting while we caught up and cleaned. By ten o’clock, I was ready to tackle the web orders, until Etta arrived to take over the job, and Sandy unlocked the door.

  Right away, a customer entered and she greeted her with a warm Merry Christmas. My bah humbug lessened, but I wasn’t completely cured enough to cheerfully wait on customers, so I ducked into the workroom.

  “I forgot to tell you…” Fanny said, following me. “Ralph said his bones were buried under one of them old cars—an old one almost rusted away—said Al offed him.”

  “Really? Did he see you at the junkyard?”

  “Did he who see me?” Sandy asked, walking into the workroom. She looked through the shelves, found what she wanted and left the room.

  “No. He said he’d been out for a short time. Only after they moved that car. Said he hadn’t been in town long. Didn’t know the Southern Club was still open.”

  “It isn’t open. It’s now a wax museum.”

  That was an interesting tidbit. Someone moved a car, an old one if Ralph was offed by Al Capone, and now, his ghost was free to roam the town? I wanted to ask Fanny how that worked, but decided I better not—it might leave me with another visual I don’t need to remember.

  I pulled a gift box out and popped it open. “Can you ask Ralph to look around at the junkyard?” Maybe I could use another ghost to snoop for clues of Bangor’s whereabouts. Made sense, since they can go places, hear things and see through walls.

  “Naw. He only stopped by to see who was left behind. He was surprised to see me.”

  This strange conversation cheered me, so I muttered, “You are surprising, that’s for sure.”

  Fanny glimmered, pacing but didn’t reply to my smart remark.

  “Where was he going?” I’d be hunting Al Capone to off him, for offing me.

  “To the Beyond. Decided to move on.”

  I nodded, swishing filler into the first of many gift box orders to fill. “Can you do that? Just go?”

  She paused, flickering down almost shutting off. “I can, but I’ll never go until I find my Willie.” She blinked and disappeared. I couldn’t blame her, I wouldn’t rest until I found my child either.

  Chapter 22

  Sadie

  Into the afternoon, we settled into our ordinary routine. Tallying yesterday’s receipts, trying to decide if we were more in the red than we were the day before. The open house receipts helped, but Myra hadn’t paid her bill. On paper, things didn’t look good. We were paying off remodeling bills and restocking inventory, paying Etta and keeping the lights on, but neither of us had taken a paycheck yet.

  “Did you deliver Myra’s gifts?” Stepping away from the shop so much kept me out of the loop.

  “Not yet. I called asking when she wanted them. She wasn’t in a hurry.”

  “Where are her gift boxes?”

  “Underneath the display table.” She pointed.

  Shrugging, I said, “Oh. Guess I didn’t notice them. I’ll load and take them to her this afternoon. Maybe she’ll give me a check.”

  I felt antsy, not hearing anymore news about Belly and needed to do something. “I’m gonna mix a batch of bath bombs. What do we need?”

  “Whatever suits your fancy. Nothing Christmasy. I don’t want leftovers we have to put on sale.”

  “Me neither. Did you get the recipe for bubbling bath bombs?” Asking her about what she wanted meant I would suit her fancy, but I didn’t care, pleasing her was easier than not.

  “Oh, yes. I printed it out. It’s under the counter. And I ordered the ingredients while you were gallivanting decorating a bathtub float.”

  I searched under the counter, but shot her a shut-up look. “I don’t gallivant.”

  Sandy snarked. “So anyway, I’d mix Valentine bombs. You know, get a jump on the next holiday.”

  “Is this it?” I held up a printed sheet.

  “Yeah, that’s it. The bubbling stuff is in a box somewhere in the workroom.”

  Fanny sat quietly sewing, but she sat up looking out the window. “Would you listen to that jalopy? Who is she?”

  Coming in the front windows, the rumble of a high-octane motorcycle carried throughout the shop. The glass in the door vibrated, and Sandy stopped sweeping. “Oh, hell’s bells, I forgot Muriel called. Said she’d come by. She wants to talk to you.”

  Thrilled by Muriel’s arrival, since she’d get me out of mixing Valentine bath bombs, I said, “Oh, I’m so glad to see her. I bet she needs to talk about Belly.”

  “If you can man the shop with Muriel here, I gotta make a… run… go shopping for…” Sandy hedged, not saying where she was going, putting away the sweeper wand.

  “Sure. I’ll be fine.”

  Muriel hadn’t officially called on the shop, but I invited her the night we decorated the bathtub. Too bad her visit might be under extraneous circumstances.

  Fanny balked, floating out of the window. “Yankee! Women ride motorcycles? Scary looking. She’s wearing britches, too.”

  “All women wear britches. Blue jeans.” I plucked at the side of my jeans. “Haven’t you noticed?”

  “Oh, dear Lord. Why are you calling jeans britches?” Sandy rolled her eyes as the doorbell tinkled announcing Muriel.

/>   At the most a size eight, Muriel wore Carhart khaki pants and a blue jean jacket with road rally patches sewn up its sleeves. Keys dangled from her pocket loops. She accompanied her ensemble with stylish thigh-high black leather boots which were more for protection than show. She wore a long shock of black hair—exactly like Etta’s except with a few gray streaks—in a shimmering ponytail. She had a tough exterior but like Sandy, but she projected a different persona than who she was on the inside.

  “Afternoon ladies.” She took off her dark sunglasses. Sadie, her Shih Tzu, rode tucked under one arm.

  With open arms, I welcomed her. “Muriel. So nice to see you.”

  Fanny squealed. “My bonkers! Is that another dog?”

  Sadie turned, sniffing in Fanny’s direction and produced a hostile little growl. Fanny circled Muriel examining the dog. “You hush, pup!”

  From the safety of Muriel’s arm, Sadie followed Fanny’s flickering movements. I waited, watching for the dog’s reaction. Fanny’s image reflected in the dog’s black marble-size eyes, and Sadie sneezed.

  Fanny flinched back. “Boogers! Dog snot.”

  “Oh dear! Looks like Sadie doesn’t care for the smells in here?” Freshly cut soaps emit strong odors. “When we take them out of the boxes, they’re extra fragrant.”

  Muriel asked. “I can put her outside if she bothers you?”

  “No, don’t put her out. She’s fine.” I glared at Fanny, hitching my chin toward the display window, adding a deep smirk. “Lots of people don’t like dogs, but I love them.”

  “Okay.” Muriel looked over her shoulder at the display window as Fanny settled into her regular spot.

  In the window,Fanny hovered like she pumped her old Singer treadle sewing machine and I heard the slight click-clack of the moving treadle.

  “I wanted to offer my condolences.” Muriel’s eyes looked misty. “Etta’s real upset about two murders. She’s a sensitive kid. I told her to buckle down and toughen up, but she’s not like me.”

  “Thank you. My condolences to you. We had fun with Belly the other night, didn’t we?”

  Muriel touched a bar of soap, but didn’t pick it up. “Yeah. He was a nice guy. Isn’t that the way it is, nice guys go first?”

  Fanny snorted. “Boogers that’s the truth. I wish I could find my Angus. He was a nice guy—not like them other gangster bootleggers.”

  I blurted. “Don’t start adding dead people to your list.”

  Sandy looked up from her tablet. “Ah. Yeah. Okay. I gotta run to the store. See you two later.” Huffing, she went straight through the workroom and out the security door.

  After it thudded closed, I said, “Come into the other room. We can visit there. If the bell tinkles, I’ll have to help a customer.”

  “Okay.” Muriel entered the workroom. “Etta brags on the shop. But she doesn’t do it justice, it’s nice.”

  “Thanks. We’ve worked hard on it.” If Muriel liked the shop, it must be better than I thought. She’s opinionated and from what I gathered from Etta and Willa, she doesn’t squander nice words on things she doesn’t like.

  Muriel followed me. “We have a new coffeemaker. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “What I’d like is to use your bathroom.”

  “Help yourself.” I motioned toward the open bathroom door.

  At the door, she paused looking at Fanny’s tombstone etching. “So, that’s the famous etching Etta talks about. It gives her the willies.” She handed me Sadie. “Here. I don’t trust her, she’s liable to go.”

  “Hi there.” I put Sadie under one arm like Muriel carried her.

  Muriel came out of the bathroom drying her hands. “So, the graffiti in the wall, it’s authentic?” She nodded backwards at the bathroom.

  Muriel’s comments told me Etta not only talks about her mother, she talks about the shop and its troubles.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say authentic, only interesting. I really don’t know who Fanny Doyle was. She’s part of the building’s provenance.”

  Sadie wiggled, and I sat her on the floor. “I’ll make coffee.”

  Muriel stood next to the etching examining it closely and stepped back reading its inscriptions. “You know, Etta tells me she thinks Fanny Doyle haunts this place. What do you think?”

  I didn’t flinch, focusing on the confounding coffeemaker. “Dunno. I don’t believe in ghosts. Can Etta see things?” If she was seeing Fanny, she hadn’t let on about the fact. Fanny wouldn’t keep quiet either if she could communicate with the girl, she’d talk Etta’s ear off.

  “No. I don’t think she can see things.” Muriel shrugged, knowing I was asking if Etta could sense unexplainable things, like Fanny.

  Muriel moved toward the loveseat. “I’ve heard her name before. Hmmm. Francine Doyle?”

  “My friend Anita found her gravestone. We’re in luck she stilled lived around here.” If she hadn’t been murdered, she could’ve been spirited off to Chicago as a housemaid for a rich gangster.

  “She had a son.”

  “Oh really? How d’you know?”

  “Ah… ah… Anita found out.”

  Anita was the only person who I’d told about the boy, and the odds of Muriel asking her about him were slim.

  “Fanny died early.” I nodded up to the inscribed date etched onto the parchment paper. “We can’t find any records of her son.”

  I handed Muriel the cup of coffee and motioned toward the loveseat. “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. What was his name?”

  “William Henry. I’m not sure of his last name.”

  Fanny glimmered sitting on the loveseat’s arm. “Doyle! Bloke, you can’t remember his name?”

  “Oh, now I remember. William Henry Doyle. But orphaned, his name might’ve been changed.” Was he adopted by a kindly Arkansas family or smuggled to Chicago to serve a gangster’s whims?

  Muriel sipped coffee. “Yeah. Probably. It’s funny. My great-grandfather’s name was William Henry.”

  I smiled. “You’re kidding?” Would finding Willie’s relatives be that simple?

  “Where do you think Willa and Etta came from? William and Henry.”

  I shook my head. “William and Henry are very common names, even now.”

  Muriel petted Sadie, and the pup squirmed. “Yeah. Coincidence. Do you know when Belly’s service will be?”

  “I don’t know.” I sat on the workbench stool. “I’m so heartbroken.”

  “Yeah. I know. I didn’t know him very well. But still… I’ve got a rally coming up. Don’t want to miss the service.”

  I hadn’t thought about Belly’s service, and I should call Walker and offer my help.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked.

  “Nope. The papers are quiet. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “I do.” Was Dick suppressing the newspapers? He had a right to keep his sources quiet, or he didn’t have any leads, which was worse.

  “When that gal died in the bath bombs the newspaper plastered headlines for days.”

  Wincing, I lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, guess you saw my ugly mug.”

  Muriel cracked a smile. “It wasn’t your best pose.”

  “Nope.” I grinned. “Ever heard of Floyd’s junkyard?”

  Muriel cocked her head. “Yeah, what about it? Everybody knows about them.”

  “The night we were decorating the float. Belly had trouble with a Floyd kid. On the phone. Remember he was yelling?”

  I didn’t say which Floyd kid, there were too many to name. Odds of Muriel knowing Bangor were slim. He hadn’t been a criminal long enough to establish a reputation among our ordinary citizens.

  She put the cup to her lips, but paused. “Really? I remember. He was real mad. How d’you find out?”

  “The night of the parade. Belly stopped by—”

  “Yeah, Etta told me. She said he was drunk. At first when I heard he was dead, I thought maybe he wrecked—”

  “No, he didn’t wreck.”

  I d
idn’t explain Belly’s complicated relationship with alcohol, but he’d have to be staggering drunk before I would’ve stopped him from driving.

  “He stopped by the Row. Had a cup of cider and we visited in here…” I circled my finger around the room. “He told me Bangor Floyd was giving him grief over car parts.”

  I left it there, because telling Muriel, Bangor was stealing parts from the Floyd’s junkyard, wouldn’t help the case.

  “Them dogs are worthless now.” Fanny glimmered in her happy firefly green, reaching over to ruffle Sadie’s fur, but the pup snapped, warning her off. She huffed, but left the dog alone and paced, fluttering the tissue papers.

  “Did you say Bangor? Does he drive a motorcycle? A beat-up P. O. S. Honda that needs a new muffler?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Muriel shot me a look and hitched her chin toward the avenue. “Ah, hell no. I don’t let nobody ride my bike. That kid’s staying next door to us. He wanted to take my Hog for a ride, but I shooed him off my porch.”

  Chapter 23

  Bubba

  For a change, adrenaline powered me forward, and I didn’t waste a moment, I called 911 and reported Bangor’s whereabouts. I could’ve called Dick, but he probably wouldn’t take my call.

  “Now!” I hung up satisfied my call would solve the mystery.

  “What’s next?” Muriel asked, heading for the showroom and I followed her. Sadie walked, sniffing and sneezed, exploring every inch of the floor.

  “You okay?”

  Muriel replied, “A little shaken thinking about him shacking up next door.”

  “I understand, it rattles my nerves. Did Etta tell you I worked for the sheriff’s department?”

  “Yeah, she did? Sounds interesting. I’ve waited tables all my life.” Muriel scooped up Sadie. “I’m riding in a road rally tomorrow. Just a short ride.”

  “Sure.” Life must go on.

  Outside the window, a couple stopped to admire Muriel’s antique Indian motorcycle. “Look, they like your bike. It’s sure handsome.”