Pineapple Mystery Box: A Pineapple Port Mystery: Book Two (Pineapple Port Mysteries 2)

by Amy Vansant

  Unfortunately, the Rutter boys appeared to be seasoned punks who knew how to avoid the police. Frank had yet to locate them.

  Gloria could stay another night or two. For now, she needed to concentrate on retrieving Jackie’s box. The Pineapple Port dog owners were about to embark on their most dangerous mission yet.

  Operation Doo-Doo.

  “This is so exciting!” said Gloria as they approached the entrance to Silver Lake.

  “This is insane,” mumbled Charlotte.

  She stopped at the edge of the wall that surrounded the community and held out a hand to stop the ladies and dogs behind her. She threw a pebble at Pete’s air-conditioned guardhouse box. He looked up and then returned to his book. She threw another. This time he slid open the door and stepped out, scanning the area.

  “Psst! Pete! Don’t look, it’s Charlotte!”

  Pete’s head twitched as he resisted the urge to look in her direction. He grunted.

  “This is going to end with me fired, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. We have you covered. All you have to do is respond to the commotion that is about to occur near the south pool.”

  “And leave the guard box unattended.”

  “Yes. That way when the camera records us entering, you won’t be there.”

  “You tell Mariska she owes me three dozen pierogis for this one.”

  “Will do.”

  As if on cue, fireworks shot into the sky behind him, and Pete strolled to his golf cart to investigate. “How long do you need me gone?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes? And don’t go anywhere near Magnolia Court if you can help it.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Pete wheeled off, the battery-operated police light on his canopy flashing blue.

  Charlotte motioned and a sea of Pineapple Portians swarmed the gate, most with dogs in tow.

  “Follow me, it’s about two blocks this way.”

  Declan jogged up beside her with Abby leading the way.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? You said the whole lure her out of her house with dogs idea was nuts.”

  “It is, but we’re out of options at this point.”

  Declan sighed. “I’ve never dated a jailbird before, but don’t worry; I’ll wait for you. Twenty, thirty years, whatever it takes.”

  “Very funny. No one is going to jail. I’ll be in and out of there before anyone has any idea what’s going on.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Charlotte turned and found Darla in the crowd.

  “Darla! You and I are going to circle wide and approach the house from the other side.”

  “Ten-four!” Darla handed Oscar’s leash to Gloria and scurried to Charlotte.

  “Oh no!”

  Charlotte heard Mariska wail and turned to see Miss Izzy had hunched to relieve herself before the allotted time.

  “Don’t worry. I brought doggie bags. We can scoop it up and move it to the right lawn,” said Charlotte pulling a string of plastic bags from her pocket. “Darla and I are going to split off. I’m leaving you in charge of the troops.”

  Mariska saluted. “I won’t let you down!”

  Behind her Jackie raised a fist. “Okay ladies this is it!”

  Darla and Charlotte slipped down Sea Turtle Drive, which wrapped behind Magnolia Court.

  “Do you have your kit?” asked Charlotte, picking up the pace.

  Darla tapped her fanny pack. “Yep. You?”

  Charlotte patted her pocket where her lock picking set awaited its inaugural run. Darla had bought it for her after she’d announced her new career as a private eye. The leather case contained pointy metal picks that looked like a dental hygienist’s dream kit, brimming with tools for scraping even the most offensive teeth. She’d spent hours picking her own door lock and was eager to try her skillz on someone else’s.

  They scurried through the neighbor’s yard and set up behind a small shed in Diana Fassbender’s back yard. Charlotte pulled a pair of surgical gloves from her pocket and slipped them on as Darla watched and pouted. She pulled out another pair.

  “Don’t worry. I have some for you too,” she said.

  Darla grinned and put them on. “Now we wait.”

  A light went on in Diana’s home. Somewhere a dog barked. A woman yelled. After another minute, they could hear voices yelling back and forth. Charlotte’s phone vibrated announcing the arrival of a text from Jackie. It said The chicken has left the coop.

  “She’s out.”

  Darla’s face animated with excitement. “Good! Let’s go!”

  “I can’t believe this is working.”

  “Never underestimate snooty Silver Lake witches.”

  They scurried to the back of the house and Charlotte realized Diana’s back door didn’t fit the picture she’d built in her head.

  “It’s a slider! Can you pick a sliding door?”

  “Can’t pick it; we’ll have to pry it open and pop the lock and hope she doesn’t have a bar on it.”

  Charlotte stared at her. “It’s still a little disturbing to me that you know these things.”

  Darla shrugged. “I can’t change my past, I can only improve my future.”

  “Is that a saying you learned in prison?”

  “Oprah.”

  Darla scowled and took a few steps to the right to peek around the house. She called back to Charlotte.

  “She’s got a side garage door!”

  Charlotte jogged to Darla, who swept her hand toward the lock with an accompanying bow. “After you.”

  She glanced to the front yard, where she could see some of the ladies from her covert dog walking group. Diana’s neighbor to the left, pointy-nosed Poppy, was pounding down her porch steps to assist her friend against the interlopers. Charlotte squatted behind the bushes lining the side of the garage and looked at Darla. “We don’t have the time for amateur hour. You’d better take this one.”

  Darla knelt and removed her pack. Tilting her head to better see through the bifocals of her glasses, she had the lock picked within twenty seconds. She pushed open the door to reveal her prowess.

  “No alarm,” said Charlotte.

  “None we can hear, anyway. Let’s go!”

  Charlotte touched Darla’s arm. “No, you stay here. I’ll find the box. If something goes wrong there’s no sense in both of us getting caught inside. First sign of trouble, run.”

  “Char—”

  “I’m not arguing about this! Stay.”

  Darla grimaced. “Fine. I’ll keep watch. Hurry!”

  Charlotte slipped into the dark garage and discovered the inner door to the house open. She gave Darla the thumbs up and slipped inside.

  The garage entrance to the house led into an empty area splitting the kitchen and living room. Peeking out the front window, she spotted Diana and Poppy screaming at Gloria, who stood coldly assessing them, her arms crossed against her chest.

  “That isn’t going to end well for them,” she mumbled.

  Jackie and a few other Pineapple Port ladies hovered nearby. Mariska was chatting with a glamorous dark-haired woman who lived to Diana’s right.

  Leave it to Mariska to make friends during war.

  Jackie had Abby’s leash now. Declan and Bob were nowhere to be seen.

  Turning back to her mission, Charlotte scanned Diana’s living room.

  No box.

  She glanced in the kitchen.

  Nothing.

  Trotting down the hallway, she poked her head into two more bedrooms and a bathroom before finding the master bedroom at the end of the hall. On the bedroom dresser sat a familiar wooden box with a lily inlaid in the center of the lid.

  Ah ha!

  Fishing five dollars from her pocket, she placed it on the dresser. Jackie had given it to her in the hopes it would turn Charlotte’s theft into a refund. The woman had only paid three for the box, so it was a payoff as well. Staring at the bill on the bureau, she couldn’t imagine the last time three dollars had bought so m
uch trouble.

  Time to go. She grabbed the box, finding it heavier than she’d imagined. She set it on the bed to check for Diana’s personal belongings inside. If caught, the police would never believe her story if she also trotted away with all Diana’s jewelry. Even Frank would have trouble swallowing that one.

  She unlocked the hook clasp and found a bag of what looked like medium gray sand. She scowled and hefted it from the box, bobbing it in her hand. She guessed it weighed about five pounds. The material inside didn’t feel like sand. It felt finer. More like—

  Her grimace of confusion slid into an open-mouthed stare.

  Ash. Human ashes.

  She gasped and bobbled the bag. It slid from her palm and in trying to catch it, she smacked the box and it began to slide from the corner of the bed. Attempting to catch both, she instead spiked the bag to the ground and it burst, spewing a cloud of dust across her shins and sneakers, like the aftermath of a tiny volcanic eruption.

  “Dang!”

  She stared in horror, one hand steadying the box on the bed and the other hanging helplessly at her side. Crouching, she surveyed the mess, wondering if she could somehow gather the ashes and put him or her back into the bag.

  Not a chance. Not without a Dust Buster.

  She rubbed her hand over her eyes and then suffered a tiny freak out as she realized she might be rubbing an ex person into her eyes.

  She stood and fished another twenty out of her pocket, placing it beside the five. Twenty wouldn’t buy Diana a vacuum, but it would pay for a clean filter bag so her dead relative didn’t end up mixed with the house lint.

  Doing her best to avoid the ashes, she retrieved the now much lighter box. She’d taken one step into the hallway when the front door slammed.

  “I can’t believe those people. I’m calling the police!” said a voice.

  “I think Sally said she already did,” said another.

  Charlotte turned and leapt back inside the bedroom.

  Trapped!

  She moved to the window and peeked outside. The drop to the ground wasn’t far. As quietly as possible, she unlocked the window and slid it open. The women were still expressing their outrage in the front of the house.

  The window had a screen.

  Muttering to herself, she unclipped the screen and began to push on it as steadily as she could. It refused to budge, so she increased pressure. When it gave way with a pop, she slipped forward and banged her forehead on the sash. She stopped breathing as the screen fell to the grass below, bounced on the corner of its frame, and clattered onto the nearby patio.

  “Did you hear that?” said a voice in the kitchen.

  Charlotte heard Darla gasp and swear from somewhere nearby before she appeared outside the window.

  “What’re you doin’?”

  “They’re in the house! Take it, quick!” Charlotte dropped the box as Darla reached to catch it.

  She failed.

  Together they watched as the box danced in Darla’s fingers before deflecting toward the patio, her reach shadowing it as it flew to her left like a released dove. The box cracked against the pavers and the side panel sprung at an odd angle, disconnected from its joint.

  Darla uttered a strange whimpering noise and looked up at Charlotte, whose torso now hung from the window, her legs dangling in the bedroom. Diving from the window had seemed like a good idea, but now she’d lost her nerve.

  Behind her, Charlotte heard a voice.

  “I think there’s someone in the bedroom!”

  “Get it and run!” she hissed at Darla.

  “What about you?”

  “What are you going to do? Catch me? I saw how that worked out for the box!”

  “But—”

  “Get the box and run!”

  Head nodding back and forth in a panic, Darla scooped the disjointed pieces of the box and clutched them to her chest before running from view.

  “Momma!”

  Charlotte looked behind her and saw Diana standing inside the bedroom doorway, staring in horror where she knew the ashes lay splayed on the carpet. The moment Diana shifted her gaze to Charlotte she propelled herself through the window.

  “Poppy! Call the police! There’s someone in my window!”

  Charlotte did her best to tuck and roll. Her foot caught on the window frame and after hitting the grass, she smacked her forehead on the porch pavers, her hand partially cushioning what might have been a deadly blow to her temple. Stunned, she spun away from the house like a rolling pin, doing her best to hide her face until she hit a metal patio chair and found herself stuck.

  “I see you!” screamed Diana from the window. “The police are on their way!”

  Crawling to her hands and knees, Charlotte scurried away from the house on all fours like a mouse. Once she reached the shed, she stood, steadied herself against the wall, and sprinted across the yard. She could hear Diana wailing after her.

  Fumbling for her phone, she hit redial, unsure of the last number she’d called.

  Mariska answered. “Charlotte! Charlotte?”

  “It’s me. She saw me—”

  “I know! She went back in the house! We tried to call and warn you!”

  “I’m okay but you need to abort mission! Everyone back to Pineapple Port!”

  “Darla told us! We’re already headed home!”

  “Good! Hurry! The cops are coming!” As she finished her sentence, she saw the group of women and dogs ahead of her. “I see you.” She thrust the phone back into her pocket.

  Charlotte caught the group and whipped off her dark tee, revealing a bright yellow tank beneath it. Her head throbbed. “Give me one of those doggie bags.”

  Mariska handed one to her. She peeled off her thin gloves and thrust them into the bag with her tee, squeezing them small enough that the wad appeared to be nothing more than dog droppings. She looked around the group and found a few people missing. “Where’s Darla?”

  “She went streaking past us before you called,” said Mariska. “She told us all to hightail it.”

  Charlotte found Jackie in the crowd.

  “Jackie, you go on home. I’ll get the box from Darla and bring it to you in a bit.”

  Jackie nodded and split off to head for home.

  Mariska squinted at Charlotte. “Are you okay? What’s that on your head?”

  She felt the rising egg at her temple and winced.

  “I’m fine. Out of breath. Did Darla have the box?”

  “She had something. It was hard to tell. I haven’t seen her move that fast since they put her favorite sandals on sale at Bealls.”

  “What about Declan? I saw Gloria had Abby.”

  “He disappeared somewhere with Bob. Gloria’s up ahead and Abby’s fine.”

  Even under duress, Charlotte could tell Mariska wasn’t being completely honest with her. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

  “Hmm?” asked Mariska, still refusing to turn her head.

  “You’re not looking at me. What part of what you said was a lie?”

  “What?”

  “Mariska…”

  “I’m a little too out of breath to speak right now…I’ll tell you when we get back to the house—”

  “Nuh-uh. Nice try. Now.”

  Mariska huffed. “Fine. I borrowed him, okay? But it was really important.”

  “What do you mean you borrowed him? Who?”

  “Declan. I didn’t like those terrible women and all the screaming and Miss Izzy already did her business, so after talking to the nice woman next door—her name was Simone. She’s French. Isn’t that exotic? Simone?”

  “Very exotic. Go on.”

  “Oh. Well, anyway, I wandered down the street a bit, and that’s when I saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “Witchy-Poo! Someone here stole her!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She was on a house around the corner from the street we were on, so I told Bob to go get her and Declan we
nt to help.”

  Charlotte tried to let this new information percolate. She felt dizzy, though she didn’t know if it was from her collision with the pavers or the stress of house-robbing and accidental grave-desecration. In the distance, a police siren blared to life. They’d be looking for her, but the group had reached the outskirts of Pineapple Port and in a moment she’d be home safe. The police wouldn’t find her—

  Oh no.

  “Mariska, do you think Declan and Bob are still trying to get the witch?”

  “I would think so…why?”

  “Don’t you see?” She turned and stared back at Silver Lake. “The police are on their way to find me, but they’re going to find them instead!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Okay ladies this is it!” Jackie had said as Charlotte and Darla headed off to retrieve her box.

  “Hey, wait a second,” said Bob, patting his own chest.

  Jackie acquiesced with a nod. “Sorry, I meant ladies and gentlemen… Fire at will!”

  The dog walkers scattered, allowing the straining pets to reach the grass in front of Diana “Box Buyer” Fassbender’s home and the lawns of her neighbors. Gladys Underwood’s Scottish terrier, Mac, was first to stake his claim on the neighbor’s plot of manicured heaven. When no one in the houses seemed to notice, the Pineapple Portians chatted to their furry boys and girls using various euphemisms for bathroom breaks at top volume.

  Abby eyed a particularly dark green patch of Bermuda grass and pulled Declan toward it.

  He noticed a woman stepping onto her porch, her mouth agape as she surveyed the mob preparing to defile her lawn.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” screamed the woman to no one in particular.

  Abby hunched her back and lowered her hindquarters. Next door, Diana Fassbender stepped onto her porch, emboldened by her neighbor’s bravado.

  “Go away! What are you doing?” she called, catching the eye of her neighbor. They exchanged a look, cementing their solidarity against the dog-walkers.

  Althea Jackson held up an empty doggie bag covered in bright pink polka dots. “Don’t worry, we have bags.”

  “No Althea, we don’t have bags. That’s the point!” said Jackie.