Murder at the Car Show

by Sandi Scott

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.” Aleta rolled her eyes at Stan as she followed her giggling sister out the door.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU left Stan just standing there in the driveway!” Aleta scolded. “You really are terrible to him!”

  “Well, if I didn’t have my sister constantly butting in and throwing us together, I would have given him a lift to the curb instead of letting him walk there alone.” Georgie grimaced. “Why did you tell him it was okay to stop by with my stuff? I could have picked it up from the station.”

  “I didn’t think it would be a problem.” Aleta waved Georgie’s question away.

  Georgie squeezed the steering wheel tightly. “I’d much rather conduct my transactions with Stan at the police station. At least there, with all the police around, he keeps a more professional demeanor.”

  “Plus, while you’re there, you can snoop around and see if there are any new mysteries you might be able to catch sight of.” Aleta looked out of the corner of her eye at her twin. “I know how your mind works.”

  “Is it my fault that the best detective on the North Side of Chicago just happens to be my ex-husband? I can’t help that.” Georgie fixed a curl on her forehead in the rearview mirror.

  “I still think you should be a little nicer to him.”

  “I’m not mean to him, Aleta,” Georgie said. “I’m just not falling for those big blue eyes and those pretty words—if telling me my butt reminds him of an onion because it makes him want to cry is using pretty words.”

  Aleta laughed. “I wonder how big a turn out there will be for the show? The weather is supposed to be a scorcher—ninety degrees in the shade.”

  “I’m ready,” Georgie replied, “I’m wearing waterproof, sweatproof makeup. I should be able to keep this look for—I don’t know—at least a week.”

  The twins chatted as they drove in Pablo, Georgie’s orange Volkswagen Beetle, toward the Tri-Local Fairgrounds. The Fairgrounds was three-hundred plus acres of land that included lush trees, a good-sized creek that flooded almost every spring, a nature center, and an old-time homestead and barn. People flocked to visit the wildflower gardens in summer, and the Christmas tree farm at the back of the property was busy as soon as folks got finished digesting their Thanksgiving turkey.

  There were fireworks every Fourth of July with a couple of hundred vehicles parked in casual rows and people having picnics on the hoods of their cars. Children would run around playing until the sun went down then the sky would become a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns with stirring music blasting from speakers in the background. In the fall, the fair incorporated a haunted house attraction, pumpkin carving contests, and lots and lots of arts and crafts by local residents. There was also a beer tent accompanied by food vendors that made the air smell like an open barbeque. Adults and little kids sported some amazing costumes, adding to the excitement. Concerts, farmers’ markets, craft fairs, and dozens of family friendly events filled the fairgrounds between special holiday events.

  “Errol said to enter at the southern entrance. Maybe we should just join the motorcade,” Georgie eased Pablo into the long line of sleek hot rods that were cruising casually along the highway toward the fairgrounds’ entrance. The drivers of these beauties were in no hurry to get somewhere like the SUVs and sedans driving in the fast lane. Instead, the parade of Buick Skylarks, Cadillac El Dorados, Ford Thunderbirds, Mercury Turnpike Cruisers, Chevy Corvettes, and a host of spotless other hot rods in bright yellow, teal, and, of course, cherry red coasted along letting everyone get an eyeful.

  “Oh, my gosh! Would you look at all the old cars? There are so many!” Aleta stared out her window.

  A young man in an orange vest waving an orange flag steered everyone in the same direction through the entrance. Another man in an orange vest pointed his flag in a different direction. The orange Volkswagen was part of a long line of cars snaking through the rows until finally they were directed toward a man with a clipboard. Since Pablo wasn’t listed as one of the display cars or entered in any competitions, Georgie was asked to park under a patch of thick oak trees.

  The twins looked in wonder at the display of vintage cars that went on for rows and rows with no two cars alike. “They are so beautiful,” Georgie finally said to her sister. “I don’t know anything about cars other than where to put the gas, but I can appreciate the artistic expression of each one of these. They are like drivable works of art.”

  “You’re right.” Aleta was in complete agreement with Georgie, for once.

  Anybody stumbling out of the nearby patch of woods would think they had travelled back in time to the 1950s. The men, young and old, were dressed in cuffed blue jeans and high-top gym shoes. The girls wore pedal pushers or pencil skirts like Georgie. Horn-rimmed glasses and greased hair was the norm, and Elvis was crooning love songs through the speakers. There was a faint smell of gasoline and exhaust fumes on top of popcorn, cotton candy, burgers, and fries that came from the food court.

  “Why wouldn’t they want to park any of those hot rods underneath the trees?” Aleta asked. “You’d think they’d want to stay a little cool. It’s not even ten o’clock, and already it’s almost eighty degrees.”

  “Bird poop,” Georgie offered.

  “I’m serious; it’s almost eighty. I can feel it.”

  “No, silly. They don’t want to park their cars under trees because of the birds in the trees. They don’t want any droppings on their cars.”

  Aleta snapped her fingers and pointed at Georgie. “That makes sense.”

  As they made their way to the registration tent, Georgie received more than one catcall and whistle as she walked along. All the while, she smirked and batted her eyes pretending not to notice or even know what anyone could be making such a fuss over.

  “You are eating this up.” Aleta slipped her arm through her sister’s.

  “There is something wrong with a woman who doesn’t enjoy the occasional whistle from a red-blooded man,” Georgie replied as she swished her hips back and forth. Before Aleta could make another comment, Georgie pointed to a man just ahead of them and waved.

  “Georgie!” Errol shouted, waving back. “You look fantastic. I was afraid I might not find you with this crowd. I should have realized how hard it would be to miss you.” He grinned and aimed his camera at both women as they approached.

  “Thanks, Errol. This is my sister, Aleta.” Pleasantries were exchanged before the conversation turned to cars and the old-time rock and roll music playing all around them. Obviously, the sexagenarian Georgie was attracting the attention of many of the older men on the scene.

  “I knew you’d come through, Georgie, but I never expected Elizabeth Taylor to show up.” Errol was frankly admiring as he looked Georgie up and down.

  Georgie giggled. “I’m no Elizabeth Taylor. Her hair was black for a lot longer than mine ever was. Although, I do think I wear my silver strands a lot better than she did.” Georgie winked her heavily lined eye with its false lashes.

  “Shall we get started?” Errol told Georgie and Aleta that he was commissioned to take pictures of certain cars. These vehicles were owned by some of the heavy hitters in the antique car trading business. “Just don’t lean on the vehicles. They get real mad when anyone does that,” Errol instructed.

  “I understand, but Aleta is the one you need to tell.” Georgie turned to her sister. “Did you hear what he said? Don’t be draping yourself all over the cars. The owners don’t like it.” Aleta rolled her eyes as she removed her cardigan. Unlike Georgie, Aleta preferred a pair of navy slacks with a short-sleeved blouse that buttoned up the back.

  “This may sound crazy but that man over there is checking you out.” Georgie shifted from one foot to the other, bouncing her hips as she spoke. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

  “What man?” Aleta blushed slightly and ducked her head toward her sister.

  Georgie pointed out a handsome older man with stylishly slicked back hair that fell i
n a couple of James Dean curls across his forehead. He was very thin, wearing just a plain T-shirt and dark blue jeans; when Georgie pointed him out to Aleta he flashed a broad smile that pushed a sea of wrinkles up around the corners of his eyes and lips.

  “You’re crazy,” Aleta muttered in her sister’s ear.

  “Georgie, this is Marley Gillibrand.” Errol walked up to the smiling man and shook his hand. Marley was clearly admiring a Model A Ford Coupe with a spotless chrome engine exposed for show and a pearlescent purple body. “Marley, this is my model for the show, Georgie Kaye.”

  “Nice to meet you, Georgie,” Marley said in a deep voice, sounding just like the late Johnny Cash.

  “This is my sister, the widow, Aleta Kaye.” Georgie pulled her sister by the hand to her side.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aleta. That sounds like a beautiful town in Texas.”

  “What does?” Aleta’s cheeks grew red as she glared at her sister.

  “Your name,” Marley replied.

  Aleta chuckled and looked everywhere but at Marley who was drinking in her figure as she stood there nervously.

  “Mind if I snap off a few?” Errol asked.

  “Be my guest.” Marley stood next to Aleta as Georgie pandered shamelessly to the camera, making Errol cheer and laugh.

  “So maybe you’d like to go for a spin after the show tonight?” Marley asked Aleta.

  “I don’t think we are staying for the whole event,” Aleta avoided the question and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “There is a dance tonight with a jitterbug contest and live band—The Hell Cats, I think,” Marley continued. He saw something in Aleta that was as sweet as catnip to a hip cat.

  “I really don’t think so. I don’t know how to jitterbug.”

  “That’s all right. We could just listen to the music.”

  “You really are pushy.” Aleta turned and looked straight at Marley.

  “A man doesn’t get anywhere just standing around.”

  Aleta wasn’t sure if Marley’s comment made sense or not. Either way, he continued to look at her with a slight smile on his lips. “I think we need to take a break, Errol,” Aleta interrupted the impromptu photo shoot and grabbed Georgie by the hand, leading her away from the purple hot rod.

  “Yeah, we can finish later, Georgie. Go get some lemonade or something,” Errol replied as he stepped up to Marley and began talking and showing him the pictures on his digital camera.

  “What is wrong with you?” Georgie snapped.

  Chapter 3

  “That man invited me out,” Aleta hissed.

  “Why that dirty, no-good—I’m going to go slap him in the face!” Georgie fussed. Aleta squeezed her hand tightly.

  “I’m glad you think this is so funny,” Aleta said.

  “I don’t think it’s funny, sis. I think it’s sweet. Why don’t you accept?”

  “Maybe it’s because I don’t even know him?”

  “Can I get two large lemonades, please?” Georgie said to the blond-haired woman behind the counter at the lemonade booth. The booth was a shiny, silver box with at least five hundred pounds of lemons piled up inside and two rectangular mixing machines that continually stirred the lemon juice, sugar, and water. The vendor chewed her gum with a real attitude.

  “Five dollars.” The blond chomped and cracked the gum in her mouth. Georgie put a five-dollar bill on the counter.

  “I bet you’ll do a great business today. It’s going to be a real heat wave!” Georgie chirped happily.

  “Yeah.” The woman barely looked at Georgie as she handed her two large lemonades. “Kyle! I’m taking a break.” A teenage boy with pimples and a pierced ear took her place at the counter while the blond woman stomped out the back of the booth. She walked off carrying her own lemonade and pulling a pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket.

  “She was chatty.” Georgie handed her sister a large cold lemonade.

  “If you had to sit in there in this heat, you’d be cranky, too.”

  “Right.” Georgie patted her sister’s arm. “Let’s have a seat in the shade over there. Now, you want to tell me why you don’t want to go meet that handsome hot-rodder even for a quick bite to eat?”

  “Georgie, I haven’t been on a date since William died. Why would I start now?”

  “You might like him.”

  “And then what? Explain to my middle-aged children that they are going to have a new Daddy!” Aleta sat down at an empty picnic table underneath a tree.

  “I’m not saying you have to marry the guy,” Georgie soothed. “I just think if a guy is interested, you might like talking to someone other than me.”

  “If that is the case, why don’t you accept Obby’s invitations?” Aleta took a sip of her lemonade, staring at Georgie.

  “I went out with Obby—twice.”

  “Yeah, and both of those times you were more interested in solving a murder that you were in him. I wouldn’t say you went out with him because you wanted to spend time with him. You had an ulterior motive on at least one of those occasions.”

  “I still could have said ‘no’ to him. Do you think I needed Obby to get into the cabaret? I could have done that myself.” Georgie smirked.

  As the sisters teased one another about who should and shouldn’t be dating, a bluegrass band with the name ‘The Loose Chewin’ painted on their drums began setting up in a shady gazebo in the middle of all the picnic tables.

  “I think the reason you won’t go out with Obby is because you are still in love with Stan,” Aleta said boldly.

  “What?” Georgie practically screeched.

  “You heard me.” Aleta smiled and looked away.

  “I have three children with that man. Even though they are all grown they still need their Daddy. To make that possible, I have to play nice. That doesn’t mean I am still in love with the man. Besides, you only see him on his best behavior.”

  “Oh, come on, Georgie. That man is doing everything he can to get back in your good graces. You’ll never forgive him?”

  “Nope,”—Georgie folded her arms—"and there is a big difference between my husband and yours. William was a wonderful man. You know how fond I was of him. He was the brother I never had, but he’d want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy. Why would you think I’m not happy?”

  Georgie didn’t say anything.

  “I like seeing you every day. Usually, I like having the house to myself. I’m just not interested in going through all that trouble of meeting a new man.”

  “Even someone as good-looking as that Mr. Gillibrand?” Georgie jerked her chin toward the band. Marley was standing nearby, watching the band. He walked around a number of the picnic tables and spoke with several groups of people who smiled and shook his hand as he passed. Marley strolled like a man without a care in the world. His head bobbed to the music from The Loose Chewin’. When he saw Aleta, Marley smiled and waved.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Just see what he has to say,” Georgie instructed.

  “Don’t leave me! Do you hear me? Do not leave my side!”

  “I won’t. I won’t leave you at all. I promise”—Georgie nodded and patted her sister’s hand—"but he’s coming over here like a bee to honey.” Aleta was embarrassed that Marley was focusing his attention on her. She had no idea what to do with him and was angry that Georgie was no real help at all.

  “Marley, we didn’t get a chance to tell you how amazing your car is,” Georgie initiated as he sidled up to the picnic table.

  “Thank you.” Marley hitched his thumbs through his belt loops. “I bought that car for five hundred dollars and worked for eight years to get it to look like it does now.”

  “Won’t you have a seat?” Georgie offered.

  “Thanks.” Marley swung one leg over the picnic table bench as close to Aleta as he could get without getting a slap from her. “Do you like old cars?” he asked Aleta.

  “I don’t know much about car
s. I do think they are beautiful to look at, though.” Aleta took a sip of her lemonade and avoided eye contact with Marley.

  Georgie stood up, “Well, I’m going to find Errol. I want to know if he wants to take any more pictures. Do you know where he might be, Marley?” Aleta clenched her teeth as she watched her sister preparing to leave.

  “Errol disappeared somewhere. I’d check by the VIP registration. I know quite a few people probably want him to photograph their cars.” Marley focused back on Aleta. “So, what do you do?” Before Aleta could answer and before Georgie could walk away, there was an ear-piercing scream.

  “Help! I need help!

  BEHIND THE GAZEBO THAT was filled with the Loose Chewin’ bluegrass band was a portable car stable capable of holding five or six cars. There were several of these stables located at various points across the grounds in case the weather took a turn for the worse. A hot-rodder could rent the space for a couple of hours, the entire day, or the duration of the event if they wanted to. The stables were clean and dry and most of them were secure with cameras and an attendant on duty.

  The car stable that the scream came from wasn’t one of the ones with a surveillance camera—nor did it have a person on site to keep an eye on things. It was just a giant bin that provided storage for the cars behind a low aluminum door that could easily be scaled.

  “Someone, help! We need a doctor! Is there a doctor here? Anyone who can help?”

  A man in a crisp bowling shirt approached the woman who was crying for help. Georgie instinctively worked her way closer to the commotion.

  “What is your sister doing?” Marley whispered to Aleta. “Tell her to get back.”

  “I’m not going to tell her that,” Aleta replied confidently. “Georgie can handle herself. I wonder what happened?”

  Georgie did exactly what her sister knew she would. Without asking for permission or forgiveness, Georgie wiggled herself closer and closer to the car stable and saw the screaming woman grab the man in the bowling shirt by his hand and pull him inside.