Murder at the Car Show

by Sandi Scott

  “That love bug has got a hold of you bad, sis.”

  “You are too much.” Aleta rolled her eyes. “Fine, let’s interrupt the kids who are working hard so you can snoop instead of getting the information you want right from the horse’s mouth.”

  “Come on. Snooping is half the fun.”

  When the man and woman came back out of the house they were each carrying a box. Hers said books on the side while his read dishes. “Excuse me.” Georgie waved. “I’m sorry to bother you. I was hoping you could help me with directions.”

  The girl was thin but muscular and set her box inside the truck first. The boy was taller and bulkier than she was, and it seemed clear to the Kaye sisters that they weren’t married but possibly related. Georgie noted their eyes and hair were the same color.

  “Sure. Where are you trying to go?” the girl asked.

  “Well, we’re actually looking for someone. Do you happen to know where Marley Gillibrand lives?”

  The girl put her hands on her hips and growled. “A man by that name lives next door.”

  Chapter 7

  “I’m surprised he isn’t outside on his porch right now, drinking his breakfast, lunch, and dinner while telling us to make sure we don’t put any of our dead aunt’s belongings on his part of the grass.” The girl almost hissed the words. “He is that kind of drunk.”

  The girl was tough looking, with scrolling tattoos on her right forearm, left wrist, and near her collarbone. She looked rough around the edges as if she’d seen her fair share of bar fights and late nights. With sharp eyes, she sized up Georgie and Aleta. “Who did you say you were?” she asked suspiciously.

  “My name is Georgie Kaye. This is my sister, Aleta. We were inquiring about a vintage car for sale that Mr. Gillibrand had posted at the senior center where my sister resides.”

  The girl nodded, then fished in her pocket. She pulled out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. “Yeah, that would be him. He’s always working on old cars. Probably because they don’t talk back.” She quickly lit the cigarette, took a long drag, and extended her hand. “I’m Rita Teal. That’s my brother Roger in the house.”

  “Did you say your dead aunt?” Aleta asked.

  “Yeah. Our aunt died the other day.”

  “What was her name?” Georgie looked over at Marley’s house but saw no movement.

  “Hera Packard. You know her?”

  “Hmm, can’t say that we do. Although, we are so sorry for your loss. You were obviously close to her?” Georgie turned on the concerned old lady routine. Only someone with a truly petrified heart would think she was doing anything other than offering a sympathetic ear—unless that someone was Aleta, who knew all of her sister’s tricks.

  “Not especially, but if we don’t get this stuff out of here and into storage, we won’t be able to rent out the property.”

  “Aleta, why don’t you go talk to Mr. Gillibrand? See if he was serious about what he said about that car.”

  “Do you think it is a good idea for me to go without you? It is your money, after all.” Aleta squeezed Georgie’s arm.

  “Yes, it will be fine. Go on. Isn’t this part of your therapy? Didn’t the doctor say you needed to start interacting on your own? You’ve made such gains.” Georgie looked at Rita. “My sister was addicted to carrying a sock puppet for comfort. Wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Spoke to it like, well, like she’s speaking to you now. But, it’s been three weeks with no sock on her hand.”

  Aleta took a deep breath. To Rita, it looked like pride, but Georgie knew her sister was biting her tongue.

  “Congratulations.” Rita took another puff and looked at Aleta’s hands.

  “Go on,” Georgie encouraged, “you spoke to Mr. Gillibrand at the seniors center. Remember, you even said you thought he was handsome.” Georgie winked at Rita.

  “Come and get me when you’re done here,” Aleta said before walking off to Marley’s house.

  “So, can you tell me what the problem was with Mr. Gillibrand and your aunt?” Georgie pressed.

  “All I know is that I never knew the guy lived next door until he started being so loud and abusive to our aunt. He drinks, you know.” Rita took another drag and breathed the smoke out her nose. “They lived next to each other for years with no incidents. Then, something happened to him. My aunt knew the signs of a drunk. She tried to be nice and help him, but he didn’t want it. Something about my aunt wanting to help made him hate her. However, that is the mentality of an alcoholic. I’ve got no patience for that kind of person.”

  “Really?” Georgie thought about Hera’s sour disposition at the lemonade booth and wondered if this was the whole story. Was there possibly a romance gone bad between Hera and Marley. “Rita, I don’t mean to pry but did your aunt and Mr. Gillibrand have a relationship of some kind? Were they ever romantically involved?”

  “If that were the case, I could understand why they stopped getting along. You don’t—uhm, poop where you eat,” Rita said and looked over her shoulder at her aunt’s house, “but she never mentioned anything like that.”

  Georgie was watching out of the corner of her eye and saw Marley crack open his front door. As soon as he saw Aleta there, he opened the door wide and smiled, welcoming her pleasantly. Not wanting there to be any kind of confrontation that could limit her information gathering, Georgie continued to talk to Rita.

  “Marley never got violent with your aunt, did he?”

  “Aunt Hera said Marley threatened her, but as far as I know he was never drunk enough to venture off his porch.” Rita waved her brother over. He had stepped out of the house carrying a garbage bag full of linens and towels. “Marley said he’d dump her garbage in the middle of her lawn or flatten her tires if Aunt Hera parked in front of his house.”

  “Are you talking about Marley?” Roger asked. His sister made introductions, and Roger picked up where Rita left off. “That guy has a couple of screws loose. I’m glad we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

  Roger was a taller, wirier version of Rita. He also had tattoos on his arms and one on his leg of the Fighting Irish leprechaun. His thin hair looked like he probably had a friend cut it, maybe even his sister; whoever did it wasn’t concerned about straight lines.

  “If he wasn’t involved with your aunt, what made him so sour toward her?” Georgie wanted more details about Marley’s dislike of Hera.

  “Well, we weren’t here that much, so I really couldn’t say. I live over on Dupont at Lunt and Roger lives over at 191st and Racine,” Rita said taking a final puff on her cigarette before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath her rubber Croc.

  “But, we heard from people that there were constant arguments between them,” Roger said. “Marley was always drunk when they argued, as near as we know.”

  “I understand.” Georgie folded her arms in front of her and listened.

  “Marley looked for anything to argue about when he was intoxicated. When he was sober, he just kept to himself,” Rita interrupted. “Sometimes Marley had his hot rod out front. Occasionally there would be another car in the yard as well; then there would be pieces scattered around everywhere, even on Aunt Hera’s lawn. When he was working on a car, he would calm down like a baby with a pacifier; at least he was away from the booze for a while.”

  “I see.” Georgie didn’t see any of this as a reason to kill someone, but, then again, pick up any newspaper and you could find an example of someone losing their temper over something small like who had the last pork chop, and the next thing you know—dead body on the floor. “Did your aunt ever call the police for help?”

  “Yeah, I think the last time they had a fight she did.” Rita looked up at her brother who nodded solemnly.

  “Do you know what it was about?”

  “I think Marley was in his garage working late and had his music loud,” Rita replied. “Everyone likes Bon Jovi but not at two in the morning.”

  After a few more minutes, Georgie thanked Rita
and her brother for their help. “I’ve got to get my sister. She can’t be left on her own for too long. Not yet.” Georgie looked at her watch. “Otherwise, she has the tendency to pull off a sock, it doesn’t even have to be her own, and slip it on her hand for comfort. I’d hate to get on Mr. Gillibrand’s bad side if she did that.” The siblings looked at her suspiciously as she waved goodbye, then Georgie saw them chuckling together and shaking their heads as they got back to work loading up the U-Haul with the late Hera Packard’s things.

  In contrast to Hera’s neatly kept bungalow, Marley Gillibrand’s house was beginning to show signs of neglect. There was a single lawn chair on the porch and the light over the front door was nothing more than an exposed bulb. The door had a pretty, beveled glass window that Georgie tapped gently on. “Woo-hoo!” She called.

  Aleta opened the door and quickly stepped outside. “Thank you again for the tea, Marley,” Aleta gushed.

  “I’m really glad you stopped by, Aleta.” He smiled as he walked to the door and saw Georgie standing there, adding, “Hi, it’s Georgie, right?” Marley was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt as he had been at the car show. Except this time, he wasn’t wearing any shoes, and his hair hung in lush waves around his face.

  “Yes, it is,” Georgie smiled at him, pleased that he remembered her when he clearly had eyes only for her sister. “I’m sorry we must run. My sister’s IBS was acting up this morning.”

  “Georgie.” Aleta pinched her sister’s arm. “Don’t listen to my sister, Marley. She’s a compulsive liar and has also been known to drool on herself.”

  “Bye, Marley,” Georgie said as Aleta dragged her from the porch and down the street toward the train station. “So, what did you learn?” Georgie asked quickly.

  “IBS? Really?”

  “Well, if I said you had narcolepsy, Marley would know I was lying.”

  “Why do you have to say I have anything? Can’t you just be normal?”

  “Where is the fun in that, Aleta?” Georgie shrugged the question off.

  Aleta chuckled as they walked down the sidewalk. “Okay, here’s the scoop. Marley Gillibrand is single. He’s been into old cars since he was a kid and rebuilt the engine of a 1968 Mustang with his Dad when he was sixteen. He’s never been married but was engaged a couple years ago. The woman died.”

  Georgie gasped. “Oh, Aleta! I sent you into the house of a monster! I knew as soon as I saw that door close I should have never let you go in there alone. Did he scare you? Did he threaten you? Or was he a sweet talker? Do you think you might become his next obsession?”

  “Would you calm yourself?” Aleta patted her sister’s arm. “She died of cancer, Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.” A few years earlier, Georgie had been diagnosed with the same kind of cancer. With some intense treatment and a lot of prayer, the cancer went into remission where it has stayed, but at the mention of the disease, both women became quiet.

  “Don’t, Aleta,” Georgie ordered.

  “I can’t help it.” Aleta’s eyes watered.

  “I’m right here. We beat it, remember?”

  “But, it could have so easily been you. What would I have done? What would the kids do? And poor Stan? I don’t think he slept a full night from the day you were diagnosed to the day it went into remission.”

  “Aleta, we are trying to solve a murder here.” Georgie made her voice stern.

  “Georgie, you aren’t just my sister—you’re my twin. I know you were scared when the news came, but you’ve got that mystical faith people admire. You know me; I have to have facts and stats and numbers or else ...”

  “Or else you think the worst. I know, honey. I know.”

  Georgie held Aleta’s hand while they walked. They went a couple of blocks in silence before Georgie asked another question. “How come they didn’t push up the wedding so they could be married before, well, you know?”

  “Marley said he tried to convince her to do that, but she wouldn’t. He didn’t really go into a lot of detail. I didn’t push for it.” Aleta let go of Georgie’s hand and looked through her purse for a tissue to blow her nose. “But, he seemed very upset that Hera Packard was dead.”

  “Really? The story I got from the kids was that they didn’t like each other.”

  “Marley said they had their differences, but he really didn’t mind her.” Aleta was thoughtful. “He certainly never expected her to suddenly show up dead, in his car of all places. He seemed upset that now he will never have a chance to make things right between them.”

  “Of course he does,” Georgie said. “Who wouldn’t feel that way?” They were quiet for a few minutes more. “So, what do you think of Marley?” Georgie finally asked Aleta.

  “I don’t think he did it, but I’m not sure he’s being completely honest either. He said he’d stopped drinking and was trying to ‘work the steps’ and make things right.” Aleta paused for a second before adding in a disappointed voice, “But I noticed an awful lot of empty beer bottles laying around his house.”

  Chapter 8

  The car show had wrapped up the previous night. With the suspicious death, Georgie and Aleta assumed the attendance would have dropped off, but, as they pulled up to the grounds, there were still several booths standing. The stages where the entertainers had performed were still there. In the air-conditioned pavilion, hot rods were parked all around, and people continued to come and go in a steady stream. Easing Pablo closer to the entrance, Georgie parked.

  “What are we doing here?” Aleta asked.

  “I don’t know. I just thought it would be a good place to start. Maybe something will pop up or”—Georgie looked at her sister with wide-eyed innocence—"I could even try to sneak a peek at that car stable. It’s bound to still be here, evidence and scene of a crime and all.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Aleta linked arms with her sister, and they walked slowly through the grounds, unable to tell if the remaining crowd knew about the death of Hera Packard or not. Some people had long faces. Others joked and laughed as they packed up their cars and loaded them on trailers.

  “There it is, the car stable.” Georgie pointed to a roped off shed with yellow tape and a police officer sitting on a folding chair staring at his cell phone.

  “Do you know that officer?”

  “I can’t tell from here,” Georgie replied, “but I’m sure he knows Stan.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Why am I the only one who needs to come up with an idea? Why don’t you come up with an idea?”

  “Because I’m the one who thinks we should leave this to the police.”

  “That’s so boring. How did I end up with such a boring twin?”

  “You think you’re the only one with a burden?” Aleta rolled her eyes.

  “Gosh, even though it is a cloudy day, it is hotter than the dickens out here.” Georgie fanned herself briskly with her hand.

  “I was just thinking that, too.” Aleta licked her lips. “Hey, isn’t that the lemonade booth over there? It’s still up. Want to get one?”

  “Aleta, that is your best idea yet!” Georgie squeezed her sister’s arm. “I think that’s the boy that took Hera’s place yesterday. Let’s see if he is more talkative today.”

  “He’s a teenager. I’ll bet he’s not,” Aleta sighed.

  “How much money do you have on you?” Georgie was brisk.

  “Why?”

  “I know one thing that will make him talk,” Georgie said.

  “You are going to bribe a teenager?” Aleta stared at Georgie.

  “What do you think an allowance is? Besides, he’s not a teenager. He’s got to be at least nineteen, maybe even twenty. Now come on.” The sisters approached the lemonade booth slowly. The machines were still swirling the lemonade in the clear, rectangular containers and dozens of lemons had been cut and were waiting to be juiced on the small counter space next to the window. The boy with the dark hair was looking down reading a book.

&n
bsp; “Are you still open?” Georgie asked. The boy looked up and flipped his book over. He was reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring.

  “Yup,” he grumbled. On his T-shirt was a name tag that read Pete.

  “Two lemonades, please,” Georgie ordered.

  “What size?”

  “Large, please.” Georgie tapped her red polished nails against the metal top of the service window. “That sure was a lot of excitement the other day, wasn’t it?”

  “What?” He asked while filling the first cup.

  “The woman they found dead. Wait. She worked here, didn’t she?” Georgie looked at Aleta and then the boy.

  “Yeah.” Pete seemed to be more interested in getting the cup filled than answering Georgie’s questions.

  “Were you friends?” Georgie asked gently. Just because Pete was a teenager didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings.

  “She was alright.” Pete began to fill the second cup. “She didn’t take sleeping pills like they said.”

  “You know that for sure?” Georgie leaned in a little closer.

  “Hera and I worked this booth together for a couple of seasons. She smoked, but she didn’t do any drugs or nothin’. She would always tell me if she found out I was doing anything like that, she’d tell my Mom and Dad.”

  “You think she meant it?”

  “Yes,” the boy said without hesitation.

  “Do you know if she had any health problems she might have been taking a prescription for? Anything that might have made her drowsy?”

  “If she did, she didn’t take it yesterday. She was angry about something.”

  “She didn’t happen to say what?”

  “No. I think it had something to do with someone here at the car show. Hera kept looking around like she was waiting for someone.” Pete cleared his throat. “After they took her in the ambulance, I went over to the car stable. There was some dude over there lurking around. He wasn’t no cop.”