Murder at the Car Show

by Sandi Scott

  Why? Georgie wasn’t sure. After all, Stan had seen her in the delivery room getting ready to bring their first-born son, Jonathan, into the world. No one was ever more scared than she was. She cried and panted as she held Stan’s hand, admitting she wasn’t sure she was ready to be a mother. What if she dropped the baby? What if he got sick? What if, what if, what if ... she hated that feeling. When Stan left her seeking adventure and treasure, he didn’t see how scared she was then. By the time the divorce was final, Georgie felt she’d changed. Stan had come back to a completely different woman. But right now, over coffee and ice cream, Georgie felt like that girl in the delivery room spilling her guts to Stan about who she had encountered.

  “Okay, Georgie.” Stan cleared his throat. “Even though this is all helpful, you have obviously kicked over a hornet’s nest. Your back door is useless. The lock is completely broken, and I don’t think it will slide on the track. Aleta?” He looked a question at Georgie’s sister.

  “Of course, she can stay with me.”

  “Thanks,” Stan said. “Now, Georgie, for your penance I want you to come by the station tomorrow and fill out the paperwork.”

  “Oh, come on!” Georgie protested.

  “We’ll have the place dusted for prints, but I’m doubtful we’ll come up with anything substantial.” Stan set his coffee cup down on the table and pushed his chair back.

  “Thanks for coming by, Stan,” Aleta said before taking another sip of coffee. He waved as he headed toward the front door. Georgie walked behind him looking down at her feet.

  “Now, Georgie,” Stan whispered, “if it’s going to take a few days to get your door fixed and you get tired of staying at Aleta’s place, I want you to call me.”

  “Why? Do you get a discount at the Motel 6?”

  “Hey, now you’re talking!” Stan gave her that sexy, sly look that led to her youngest, Andrew, being born nine months later.

  “What is your point, Stan?”

  “I’m just saying, if you need a place to stay for a day or two, my door is open.”

  “Stan, you live in a one-bedroom bachelor pad.”

  “It won’t be much different from our first apartment. Remember? That place had barely enough room to turn around, but we did have fun.” Georgie harrumphed.

  “You’re not fooling me, Georgie Kaye, I know you had fun.” Again, that sly look made her heart flutter.

  “Stan, I think I’ll be just fine with Aleta.”

  “Well, my door is open, that’s all I’m saying.” Stan winked. “I’ll see you at my office tomorrow.”

  After he and his officers left the scene, Georgie grabbed a few things, including pajamas, cold cream, soothing eye mask, lavender hand lotion, her pillow, fuzzy slippers, and Bodhi’s squeaky toy.

  “You know, I’ve got stuff at my house,” Aleta said as she held the door open for her sister. “I don’t exactly live in a hut.”

  “I don’t want to impose,” Georgie replied.

  “You let yourself into my house every morning to eat my coffee cake and drink my coffee. What is this impose?” They chuckled together as they crossed the yard with their arms linked.

  Chapter 15

  “I can’t believe how late it is,” Georgie said as she shuffled into Aleta’s kitchen from the spare bedroom. “My sides are still hurting.”

  The Kaye sisters made the best out of a bad situation and treated Georgie’s overnight visit just like a slumber party. They popped popcorn, put on the old movie channel, and gabbed about William and Marley and Obby and Stan. They told stories about their kids and remembered their own parents. At the devil’s hour of three in the morning, they finally thought maybe they should go to sleep.

  “I needed to blow off some steam.” Georgie was still antsy. “This mystery is about to crack open. I can feel it. Can’t you?”

  “Georgie, Stan made it pretty clear yesterday that he didn’t want you snooping around anymore. What if you’d had been home when that person broke into your house?”

  “I’d have busted him in the chops and sat on him until the police arrived. Whoever it was knew I wasn’t there. Coward.” Georgie shook her fist at the unknown intruder.

  “This is no time to play tough-guy.”

  “Aleta, whoever did it is getting nervous. When criminals get nervous...”

  “They get dangerous.”

  “No, they get careless. I was going to say careless.” Georgie went to Aleta’s freezer and pulled out two frozen chocolate custard doughnuts. “How old are these?”

  “Just a week.” Aleta got the tea kettle on the stove. “I got them at Fleckenstein’s on the day-old rack. Out of all the people you’ve talked to do you have any idea who might have been the one to break in your house? Who of them knows where you live?”

  “Errol does. My address is on my business card, and he wanted me to paint for him. Or at least, he did.” Georgie scratched her face as she recalled their last meeting. He left in a big hurry. “Gosh, could it be that easy?”

  “Marley knows.” Aleta bit her bottom lip.

  “How does he know?”

  “When I was at his house, uhm, while we were just talking, I told him where I live and that you lived next door.”

  Georgie sat down at the table. “Oh, Aleta,” Georgie sighed. “Well, it doesn’t mean anything until it means something. Let’s not convict the guy until we have the evidence.”

  “How can you say that, Georgie? The guy’s fingerprints are all over this break-in.”

  “Not so. Stan said they wouldn’t find any fingerprints.” Georgie got each of them a knife and fork and began to cut into her frozen custard doughnut. After her first bite, she rolled her eyes. “These are so good like this.”

  “I know, especially out on the porch in the summer when it’s hot by ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “I’m going to see Stan. I’ll let you know what I find out. I’m sure he’s holding out on me.”

  “Yeah, the head detective isn’t feeding details about a murder to his ex-wife. What a Greedy Gus.”

  “You always take his side.”

  “Only when you are wrong. I can’t help how often that is.” They finished their sweet snack and before four o’clock in the morning Georgie was on her way to the police station to talk with Stan.

  “What is my beautiful wife doing here at this hour, and what did she bring me?” Stan asked as he stood up from his desk. The bullpen was mostly empty with just a couple of uniforms and one familiar face hanging around.

  “These aren’t for you,” Georgie said. “They are for the guys who have to put up with you. Hi, Lito!” She waved to a tall, dark, handsome man in plain clothes standing at the copier.

  “Hey, Georgie.”

  “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Had vacation time I had to use, or else I’d lose it.” Lito was a young detective who was learning at the side of Stan Toon.

  “Yeah, Georgie, around here you have to use it, or you’ll lose it. Now, you wouldn’t want that to happen to me, would you?” Stan asked as he held his office door open for her.

  “Don’t blame me because you didn’t use your brain so you lost your mind. I had nothing to do with that.” Georgie picked a square out of the box and handed it to Stan. “Do you need me to come in here and straighten up your office? These same files have been on the floor for weeks.”

  “And have you trying to tie up every cold case in the city? No,” he said with a mouthful, “not unless you want to wear one of those cute little French maid outfits.”

  “Ugh. Really, Stan?”

  “Really, Georgie. What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “Aleta and I couldn’t sleep. So, she suggested reading a book. I told her that was a great idea and to tell me how the story turned out. I wanted something a little more substantial.”

  “Now you’re talking. Oh, honey, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say...”

  “I meant news on the Hera Packard
murder.” Georgie broke in before Stan finished his thought.

  “Georgie, you break my heart, but, since you brought her up, there is something I want you to have a look at.” He handed her a file with a number written on the tab before the name Packard. Georgie flipped it open and tried to read the paperwork.

  “That’s the autopsy report for Hera Packard.” Stan took a quick sip of coffee. “Turns out the sleep aides they found in her system were actually roofies.”

  “Roofies, really?”

  “I spoke with her doctor. Aside from the bad habit of smoking, Hera was in pretty good shape. No sleep issues requiring pills. No recreational drug usage. No alcohol.”

  “So, how did this get in her system?”

  “I don’t know, but it isn’t the kind of drug a person takes knowingly.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Georgie knew what roofies were. Pretty well any television crime show had at least one episode about someone being slipped a roofie. The person would wake up in a strange motel room missing their underpants and their wallet with no recollection of what happened.

  “We also spoke to a woman named Linda Chase,” Stan added.

  “Who is she?”

  “Not anyone in particular, just a woman who said she heard Hera having a discussion with one of the managers at the show.”

  “Who was the manager?” Georgie looked down at the file in front of Stan before looking back at his face.

  “Brock Deebs.”

  Georgie didn’t want to let on that she knew exactly who Brock was. She’d have to explain why she’d gone to Brock’s house and dropped Stan’s name, and, well, who needed the aggravation and bother with all those details?

  “Have you talked with him?”

  “Not yet. Mr. Deebs has been busy with upcoming events at the fairgrounds. I’m not sure how much will come from talking to him. The guy meets with vendors and sponsors and officials all day every day. They need so many permits for different shows. It’s a lot of red tape for very little return, in my opinion.” Stan shook his head.

  Georgie wanted to jump up and run out of his office but took a deep breath to calm herself instead. “Is that it?” she asked.

  “That’s all I’ve got right now, my dear.” Stan took the file and tossed it on his desk. “Anything you care to add?”

  “Not at the moment.” Georgie thought for a second. “I’ve got to get going. I need to call about, uhm, my door. I can’t have plywood stuck there forever. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “No trouble. We call for plywood often, vandals and such.” Georgie could feel Stan studying her. He knew she was hiding something.

  “Right.” Georgie stood up and smiled a huge, utterly ridiculous smile at Stan. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Just as Georgie turned to leave Stan’s office, he grabbed hold of her hand. She held her breath. If he asked her what she was hiding, she knew she would spill the beans. Lying to Stan’s face was impossible. She might be able to bend the truth a little, but an outright lie was another matter. She couldn’t do it.

  “Now, Georgie. I know Aleta’s letting you stay with her until you get your door fixed, but she’s a grown woman with her own routine. She might not want you staying there for a second night.”

  “Are you inviting me to your place again?”

  “You haven’t been there in over a year. I cleaned it all up last night even changed the sheets. This morning, I picked up a couple of those scented candles you like so much.”

  “I’m not spending the night with you, Stan.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you don’t like that idea? Me neither.” He stepped closer to her.

  “Stan, really.”

  “I can’t help myself, Georgie. Every time you come in here looking like you do, you just stir up all kinds of animal urges.” Stan’s voice was low, and he arched his right eyebrow. “Come on, Georgie. Let’s pretend we’re newlyweds again.”

  “Been there, done that,” Georgie replied before she slung her purse strap over her head, adjusted it across her chest, and walked out of the office. Of course, she chuckled at his flirting, but right now she had a murder on her mind, not romance.

  Chapter 16

  “Brock Deebs is hiding something. If he’s really as busy as Stan says, maybe he isn’t at his house right now.” Georgie climbed into Pablo and began driving. “I’ll just look in the windows. Maybe I’ll jiggle a couple of door handles. If one happens to be open, maybe I’ll peek inside. If not, no biggie. I’ll get back in the car and go. No harm in that, right Pablo?” She listened to the distinct bubbly sound of the Volkswagen engine. “Right.” However, as she drove down the street toward Brock’s house, she saw a truck backing out of the driveway.

  “Hold on. What is this?” Squinting, she was sure it was Brock in the driver’s seat. Snapping off her headlights, she pulled to the side of the road like she was parking on the street. “Where are you going at this early hour, Mr. Deebs?” she asked Pablo. Georgie was torn. Should I stay put and try to get into his house that is probably locked up tight, or should I follow him? Pablo idled his encouragement.

  “I agree. Only people up to no good are driving around at this hour.” Georgie shifted the gears and began to follow Brock’s white Chevy truck. The problem with tailing someone in the early morning when it is still dark is that the traffic isn’t heavy enough for cover, especially if you’re driving an old orange Volkswagen. Georgie had to hang back several car lengths to be sure that she wasn’t noticed. So far, it seemed to be working. After a couple of miles Georgie was sure she knew where Brock was going, The Tri-Local Fairgrounds.

  So, maybe Stan was right, and he does have so much work to do that he needs to get a jump on it before regular business hours. I guess that could be true. Georgie was puzzled about why the man might be heading to the fairgrounds so early in the day. However, she continued to follow the truck from a safe distance. Sure enough, he pulled his truck off the main drag and into the fairgrounds, heading toward the tradeshow center where his trailer was parked.

  Georgie continued past the entrance. There were several ways to access the fairgrounds where she would be less likely to be noticed. With no traffic on the road, she made an illegal U-turn, headed back two miles, and turned onto a rougher road that was mostly gravel. It also led to the tradeshow center and pavilion.

  “Pablo, I’m going to leave you here and walk to that trailer. That’s where he’s going, I know it.” Georgie’s route wasn’t the easiest path to maneuver through, but she managed. After parking Pablo in some tall grass under a patch of trees with deep shadows, she walked along the rest of the gravel road toward the center. Crickets and katydids sang tirelessly. The heat from the previous day had dissipated hours ago and the air, although still, was cool, even chilly, against Georgie’s skin, or maybe it was just nerves. After walking the road for about five minutes, Georgie could make out the huge air-conditioned tradeshow center smack in the middle of the fairgrounds. Brock’s trailer was close. A tiny window in the trailer was lit. The truck was parked nearby with its headlights still on.

  Before getting too close to the trailer, Georgie pulled out her cell phone and dialed Stan’s number. “Of course, Stan. You tell me to keep you posted all the time. Keep you in the loop. Let you know what I’m doing. Then, when I do that, I get voicemail.” Georgie was exasperated when he didn’t pick up the phone immediately. At the beep, Georgie let her ex-husband know where she was, and what she was doing. Just as she hung up, the light in the small window went out. Georgie saw someone walk from the trailer to the truck and climb inside. She ducked behind some tall grass and peering out saw the truck tear away from the trailer like a fire engine heading to a five-alarm fire.

  “Here we go.” Georgie gathered her courage around her like Wonder Woman’s cape. As she approached the trailer, she felt like the world’s worst detective. No flashlight. No gun. No real plan of any kind. “Where is the fun i
n that, right?” she mumbled to herself. Between her and the trailer was at least twenty-five feet of low cut grass. She’d be completely exposed. “You can still go back, Georgie. You can get back in your car and head home and sleep until noon if you want.” Then she thought of Hera Packard. That caused her to square her shoulders and move forward. In her mind, she assured herself that if she looked like she knew what she was doing, if she looked like she belonged there, no one would question her. Looking around nervously, she didn’t see anyone that would be doubtful about her presence. Not a soul was in sight.

  The trailer was in the same place it had been when Aleta tried to talk to Mr. Deebs. Georgie climbed the steps to the aluminum front door and tried the handle. To her frustration it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she twisted it. “Of course,” she muttered in frustration, “out here in the middle of nowhere with no one around, it makes sense to lock a trailer up as if it’s housing the Ark of the Covenant.”

  First, Georgie looked around at the ground for a rock or something to smash the tiny handle, but struck by a better idea, she started digging around in her purse, feeling for her eyeglass case. She hated wearing her spectacles but carried them with her just in case she needed them. Alongside her glasses in a plastic sheath was an eyeglass kit complete with a tiny Phillips screwdriver.

  “This won’t be hard I know it.” She talked to herself as she tried to break the door handle. When that didn’t work, she tried to pick the lock. Unsuccessful in efforts to get the lock open, she was finally able to get the thin, needle-like tip of the screwdriver underneath the screen covering the Plexiglas storm window. The screen was barely in place and shifted easily. Pushing the storm window up just a few inches allowed Georgie to slip her hand inside and flip the latch on the handle.

  “Look at you, Georgie Kaye, getting that door open so quickly and quietly,” she whispered. She was sure the heavier door would be locked, too, and had a plan to get that open. Her plan required several good hard kicks but this time, luck was on Georgie’s side.