I opened my mouth to interject and defend my grandmother’s honor, but Shirley shook off Nancy’s hand and strode away. Nancy’s lower lip trembled as she tiptoed after her idol. I sat down to continue my sketching.
The bingo games were reaching higher stakes. Someone had just won a microwave oven, and the next prize was a dinner for two at the café. I’d drawn several sketches that I thought were quite good. In between games, people had drained two of my large carafes of coffee and eaten nearly half the bars from the dessert tray. I’d had some coffee myself, and decided to take a quick break and find the ladies’ room.
I’d been to the bingo hall with Grandma Iris before, but I hadn’t had need of the facilities, so I had to guess where to find them. It seemed a safe bet they were either in front near the cloakroom or in back behind the stage. The stage was closer so I went that way first.
I heard a door close around the corner, so I figured I was on the right track. I turned the corner, hoping to see the universal symbol of relief, but instead found a middle-aged man dressed all in black standing in front of a closed door.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I was just looking for the restrooms.”
“They’re not back here.”
“Sorry, can you tell me where they—”
“This is private. Off limits. Now go on.”
He made a shooing motion at me and then crossed his arms. The overt rudeness made me certain he must work for Cunningham, as most locals would be much more passive aggressive in their insults.
“But what are you—”
“Guarding Mr. Cunningham’s private dressing room.” He glared at me like I was a groupie trying to sneak backstage at a concert. “Now go, before I have to call the cops.”
I stumbled back, trying not to look like a little kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. I definitely didn’t want Maxwell being called to the scene. I wasn’t ready for that level of embarrassment. I ducked my head and went back around the corner to continue my restroom search out by the cloakroom.
When I got back to my seat, I quickly took out my sketchbook and roughed out a sketch of the rude man backstage. His forbidding frown and stubbled face was an interesting contrast to the portraits of excitement and competitive spirit I’d sketched of the bingo players. Artistically the night was feeling like a real success, and keeping my hands busy had kept my mind mostly off of Maxwell and his new girlfriend.
Chapter 3
“Bingo!” someone yelled, ending the latest game.
After the prize was announced, Shirley joined Cunningham on the stage. He handed off the microphone and took out a crisp white hanky and mopped his forehead.
“Thank you, Mr. Cunningham. We will now take a fifteen minute break before we begin the final rounds, culminating in the grand prize of twenty-five thousand dollars!”
The crowd gave a cheer and got up from their seats, leaving sweaters and reading glasses to mark their places. A wave of people surged toward the food, and I put away my sketchpad.
On stage, Cunningham held out a hand to lead Shirley down the stairs. A blush almost made its way through her thick makeup at his gallantry, and the two left the stage and headed for the dressing room in back.
I kept the food line flowing, paying extra attention to the stock of napkins. Nobody likes a sticky bingo card.
A moment later Shirley bustled out of the dressing room, head on a swivel. “Nancy? Where’s Nancy?”
The crowd around her shrugged and kept eating.
Shirley came to my table. “Have you seen Nancy?”
“No, not since you – uh, not for a while.”
Shirley pursed her lips. “You don’t have any cocktail ingredients back there, do you?”
My mouth fell open an inch. I hadn’t taken her as a public drinker. “No, nothing but coffee.”
“Hmph. Mr. Cunningham wants a brandy alexander. Where am I supposed to get cognac?”
I shrugged and turned my eyes to the bingo players shuffling their feet behind her, waiting to get sandwiches.
She noticed my shifted gaze and frowned. “I guess I have to do everything myself. Nancy should really be here,” she grumbled as she walked to the door.
I spared a moment to chuckle to myself about the inconvenience of having your minion disappear just when you wanted one to run an errand for you.
When the sandwich and coffee crowd had their fill, Grandma Iris joined me at the dessert table.
“I can’t wait for that grand prize game.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to win it for sure. I can feel it in my bones.”
“What would you do with twenty-five grand?” I said.
Grandma Iris grinned. “What couldn’t I do with the money? I could take a cruise around the world. Or buy a sports car. A red one. Or I could pay off your student loans.”
I put an arm around and her and gave her a squeeze.
“Or I could use it to get a younger boyfriend. A real gigolo.”
“Grandma Iris!”
She giggled. “A red sportscar would probably do the trick, there. Not that I’m in the market for any more men.”
I shook my head.
Grandma Iris looked at her watch. “Nine twenty already. This break is going a little long, isn’t it? Most of these people have an early bedtime.” She grinned. “I guess Shirley isn’t so perfect after all. You should have heard her bragging about how she’d keep the jubilee shipshape.”
Just then I saw Nancy hurrying across the room, looking at her watch with a worried expression.
“Better go get your seat,” I said, nodding to indicate the returned minion.
Grandma Iris scurried back to her spot, ready to take down the big prize money.
Shirley reappeared in the room, a lidded to go cup from the gas station in her hand. Nancy made a beeline for her, but Shirley waved her off with a glare. Nancy’s face fell. Shirley walked toward the dressing room backstage. I heard her knock, pause, then more knocking with an increase in tempo volume.
A minute later Shirley marched to the podium, the cup still in her hand. She set the cup on the podium and tapped the microphone. A screech of noise got everyone’s attention.
“We’ll be starting the final round in a just a moment. Everyone, please take your seats.” Shirley watched the crowd shuffle back to their tables. “And now, once again, the star of tonight’s bingo jubilee, Mr. Fremont Cunningham!”
The people already seated applauded expectantly while those not yet seated rushed to get to their chairs. Everyone waited, but Cunningham didn’t appear.
Shirley climbed down off the stage and beckoned Nancy, who ran to her like a well trained puppy. Shirley gave some whispered instructions, sending Nancy jogging to the dressing room. There was more knocking, then pounding, before Nancy jogged back to her master, shaking her head. They had a whispered conference, with Shirley’s face looking more and more pinched.
An expectant rumble went through the crowd as Shirley and Nancy strode toward the cloak room. Shirley seemed to be scolding Nancy the entire way, and I made out the word “keys” more than once.
I got up from my seat behind the catering tables and drifted toward the back, expecting to see the rude man in black at any moment and get scolded again. But he wasn’t there. The air felt cool, but there was nowhere for a breeze to come into the area except the emergency fire door at the back. A few autumn leaves lay on the mat in front of the emergency door.
Shirley and Nancy spared me a glare as they passed me on the way to the dressing room door. A fat keyring jingled in Shirley’s hand. She knocked once, then inserted a key into the lock and opened the door.
They both gasped, and then a high pitched scream warbled out of Nancy’s throat. Shirley swung around and slapped her and Nancy stopped.
I rushed forward to see what was wrong.
Cunningham was lying crumpled on the dressing room floor, a chair toppled next to him. A bright red ligature mark circled his neck
. His eyes were wide open, nearly popping out of his head, and his face was a mottled purple.
Our celebrity bingo caller was dead.
Chapter 4
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Maxwell.
He picked up after about four rings. “I can’t really talk right now, Kelly.” He sounded out of breath.
“There’s been a murder,” I croaked. “At the bingo jubilee.”
“What? I’ll be right there.”
The phone went silent and I dropped it back in my pocket.
Grandma Iris appeared at my elbow. “Another murder?” she whispered, “Time to put on our detective hats again.”
“Maxwell is on his way.”
“I wish Buddy was here. I bet he could sniff out the culprit.”
“For now we need to keep everyone clear of the crime scene.”
“I can do that.” Grandma Iris straightened up to her full height. “All right people, move back, nothing to see here. Make a hole.”
Shirley shot a glare at Grandma Iris. She opened her mouth to speak, but I stepped in between them.
“Do you think you could make an announcement, just keep everyone calm?” I said.
Shirley gave me a terse nod and made her way to the podium to make her announcement. I jogged back to the catering tables to check the coffee supply and rearrange the dessert trays. Years of waitressing had taught me that a well fed crowd is a calm crowd.
It felt like ages before Maxwell arrived, but by the clock was only a few minutes. I expected him to come in flanked by officers on every side, but he was alone. He made a beeline for the catering tables.
“What happened?” he said when he got to me.
“It was during the break. The celebrity caller. Over here.” I led him to the back room, where Grandma Iris was standing sentry. She’d managed to shoo away the rest of the bingo players, making me wonder just what she’d promised in return.
Maxwell gave Grandma Iris a respectful nod. “Has anyone been in there?”
“Nope, I kept them all out.” She gave a proud smile.
“Have you been in there?”
Grandma Iris’s eyes darted away for a second. “Um, not really.”
“So forensics definitely won’t find any trace of your DNA in the room?”
“Well, it’s possible that I stepped over the threshold a tiny inch or two.”
Maxwell nodded again. “All in the line of keeping the scene clear, I’m sure.”
“That’s right. That’s exactly it.” Grandma Iris looked up at him with a smile.
“Thank you.”
We all stood there for an awkward moment. I wanted to go in with Maxwell and hear his thoughts. I’m sure Grandma Iris didn’t want to miss out either.
“Do you think you could watch the catering tables for me?” I said.
Grandma Iris opened her mouth to protest, then gave me and Maxwell a knowing look. “Of course, Kelly, dear, I’d be happy to.”
She quickly went to take over the catering tables. She shook an empty coffee urn with a frown, then got to rearranging the bars on the dessert tray.
Maxwell raised an eyebrow at me.
I shrugged. “She already had a chance to see the crime scene.”
“And you’re just as nosy, if not more so.”
I smiled, waiting to be scolded and sent away. To my surprise, he did neither.
“As a matter of fact, I could use your help.”
“Mine?”
“You have a good eye. And everyone on the force is out at a multi-car pileup on the highway out of town.”
“Oh no, is it bad?”
He hesitated, and I braced myself to hear the ugly side of the job. “No, not bad exactly, more like... weird.”
I cocked my head. “Weird how?”
“No deaths.”
“Thank goodness.”
“But quite a few injuries.”
“Hmm. And the weird?”
“There’s a couple dozen cars on the roadway, all willy nilly with bumpers mashed into fenders, and nobody will get back in their vehicle and get out of the way.”
“That is weird.”
“I haven’t told you the weird part yet.”
“Oh?”
“The reason they won’t get back in their vehicles.”
“And what’s that?”
“Money falling from the sky.”
“Yep, that’s weird. Where’d it come from?”
“Don’t know yet. In any case, the entire department is out there, trying to manage the crowd and clean up the crashes. I was on my way there too when you called.”
I nodded, glad that he hadn’t been trapped on the scene as well.
“I want your help.”
“Mine?” I squeaked.
“Yes. This part of the scene can wait until the forensics techs can get here, but that group out there will need to be interviewed before we can let them go home.”
“All of them?”
“All of them. At the very least, a brief statement of name, contact information, and what they saw if anything. We don’t want to keep them here all night, they’re not all spring chickens.” He paused and held my gaze. “I’m deputizing you to help take those statements.”
My heart beat wildly in my chest. “Really?”
“Yes. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t!”
“Ok, let me give you a list of what we need from each person. You do have paper or a notebook, right?”
I laughed. “Of course I do. I was sketching the crowd while they played.”
“Good. All I need are the basics. Name, address, phone number, what time they arrived, and convenient days and times for them to come down to the station so I can take their statement.”
“Wait, I thought I was taking their statements.”
“Kelly, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but really I just need the basics.”
I felt a little pang of disappointment in my chest. When Maxwell said he was deputizing me, I was excited – more excited than I’d have expected. I always thought I only had ambitions for art, but something about investigation was... thrilling.
“You’re the boss,” I said.
“Good.” He ran his hand through his short, bristly hair. “One other question. Do you know if anyone left the premises before I got here?”
I started to shake my head, but then remembered the rude man in black. “There was a guy, but I don’t know when he left.”
“A guy? What kind of guy? Local?”
“No, a stranger. Rude. Dressed in black. I saw him earlier in the evening, but he was gone when we found Cunningham.”
“Can you give me a description?”
“I can do better.” I opened my sketch book and turned to the page where I’d sketched the stranger. “This is him.”
We had our heads bent over the drawing when a commotion in the main hall drew our attention. We stepped out of the back room to see what was happening.
“Please accept one thousand apologies for my tardiness,” a melodious baritone voice boomed. “Commercial travel is not what it once was. But now, without further ado, let the games begin!”
The crowd got louder, voices asking each other what was going on.
“But who are you?” Grandma Iris yelled out, her naturally loud voice carrying over the crowd’s rumble.
The newcomer climbed onto the stage and gave a grand bow. “Why, I am Fremont Cunningham, of course.”
Chapter 5
Maxwell and I gaped at the man, then turned to each other.
“If he’s Cunningham, then who’s that?” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder.
“We’ll have to find out. If he’s an impostor, that could add a motive. You get started on those statements. I need to talk to this new Cunningham. And get your grandma to guard the door to the crime scene again.”
I nodded. Grandma Iris had proven a fierce guard. I wondered if she’d imagined she was Buddy, playing guard dog.
I h
ad signed the guest book when I arrived, and I assumed that Shirley had insisted everyone else do so as well. I searched out Shirley to be certain.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Morris.”
“Yes?” Shirley’s voice was as cold as ever.
“Did you have everyone sign in on arrival today?”
“Of course I did,” she snapped. “I try to always run a tight ship. Maryellen Flowers was in charge of the tickets and guest book. She should be somewhere in the front.”
I smiled internally. As a child, I’d always loved that the town’s florist was named Mrs. Flowers. I nodded at Shirley and went to find Maryellen.
She proved to be very helpful.
“Oh no, nobody could have come in without signing the guest book. I stayed right here the entire night.”
“Even during the break?”
She nodded. “My darling husband brought me a plate.”
I wasn’t surprised at that. The rumor around town was that every month of their many years of marriage, he’d called in an order for a bouquet for his wife, using a fake name or disguising his voice so she’d be surprised.
“I’m taking down information for Maxwell, so the police can contact any potential witnesses. May I use the guest book to make sure I don’t miss anyone?”
“Of course, dear. But make sure you bring it back. Shirley Morris would have my hide if I let it disappear.”
I started by taking down Maryellen’s address, phone number, and convenient times in case the police wanted a statement. Hers was the first name in the guest book, and I felt accomplished as I made a check mark next to it.
I quickly got into the rhythm of taking information. It felt similar to taking orders at the café: get every detail, and get it right. What I didn’t expect was that every person I talked to would have questions for me as well.
“What happened?” was the most common question. Maxwell hadn’t told me not to say what had happened, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t like it if I did. Of course, that also meant that all kinds of gossip flew around the room like a flock of swallows.
“Can we leave yet?” was a close second. I answered that one by blaming the police for any delay.
March Street Mayhem Page 2