Dumpster Dicing (Bunco Biddies Book 1)

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  Another condo dweller—what was her name, now?—leaned in, swirling Betsy Ann in fumes of permanent curling mixture. “Scandalous how they parade their bodies these days.”

  Betsy Ann nodded and slapped the tabloid closed. “Speaking of. Did ya’ll here about the body in the dumpster today?”

  The salon became silent. All heads, whether permed, shaped, teased, or dripping wet turned toward her. Only the soft whoosh of the hair dryer broke the stillness. A giddy shiver slithered up her spine. Proud of her segue into the topic at hand, she wiggled forward in her chair. “Seems his name was Newman. Edwin Newman. A new resident in the garden homes.”

  Murmurs ensued.

  “I recall who you mean.” Sue Lin untwisted another roller from Nancy’s head. “I heard he hated animals. Liked to beat them.”

  Gasps echoed through three salon stations. The one with perm fumes—Betsy Ann held her name on the tip of her tongue but couldn’t quite grab it—spoke up. “I passed him coming back from the Get ’em and Go, and he ignored me when I called out a friendly howdy. Glared me in the eye before turned his head away. Rude, don’t you think?”

  The other salon attendant, Maria, piped up as she pumped the chair higher to comb out Becky Smith’s curls. “I saw him walking along the road back to the garden homes. He seemed in a hurry, almost as if he had to, well, you know...”

  Nancy bobbed her chin. “Maybe he did. None of our bladders are as strong as they used to be. My daughter bought me some of them adult diapers...”

  Sue Lin flopped a few strands over Nancy’s face to make her stop talking, lest she swallow a mouthful of hair. “You were saying, Maria?”

  Maria spun her customer to the left. “I think a touch more off the sides, don’t you agree, Becky? Good.” She took a pair of sheers out of the disinfectant jar. “Well, he seemed…oh, I don’t know. Off, to me. I remember saying to myself, ‘Why would Mrs. Jacobs lease to a sour puss when everyone else here is so friendly?’” Maria stopped in mid-snip. “He dressed rather shabby-like, too.”

  Betsy Ann took out a small notepad from her satchel and began writing these things down as inconspicuously as possible. Her memory often dissipated like a spritz of those over-priced automatic air fresheners. Hawaiian orchid, lemon fields, clean laundry. Pfft. Lemons grew on trees, not in fields. And who wanted a kitchen to smell like Hawaii or laundry? Whatever happened to plain old vanilla? Or cinnamon. Her mother used to boil some on the stove to vanish the musty odors. Now what had she been writing? Oh yes, he dressed shabbily.

  “One thing for sure. He was in dire need of a haircut and a beard trim.” The lady with the perm jerked her head up and down, releasing more ammonia-laden plumes of odor.

  “You don’t say...” Betsy Ann paused as she scrounged for the woman’s name in her memory banks. Ah, her husband’s named Bob, right? Bob and…and…Sheila! “Sheila.”

  “Uh, huh.” Sheila crossed her arms over her bosom. “Not at all like the rest of us.”

  Betsy Ann drummed her pencil, proud one grey cell functioned at last. She scribbled, needed a haircut and bears trimmed? She made a sour face as she scratched it out. No beard.

  Sue Lin released Nancy from the chair and motioned to Betsy Ann. She smiled, slipped the tablet in her bag with ears cocked to determine if anyone else would divulge pertinent information. But the conversations turned to the upcoming half-off sale at the department store in the mall and someone’s granddaughter taking first place in her senior high school’s debate contest.

  No matter. Janie would be proud of her.

  * * *

  Janie swiveled her hips in a power walk toward the Newman residence. Yep, an Alamoville police car parked next to the curb, shaded by the canopy of an oak tree in the front yard—if one called the twenty-foot stretch of ground cover a proper lawn. But then, not having to maintain property remained the garden homes’ biggest selling point, along with their single-story handicapped accessibility. Like the condos and apartments, the extra-wide door frames and the spacious bathrooms easily accommodated durable medical equipment.

  The county deputy sheriff’s cruiser sat nose to nose with the patrol vehicle. No sign of her son-in-law. Did he make Ellie’s game after all? Doubtful.

  Mrs. Jacobs stood half-way up the walk, talking to an officer. Midday sunlight, shafting through the thunderclouds, shimmered in a soft, auburn halo around the crown of her hair, which she’d secured into a bun. Fly-away wisps curled her neck. Her size-four frame sported a shirt-dress in denim with an embroidered belt in mauve and blues. This season’s bone-colored, rubber-soled sandals adorned her long, narrow feet. The popular Texas-based, orthopedic innersole shoe manufacturer had opened a discount outlet down the highway four years prior. On any given day, one could spot at least twenty pairs donned by community members. Janie owned four styles herself. Now why did her mind wander in that direction?

  “Good morning, again.” Janie shuffled to the sidewalk, her shoulders soldier-straight. She showed them her knitting bag. “Thought I might be of help. I can house-sit a while until the relatives come. Figured I’d help ward off the gawkers.”

  Mrs. Jacobs opened her mouth, but no words escaped. Instead, she turned to the deputy to respond.

  “Well, I guess it would be okay. I think the investigative team is about through inside.”

  Janie’s hopes lifted like a helium balloon.

  His attention returned to the property manager. He ripped off a sheet of paper and handed it to her. “We’ve confiscated his laptop, cell phone, and personal papers, though not much was found other than the lease and your filers on the amenities. How long did you say he lived here?”

  Rats. Janie’s plans started to deflate.

  “Oh, only a few days.” Mrs. Jacobs pursed her ruby lips. “He signed the rental agreement on Wednesday, and I think scheduled the moving van to arrive last Friday.”

  “Van? For what?” He jerked his thumb toward the front entrance. “The only thing in there is a folding card table with two metal chairs and a blow-up mattress.”

  Janie’s hope balloon flattened further.

  Mrs. Jacobs scratched her head. “I’m certain he told me last Friday.”

  Janie narrowed her eyes. So he lied?

  Another uniformed man exited with a trash bag and a small rolling suitcase. “Here is all his worldly possessions. Just a few changes of clothes, all previously worn, a razor and a comb.”

  “Whoa. All of that been dusted for prints?”

  The underling set the luggage down. “Yes, sir. None found. Bagged some hair follicles from the comb, though.”

  “Think that’s important?”

  “Well, sir. From what the coroner said, he had grayish hair, right? The comb had black.”

  The scene investigator arched one eyebrow so high his forehead resembled the mud-cracked creek at the back of the property before the spring rains.

  Jane and Mrs. Jacob shared a blank expression.

  The officer continued. “Nothing in the fridge except a half-drunk bottle of O.J. The rest of this junk we found on the counter-tops and in the sink.” He lifted the sack.

  Janie peered at the garbage. Inside the slightly opaque bag she eyed two plastic wedged containers for sandwiches and a local delivery pizza box bulging to one corner.

  Hmmm. Had Mr. Newman’s movers been delayed? And why did he never go to the mega grocery store during those three days? Even if he didn’t own a car, the community minibus went to the discount super store every Saturday, Monday and Thursday. Surely Mrs. Jacobs pointed that out in the brochure during her welcome-to-the-neighborhood spiel.

  Well, it’s not too unusual for a man who lived alone not to cook. Janie, herself, didn’t piddle about the kitchen as much as when her hubby walked this earth. Still, something seemed askew.

  As the officer dragged the trash down the sidewalk to the curb, Janie detected quite a few sixteen-ounce cans of lite beer—the kind always on special across the highway at the Get ’ em and Go. Crimson lipst
ick stained the edges of several cans.

  Either Mr. Newman drank a good amount of brewsky and liked to cross-dress with makeup and a black wig, or he entertained a lady visitor over the weekend.

  Chapter Five

  Janie drummed her fingers on the tabletop in the dining room. Though she tried to communicate with the officers at Mr. Newman’s home on Solar Boulevard, they remained tight-lipped. As well they should. At least her son-in-law trained them well…too well. She needed to come up with another angle. She hoped Betsy Ann and Ethel had better luck.

  She glanced at the wall clock. 12:32. Ah, here they came.

  The two meandered around the scattered seating with their lunch trays. Betsy Ann’s contained three plates in various sizes. Chicken and rice, fruit salad, and a wedge of chocolate pie. Ethel’s sported a glass of iced water and a small garden salad.

  “Not hungry, dear?”

  Ethel puffed out her cheeks. “Everyone on the block offered me a mid-morning snack. Tarts, donuts, brownies.”

  Janie nodded. “You had some success, I gather?”

  The murder-buff’s face glowed like the sunshine outlining the rain clouds outside. “I did. Anyone else?”

  Betsy Ann opened her pocket-sized tablet. “A little. Everyone agreed he scowled and dressed in a shabby manner. Becky Smith stated he snubbed her at the library with a sour expression.”

  Ethel relayed her findings from the Franks. “Did you ever meet them? I think we should invite Eleanor to join us at Bunco. We need a twelfth now that Peg Williams is in rehab.”

  “What about Martha Andrews?”

  “She and Bob are snowbirds. They’ll be headed back north in a few weeks. Especially if this hot weather sticks around.”

  “Yes, they stay with the grandkids in Michigan until October, don’t they?” Janie stabbed her green beans.

  “Well, they used to own the house up there. Sold to their granddaughter and her husband for $455,000. The amount they needed for moving expenses to Texas, a new SUV, and the mortgage on their condo. Quite generous if you ask me.” Ethel took a sip of her water.

  “Anyway.” Janie shot glances at them both. “What else did you discover?”

  Ethyl pushed the cherry tomato off to the side and forked a leaf of lettuce. “Josephine and Eduardo Rodriguez had a run-in with him. He nearly shoved poor Eduardo off the sidewalk as he whipped by with hands loaded with beer and junk food from the convenience store. And with Eduardo still on a cane after his fall last month, no less.” She bit into the sprig dangling from her fork tong, chewed a few bites and continued. “Eduardo asked if he planned to have a party. Mr. Newman whipped around with an evil glare, cursed at him to mind his own business, and kept walking.”

  Betsy Ann gasped. “You know, Sheila mentioned how grumpy he seemed.”

  “Sheila?”

  “Yes. The reddish-blonde with a curly perm and thin figure. Husband is Bob. They live in one of the garden homes over on Sunnyside Way. Anyway, she said when he signed the lease, he appeared slicked back and city-fied. But when he walked by on Sunday afternoon, he acted ill-tempered and wore disheveled, army surplus duds. And Sue Lin mentioned he needed a haircut and beard trim.” She gestured to her tablet. “I wrote that down, too.”

  Janie winked. “Good work, ladies. And yes, Mr. Newman organized a party, all right. At least for a lady friend. I spied ruby lipstick marks on a few of the cans as the police hauled out his trash. And...” She bent over her tray and whispered. Her friends did the same to hear over the buzz of conversations around them. “His house contained only a couple of pieces of furniture. Reeked of stale cigarette smoke, too.”

  Betsy Ann pinched her nostrils. “Yuk. Who smokes anymore?”

  Ethel thought for a moment. “Old military? Some of them picked up the habit in Nam and never kicked it.”

  Janie wrote what they said on her notepad. She stopped, pen in mid-air. “Makes sense, Ethel. Especially if he wore army surplus clothing. You know, the moving van may still arrive. Often times, if they are coming from out of state, they will combine hauls. It can take up to a week. Did for my son and his family when they moved to New Jersey.”

  Ethel grinned. “Which means we need to keep an eye out.”

  Janie winked. “Uh, huh. Mildred might help. She lives next door.”

  Ethel slapped her own forehead. “I didn’t get by to see her.”

  “No worries. I’ll go see her tomorrow morning.” Betsy Ann gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. She’ll be napping after lunch today.”

  Ethel scoffed. “After what he did to Poopsy, I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to become involved in this investigation. Find out who his beneficiary is. If I were her, I’d sue his next of kin for the vet bills.”

  Janie crossed her arms. “Surely Mrs. Jacobs recorded the information in his profile. I overheard her say just the other day she wanted the Board to hire a temporary employee who could help her clean out the old files. Think I’ll volunteer.”

  “Oh, me, too. It’ll be fun,” Betsy Ann replied in a loud voice with her hand raised, which caused a few heads throughout the dining hall to swivel in their direction. She lowered her arm and hunched over her chicken and rice casserole, her face resembling the tomatoes on Ethel’s salad plate.

  “Discretion, ladies. Discretion.” Janie’s whispered tone took on the seriousness of a schoolmarm. “Okay, Betsy Ann, you and I will volunteer in the office tomorrow, and Ethel, you talk with Mildred and continue to canvas the neighbors.”

  Ethel rubbed her belly and groaned. “If you say so, Janie. But I will have to power walk four times this week instead of two. I’ll meet you two in the morning at seven sharp.”

  Annie Schmidt slipped into the empty chair next to them. “Is your son-in-law leading the investigation into Edwin Newman’s, er, demise?” She glanced around the room and motioned the three to move in closer. “I thought he looked a tad familiar when I picked up a package in Mrs. Jacob’s office. I ordered an indoor-outdoor thermometer. My air conditioner thermostat is never right and my bill last month, whew!” She fanned herself. “Anyway, Mr. Newman sat with his head bent, signing the lease agreement. She introduced us and as he shook my hand, I recognized him from somewhere. His eyes stood out in my mind, which nagged at the back of my brain all weekend. Then last night, I recalled where I’d seen him.”

  “Where?”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled out a yellowed newspaper clipping. “This is from my great nephew’s wedding ten years ago.” She turned the article over and pushed the newsprint toward Janie. “See, it’s him. Part of a gang convicted for armed robbery of three banks in Austin. Except his name wasn’t Edwin Newman.”

  The faded article depicted a mug shot of a man, though younger, with similar features to their new, now dead neighbor. The caption identified the man as Edward Norman.

  All three women gasped.

  Chapter Six

  Janie and Ethel met at the corner as the breaking day peeked over the horizon in a splash of purple and orange. Ethel stretched her hands behind her back. “Morning. God did good, today, right?” She motioned with her head to the skies.

  Janie smiled. “Masterful canvas. Ready?” She began to jog in place. Today, she wore a lime green jump suit which matched the laces in her tennis shoes—her normal Wednesday morning outfit.

  The two trotted in sync for a few blocks in silence. A mockingbird sang his repertoire for some unknown feathered lady. Two squirrels wound in a playful dance up an oak tree trunk. The puddles left over from the previous evening’s rains shimmered in the early morning glow.

  Except for the gruesome crime scene, which still hovered over the community, it might be a peaceful glimpse of paradise.

  “Where is Betsy Ann?”

  Janie answered without missing her stride. “Her tailbone is bothering her. After all, it’s only been three weeks since her mishap.” She mopped the first beads of perspiration from her brow. “I told her she pushed her luck yesterday.”

>   Ethel nodded. “I missed because I had to get some blood work done. I wanted to go early since you’re supposed to fast after midnight. Afterwards, I was starved, so I stopped off at the Pancake House near the highway and treated myself to a triple stack.” Her face took on a penitent expression. “With blueberry syrup. I go see the doc later this morning and I know he’ll tell me to lose a few pounds, so I decided to indulge one last time.”

  Janie chuckled. “Are you going to knock on doors again this afternoon??”

  “Not really. After lunch people nap.” She patted her now flatter stomach. “Which, despite our investigative efforts, is a Godsend. I doubt my mouth would open to another home-baked goody. Especially after Dr. Weber lectures me.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ethel. You’re only a size twelve.”

  The two rounded the corner.

  “Any word on your secretarial volunteering?”

  “Yep. We start today, working from one to four. Same tomorrow and Friday.”

  Ethel slowed. “What about Bunco at six?”

  Janie swiped away her friend’s concern like a fly buzzing her face. “It’ll leave me plenty of time to get home, freshen up and fix a fruit salad. Don’t worry.”

  “Why don’t I pick up one from the store in the morning when the van heads to the supermarket? I’m thinking of getting a rotisserie chicken. They’re on special for $4.99.”

  Janie’s silver curls bounced. “Okay. Deal. I’ll pay you back. But remember, no strawberries. Bab’s allergic.”

  “Right.”

  The two slow-jogged past the condos, beyond the strip-mall and up to the clubhouse. Yellow police tape flapped in the breeze, encircling half the parking lot and the now-empty dumpster. The women slowed to a stroll, eyes fixated on the scene. A few others milled around, giving the area a wide berth. Mrs. Jacobs stood on the stoop, talking with Janie’s son-in-law and another plain-clothed detective Janie recognized but couldn’t recall his name.