Dumpster Dicing (Bunco Biddies Book 1)

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  “Possibly. They asked Ralph to lead because of his age. Most of the convicts are in their later years. Wallace Pack is mostly a fifty-five and above prison.”

  Ethel scoffed. “Sounds like this place.”

  The three women chuckled and resumed their morning exercise.

  * * *

  Ethel invited them to brunch the next day. “I thought after the week we’ve encountered, we deserved to be pampered. So I stopped off and bought a dozen kolaches at the bakery on the square in Alamoville. Just don’t tell Dr. Weber, okay?”

  “Won’t hear it from me.” Janie smiled as she set the tray of fruit-filled Czech pastries on the table.

  “Take your pick. Peach, cinnamon-apple, or raspberry.”

  Betsy Ann plopped one of each on her plate. “Why choose?”

  Janie licked her fingers. “Yum. Thanks. As I went over all the people I know in Sunset Acres, I realized several have moved to the assisted living center or nursing facility recently. In fact, a total of eight did. And that revelation convicted me. So”—she re-positioned herself in her chair—“I am going over in the early afternoon the rest of this week. I’ll meet with two a day. I plan to visit with two of them every Tuesday from now on, so that way, I will call on each of them once a month. Do either of you want to come along?”

  Ethel spoke up. “Great idea. Peggy Williams is in the rehab wing and her husband is in the Alzheimer’s Unit. We can wheel her down to see him.”

  “I have her slotted for Tuesday.”

  Betsy Ann wiped a crumb from her lap. “I have an appointment with the cardiologist Tuesday so I’ll have to miss.” Her lip protruded a bit, but then her eyes grew larger. “Oh wait. That’s in the morning, I think.” She perked up. “Hey, my tea roses are blooming. I can bring along a bouquet for her. Peg loves roses.”

  “Who are we calling on today?” Ethel cocked her head to read Janie’s list.

  Janie scratched drew an arrow from Peg’s name to Daphne’s. “Let’s go see Peg today and take Betsy Ann’s roses to her while they are in fresh bloom. I can see Daphne on Tuesday instead.”

  Betsy Ann clapped her hands. “Goodie.”

  * * *

  When they got to the orthopedic unit, Peggy’s bed lay empty. The nurse on duty said her physical therapy lasted an hour, after which she’d be too tired to chat.

  “Okay, we’ll come again soon. We’ll leave her a note.”

  Betsy Ann traipsed alongside, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the high-shined, polished floors. The roses began to droop underneath their aluminum foil wrap, matching her mood. “I so wanted to see Peg. I miss her at Bunco.”

  “What if we drop by after our jog and breakfast on Wednesday? Might be a better time.”

  “Well, while we are here, let’s try Angela in 208. Not everyone can be in physical therapy.” Ethel led the way to the next wing.

  Three hours later, the trio strolled across the vast green lawn separating the need-care folks from the independent living side. Janie threw back her shoulders. “What a marvelous afternoon. I’d forgotten what a hoot Angela is.”

  “Yes, and Mary in 214 appreciated our visit. She liked the roses a lot, Betsy Ann.”

  “I think we made her day, Ethel. Such a sweet soul. I enjoyed our chat with both ladies.”

  “It felt good to talk about something other than Mr. Newman’s demise for a while, that’s for sure.” Janie’s breath quickened. “Life does go on, and none of us are privy to how much longer, right?”

  Betsy Ann leaned into Ethel’s ear. “Is she throwing in the towel on the investigation? What else did she and Blake discuss?”

  Ethel shrugged.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Janie answered on the second ring. Or should she say stanza, since her grandson Jamie reprogrammed her phone with different song tunes for each person on her speed dial. He explained she could then decide which ones to answer. This time, the phone played Unchained Melody, which meant her daughter called.

  “Hi, dear. What’s up?”

  “Blake tells me you two had quite a talk a few nights ago.”

  “So we did.” She sighed into the receiving speaker. “He reminds me more and more of your dad every day.”

  “Is that why you called him a neglectful father and husband?”

  Janie sputtered. “I did no such thing. I simply told him I worried because he never seemed to have any time off for his family.”

  Her daughter’s pitch jumped an octave, the way it did as a girl when she discovered once again life wasn’t fair or she couldn’t get her way. “Mom, how could you?”

  Janie sat on the sofa. “Mel, you sniveled to me, remember?”

  A more subdued response followed. “Yes. But it didn’t give you the right to tell him.”

  “Humph. Well, obviously you didn’t.”

  Silence.

  “Look, Melody, dear. I remember how much I balked at the idea of you marrying a policeman. I understood the hard life ahead of you. I lived it. But Blake is a fine man, and he loves you and the kids very much.” She paused before slinging the next arrow. “However, his priorities are muddled and he now is aware of that. I’m glad you are going to the coast as a family. Before long, Jaime and Ellie will be out the door and then what will you do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Breathe. Sleep. Relax.”

  Janie chuckled. “More like worry.”

  “You’re right. I’ll stay on my knees asking God to watch over them because they are no longer under my control.”

  She angled into the back cushions. “Or in view. I did the same thing for you and you turned out okay.”

  “There is one more thing, Mom.”

  The slurp of her daughter sipping more coffee came through the receiver. Now we get to the meat of the call.

  “Have you decided not to pursue the reason that body ended in the dumpster?”

  “I gave your husband a few good nuggets to investigate. If I gather any more by happenstance, I’ll tell him.”

  “I see, and the same is true for your Bunco friends as well?”

  “They only did it for me, Mel. Except now, I think they find being sleuths rather exciting. Not much else happens around here.”

  Another noisy sip. “Mom, you moved to Sunset Acres because of the activities. You didn’t want to—how did you put it?”

  Janie sang song the answer. “Rot in that big old house by myself.”

  “Yes, that was it.”

  “Ha, ha.” She traced the piping on one of the sofa cushions. “They do try to keep us occupied. But some the events they organize are, well, so lame. Which is why we gather to play Bunco.”

  “Mom, you’re in your senior years. You are supposed to slow down, not take up a new career in detective work.”

  “I only tried to help. I figured if we gathered evidence, they might find the killer sooner than later. This is my community, dear. I don’t want this being shoved in the back of a filing cabinet drawer.”

  “Blake wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “Ah, but when a new murder surfaced, or a robbery, that would steal his time and attention away while the trail grew cold over here. I’ve seen that happen time and again.”

  “But with modern technology they can work on several cases at once.”

  “I know. I watch those crime investigative shows with Ethel. I am not that far under the rock. Oh, look at the time. I must go. My love to Ellie and Jamie.”

  She clicked off as Melody responded with a “Now, Mom...”, and tossed the phone in the direction of the winged-back chair. Oh, how she wished she and Betsy Ann never discovered that leg, and then arm, and head…but they did.

  Her thoughts shifted to the victim. Poor Mr. Newman. Disgraced, lonely, and cheated out of a decade of life. He came here to start anew and ended up diced into pieces like a tomato into salsa. He deserved justice as well.

  Why did someone do it? Janie began to pace her living room as her mind churned. Had it been simply a random act of violence or
did the wrong person recognize him from the papers? Maybe another con felt threatened by Edwin’s time in the limelight? Or had he, similar to the faulty eye witnesses ten years ago, once again became a victim of mistaken identity?

  She retrieved her phone and laid it on the side table next to the lamp. Her Bible passage of the day calendar glared at her. She flipped to Wednesday, May 6.

  Proverbs 14:25 - A truthful witness saves lives, but a false witness is deceitful.

  As her lips moved when she silently read the passage again, new resolve coursed through her veins. Edwin suffered from too many false witnesses. The truth must come out so his life and suffering made sense.

  She tied on her tennis shoes and exited to meet the other two ladies for their daily power walk. However, she jolted to a stop at the curb. A notion began as a tingle in the back of her brain. Staring into the rising sun, the query formulated into a full blown quandary. Why did Edwin end up like leftover cuttings of raw steak?

  First, she must pinpoint the reason for his death. If she found that out, discovering who killed him would be easy. The answer to the choice of method would logically surface.

  Janie strutted to the end of the block. In three breaths, Betsy Ann waltzed up to her side and Ethel waved from halfway down the street as she quickened her pace.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Janie’s smile widened. “Guess what the passage was on that day calendar you gave me, Betsy Ann?”

  “Now, how would I possibly know, sweetie?”

  She recited the verse.

  They stared.

  “Don’t you see? This murder is no longer just about us and our security. It is up to us to right the wrong Mr. Newman suffered. Did someone mistake him for the bank robber Edward Norman who disappeared from sight? Or did Edwin die because of another secret he held? Until we can answer that, we are spinning our wheels. Now, let’s get going. I can’t think on any empty stomach.”

  Ethel trotted to catch up with her. “I knew you wouldn’t give up.”

  Betsy Ann thrust her palm in the air. “For the truth.”

  Two more elderly hands clicked against hers. The three zipped down the street, hips encased in bright colored velour swiveling in perfect tempo.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Betsy Ann, Ethel, and Janie huddled over their breakfast tacos and juice. They batted ideas around in a circle until Janie finally waved her hands in front of her chest. “Wait a minute, girls. Blake and his men are going to interview Edwin’s roommate in prison. We can’t follow that lead. But there may be others. What if someone had an ax to grind against Norman and mistook Edwin for him.”

  Ethel shuddered. “Appropriate metaphor, my friend.”

  Janie hid her neck in her collar, but her eyes glistened as a smirk etched her lips. “So it is.”

  Betsy Ann raised her hand.

  Janie scoffed. “This isn’t a classroom. Speak up.”

  She wiggled in her seat. “Well, how can we find out? I mean, didn’t Blake say the man at the Get ’em and Go with the scar might not be the robber named Lopez?”

  “True, both Smithers and Lopez are still in the state pen. I verified the info online.”

  “You can do that?”

  Janie indicated yes as she bit into her egg and chorizo breakfast burrito.

  Betsy Ann sat back. “Well, I never.”

  Janie swallowed. “Public Records Act, or whatever it is called. Amazing—and scary—what information you can glean over cyberspace these days.”

  Ethel sat straighter. “Takes sleuthing to a whole new level.”

  A frown curved Betsy Ann’s lips. “Seems almost like hacking.”

  Janie pitty-patted her hand. “Except it’s legal. Now, where were we?”

  Ethel inched forward. “Who besides the burglars would want Edward Norman dead?”

  “The bank presidents?” Betsy Ann giggled.

  Janie snapped her fingers. “You know, that may not be far off. Very good, Betsy Ann.”

  A wide grin spread over Betsy Ann’s face. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. Let’s search online for the names of the presidents, or at least the branch managers. There may be a connection as to why the trio chose those institutions.”

  They downed the rest of their breakfast in a few seconds and rushed through the dining area’s double doors as several of their village neighbors shook their heads or clucked.

  Janie overheard someone whine as she maneuvered through the tables. “Always in a hurry, those three are. We’re supposed to slow down in our golden years, aren’t we?”

  He’s been talking to Mel, no doubt.

  * * *

  The trio gathered around Janie’s laptop, iced tea glasses sweating onto folded-over paper napkins. Mrs. Fluffy hopped in the middle and rubbed against the monitor as she purred loudly enough to imitate a lawnmower. Janie lifted her over the keyboard and onto the floor. “Not now, cat. We’re busy. I’ll give you hairball prevention tasty treat later.”

  “So what are we looking for?”

  “Well, Betsy Ann. We can request the court transcripts of Edwin Newman’s trial, as well as the records of other two, Smithers and Lopez. If we read them, something might show up.”

  “You can order them?”

  Ethel gestured to the screen. “Even better. Says right there you can download them. Let’s print them out and then each of us can take one to read.”

  Janie agreed. She entered the names and dates into the search box and clicked for the documents to be sent to her desktop printer. Within a few minutes, it began to churn out the first request.

  “This will take a while. I hope I put in plenty of paper. Betsy Ann, will you make some more sun tea? Today promises to be a scorcher, and I’ll be parched by the time we’re through visiting our friends. That’s a dear.”

  Ethel snatched her cell phone. “I’ll call and check when Peggy will be available for visitors.”

  “Great.” As Janie walked toward her bedroom, she spoke louder. “Check on Beatrice as well. She is next on my list.”

  “Will do.” Ethel screeched at the same decibel, sending Mrs. Fluffy under the coffee table.

  A jug filled with tea bags and water perched on her sunny windowsill by the time Janie returned with a stack of papers.

  Betsy Ann grinned. “Brewing as we speak.”

  “Ah, thanks.” She flopped the printouts onto the kitchen table. “This is only one of them. The copier is starting on the next one now.”

  Betsy Ann’s eyes enlarged. “How many pages is that?”

  “124. Front and back.”

  She whimpered. “It’ll be like plowing through Moby Dick. You realize I’m a slow reader.”

  Ethel placed a hand on her back. “We’ll make sure you get the shortest one.”

  A half hour later, the printer spat out the last page. The ladies divvied up the transcripts. Janie took Edwin’s, Betsy Ann chose Lopez’s, and Ethel gathered together Smithers’.

  Betsy Ann fanned the pages. “102? Can we scan through these?”

  Ethel weighed her stack in her hands. “What are we searching for anyway?”

  “Anything that pops out.” Janie placed hers on the dining room table. “A disgruntled witness. Angry family members. A bank employee who received a reprimand or a pink slip. Anyone who possibly wanted Edward Norman dead.”

  * * *

  When Ethel called, the nurse informed her Peggy didn’t feel well. The orthopedic doctor changed her pain medication which made her nauseated and dizzy. The trio asked her to deliver a note stating Peggy remained in their daily prayers and they would visit her in a few days.

  “Well, I guess we call on Beatrice.” Janie dug in her purse for her list. “Maybe Amelia is up to company.”

  “I don’t recall her.” Betsy Ann pouted.

  “Sure you do. She volunteered in the library and read stories to the grandchildren during the celebration on Grandparents Day.”

  Ethel clicked her fingers. “Didn’t sh
e act on stage?”

  “Yes, summer stock in the Texas Hill Country. Mostly Rogers and Hammerstein’s musicals.”

  “Oh. I remember her now. She sang “Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man” from Showboat at the talent contest last summer.” Betsy Ann’s eyes glistened. “I still have that program.”

  “You do?”

  “Do you think she might give me her autograph?”

  Janie gave her a sugary smile. “Of course, dear. Would make her day if you asked, I’m sure.” She leaned toward Ethel’s right ear and whispered, “If she recalls her performance.” She tapped her left temple and mouthed the word dementia.

  Betsy Ann dashed to Janie’s kitchen door. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  * * *

  That evening after she chomped on her Cobb salad, Janie settled into her sofa to read the transcript of Edward Norman, a.k.a. Edwin Newman’s, trial. After fourteen pages, she yawned, and petted her cat who had curled next to her thigh. The animal opened one eye and upped the volume of her purrs.

  “Not what I call a page turner, Mrs. Fluffy.”

  The feline snuggled closer to her, using her small, furry body weight to expand the way her species often does in order to shove her master off the end cushion. Janie conceded the battle and decided to make herself a cup of coffee. As she gazed out her kitchen window, the memory of the shadowed figure tickled her brain.

  Who had it been? Male or female?

  She shut her eyes and visualized the scene. The person appeared masculine in physique, but the darkness skewed her vision. Perhaps a tall, athletic woman? One thing for sure, he or she was nimble and quick enough to dash away. But why peep in the window?

  Janie shook the image from her thoughts as she stirred some stevia and hazelnut flavored creamer into her mug. Two long sips revitalized her enough to tackle the court proceedings once again. With legal pad and pen in hand, she settled at the kitchen table for what promised to be a long night.

  At 10:05 p.m., the phone rang. Ethel’s excited voice blasted through the receiver.

  “Turn on the news. Channel Five. Hurry.”