by Nic Saint
“No, I didn’t get it!” I cried, then yanked open the door and flew out. “Hey! You!” I cried after Mrs. Evergreen’s retreating back. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed, ‘Me?’ all innocent like. “Yeah, you!” I cried, walking up to her.
“What did I do?” she asked, her eyes all round and guileless.
“Your dog just did her business and you didn’t clean up after her,” I said.
She blinked. “My Sheena? I don’t think so.”
I pointed at the steaming pile of dog dung. “And what do you think that is?”
“That’s a lot of poo,” she said, shaking her head. “You should get on that, Alice. You should tell those people they need to bring out their poo bags.”
“I don’t believe this,” I said, my eyes to the sky. I looked down at the little old lady. “Where are your poo bags?”
“Right here,” she said, patting her pocket and looking appropriately surprised.
“Just… show them to me.”
“Huh?”
“Show me your poo bags, woman!”
She went into the pocket of her black coat and came out with a nice little roll of bags. “Here they are,” she said with a quaky smile. “I never leave home without them.”
I looked back at Fee, who was following the altercation through the windshield. She shook her head. It was going to be our word against Mrs. Evergreen’s. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have taken the shot when I had the chance? It was Gemma. She was becoming a serious distraction.
“So am I in the clear now, Alice?” Mrs. Evergreen asked. I thought her eyes looked a little mischievous, but there was nothing I could do.
“I guess so,” I grumbled.
She pointed at the pile of doo-doo. “You should clean that up, dear. You’re the leader of the neighborhood watch. What would people say when they hear you’re leaving that crap lying around on the sidewalk? Sends the wrong message, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, and felt a sudden urge to hit her over the head with my camera. But then Fee yelled from inside the van, “Just clean it up, Alice.”
Mrs. Evergreen gave me a toothy grin, showing the nicest pair of dentures I’d ever seen outside of a Hollywood movie, and said, “Always a pleasure, dear.” She then directed a look at Sheena. “Say goodbye to Alice, sweetie.”
Sheena barked once, lifted her leg and dribbled a tiny drop of pee onto my sneaker.
Mrs. Evergreen looked up. “You’re going not going to bust my chops for that, are you?”
“No, Mrs. Evergreen,” I said between gritted teeth. “Goodbye, Mrs. Evergreen.”
I watched her toddle off, along with Sheena, and shook my head. This wasn’t over. Not by a long stretch.
Chapter 6
Fee had to go to work, so it was left to me to interview Mrs. Merton about the charges Gemma had leveled against her. Felicity dropped me off in front of Armstrong & Tillich and took Gemma along with her. Good riddance, I thought. I so didn’t want to conduct this investigation with the perky bank teller continuously telling me what to do.
I set foot inside the bank and saw that there were no customers. Great. I didn’t want to interview Mrs. Merton with a dozen people waiting in line behind me.
I walked up to the window and saw that I was in luck. Mrs. Merton herself was ready and waiting. Although I didn’t think I was going to get a lollipop from her this time. Her hair was black with silver streaks, and she looked just as stern-faced as always, a deep groove between her brows indicating she rarely smiled.
“Hello, Alice,” she said sweetly. “I haven’t seen you in here in ages.”
“Ah, well, these days I do all my banking online, Mrs. Merton.”
The woman tsk-tsked. “Too bad. I know I should say well done, as bank policy advises us to shoo as many customers as possible to the website, but I hardly ever see anyone in here anymore.” She shook her head. “Just give me the old days when the computer hadn’t been invented yet.”
Well, that made one of us. I liked the computer age. I couldn’t imagine having to wait in line just to make a withdrawal or to put money into my account.
“I’m actually looking into the murder of your colleague. Gemma Weston.”
Her face clouded. “Oh. I see. Well, I don’t think I can help you there. I hardly knew the woman.”
“But you were colleagues for three years.”
“Yes, and in all that time I don’t think we ever met once outside of office hours.”
“Is it true…” I halted, wondering how to launch into this next question. How do you ask a person point-blank if they harbored ill will towards another person? “Is it true that you and Gemma didn’t get along?”
She looked concerned at this. “Is that what people are saying?”
I nodded and chewed my lip.
The groove between her brows deepened. “Well. Really.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Mrs. Merton.”
“Then don’t. Really, Alice. Sometimes I think you and that committee of yours want to replace the police department. What does it matter what I thought of Gemma?”
“She is dead,” I began.
Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her face. “Oh, my. Are people saying I killed her?”
I nodded. “Well, some people,” I said. “Not everyone. Not me,” I hurried to add.
“Well, I certainly didn’t kill her. I disliked her, but that’s simply because she was this ditzy blond thing that was only interested in herself and the impression she made on the men amongst our clientele. I’m sure that deep down she was a perfectly nice person, but we simply didn’t get along. That doesn’t mean I killed her.”
“No, of course not.”
“I mean, really. Tell Mabel or Marjorie or whoever is spreading these foul rumors about me that this has got to stop. They have no right!”
“It’s not Mabel or Marjorie that are spreading—”
“Well, who else can it be? Those two are the biggest gossipmongers in this town. And Bettina, of course.” She shook her head. “You certainly picked the right people to start that neighborhood watch of yours, Alice. Between the three of them there’s nothing they don’t know—or think they know.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Merton,” I said, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “And I’m sorry. But I had to ask.”
Her face softened. “Of course you did. You always were a curious little thing.”
I gulped. “Um, could I ask you one more question?”
She stared at me. “Well, go on, then.”
“Where were you when Gemma was murdered?”
She took off her glasses and slowly started polishing them. “I don’t think I’m going to answer any more of your questions, dear. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
I looked behind me, and saw that the bank was still empty. Slow day. Just then, the door swung open and Rock Walker stepped in of all people. Oh, crap.
He walked up to me and gave me one of his hard looks. “Alice Whitehouse. I keep bumping into you, don’t I?”
“Just… doing some banking… stuff,” I said lamely.
His eyes cut to Mrs. Merton, who’d placed her glasses back on her nose. “I suppose you’re going to ask me about my alibi, too, are you?”
“Banking business, huh?” asked Rock, shaking his head.
I shrugged. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
“Yeah, right.”
Mrs. Merton heaved a deep sigh. “Oh, I suppose everyone will find out soon enough. You can’t keep anything a secret in this town for very long. If you must know,” she said with an owlish look at me, “I was at the Copacabana Club’s single senior meet-up two nights ago. It’s where I go every month.” She gestured at me. “Go on. Tell the Holy Trinity all about it. I know you’re dying to.”
“I’m sure they already know,” I said, and I wasn’t even lying. They probably did. Mrs. Merton was right. There was nothing anyone did in this town
that they didn’t know about.
“A couple dozen single seniors can vouch for my presence there,” Mrs. Merton continued. “Feel free to ask. And when you do, you’ll discover that I danced with no less than three eligible bachelors. All, unfortunately, a good deal older than myself. But great dancers, one and all.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Merton,” said Rock, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me away from the window.
“And if you think you’ll get a lollipop you can forget about it,” Mrs. Merton yelled after me.
I held up my hand and allowed Rock to lead me outside. On the sidewalk, he fixed me with a bemused look. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“We do. I show you mine if you show me yours.”
He suppressed a smile. “You keep out of my business and I keep out of yours. And we share information.”
“I didn’t understand it that way.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He planted a hand on his hip and rubbed his eyes. “Look, Alice, you can’t just go on interviewing people like this.”
“I wasn’t interviewing anyone. I was just having a nice little chat with my banker. What’s wrong with that?”
“You were grilling her about her alibi.”
“Force of habit.”
“If your dad finds out he’ll give me an ass-chewing.”
“He won’t find out. Not if you don’t tell him.”
This time he did laugh. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“That’s what they keep telling me.”
He studied me for a moment, then said, “Look, I’m not here for Mrs. Merton. I’m here for Henry Jackson.”
“The bank manager?”
He nodded slowly. “Gemma accused him of embezzlement. He’s been suspended pending an investigation. If anyone had a motive to kill Gemma, it’s him. So do me a favor. Let me handle the investigation. I’ll keep you in the loop. You just do what you do best.”
“And what’s that?”
“Keep your ear to the ground. Tell me what people are saying. Be the voice of the community.”
“You make it sound freaky.”
He held up his hands. “Not my intention.”
As he returned into the bank to question Mrs. Merton about Henry Jackson, I thought about what he said. So he was going to run the official investigation while I had to stay out of it? No way. I had every right to conduct my own investigation. And I wasn’t afraid of my dad. He might come across as a big bully, but I knew he was a big softie beneath that gruff exterior. Dad was going to give Rock an ass-chewing when he found out he’d allowed me to tag along, and that was fine by me. A man with an ass like that deserved a good chewing from time to time. Pity I wouldn’t be there when it happened.
I crossed the street and set foot for the park. Time for the committee to meet. Marjorie and Mabel were on their lunch break, and so were Fee and Bettina. I walked into the park and saw that the others were already gathered in our usual spot near the fountain. A cool breeze wafted in from the ocean, and the scent of brine cheered me up, as it always did.
It was springtime, and temperatures were rising. Soon the first tourists would start showing up and we’d be knee-deep in tourist season. So far I only spotted a few of them, rocking loud boxers, tropical shirts and multi-colored ball caps. Most of them were New Yorkers, down here to breathe in some of that fabled Hamptons ocean air.
I joined the others and told them about my run-in with Rock.
“That man is simply infuriating,” Marjorie said. “Do you know he keeps ordering my Virgil around? As if he owns the place!”
“Well, Virgil is assisting Rock,” I said.
“That doesn’t mean he can just order him around,” Marjorie insisted.
“I think it means exactly that,” Mabel said. “Virgil isn’t a detective and Rock is, so it goes without saying Rock is calling the shots on this one.”
“It’s still not fair. Virgil has been with the police force all his life. And where has Rock Walker been?”
“In Syracuse, working his butt off as one of the most highly decorated homicide detectives in the history of his precinct,” Bettina said. She smiled when we all stared at her. “Yes, I’ve been doing some digging. Rock Walker is a great cop, and a credit to the police force.”
“So what is he doing down here?” Marjorie asked.
Bettina shrugged. “Getting a change of pace? Ask him.”
“Oh, I will,” Marjorie assured her. “And I’ll ask him not to work my Virgil like a dog.”
“Speaking of dogs,” Felicity interjected, and told the others about Mrs. Merton and Sheena. Her story drew howls of indignation from the Holy Trinity.
“That does it!” Mabel yelled. “We’re going to put a stop to this outrage and we’re going to do it right now! That dog has left his last doo-doo on my sidewalk!”
“It’s not your sidewalk, Mabel,” said Bettina. “It’s our sidewalk.”
Mabel has a habit of considering Happy Bays her personal property. Since she works for the mayor, she sometimes thinks she’s in charge of this town. It’s a fair mistake, and one Bettina likes to remind her of.
“So how are we going to handle this?” Felicity wanted to know.
“I suggest we take turns watching Mrs. Merton,” I said. “That way we can finally catch her in the act and collect proof.”
“We should do like in Switzerland,” said Mabel. “Where every dog’s DNA is on file.”
“What good would that do?” Marjorie asked.
“We could take a sample of the doo and determine its origin.”
“Will that stand up in court?” asked Bettina.
“You bet it will,” said Mabel, straightening.
The thought of Sheena’s doo-doo standing up in court made Fee and me giggle, and Mabel threw us an exasperated look. “Oh, do grow up,” she said.
Just then, Virgil came hurrying up. The stringy policeman with the thinning hair and the pronounced Adam’s apple looked very ill at ease, as he kept darting anxious looks around. Probably he didn’t want to be seen meeting the dreaded ladies of the neighborhood watch.
“Virgil, honey. What’s wrong,” Marjorie asked, immediately on edge.
“There’s another suspect,” he said, his eyes still flitting about. “His name is Henry Jackson and I’m on my way to interview him now.” He looked at me. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, are you coming or not?”
Marjorie patted his head. “Good boy,” she said. She then turned to me. “I told Virgil he needs to give us the inside track. How else are we going to nab Gemma’s killer?”
Rock Walker wasn’t going to like this one bit. “All right,” I told Virgil. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll take the first shift watching Mrs. Merton, shall I?” Marjorie asked.
“You do that,” I said as I followed a shifty-eyed Virgil out of the park. “And don’t forget to snap plenty of pictures! We need proof! Hard proof!”
Chapter 7
I was riding in Virgil’s squad car, feeling right at home. This was the life, I thought. Cruising along Main Street, looking out for perps robbing the General Store and stopping at crossings to let mothers pushing strollers cross the street, giving us a grateful nod. I should have been a cop. I’d dreamed of being a cop all my life, ever since Dad took me along on his patrols when he couldn’t find a babysitter and Mom was off to work at the beauty parlor. His only condition was that I stay quiet. Which I didn’t, of course. I’ve never been able to sit quietly in backseats. I’m just not built for that kind of nonsense.
“So what’s up with you and Rock?” I asked once Virgil was sure my dad was nowhere to be found. “How are you getting along?”
“Just fine,” Virgil said, relaxing his vigil. “He’s a great guy.”
“He is? Your mom says he’s using you as his personal errand boy.”
He looked up in surprise. “She said that?”
“Uh-huh.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes Mother talks through her hat. Rock and I are working this investigation together. As a team. For instance he called me about Henry Jackson just now. Told me to go talk to the guy. So that’s what I’m doing. Not because Rock told me I should talk to the guy. But because I want to talk to the guy. My decision.”
“Of course.”
He glanced over at me. “You don’t believe me? If I wanted to I could have told Rock he should talk to the guy. And he would have done it, too. Cause that’s how we roll, baby, Rock and I. We’re a team. A regular old cop team. Buddies, if you see what I mean.”
“Sure, Virgil. Whatever you say.” It was my impression that Rock was calling the shots, but if it made Virgil feel better that he was an equal partner in this investigation, that was fine by me. Whatever made him happy.
“So are you any closer to catching the killer?” asked Virgil.
“Nope. Are you?”
“Nuh-uh. But we’re getting there. I can feel it in my bones,” he said as he tapped the steering wheel. “Just a matter of time before we nail the perp. Rock and I. Me and Rock. Rock and Roll. See what I did there? I’m Roll and he’s Rock.”
I rolled my eyes. Whenever Virgil started blabbering it was a sure sign he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. I hoped Rock was having better luck.
“It’s true, you know,” suddenly Gemma’s voice rang out from the backseat.
Virgil yelped like a little girl and almost drove us into a lamppost.
“What’s true?” I asked.
“Henry Jackson is a fraud.”
“What’s going on?!” Virgil yelled. “Who are you?” Then he did a double take. “Gemma? Gemma Weston? What are you doing in my car? You’re dead!”
“Very smooth, Virgil. Don’t you think the poor girl knows she’s dead?”
“Hey, Virgil,” Gemma said. “Looking good. Though you should consider a hair transplant. Girls like men with hair, and I don’t mean on their chest. And don’t get me started on beards. Eww. Talk about one trend they should have left in the eighties.”