Mud Bog Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Thanks, no. I had a big breakfast.”

  “So you did. Me, too, but I’m eating for two, so I need the calories and the energy.” Suddenly her face turned green and she held up a finger. “ ’Scuse me.” She dashed into the bathroom.

  “So, Detective Tooney. What can we do for you?” asked David.

  “I’m here to talk to Madeleine, but since Eve followed me, I assume she’s eager to be a part of the discussion.”

  I was busted.

  Our ‘discussion,’ as it turned out, was simply going over the events of yesterday: at what time we arrived at the protest, who was near us, did we see anything suspicious—ground we’d covered before. Halfway through his questions, I yawned and reached for one of Madeleine’s chocolates. Maybe I needed at little energy. I hadn’t slept well last night with everything on my mind—the murder, the protest, Alex, Sammy, the alligator. Linc’s next question woke me up.

  “Ever taken part in protests like this before?”

  Madeleine and I exchanged glances.

  “You mean against mud bog racing?” I said.

  David seemed to be looking at me intently.

  “No, this was our first,” Madeleine said.

  After several more routine questions, Linc put his notebook back in his shirt pocket and stood to leave.

  “Want to follow me, Eve? Or do you think you can find your way home by yourself?”

  I made a face at him and watched him walk out the door.

  “Okay, you two. What’s going on?” asked David.

  Madeleine and I mollified David by telling him about some of the protests we’d joined while in college up North.

  “You know,” said Madeleine, “demonstrations against increases in tuition, changes in the grading system, college stuff. When we were students. Years ago.” She omitted the demonstration against the new mall, the one where we got arrested.

  He seemed convinced that we were not eco-terrorists, just a couple of students trying out our social consciousness wings.

  I looked at my watch. “Oops, I’ve got to go. I should be meeting Shelley. Maybe I can talk some sense into her about hanging around with that creep she’s taken on as her love interest.” I explained to them my concerns about his manipulative and criminal nature.

  “He’s giving her a short leash like he thinks she might say or do something … that would betray him.”

  “Like what?” asked David.

  “I don’t know. He’s needy and controlling, and that’s a bad combination.”

  Madeleine nodded in agreement. “She needs to find someone who trusts her and will let her be independent.” She looked up at David from her place on the couch and gave him one of her thousand-watt smiles.

  There. That should remove any doubt he had about her past experiences exercising her social conscience.

  I stopped by the store just after Grandy opened and waited for Shelley. By eleven, it looked as if she wasn’t going to show, so I called the McCleary house. There was no answer. I left a message for her to meet me at the Biscuit for an early lunch if she could. At the Biscuit, I waited for her inside. By twelve thirty, I knew she wasn’t going to show, and I was worried, so again I called the house.

  A male voice answered. “Who’s this?”

  “Not even ‘hi, who’s this?’ ” I said.

  “I can hang up, you know.”

  “This is one of Shelley’s friends. We were supposed to get together today.”

  “Oh, yeah. Eve somebody from last night. Forget it. She doesn’t want to meet you.”

  The line went dead.

  As if that would stop me.

  Chapter 8

  When I pulled into the McCleary’s driveway, I saw only one car. Maybe I got lucky. The car looked like Jenny’s and not the infamous Darrel’s beater. As soon as I opened my door, Shelley came out onto the porch.

  “You didn’t show for lunch. Is everything okay, or didn’t you get my message?” I said.

  “No, I ….”

  Someone pushed the door open and stepped out behind her. Not my lucky day, after all. No lunch and a lotta Darrel.

  “She don’t wanna talk with you. Buying lunch won’t change that, so you just skedaddle out of here.”

  “I need to hear that from Shelley.”

  Shelley twisted her head around to look back at Darrel. “I really do want to talk with her, honey.”

  “ ’Bout what?”

  “About a dress for Mom’s funeral.”

  “You inherit. Seems you’re rich enough to afford somethin’ new, not some old used rag.” Darrel had rested his hand on her shoulder. Now his fingers splayed out and dug into the soft flesh near her neck.

  “Darrel, honey, that hurts.”

  “Huh?” He seemed unaware he was grabbing her too tightly and let go.

  “So talk. I’m watching a game on television.” He backed into the house and slammed the door behind him. I could hear noise from inside. It got louder, as if he had turned up the volume to drown out our conversation. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy, just a dumb buffoon. Regardless of what he was, I was certain Jenny would be horrified to see him settled in her house.

  I gestured toward the car. “Why don’t you come into the shop now? I’ll drive, and we can look at what I have in for you.”

  She hesitated, looked back at the closed door, then smiled. “Gosh, I hate to leave Darrel alone, but … I’ll grab my purse.”

  When she returned, Darrel accompanied her. “Maybe it would be a good idea for him to come along so I can get his opinion.”

  No, that would be a bad idea.

  “What do guys know about appropriate attire for a funeral?” I asked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt the game.”

  He looked relieved and kissed her goodbye with a warning. “You git back here before supper ’cuz I am already getting hungry.”

  I refined my opinion of him. He was a demanding, stupid buffoon.

  “How are you doing, Shelley?” I asked as I pulled out of the drive.

  “Okay, I guess. Sorry about not showing up earlier for lunch, but I couldn’t get away. I guess I should have called.”

  “No problem. I was kind of tied up with business things anyway.”

  “It’s nice having Darrel to look after me. And about lunch … Darrel said you really didn’t mean it when you invited me. That you were just trying to be nice because of Mom.”

  I laughed. “I guess you don’t know me well enough to understand that when I say something, I mean it.”

  She gave me a sad smile.

  “How’s your mother’s fiancé—I can’t remember his name—taking her death? When were they getting married?”

  “They weren’t.”

  “Really? I thought it was soon. What happened?”

  “She broke it off with him. He was so pushy about the mud bog thing that she couldn’t stand him anymore.”

  “But you agreed with him, right?”

  “Sure, but I wasn’t all in your face every minute. That can get pretty tiring.”

  “Was he okay with the breakup?”

  Shelley looked at me, puzzled. “You think he might have killed Mom because they disagreed about the event?”

  “What do you think?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, then added, “Yesterday, early morning, I heard Mom downstairs arguing with someone.”

  “You told the police this, right?”

  “Yep. I couldn’t tell who it was.”

  “A man or a woman?” I asked.

  “Man, I think.”

  “Do you think it was her ex-fiancé?

  “I don’t know.”

  This conversation was netting me little information, so I took a stab in the dark. “They were living together, weren’t they?”

  “How did you find out? No one was supposed to know.”

  Now it was my turn to shrug. “Your mom alluded to it once.”

  “That’s not the
kind of thing a woman wants to admit down here, surrounded by devout Christians.”

  “I hear tell that in some places even devout Christians live together before they’re married.”

  “Not around here.” She looked worried, then said, “So would you keep it hush-hush that Darrel sometimes spends the night at the house?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  “This morning Darrel made it clear to George that he needed to move his stuff out of the house.”

  “George?”

  “You know, Mom’s fiancé.”

  “So the breakup was recent.”

  She nodded.

  “George came back this morning to get his clothes and other stuff he’d left in the house when he and Mom parted. Darrel took Mom’s shotgun and pointed it at him. He got moving darn fast. Left half his clothes in the bedroom. I don’t know what to do with them.”

  “Well, they’re his, so you need to give them back or the cops will accuse you of stealing them.” I hated making up stuff, but I needed to move this conversation ahead to get any important information.

  “Really? I didn’t know that. Darrel said he was going to burn them.”

  “Here.” I handed her my cell. “You call Darrel and tell him to leave those clothes where they are.”

  “But we don’t want them. I know Darrel doesn’t want me to call George to come get them, and he certainly wouldn’t be happy if I took them to George’s house.”

  “No problem. Give me his address, and I’ll take them to him.”

  “Would you? Gosh, Eve. That would be great.” She took the cell and connected with Darrel.

  I made a U-turn and headed back to Jenny’s ranch to get George’s clothes before Darrel decided in a fit of pique that he’d burn them anyway. When we pulled into the driveway, we saw Darrel stick his head out the front door, then clothes began flying out onto the porch, followed by other items, including shampoo and conditioner bottles and a can of shaving cream.

  After Shelley and I picked out a dress for the funeral, she told me the funeral home had called earlier to inform her that the body would be released after the autopsy.

  “They told me I needed to figure out what Mom would wear in the casket. I was wondering what you thought of her wearing the dress she bought here, the one she was going to wear at her wedding. She really loved it.”

  “I think that would be lovely. How thoughtful of you to choose something you know she felt good about wearing.”

  “Putting it on her for the funeral isn’t creepy, is it?”

  I thought about it. “Did anyone but you know it was for the wedding?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll keep it our secret.”

  A car horn blaring outside the motor home caught our attention. It was Darrel. “Get out here,” he shouted through his car window. “Shopping is over. We’re going to the coast for a little fun.”

  I stepped down from the rig and approached Darrel’s car. “I hope you don’t intend to drag Shelley into some bars and get her drunk. She’s underage, and she’s just experienced her mother’s murder. She’s pretty vulnerable right now.” Didn’t he understand that knowing the head of one’s mother had been removed from her body was awful?

  “It’ll be good for her. Cheer her up.”

  Shelley followed me, holding tight her purchase.

  Before she got into the car, she gave me a warm hug. It felt as if she didn’t want to let go.

  “It’s as if you like her better’n you do me. Who was holding your hand all night and wiping your nose while you bawled?” I heard Darrel say as he shifted into gear and they took off. I saw Shelley lean toward him and say something, then kiss his cheek. There was just no accounting for the power of young hormones. The woman was as deluded about Darrel as I once had been about Jerry. Not quite true, I told myself. Jerry had manners, money and style, and a wandering eye. Darrel had friends with questionable morals and relatives who would bail him out of jail—useful qualities if you were a criminal, which I was certain Shelley was not.

  I called Madeleine to see how she was feeling.

  “I’m fine as long as I eat my saltines in the morning. And maybe avoid pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage. And chocolates. I’ll be in the shop tomorrow, I promise.”

  “No need. Grandy is here, and she looks as if she’s willing to stay a while.”

  “What about you, Eve? You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “Sure. Most of the time.”

  “What’s that mean?” Madeleine’s voice held that note of suspicion which told me she thought I was up to something. “You’re going to keep your nose out of this murder, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, sure. There are just a few things I need to look into.”

  Grandy grabbed the phone out of my hand. “How you doing, little mama?”

  Saved by Grandy.

  They talked for a few minutes, then Grandy disconnected. “What trouble are you going to get yourself into this time, Eve?” she asked.

  I took a quick peek at my face in the shop mirror. Was there a sign on my forehead that said, “I’m planning to interfere in this case?” Was I that transparent?

  “Because, if you’re following up on some lead, then I want to go along. Let’s get Grandfather Egret to help out Madeleine tomorrow, and we’ll sleuth together.” Grandy winked and gave me a conspiratorial smile.

  “Is the position of shop girl too boring for you, Grandy?”

  “I haven’t had my hands in a good murder investigation since our first one, and that was a couple of years ago.”

  “Are you certain you want in on this? You got yourself beat up on that case. It could happen again.” I knew Grandy to be a tough gal and as intrepid about going after the bad guys as I was, but she also was in her seventies—not frail, but a bit chubby and not an über-athlete. Was I wrong to judge her as unfit for crime fighting?

  “Eve, dear, I’m as buff and strong as you are. How many pounds can you bench-press? How many sit-ups and push-ups can you do?’

  I had no idea if I could do one or any of those activities. The last time I’d seen the inside of a gym was when I was in high school wearing one of those silly and degrading gym suits better suited to girls with waists, hips, and boobs—girls who managed to look cute in them. Me? I looked like a totem pole with diapers on. Anyway, I was savvy enough to feel a bit ashamed for trying to humiliate my Grandy. I had a comeback, though.

  “I keep in shape by chasing killers around the swamps,” I said.

  “Sure you do, honey. I’d believe you if you said you kept in shape by chasing Alex out of your life and Sammy around the swamps.”

  “I do not chase after Sammy. We’re friends, and that’s all.”

  “Whatever you say. So, do I get in on this case or not? If I do, I’m going to need some sleuthing clothes. Something fashionable in case we get arrested, but comfortable and warm enough to keep me cozy in one of the county’s jail cells. Also dark enough to be invisible on a stakeout.”

  “We are not doing breaking and entering, but if you see something here you like, try it on. It’s on me.”

  “I liked that little black velvet warm-up suit I wore when we did that breaking and entering bit down in West Palm.”

  I remembered it well. Nappi helped us enter the place, and Grandy scoped out the kitchen for clues. The cops didn’t arrive until after we left, thank goodness.

  I searched my selection of petite but round and comfy togs and found Grandy another warm-up suit, this one in midnight blue with silver trim.

  I held it up to show her. “How about this?”

  “Great for day wear and dark enough to hide my butt if we get into a tight spot at night. Yowza.” Grandy grabbed it from my hand and left for the changing room.

  While she was in there, I connected on my cell with Max, Grandy’s husband. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Grandy as a fellow sleuth; I just wasn’t certain I could keep her and me both out of trouble. I was a go-it-alone kind of gal.
/>   “Hiya, Max. How are things going?”

  “Slow. Now I got a repair that could take forever.” I knew then that Grandy was going to share in my reconnaissance of Jenny’s former fiancé.

  Grandy and I had our feet up on my coffee table that night, slices of pepperoni pizza in our hands and a gallon of Diet Coke sweating on the kitchen counter. I was reaching for my third piece when Grandy’s words stopped me in mid-seize.

  “Things are not going well with Alex, I presume,” she said, wrapping a string of cheese around her finger to prevent it from decorating her chin.

  “He asked me to marry him. I’m not ready for that just yet.”

  “You may never be.”

  “Are you saying that because I couldn’t make a go of it with Jerry, I’m not marrying material?”

  “Not at all. I’m saying Alex may not be the material you should marry.”

  “Uhm,” I said, licking my greasy fingers.

  “But I’m not suggesting you pursue that yummy Sammy guy.”

  “Stay away from him, you’re saying?”

  “No, no. Get to know him better. Just keep in mind he’s not a replacement part for where your heart has a hole in it.”

  “I don’t think Jerry left that big a hole.”

  “No, but your parents’ deaths did. I did my best to help you deal with that, but it had to have left a scar.”

  It had. Was that what all my uncertainty about love was about?

  Perhaps Grandy was giving me sage advice. I’d store it for consideration later. For now, filled with fat and carbs, Grandy and I were ready to hit the sleuthing trail.

  “I don’t have his full name, but I do know where he lives,” I said to Grandy as we buckled ourselves into my car.

  “What if he’s home when we get there?”

  “I hope he’s home. I told you. We’re not doing illegal entry. Not this time.”

  I heard grumbling from her side of the car.

  “Maybe soon,” I added to placate her.

  Jenny’s former fiancé lived on the road skirting the edge of the rim canal where a number of fish camps were located. Some of these had recently gone out of business because of hard economic times. One had been sold to a buyer who had taken the former owner’s shingle, Bud’s Place, off the camp sign and substituted one with a more picturesque name—Hee Haw Home Habitat.