The Saucy Lucy Murders

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  Stevenson gave her a dark gaze. He obviously did not appreciate her attempt at humor.

  “Let me know what the boys in your crime lab have to say, Stevenson.” Otis puffed out his beefy chest, making his sheriff’s badge glint in the sun. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any local leads.”

  “You do that.” Stevenson took long strides over to Violet Whitehead, who was still weeping and blowing her nose in a crumbling tissue, and began talking to her.

  “Whooeeee.” Otis rubbed his fleshy neck. “Leave it to my sister-in-law to find trouble wherever she goes. This is the second man who’s died after dating you. Any man in his right mind would think twice about sporting you around.”

  “Believe me, I never wanted this,” Lexie muttered. “To heck with my purse. I should have stayed home this morning.”

  “We’d still need to question you, Lex,” Otis said. “You were the last person who saw Henry White-head alive.”

  Lexie shook her head. “Lucky me.”

  “You gals can head home now.” Otis pointed a pudgy finger at Lexie. “And you, stay the hell away from those hack reporters. Don’t say a damn thing. Got it?”

  Lexie nodded.

  Once Otis had stomped over to join Stevenson in questioning Violet, Lucy released a giant breath. “Thank goodness. He wasn’t as angry as I thought he would be.”

  “I’m sorry I spoiled his Sunday funnies.”

  Lucy ignored Lexie’s last snide comment, which was just as well.

  “He’s a very nice looking man,” Lucy said.

  Lexie frowned. “Who?”

  “Detective Stevenson. I wonder if he’s married? I didn’t see a wedding ring.”

  “Lucy Parnell, don’t you ever stop meddling?” Lexie folded her arms across her chest. “I am not interested in Detective Stevenson. Capisce? Do not try to start your matchmaking again.”

  “Honestly, wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “No, I would not. All I want to do right now is go home. I just want to be with my daughter. And no more of you fixer-upper dates. Got it?”

  “You’re just upset, dear. Who wouldn’t be?” Lucy smiled. “I’m still going to find out if Detective Stevenson is married.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Lexie climbed into her truck, revved up the engine and rattled home.

  After Lexie told Eva about Whitehead’s murder, the rest of the day went by in a blur. Except for the phone call from Barnard Savage, a ruthless reporter for the Moose Creek Junction Chronicle. He hammered Lexie with questions about Henry Whitehead and her relationship with him, and then brought up Hugh. Lexie said, “No comment,” several times, and finally hung up.

  Savage was a pure nuisance. She could see him now wearing his press hat and rumpled suit, notebook, and ever present stubby pencil he constantly wet with the tip of his tongue. Once he was onto a good story, he was like a chronic cold you couldn’t shake.

  She kept thinking about poor Henry on a slab in the Westonville morgue. Café customers came and went, but her mind barely registered the fact. All she could think about was who would have wanted Whitehead dead, and why?

  Then she got to thinking about the car that had rammed her truck at the light. Who had been driving? Had they run into her on purpose? And did it have anything to do with Whitehead’s murder?

  Then there was Dan. Last she’d heard, he was still married to Davina and living in California. He wouldn’t have returned to Moose Creek Junction to cause trouble for her, would he? Was he stalking her? A shiver danced up her spine.

  All of the sudden, she realized what a mess she was in. Just like Otis had said. Good Lord, what if the police decided all the evidence pointed to her as the killer? What would she do then?

  Better get a good attorney.

  With what, she wondered. She had a little bit of money in savings, but not enough to pay for an expensive trial lawyer to save her neck from the gallows. Then again, maybe she could pay him or her with homemade bread and free meals at The Saucy Lucy Café for the rest of his or her life.

  Don’t borrow trouble, she heard her mother’s firm counsel.

  Good advice, of course. No one had said anything about charging Lexie with murder. Just further questioning. That made her relax.

  Still, Whitehead’s untimely death bothered her. She couldn’t help but feel somehow responsible, though she had no idea why. She also couldn’t shake the disturbing idea of wearing orange jumpsuits and visiting with Eva and Lucy through thick Plexiglas.

  That night Lexie went to bed early. Her dreams were fitful and she tossed and turned, unable to sleep a wink. By two a.m. her bed looked like a battlefield.

  Dragging herself out of bed, she showered, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, shoved her tousled hair into a headband and padded downstairs in her ragged slippers to the kitchen. Once her coffee had begun to brew, she balanced her checkbook and paid bills. That done, she swept the kitchen floor, then got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed it with a vengeance, even though it was spic and span after the dishwasher escapade.

  As soon as the sun came up, she went outside and began hoeing what was left of her garden. The second she started hacking at the dusty weeds, she knew she was going to be sorry. Her poor old, nearing-middle-age muscles, were surely going to let her have it once she was done taking out her troubles on the good earth. But what the heck? Maybe she’d be in so much pain she could keep her mind off the murder.

  The sun had nearly melted her into a puddle and she was breathing pretty heavily by the time Eva came out and grabbed her by the shoulder.

  “Mom … Mom!”

  Lexie dropped her hoe and swung around to face her daughter. “What?”

  “You’re going at those weeds like a madwoman.”

  Lexie put a hand over her heart, feeling it hammer under her palm. “I am mad. Mad at life.”

  “Well, you’re gonna keel over if you don’t knock it off.”

  Feeling like a mutt who’d been caught digging holes in the yard, Lexie followed her daughter over to an ancient picnic table and sat down. Eva sat across from her, poured a glass of lemonade and slid it across the splintered wood.

  “Drink,” she commanded.

  Lexie swallowed the cool, tart liquid. “Thanks.”

  “What’s up?” Eva asked.

  “Do you realize that Henry Whitehead is the second man I’ve dated who has died?”

  “So?” Eva shrugged. “It’s not like you’re the black widow or anything. It’s just bad luck.”

  Ah, the simplicity of youth. So untainted by the real world. Then Lexie remembered Madame Evangeline’s warnings. Should she give them any consideration? Was someone jealous of her? Should she beware the Greek?

  What Greek?

  For goodness sake. It was silly of her to even take that fortune-telling nonsense into consideration. What was wrong with her, anyway?

  “Mom?”

  Lexie pulled herself from her deep thoughts. “Yes, honey?”

  “Have you heard from Dad lately?”

  “No. Have you?”

  Eva shook her head, her chocolate brown eyes, the color of her father’s, sad.

  “He’s probably just busy,” Lexie reassured her.

  “With Davina and their new baby, I bet. I’m sure she’s had it by now.”

  “No doubt. Unless she has the gestation period of an elephant.”

  “So I could have a little half brother or sister and I don’t even know its name.”

  Lexie didn’t say anything. She took another drink of lemonade.

  “Why didn’t you and Dad have any more kids besides me?” Eva tucked strands of hair behind her ears and stared earnestly at her mother.

  Memories flooded Lexie’s mind and she wanted to cry out, but she held back. Should she tell Eva or not? Her heart twisted.

  “Mom, are you all right?”

  Lexie nodded. Eva was eighteen years old, a college student. She was mature enough to handle the truth. It was time. “You had a sister.
I named her Elena.”

  Eva’s eyes went wide. “What happened? Oh, my gosh, I don’t remember any little sister.”

  “You wouldn’t. I was only four months pregnant when I miscarried. I fell down the stairs.”

  “I think I remember that, but I didn’t know you were going to have a baby.”

  “You were only four, sweetie. You wouldn’t have.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Eva reached across the table and took Lexie’s hand. “That must have been pretty awful.”

  “It was. But I didn’t just fall, Eva. I was pushed.”

  “Pushed? Who pushed you?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Of course I do! I’ll go kick their butt!”

  “No you won’t,” Lexie said quietly. “It was your father.”

  Eva’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad? He … he did that to you?”

  Lexie recalled Detective Stevenson’s question about whether or not her ex-husband was violent. She had lied. Lied to cover her own embarrassment that she’d put up with his uncontrollable temper for so long and made excuses for his behavior. She’d been so afraid to leave. So afraid of admitting to folks back home she’d made a mistake. And so very afraid of not being able to take care of Eva on her own.

  Miserable, Lexie nodded. “He was angry about something I had said or done. It’s been so long now, I don’t even remember.”

  “He was mean to you a lot, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Lexie wiped hot tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “I’ve known all along,” Eva said. “I have memories.”

  “Of what?” Lexie was horrified. She thought she’d hidden her bruises, her fear, and her shame from her daughter.

  “His yelling. His slapping and hitting. I remember him coming at you with a gun one time, threatening to shoot you. I remember him locking you out of the house. I cried because I was afraid you’d be cold.”

  “Oh, sweetie. You saw all that?” Lexie came around and hugged her daughter. “I tried to spare you the truth. And you knew all along. What a fool I was.”

  “Most of it happened at night when you both thought I was asleep. But I’d hear you two and wake up. I’d sit at the top of the stairs and listen. Then I’d sneak back to bed and cry myself to sleep. In the morning, I’d convince myself I’d imagined everything—that it had all been a nightmare.”

  Lexie took Eva’s head between her hands. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Eva said. “I wish I could have done something.”

  “You were a child. What could you do? But everything’s all right now.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, sweetie. So very much.” They hugged for a while longer.

  Then, sniffling a little, Eva went back in the house to pack. After dinner, she would be driving back to college.

  Lexie sat back down and stared at her lemonade. She’d finally admitted to her daughter the awful truth about Dan’s temper, who had known about it all along. It was like a burden had been lifted. A little light had been shed on the dark part of her past. Still, it was a place Lexie didn’t want to visit often.

  She had been backed into a corner with Dan for too long, with no way out. She did not like the feeling of being helpless. Which is how she felt right now. And if someone was killing her dates on purpose, maybe they’d have it in for her. Who knows when she’d be next on the hit list?

  Lexie swallowed her unease. Surely, someone in this town had answers. While she knew very little about Henry Whitehead, other people must know more. The likely person to do the questioning would be Otis, but Lexie knew he’d leave that to the big guns in Westonville.

  Which left Detective Stevenson in charge of working the case. He looked capable enough, but would he ask the right things of the right people? The man had only recently moved here. What did he know about anyone? It would take him twice as long to solve the murder as someone who knew the place intimately.

  There was only one person who knew this town and its citizens like the back of her hand. Lexie’s good-hearted, gossip-mongering sister. She’d know all the right people to talk to and all the right questions to ask. If Moose Creek Junction had a pulse, Lucy had her finger on it.

  It was clear to Lexie what she needed to do next. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in Lucy’s number. When Lucy answered, Lexie said, “Lucy. I need your help.”

  “I don’t like your tone of voice,” Lucy responded.

  “I’m worried.”

  “About what?”

  “Detective Stevenson’s murder investigation.”

  “Let him handle it, dear. I’m sure he’s good at what he does. He’s single, by the way. Actually, he’s a widower.”

  “Lucy, concentrate. I do not care about Stevenson’s marital status. But I do care about his investigation abilities. What if he’s no good? What if he never finds out who killed Whitehead? What if he decides I did it?”

  “That would be impossible. The Westonville coroner will determine Henry’s time of death, and I’m sure it will be hours after you went home.”

  “Still, don’t you think it’s weird? This is the second man I’ve dated who has turned up dead. What if somebody has it in for me? What if I’m next?”

  Lucy was silent a moment. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Well, I have. A lot. And I want to find out who’s been doing my dates in.”

  “Otis will kill us if we start snooping around.”

  “He doesn’t have to know. We’ll be very careful.”

  “Still, I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Picture me in an orange jumpsuit with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth,” Lexie said. “Or, worse yet, pushing up daisies.” When Lucy did not respond, Lexie said, “Fine, no need for you to get involved. I’ll just check into this myself.”

  “Oh, stop. You are not going to jail and you are not going to die.” Lucy sighed heavily. “You win. I don’t think we’ll find the murderer, but we’ll do some of our own investigations.”

  “Excellent. Where do you think we should start? You know this town better than I do. I’ve been away too long.”

  The line was silent a moment while Lucy reflected. “At Nailed to the Wall, of course,” she finally said. “Women are as loose-lipped over at Carma Leone’s beauty parlor as teenage girls at a sleepover. We’ll both have a set of acrylic nails put on while we listen to shop-talk.”

  Lexie was surprised. Lucy didn’t wear makeup or perfume or anything that would enhance her looks. It was against her religion. “But isn’t vanity a sin?”

  “Of course, dear. And I wouldn’t be caught dead there under normal circumstances. But we are, after all, on a mission to try and ferret out a murderer. God will understand.”

  Having one’s nails done was far too sinful for a Sunday-go-to meeting gal like Lucy and far too long and painstaking a process for Lexie. But since they would be suffering for a cause, Lexie figured she would bite the bullet.

  CHAPTER 3

  WHEN LEXIE AND LUCY WALKED INSIDE Nailed to the Wall a few days later, the shop bell tinkled on the door. The place exuded a comfortable feeling with ivy-stenciled walls, floral wreaths and posters with perfect models in perfect clothes advertising the latest hairstyles and nail polish. The floor had thick, rose-colored carpet and there were plenty of mirrors for women to observe themselves after various cosmetic procedures. Unfortunately, it reeked of polish remover and other mysterious substances.

  Upon Lexie and Lucy’s entrance, everyone froze in the different stations of beauty treatment— massage, pedicure, manicure, and hairdressing—and looked up. Before long, low, tittering comments flowed across the room.

  “Well, well, well,” Carma Leone said as she walked in their direction. “Look what the cat dragged in. The preacher man’s prodigal daughters.”

  “Hello, Carma,” Lexie said, ignoring her former classmate’s condescending remarks. “Nice
to see you, too. It’s been a long time.” Carma graduated from Moose Creek Junction High School the same year as Lexie. But her looks had changed drastically over the years—for the better.

  Back in high school, Carma had been tall and plump. Her hair had been greasy; she’d worn dorky glasses and perpetually slumped her shoulders. Now the ugly duckling had blossomed into a lovely woman with dark, exotic good looks and mysterious green eyes. Her black smock and black slacks emphasized her sleek, sophisticated look. Sleek and sophisticated like Cat Woman.

  Carma’s dark brows arched into an expression of curiosity and she folded her arms across her chest. “What brings you ladies here today?”

  “Would you have time to do our nails this morning?” Lexie held up her ragged paws.

  Carma’s dark brows arched. “I’m dying to know why two little brown sparrows such as yourselves would care to have your nails done.”

  “I suppose that’s our business, Carma,” Lucy said. “Unless you’d rather we drive over to Westonville and pay someone else to do them.”

  Carma smiled, but her right eye began to twitch a little. “Actually, I have a cancellation this morning and so does Georgia. We’d be more than happy to take care of you.”

  “Thank you.” Lexie wished desperately she could give Cat Woman a piece of her mind. But it would be pointless to irritate Carma. They were here to soak up the latest gossip and she wasn’t about to let her personal feelings ruin the opportunity.

  “Georgia will do your nails, Lucy. Go ahead and have a seat at her station and she’ll be right back. She’s just powdering her nose.” Carma pointed toward a desk adjacent to hers and Lucy lowered into a chair.

  “You’re looking good,” Lexie said to Cat Woman as she sat at her station. “And you seem to be doing good with your business.”

  Carma sent her an icy, insincere smile. “I’m so sorry to hear about your parents passing away. And your divorce. You and Dan always seemed so meant for each other.” Her face took on a peculiar expression.

  “Things change.” Lexie fought down the sting of Dan’s betrayal for the millionth time.

  Carma started to buff Lexie’s short, ragged nails. “And your daughter? How is she doing?”