The Saucy Lucy Murders

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  “Aunt Gladys, what are you doing?”

  Aunt Gladys turned to Lexie, a knife in her hand, her eyes wide. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that, Leslie! You nearly scared the bejabbers out of me.”

  Lexie tensed her jaw. “Aunt Gladys, please. The knife—put it down.”

  Aunt Gladys blinked at the knife in her hand, then placed it and the towel on the counter. “Hell’s bells. What on earth am I doing?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.” Lexie grabbed an apron and hurriedly tied it around Aunt Gladys, thankfully covering most of her unmentionables. “Have you taken your medicine yet this morning?”

  Aunt Gladys shook her head. “No. I was too busy levitating over my bed. My shoulder’s still a little sore from when I fell. I have to learn to land better.”

  Lexie rolled her eyes. “Let’s go upstairs and finish getting you ready for the funeral.”

  Aunt Gladys snorted. “Funerals suck, Leslie. Who died, anyway?”

  “Jack Sturgeon, Aunt Gladys. A friend of mine. Remember I told you?” About a million times, Lexie thought.

  Aunt Gladys snapped her fingers. “That’s right. I was nearly ready to go, but that panty thief has gone and snatched all my undies again.”

  “The panty thief? Wasn’t it the boy-man?” Lexie asked.

  “No, no, no. The boy-man’s gone right now. I’m talking about the panty thief. No one knows his name. But he likes to sniff the crotches and wear the panties on his head and—”

  “OK,” Lexie interrupted, not liking where the panty thief talk was going. “Let’s get you dressed. Lexie grabbed Aunt Gladys’ bottle of pills from the windowsill. “But first, you need one of these.”

  Later, Lexie and Aunt Gladys, now dressed in a subdued brown dress, serviceable brown shoes, a bright orange scarf, and orange basketball earrings Aunt Gladys had insisted upon, met Lucy outside the First Community Church of the Lamb of God.

  Flowers filled the podium area where Jack’s coffin rested and a pianist played somber music on the other side of the riser. People who stood in small groups talking to one another stopped and stared when Lexie and Lucy walked in with Aunt Gladys. She could hear them whispering when they passed by, despite her attempts to ignore them.

  Lexie was instantly uncomfortable. Not only because of Jack’s untimely death, but also because she hadn’t been to church in years. Her head started to ache excruciatingly and she winced, knowing she would have to bear the pain until she got home to take aspirin.

  She looked around and noticed a man, a woman, and two children seated in the front row. It must be Rick Sturgeon, Jack’s brother, and his family. Lexie was glad they were here.

  After paying their respects at the casket, which was closed, Lexie, Lucy, and Aunt Gladys found a spot in one of the back pews. When Reverend Lincolnway got up to speak, Lexie realized several people kept turning in her direction, giving her pointed looks.

  A shuddering sigh tore through her and she tried her best to ignore the accusatory stares. Instead, she lowered her head and concentrated on the healing cut on her hand. This wasn’t about her and what people thought of her. It was about Jack Sturgeon, a kind and considerate man who hadn’t deserved to die so young. Sometimes not even a funeral could get people to set aside their judgmental natures.

  Lexie caught Carma Leone’s eye. For some reason, she noticed her nails were painted bright blue. She squinted harder. Darned if that polish didn’t look similar to the color of the writing on the grenade thrown through her window. That wasn’t possible though, was it? Could Carma be behind the incident?

  Confused, Lexie focused on Reverend Lincoln-way’s memorial as the sounds of weeping and sniffling rose from the assembled mourners. Unable to stop the tears that squeezed from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, she was thankful she’d remembered to bring along a tissue. Lucy kept her arm around Lexie the whole time, offering solace which, although well intended, seemed empty and meaningless.

  After the service Lexie managed to shake hands with the grieving family members and mutter her condolences. Then she helped Aunt Gladys shuffle back to her truck and she drove them home.

  At least Aunt Gladys was patient with the truck’s backfiring and chugging. Usually sassy and outspoken about everything, she remained subdued. Finally she turned to Lexie and said, “Tell me again, Leslie. Who was it that died?”

  Lexie sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Aunt Gladys. It really doesn’t matter.”

  The rest of the week passed in a blur. On Sunday morning, Lexie awakened still sad, but slightly more prepared to deal with the real world. It seemed as though she’d been in a cocoon for days and was slowly forcing her way out, slowly becoming human again. Her sadness still lingered, needling her with the stinging loss of someone who could have become a good friend. The looming questions—mainly why—remained.

  Despite the fact that life seemed easier to deal with after a week of retrospection, Lexie was still left with the frustrations of her life: the unsolved murders, the café’s dwindling business, Eva’s unpaid spring tuition and a Loony Toons aunt breathing down her neck day and night. It seemed almost too much to bear.

  Better get to work, girl. According to her late father, keeping busy was a cure for almost everything.

  Getting out of bed, she yawned. Standing in the bright sunlight pouring through the curtains, she did her morning stretches, reaching to the ceiling and then to the floor, twisting her torso, executing shoulder rolls. Then she did a few push ups, pelvic tilts, and yoga positions. It felt good to get back into her routine, something she’d dismissed all week while she wallowed in self pity.

  The time for that was over. She was a survivor, and survive she would.

  She dressed in a pair of old jeans, a T-shirt, and knotted her hair into a ponytail. Slipping upstairs, she checked on Aunt Gladys who was still in bed, snoring away like a chain saw with a thread of drool running down one side of her chin, her face slathered in a mint green mask. Pink sponge rollers peeked from her scalp where they clipped her wiry white hair into tightly crimped curls. More than happy to let the septaugenarian troublemaker sleep, Lexie went downstairs and out into the back yard where birds twittered endlessly in the golden sun.

  Autumn, with its earthy scents and russet landscape had always been Lexie’s favorite time of year. It symbolized a new beginning, not an end. As the earth slowly went dormant, causing brilliantly colored flowers and lush green trees to fade with frost, seeds dropped from petals and leaves, burrowing deep in the soil. There they remained snug and warm, preparing for the moment when they would burst forth once again in all their glory. Not until the time was right, not until the calendar promised the sun’s warmth would allow them to grow.

  Breathing in the crisp fall air, filling her lungs full with the sweetness, Lexie felt a heightened sense of vitality and purpose. Even in this quiet period of her life, when it was best she burrow away until the storms of life blew over, there were things she needed to do. She would make preparations until the time arrived for her to resurface. Nature had many lessons to offer, lessons she would be wise to heed.

  Hands on her hips, Lexie surveyed the garden, from which she had harvested fat, juicy tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, peppers, corn, beans, and zucchini. She’d canned and put up enough vegetables for most of the winter, though her gardens the last few years hadn’t been as prolific. It was hard enough trying to coax foliage from the high plains climate soil when they had normal rainfall. The drought turned the garden her mother had tended so lovingly into a shadow of its former self.

  Full of tangled weeds and dried husks of plants, the vegetable bed looked sad and lifeless. Except for the pumpkin patch. The basketball-sized orange gourds lay barely hidden beneath fat brown, prickly leaves, their vines snaking across the ground. They thrived because they were one of the last vegetables to be harvested. They ripened just in time for Halloween.

  Halloween.

  Lexie recalled way back in June she’d reserved a booth a
t the Trick-or-Treat Festival traditionally held every year at the Moose Creek Junction Community House. Mom and Dad always encouraged her and Lucy to spend Halloween night trick-or-treating there rather than wandering the neighborhood in schlompy costumes begging for candy. Even back then, in a small town like this, it had seemed a safer option.

  Lexie had loved attending the event to hand out treats to the children because it reminded her of a kinder, gentler time. It also reminded her of when Eva was a little girl, when she had lovingly hand sewn the costumes and goodie bags and walked her daughter around their neighborhood, pretending to blend into the shadows. Even then, things had seemed simpler.

  Halloween was tomorrow. Would she have the guts to brave the gossips and go to the festival, as she had done since she’d moved back, with treats for the little goblins and ghouls?

  “Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater …”

  Lexie turned to see Aunt Gladys wearing the leopard print caftan and feathery slippers. Her face, still covered with the mint green facial mask shell, cracked at the corners of her mouth as she sang. Lexie rolled her eyes. It could be worse, she thought. At least the silly old gal hadn’t come out naked.

  Seeing she had caught Lexie’s attention, Aunt Gladys lifted the sides of her caftan and did a merry jig as she continued with her song. “… had a wife and couldn’t keep her. So he put her in a pumpkin shell and there he kept her very well.”

  “Nice morning,” Lexie said.

  Aunt Gladys stopped cavorting, cocked her head to the side and batted her eyelashes. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

  Here we go again, Lexie thought as she sank down in an old lawn chair. “I’m your niece, Aunt Gladys. Lexie. Don’t you remember?”

  Aunt Gladys put a finger to her lips and looked thoughtfully into the distance. “You wouldn’t try to fool an old woman, would you?”

  Lexie shook her head.

  Aunt Gladys snapped her arthritic fingers. “That’s right! I know who you are. Forgive me, I’ve suffered a momentary lapse in memory.”

  Lexie smiled. “I think we need to go inside so you can take your medicine and have some breakfast.”

  “Good idea,” Aunt Gladys said. “I need my power drink. Stimulates my brain cells, you know. Helps me think a lot clearer.”

  It would stimulate my puke reflex, Lexie thought.

  “Did you hear Junior last night?” Aunt Gladys asked. “He was making such a ruckus on the roof I had trouble sleeping again.”

  Lexie stood and took Aunt Gladys’ elbow, steering her toward the back door. “I’m afraid I’ve never seen Junior.”

  Aunt Gladys stopped and her eyes went wide. “You’re not in cahoots with him, are you? I couldn’t live here any longer if you were.”

  “Of course I’m not,” Lexie said. “Now please, come inside.”

  “What are we going to do today?” Aunt Gladys asked innocently.

  Hide out, Lexie thought. Then, in her mind’s eye, she saw a flash of all the smirking townspeople’s faces. She considered how they were gossiping mercilessly about her. Fabricating lies and distorting the truth. Wickedly putting her out of business for no good reason. They should all be ashamed for making a difficult time in her life even worse.

  She needed to show them. Show them she wasn’t afraid. Remembering the apples she’d picked from a tree in her yard that now sat piled in two bushel baskets in her pantry, she suddenly knew what she and Aunt Gladys would do today.

  “Have you ever made caramel apples, Aunt Gladys? Or carved a pumpkin?”

  Aunt Gladys scratched her head. “My housekeeper, Irene, used to do all that for Bruce when he was a little boy.”

  “What about when you were a girl?” Lexie prompted. Aunt Gladys shrugged and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at Lexie with a panic-stricken expression. “Hell’s bells, Leslie. I … I don’t remember.”

  Lexie felt a sliver of compassion for the old woman’s fading memory. “That doesn’t matter because today we’re going to do all of those things. Tomorrow evening, you and Lucy and I are going to the Trick-or-Treat Festival.”

  “Yipee! I promise I’ll be good, too. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Aunt Gladys crossed her heart with her forefinger. “I know exactly what we can wear. I’ve got some costumes from a number I did in Vegas years ago.”

  Lexie experienced a moment’s flicker of hesitation. If Aunt Gladys wore them in Las Vegas, no doubt they were X-rated. She wasn’t so sure they’d be appropriate for a bunch of anal-retentive pilgrims and their offspring. Then again, with a little tailoring, maybe the costumes were just the thing to wake up the town and make them realize they couldn’t keep her down.

  The next day, Lexie, Lucy and Aunt Gladys took turns examining themselves in a full-length mirror in Aunt Gladys’ room. From the ex-Las Vegas showgirl’s costume trunk, they had fished out gauzy yellow, purple, and orange satin tutus complete with matching tights, spotted butterfly wings, and curly black antennae.

  As Lexie had feared, the showgirl outfits were revealing up top, especially since she had a fair amount of cleavage. After discussing the problem for a while with Aunt Gladys and Lucy, Lexie produced several colorful T-shirts from Eva’s dresser drawer. Putting them on and knotting them at their waists worked. Voila, the exotic tutus instantly became more acceptable for the family event.

  Aunt Gladys, Lucy, and Lexie loaded the Halloween treats into a large Tupperware container and put it in Lexie’s truck. Lexie also threw in the Halloween decoration box from the garage, a roll of masking tape, and the two pumpkins she and Aunt Gladys had carved.

  “For Pete’s sake, Lexie,” Lucy said as they drove to the Community House in the bumping and grinding truck, “can’t you afford a new vehicle yet? This one is hideous.” Her fingers gripped the seat with white knuckles and her antennae slipped askew on her head when the vehicle lurched and backfired.

  “Not unless you’ve won the lottery and want to share,” Lexie said.

  Lucy sighed heavily.

  “I’ve kind of gotten used to it.” Aunt Gladys adjusted a gauzy wing on her back. “It’s like the Tower of Terror ride at that theme park in Califor-nia—Fantasyland isn’t it? Anyway, it takes you way up in the sky and drops you back down … ker-plunk, ker-plunk, ker-plunk.”

  Ignoring their complaints, Lexie watched as the Community House, a large white clapboard building near the city’s small recreational reservoir, Buffalo Lake, came into view. In the parking lot, people had stopped their cars and walked their excited children to the entrance, adjusting their costumes.

  When Aunt Gladys, Lucy, and Lexie arrived, business people were festooning their wooden booths with spooky Halloween paraphernalia. They stopped what they were doing to stare at the three women and talk amongst themselves. Lexie ignored their catty comments, which were whispered just loud enough for them to hear, and went over to the Chamber of Commerce’s check-in desk.

  With Aunt Gladys and Lucy right behind her, she marched up to the president, Morton Frost, a tall man with old-fashioned brown and gray mutton chop whiskers. Standing there in his pin-striped three-piece suit, he reminded Lexie of the Wizard of Oz, working his evil behind closed doors and curtains, trying to fool everyone.

  “I reserved a booth for the Saucy Lucy Café,” she told him.

  He nonchalantly flicked lint from his expensive suit and perused a piece of paper on the table in front of him. “Hmmm, I’m afraid I don’t see you here.”

  “There’s got to be some mistake,” Lexie said, feeling like a complete idiot in her purple butterfly costume and antennae. Her face surged with warmth. “I made the reservation months ago.”

  He gave her a smug look. “I’m sorry to say it’s not here.”

  “Let me have a look at that, you pompous ass wipe.” Aunt Gladys grabbed the paper from his hand and held it under her nose.

  “Aunt Gladys,” Lexie mumbled, afraid she was going to get them kicked out.

  Aunt Gladys stared at the paper for a second, making faces. She
elbowed Lucy hard in the ribs and shoved the paper at her. “Quick, read this crap for me. I can’t see a blessed thing.”

  Lucy grasped the list and squinted at it. “Ah, there’s the Saucy Lucy. We’re assigned to booth G.” She tapped a line on the paper with a fingertip. “Mort, you simply must get yourself reading glasses.”

  Aunt Gladys snorted. “Reading glasses my ass. He’s just being a c—”

  Lexie cupped her hand over Aunt Gladys’ mouth and nudged her away. “We’ll just clear out of here, Mr. Frost. Sorry for the trouble.”

  Red as a persimmon, Frost glared at the women as they toted their boxes to the designated booth and set everything down. “What’s his problem?” Lucy nodded at Frost. “Mort’s usually not like that.”

  “It’s the murders,” Lexie responded. “I told you, people are giving me the cold shoulder. They think they’ll get their hands dirty if they associate with me. That’s why they’re not eating at the café. That’s why we’re shut down.”

  “Sons of perdition,” Lucy snapped. “Let those without sin cast the first stone, let the—”

  “Hey, gabby pants,” Aunt Gladys said to Lucy as she struggled to lift a carved pumpkin out of a box. “Could ya quit flappin’ your jaw for a minute and give me a hand here?”

  With a frustrated grunt, Lucy went to help Aunt Gladys.

  Ignoring Frost’s snub and the business people’s whispered comments, Lexie busied herself hanging up orange and black crepe paper and ghoulish cardboard jack-o-lanterns, black cats, spiders, and witches. In one corner, the city hall organizers had arranged a spook alley, complete with creepy graveyard with headstones, cobwebs, and scary looking creatures of the night. An array of candlelit jack-o-lanterns sat on a crooked stone fence, their faces flickering in the dimly lit room.