Murder is the Pits

by Mary Clay

  “Do you have Yuri’s card?” Penny Sue asked.

  I fetched the card from the top of my dresser. “His office is on the North Causeway.” I handed it to Penny Sue.

  “Let’s drive by there and see what his office looks like. You can tell a lot about a person by their habitat.” Penny Sue took a sip of the green tea and stared at the liquid. “I hope this stuff is cleansing my system like Ruthie said. I could sure go for a glass of Chardonnay about now.”

  “I like green tea. But, if you wait until after the blood test, I’ll join you.”

  “Deal.” Penny Sue pursed her lips, thinking. “Have you checked on the units that sold? What did they go for? Was Yuri’s company involved? There must be a way to find out.”

  “We need to talk to a realtor.” I checked my watch. Ruthie’s time was up.

  Most of the people who’d responded to Clyde Holden’s death were in Bert Fish’s emergency room waiting for blood tests. Our luck—Woody was in line directly ahead of us. We all stopped short, no one wanting to stand behind him. Ruthie finally stepped up to the plate, since our hesitation and frantic whispering were drawing attention. Honestly, Ruthie was so empathetic, she’d probably shake the devil’s hand rather than hurt his feelings. Standing next to Woody was close.

  Mr. Personality stared at us like we were freaks. “I thought you’d already been tested.”

  “We have,” I answered quickly before Penny Sue could make a smart remark. “We’ve here for a recheck after our cleansing treatment.”

  “There’s a pill or something that will take care of mercury contamination?” Woody asked.

  “Yes, the doctor will explain it to you,” I answered. There was no way I was going to mention our mud bath.

  Fortunately, the line moved quickly, and Woody struck up a conversation with a fireman in front of him. Heather Brooks also showed up. Heather’s presence gave us the perfect excuse to turn our backs on Woody. Penny Sue tried to question her about the dead Russian, but Heather frowned, indicating she couldn’t talk. Penny Sue had the sense to drop the subject.

  I had to give the hospital staff credit. They’d ramped up for the onslaught of tests, establishing an assembly line. One nurse drew blood; another labeled the vial and passed it off to a lab tech. The results were back in about a half hour—incredible for the average hospital. Most people, including Woody, had very low levels of mercury. A nurse reported their results, advising them to cut back on fish for a while until their systems had a chance to clear.

  Woody left, so we were next. A moment later, Penny Sue poked me with her elbow.

  “Ouch!” I drew back, rubbing my forearm. “What was that for?”

  “Here comes that cute Dr. Samuelson who gave us the first test. Check his hand for a wedding band.”

  “Wedding band? I’m going to get a bruise from this—” I stopped as the doctor squatted in front of us. He was cute, maybe too cute—meaning too young for us.

  “Your test results are amazing. They all show a substantial drop in mercury, especially yours,” he said, patting Penny Sue’s hand. “When I saw your name on the lab report, I was sure I’d be arranging chelation therapy. Don’t get me wrong—your level is elevated, but you’re out of the danger zone. What in the world did you do?”

  “Well, it wasn’t easy—” Penny Sue started.

  I held up my hand to silence her. I could feel the story of the mud and being stuck in the bathroom bubbling up. I also had a fleeting fear Penny Sue might ask the doctor to examine her boobs, in case there were injuries from being dragged over the tub. “We used an old home remedy—green tea and a mud bath.” Lord knew, I wasn’t going to mention the magnetized part of the remedy or give Ruthie a chance to start on the new moon and solar flares.

  Dr. Samuelson smiled skeptically and stood. “Whatever you did seems to have worked.” He nodded at Penny Sue. “You should have another test next week. Do you have a local doctor?”

  “No, I’m visiting,” she said in her buttery, Georgia drawl. “I’ll have to come here. When are you in?”

  Good grief. The emphasis on you was embarrassing.

  “I work days, but anyone can do the test.” He took a step back. “In any event, all of you should go light on fish for a couple of weeks.”

  “Why fish?” Ruthie piped in.

  “You’ve heard about mercury polluted waters and fish, haven’t you? Actually, you’re probably safe if your fish is fresh and purchased from a local market like Ocean’s Seafood. Most of their stock comes from this area, so there shouldn’t be a problem. It’s the canned stuff you have to be careful with—no one knows where it came from. It’s not a problem for the average person. But, someone like you, who’s inhaled mercury, should avoid anything with even a remote chance of contamination.”

  “I understand.” Penny Sue offered her hand. “Thank you, doctor, for all your help. It’s so nice to meet a physician who takes time with patients. I know you’re under the HMO gun, ruled by a massive bureaucracy of manuals, and accountants, and—”

  His beeper sounded. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  Dr. Samuelson all but ran away, thrilled—I’m sure—for an excuse to ditch Penny Sue.

  As soon as the doctor was out of sight, Penny Sue grinned. “No wedding band.”

  I held my tongue until we got in her car. “I thought you were in love with Rich.”

  She scowled. “Yes, and as you know, he’s tied up indefinitely in the witness protection program. A date or two and a little flirting doesn’t hurt. I’m merely passing time until Rich returns.” She started the car and headed toward Canal Street.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “North Causeway, what do you think? I want to check out Yuri’s office.”

  The North Causeway Drawbridge was up and traffic at a standstill, so we turned off onto a feeder road lined by a strip of glass-front stores. Yuri’s office was in the middle, closest to an upscale beauty salon. Penny Sue backed up and parked a few doors away so as not to be obvious.

  “Not too classy for a realtor,” she said.

  “The salon down the street is well known. Maybe Yuri hopes to draw in their rich customers.”

  “Could be,” Ruthie observed. “He has a lot of flyers with sold signs taped to the window.”

  “Go take a peek.” Penny Sue glanced at Ruthie through the rearview mirror. “He doesn’t know you.”

  “Me?”

  “For goshsakes, it’s broad daylight, and his Jaguar isn’t in sight. See if any of the sold units are for Sea Dunes.”

  Ruthie grumbled, but unlatched her seatbelt. In the distance I saw the drawbridge drop into place and a black Jaguar headed our way, leading the line of traffic.

  “Here he comes across the bridge,” I exclaimed.

  Penny Sue made a U-turn and headed the other way before Ruthie opened her door. Doubtlessly a maneuver Penny Sue learned in the anti-terrorist driving course, I thought as I clutched the door handle. I watched for the Jag as she turned left onto the main road.

  “Are we out of the woods?” Penny Sue asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, maybe?”

  “There’s no sign of the Jag, but I think we’re being followed by a black Taurus.”

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  August 17-24, New Smyrna Beach, FL

  “A black Taurus? What makes you think it’s following us?” Penny Sue asked.

  “I noticed one behind us at the light when we turned into the hospital. I saw a black Taurus parked on the opposite side of the lot when we left the emergency room. Now, a black Taurus is a few cars behind us.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Penny Sue drove straight across Riverside Drive, hung a left on Sams, a right on Canal, then a left on Live Oak. We missed the light at the intersection to Route 44 and pulsed to a stop in the left turn lane.

  Ruthie and I scanned the streets behind us. No black car of any make was in sight. “We lost ’em.”

 
; “Maybe we weren’t being followed after all,” I allowed.

  “The Taurus is a common rental car,” Ruthie said. “With all the tension of the last few days, our nerves are on edge. I’m sure it was merely a coincidence.”

  The light went green, and we headed over the South Causeway Bridge, back toward the condo. I peeked over my shoulder several times, but didn’t find a Taurus. Logic said Ruthie was right, and my imagination was running wild. My gut told me otherwise.

  Our development was filled with cars and yellow crime tape when we pulled in the driveway. While one person worked the Italian site in our cluster, most of the interest had shifted to the Russian in the dumpster next door. At least five cars, marked and unmarked, surrounded the green receptacle. A large group of sightseers had congregated on the elevated public boardwalk, giving it an almost festive feel. We drove past the commotion and parked in front of our unit.

  “Let’s see what’s going on,” Penny Sue said.

  “Give me the key. I’m not interested,” Ruthie replied. “Besides, I have to go to the bathroom.”

  It had been over an hour since she’d checked out a toilet facility. Ruthie was one of those people who simply could not pass a bathroom without going in. We’d counseled her to look into the pee urgency medication. She always blew us off. We finally took the hint and stopped trying to convince her.

  Penny Sue handed over the key ring. “You’ll come, won’t you, Leigh?”

  I hated to admit being a gawker, yet I was curious. “Sure.”

  Since the beach entrance was damaged by the storm, we walked up the driveway to A1A. Guthrie, leaning on his crutches, spotted us coming. “Where have you been? A body was found in the dumpster.”

  We stepped up on the walkway, an elderly woman close on our heels. Penny Sue and I made our way slowly through the crowd. Many were residents of the development, the rest curious passersby. We wove through the throng, single file, uttering a litany of excuse me, sorry, excuse me’s. We received a lot of dirty looks, especially from short women who thought we were trying to butt in front of them and block their view. Even as we continued past, I could feel angry eyes boring into my back. The angry looks I could take, it was the amazing number of pistols and revolvers on belts and in hands that made me nervous. I thought Guthrie was being hysterical when he compared Florida to the Wild West, but now I was inclined to agree. Sheesh, I had no idea so many of my neighbors packed weapons. I decided I’d better watch my step in the future.

  “Can you believe it?” Guthrie said when we arrived at his side. “Another murder! Rumor has it there’s a mob war. A lot of people are talking about selling out. I mean, the hurricane damage was bad enough, this mob war is the last straw.”

  Selling? My initial reaction was “hurray!” Then, a mental head slap for being selfish. I wanted to buy a place for sure, but I wanted to get it fair and square—not steal it from a frightened retiree. “I’m sure the mob rumor is false,” I said loud enough for the people around us to hear. “I’ll put my money on a hurricane party, too many beers, and a drunken brawl.”

  A substantially built woman with shocking white hair nudged me in the back. I did a double take. It was the elderly woman who’d followed us up the walkway.

  “Aren’t you the lady who drives the little yeller car?” she asked me.

  I started to offer my hand and introduce myself, when I noticed she clutched a handgun with a long—real long—ornately, etched barrel. I dropped my arm quickly. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Leigh Stratton. I’m staying at Judge Parker’s place down on the beach.”

  The lady snorted, unimpressed. “You know, things were real quiet around here until you showed up.”

  Penny Sue whipped around and was about to speak when Guthrie spied the lady’s gun. “Man, is that a real 1860 Colt 45? Wow, I never thought I’d see one in person.”

  The woman eyed him suspiciously. “You the guy staying in Harriet’s place, next to Nana King’s?”

  Guthrie stood up straight on his crutches. “One and the same. Harriet’s my aunt.”

  “Harriet,” she grunted.

  Penny Sue stepped forward and shoved her right hand at the lady. “I’m Penny Sue Parker, Judge Parker’s daughter. With whom do I have the pleasure?” Her lips were stretched in a tight smile.

  The lady shifted the pistol to her left hand and took Penny Sue’s. “Pearl. Pearl Woodhead.”

  I gasped so hard, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Was this Woody’s mother? Penny Sue didn’t flinch.

  “You’ve grown a lot,” Pearl continued. “I knew your Momma. I was sorry to hear she’d passed. If she was around, I’m sure we wouldn’t be havin’ all this trouble.”

  Where had Pearl been? Penny Sue’s mother died over ten years ago.

  Penny Sue’s smile stayed fixed, but her eyes went slitty and her voice stern. “You’re right, Mrs. Woodhead, Momma would have been appalled by this commotion. I assure you that neither Leigh, I, or my friends have anything to do with it. As Daddy says, there’s a lawless element that affects even the best people. There’s no explaining it.”

  “Well, my son’s been run up the flagpole by the bigwigs a lot since you started coming around. Hard enough to get the respect that’s due without having to deal with troublemakers like you.”

  “Your son is Robert?”

  “Yeah, Bobby. Y’all caused him a lot of trouble.”

  Penny Sue’s smile went south. “Mrs. Woodhead, I know you love your son like my father loves me. Your son is paid to do a job, and he’s doing it. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Pearl gave Penny Sue a steely-eyed once over. “You’re a lot like your mother,” Pearl said, dropping her gaze to the pistol.

  “Ma’am, is that a real 1860 Colt?” Guthrie asked, oblivious to anything but the gun.

  Pearl turned away. “A replica cap pistol. Don’t you worry; I’ve got a real arsenal at home. Guns, bows and arrows, knives—I’ve got it all.” Nudging people to the left and right with the barrel of the cap gun, she cleared a path though the crowd.

  “Wait,” I said on impulse. “What kind of car do you drive?”

  “A Ford. A Ford Taurus,” she said without looking back.

  The gods smiled on us for the next seven days. No one in the neighborhood was murdered or died. We continued our mud baths, sending our mercury levels into the normal range. Our depositions were delayed for another week. Best of all, the weather was terrific. We pulled out our bathing suits and headed to the beach to soak up some rays. It was deserted except for the eccentric fisherman with the fishing machine. Back to the water, he lounged in a chair perusing a newspaper, his fishing pole held by a white tube within reach.

  “Don’t most fishermen stand and watch the water?” Penny Sue asked, juggling the boom box and a sand chair.

  “Maybe the sun was in his eyes,” I answered. “I suppose watching the waves gets boring after a while.”

  “Does he always wear that silly hat?”

  The hat in question was covered with hooks and sinkers and other fishing gear. “Yep. Looks like something his kid probably gave him for Christmas a long time ago.” I deposited the small cooler next to Penny Sue. “This close enough to the water?”

  “Fine with me,” Ruthie replied.

  The condition of the shore was the only downer to an otherwise idyllic day. Thanks to Charley, the beach was covered with debris and a couple of feet lower than the previous week. Most of the sea turtle nests that had been so carefully roped off by the turtle patrol were gone, swept out to sea.

  “This turtle season will be a bust,” I said morosely as we shoved trash aside for our chairs. “Cars and night lights are hard on turtles, but there are ordinances to control them. There’s no way to legislate Mother Nature.”

  “All the nests were washed away?” Ruthie asked.

  “At least the stakes were. It’s possible some nests survived—we just don’t know where they are. There were three nests roped off in this area before the storm.” I swept my ar
m in a wide arc. “With all of this rubbish, baby turtles would have a tough time getting to the water if they happened to survive the hurricane.”

  “Remember that cute little hatchling that became confused and walked in circles on our first visit?” Ruthie mused.

  “Yes. The little booger would have died if it hadn’t been for me,” Penny Sue bragged.

  “We helped,” Ruthie protested.

  “It was my idea. That old lady from the turtle patrol wouldn’t let us pick him up and take him to the sea. Hmph, more than one way to skin a cat. If you can’t take the turtle to the sea, you bring the sea to the turtle,” Penny Sue said, smiling.

  I took a diet soda from the cooler and settled into my chair. “Digging that trench from the water to the turtle was a stroke of genius.”

  Penny Sue grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I ruined my manicure, but it was worth it. Remember how that seagull kept circling, trying to swoop in and eat the little turtle?”

  “I remember you shouting and shaking your fist at him,” Ruthie said to Penny Sue. “I think you scared the turtle patrol to death. The old lady, what was her name?”

  “Gerty,” I said.

  “Gerty swung wide berth around you, after that.” Ruthie giggled.

  I cackled. “I was so happy you didn’t have your gun with you. If you had, the seagull and Gerty were goners for sure, and maybe a few other members of the turtle patrol.”

  Penny Sue pointed to the cooler next to my chair. I handed her a bottle of water. She twisted the cap and took a long drink. “You know I wouldn’t really shoot anyone.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “You threatened to shoot us in the foot with the taser the other day.”

  “The taser’s different, because it’s not a lethal weapon—though, I guess it might kill a seagull.” She lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “Ruthie, I wish your father would get one for me. I’d love to have a taser like yours.”