by Mary Clay
Meanwhile, Ruthie unlocked the door and dragged us in, bear hug and all.
“My father’s fine,” I said, extricating myself from Penny Sue’s grip. “It’s Frankie.”
She gave Ruthie a hard look. “I thought your father—What do you mean, it’s Frankie?”
“I’ve seen him before. He was at the track when we did the TV interview. He was sitting in the grandstand.”
Penny Sue threw her hands up. “You think you’ve seen everyone. The guy in the hall, now Frankie. Have you had your eyes checked recently? What are the chances that two men you saw in New Smyrna Beach would be in this hotel? The probability is zero!”
“You’re right,” I shouted, “unless we’re being followed!”
“Followed?” Penny Sue slumped into a chair.
“That’s not all,” Ruthie said forcefully. “While you were sparking with Frankie—”
“Sparking?” Penny Sue threw back her head and laughed. “For goodness sake, where did that come from?”
“It’s a nineteenth century hotel, so I’m picking up the vibes. Anyway, there was a wreck on Route 1 last night. A black Taurus ran off the road and the driver, a man, was killed. It was on TV while you were … flirting.”
“Really?” The blood drained from Penny Sue’s face.
Ruthie was as fired-up as I’d ever seen her. “I told you we were surrounded by bad vibes. Now we know who’s responsible. Like Leigh said, we have to get out of this hotel.”
“How can we do that if we’re being watched? They know our cars—they’ll follow us anywhere we go.”
There was only one way out that I could see. “Chris. Her shop is down the street, and we were thinking of staying there anyway. The men are watching us, not our cars … unless they’ve been bugged!”
Penny Sue did a head slap. “Damn, I never thought of that. That’s the first thing they taught us in the anti-terrorist driving course—check for tracking devices, and it never occurred to me.”
“If they’re bugged, we can’t move them, right?”
“Right, but all our stuff is in them. If we stay with Chris, we’ll need our supplies,” Penny Sue said.
“I have an idea. We call Chris and have her come pick up the stuff from our cars,” Ruthie suggested.
“Chris can’t get to them—the cars are in valet parking,” Penny Sue objected.
Ruthie smirked. “She can if we tip the bellman and valet enough.”
“If we’re being watched, won’t that look suspicious? I mean, calling a bellman to the room?”
I glanced around. “Don’t y’all have something that needs to be pressed right away?”
Penny Sue jumped to her feet, eyes aglow, as Ruthie poured herself a glass of wine. It was all I could do to keep a straight face at the role reversal.
“I see,” Penny Sue said excitedly. “We tip the bellman, to tip the valet, to let Chris in and give her the keys to our cars.” Penny Sue started to pace. “I know … Chris is a friend that we were helping to move. The stuff in our cars belongs to her and now she’s come to get it.”
“Good,” Ruthie said, handing Penny Sue and me a glass of Chardonnay. “Keep thinking.”
Penny Sue took a sip. “Nothing suspicious about having a dress pressed and a friend picking up her belongings.” Penny Sue strode to the closet, took Ruthie’s black silk chemise off the hanger, balled it up, and sat on it. “Okay, why don’t we meet our friend downstairs? That’s suspicious. If she’s such a good friend, why aren’t we there to help her get her stuff?”
“Because we have massages and facials scheduled at the only time Chris can come. We’re going out to dinner, which is why we need the dress,” Ruthie said.
“That’s good, Ruthie,” Penny Sue said with true admiration. “You’re on a roll.”
Ruthie finished her drink and refilled the glass. “I’m getting help. An older woman. Very stately. She used to vacation at this hotel in its heyday. Her name’s Millie. She hangs around because she had so much fun here. She particularly liked wine and she could drink when she came here, since no one at home would know.”
Lordy be, I thought. ‘Evil all around’ and now Millie. If I lived through this, I might write a book about it.
“You’re possessed?” Penny Sue asked, arching a brow.
“No, only in communication. This lady had a lot of nerve.”
“All right, assuming Chris is available and we pull that off, how do we get out of the hotel without being followed?” I asked.
Ruthie screwed her mouth up like we were the dumbest people on the planet. “The chambermaid, of course.” Ruthie waved her glass grandly. “She’ll roll us to the back door in that big laundry cart, where Chris will pick us up.”
“You think we’d all fit in it?” Penny Sue asked sincerely.
“Maybe, if you tighten your corset.” Ruthie grinned impishly.
Chambermaid? Corset? Ruthie was possessed. Whoever thought of it, the plan would work. I held up my hand to Penny Sue, whose face had gone beet red at the corset comment. “Don’t take it personally, Ruthie’s channeling the other lady, who’s trying to help. I think the plan will work.”
Penny Sue drained her glass. “I do, too.”
* * *
Chapter 18
September 4, New Smyrna Beach, FL
Chris answered the phone at her shop on the second ring. “I was wondering what happened to you guys. I’ve called the condo a dozen times. Where are we staying, your place or mine?”
“Yours.” I filled her in on the wreck, the guys following us, and our plan. She thought it was a good one. Business was nonexistent because an outer band of Frances had come ashore, and it was raining hard, so she was planning to close early, anyway. Her car was small, but the shopkeeper next door owned a van she could probably borrow. Chris would check.
She called back in five minutes. “I can use the van, but we have to do this right away. He plans to close early, too.”
I checked my watch. Almost two o’clock. “Be here at two-thirty—that should give us time to tip everyone.”
While Ruthie called for a bellman, Penny Sue rushed to the lobby for cash. She returned before the bellman arrived for the dress, which was seriously wrinkled, considering Penny Sue sat on it for a long time. Ruthie tipped the bellman $20 and gave him $75 for the valet. We would call downstairs with instructions about the person who needed to get into our cars. Penny Sue phoned the valet, told him to expect a $75 tip, and instructed him to give Chris access to our cars so she could retrieve her belongings. Penny Sue read him the number from her valet stub, then put me on the phone to give him mine.
Amazing what money will do! The plan came off without a hitch. The valet escorted Chris to our cars, unlocked them, and even helped her unload the prodigious contents. The only downside was that Chris had to single-handedly lug the stuff into her store in the pouring rain. It was almost four o’clock when she finally called back.
“Phase one accomplished, but you owe me big time. I’m drenched. Ready for phase two? I had to give back the van, so I’m coming in my car.”
“We’ll phone when we’re leaving for the back door,” I replied.
Ruthie called housekeeping and requested Carmen, our usual maid. Carmen did a favor for Ruthie, and she’d forgotten to give her a tip. Carmen was at the door in a matter of minutes.
Ruthie gave the performance of her life—honestly, she had to be channeling the spirit of Millie—saying a jealous boyfriend had shown up and threatened us. Ruthie broke-up with him when she learned he’d served time for assault. We were scheduled to have dinner with her new boyfriend and his sister, but were afraid her ex-lover was spying on us and might become violent. Could Carmen take us down to the loading dock in a laundry cart, where the sister would pick us up?” Ruthie waved a hundred dollar bill.
Carmen, a full-figured woman who made Penny Sue look small, smiled and tucked the C-note into her bra. “No problem. My old boyfriend was mean like that. I finally had to swear o
ut a constraining order. I keep a copy in my car’s glove department.” She shook her finger. “That guy keeps bothering you, call the cops. Men like that are loco.”
While Carmen went for the cart, I called Chris and told her to meet us at the delivery entrance in ten minutes.
Carmen was a trooper. Figuring all of us would never fit in one cart, she returned with two plus a bunch of sheets. She wheeled the carts into the room and had us at the back door before Chris arrived. Luckily, there were stairs next to the exit, so we could step up and out of the cart with Carmen’s assistance. By the time we’d all climbed out, Chris pulled in. Ruthie hugged Carmen and thanked her, pressing an extra twenty into her palm.
Off we went in the Toyota Hybrid that Penny Sue vowed she’d never ride in. Funny how things turn out. It was almost six, and the historic district, usually full of tourists, was a ghost town. The only thing missing was tumbleweed blowing down the street. We parked behind The Rising Moon. Angel, the psychic house cat, met us at the door and immediately rubbed against Ruthie’s leg.
“She likes you,” Chris marveled.
“That’s because Millie came with us,” Ruthie said.
“Millie?”
“A spirit Ruthie picked up at the Casa Monica,” I replied. “Millie helped us come up with the plan.”
“Good for Millie,” Chris said nonchalantly. “The more the merrier.”
Ruthie was transfixed by the shop—it was her kind of place. A colorful display of wind chimes hung in the center of the main room. Stars, moons, fish, and geometric shapes of all sizes tinkled to the air conditioner. There was a large selection of New Age merchandise mixed with handcrafted wares from around the world. The far wall displayed an array of African masks and wooden bowls as well as a poster about Fair Trade. “New Age and Fair Trade in the same store. How perfect,” Ruthie enthused.
Chris grinned playfully and patted herself on the back. “A natural fit, if I do say so myself, because they both raise human consciousness.”
Ruthie spread her arms wide, Angel still rubbing her leg. “That’s why we’re supposed to be here. These are good vibes.”
Penny Sue covered her mouth and whispered to me, “What the heck is free trade?”
Chris—still dripping wet, and how should we say, a little out of sorts?—overheard Penny Sue’s comment. “It’s fair trade, not free trade. It means the craftsmen and artisans are paid a fair, living wage for their work. The middlemen are eliminated and the workers are paid directly—no sweatshops or child labor.
“Did you know that of the $5 you pay for a cup of designer cappuccino, less than fifteen cents goes to the farmers? Fair Trade attempts to level the playing field so the producers get a square deal.”
The mention of child labor got to us all. I thought Ruthie and Penny Sue might whip out their American Express cards and buy the entire inventory as they oohed and awed up one aisle and down another. The thought of children being exploited bothered me, too, but I couldn’t afford to buy out the store. I’d wait to see what was left over. Hopefully, stuff that wasn’t too expensive.
Angel, the cat, started to growl—a low, guttural sound only a cat can make that has the same effect as fingernails scratched across a blackboard. Was the cat annoyed that I wasn’t going to spend enough? Was she reading my mind and thinking in terms of Fancy Feast gourmet food? “What’s with Angel?” I asked.
Ruthie put her hand to her throat and thought. “There is a lot of energy here. Millie says old spirits, much older than she is.”
“I hope they’re positive, like Casper the Friendly Ghost,” Penny Sue quipped.
“They are, for the most part,” Ruthie replied. “Millie’s talking to Angel. Millie said you,” Ruthie pointed at me, “must call the authorities immediately.”
Authorities? The cat must mean Woody who’d told me to contact him if we had any trouble. I glanced at my watch. “It’s after five.”
“Call him,” Ruthie said forcefully as Angel yowled. Boy, talk about being hounded, or was that catted?
Wonder of wonders, Woody answered his cell phone. I related the story of the cars following me, the black Taurus’ wreck, and the two men at the Casa Monica whom I’d seen before. For once, Woody listened without making a smart aleck remark.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“St. Augustine. The Rising Moon on Spanish Street.”
“I’ll make some calls.” He clicked off.
I stared at the phone. Even when Woody tried to be nice, he was still offensive. Abrupt, some would say. Rude by Southern standards.
Penny Sue, Ruthie, and Chris stared at me. I threw up my hands. “Woody said he’d phone some people, then hung up.”
“Common,” Penny Sue said. “That man is plain common. No good-bye, or fare-thee-well?”
“Nothing.” He was common!
“Hell with him,” Chris said. “We can take care of ourselves.” She went to a cabinet in the backroom and pulled out large black squares of material outlined with grommets. Chris nodded at Penny Sue. “You’re the tallest, help me.”
“With what?”
“Cover the windows, so the bad guys can’t see us. Then, we can hang out and party. I couldn’t help but notice how much candy and wine you brought.”
Penny Sue grinned ear-to-ear. “Well, there’s no telling how long this hurricane will last. It’s a slow mover.”
“Yes, and we should check its status,” Ruthie said as she rummaged through a box of our supplies. She pulled out the tiny TV we’d purchased at Wal-Mart, unwrapped the cord, and plugged the set in. “Thank God, the electricity’s on.”
“And the AC,” Penny Sue remarked as she helped Chris cover the windows.
“Even so, we should light a couple of candles,” Chris said. “It’s going to be real dark in here when we cover the big window. If the lights go out, we won’t be able to see our hand in front of our face.”
I lit a half-burned candle by the cash register and put our flashlights beside it. If the power failed, we’d be ready. Meanwhile, Ruthie found a local television station broadcasting hurricane news. She stood back from the tiny screen and watched.
“Gracious, Frances is drifting eastward at five mph. It’s not expected to make landfall until late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Look! Tony Perkins from Good Morning America is in New Smyrna Beach.”
“Jim Cantore was in Daytona Beach earlier in the week,” I piped in.
“I missed Jim Cantore?” For a moment I thought Ruthie might cry. “Did you tape him for me?”
Tape him? It was a weather report. “It never occurred to me.”
She sat on the edge of a display dejectedly. Angel jumped in her lap and started licking her arm. “My big chance, and I missed it for some snotty people from the Hamptons.”
“Snotty, but fun,” Penny Sue said, wiggling her hips as she fastened the last grommet. “Now it’s time to party!”
We all gave her a sour look. “Doing what?” I finally asked.
Penny Sue pulled a deck of cards out of her purse. “Poker!”
The wicker chairs and table from the front porch had been brought inside earlier and Chris quickly found another chair and stool in the backroom. Weather forecast blaring in the background, we settled down to an evening of poker, popcorn, candy, and wine. By ten thirty that night, torrential downpours pelted St. Augustine, and Tony Perkins of Good Morning America could hardly stand up in New Smyrna Beach. He reported that the bridges had closed, meaning if anyone beachside hadn’t evacuated, they were stuck.
“Aren’t you glad you’re not there?” Ruthie said to me, laying down four kings. She was beating us like a drum.
“Is that cat helping you?” Penny Sue demanded as Ruthie raked the penny pot toward her substantial pile.
Ruthie grinned. “Millie is.”
Penny Sue raised her face to the ceiling. “No fair, Millie. Can’t you help me for a while?”
Chris stretched. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one evening. Be
tween lugging in your stuff and everything on the front porch, I’m beat. Besides, the Vienna sausage sandwich gave me heartburn. Remind me never to eat another one of those vile things.”
Penny Sue took a bottle of Tums from her pocketbook. “They did taste nasty, didn’t they? It’s probably because we bought the chicken kind and not real Viennas.” She popped a Tums and handed the bottle to Chris.
Chris downed three. “Might not have been so bad if we’d had some kraut. Let’s try to get some sleep.”
We all staked out an area on the floor, then laid out our comforters and pillows. No sleeping bags and air mattresses like we’d planned—the stores sold out as soon as a new shipment came in.
Ruthie spread her blanket by the front door and cuddled up with Angel. We turned off the lights except for a battery-operated lantern, in case of a power outage, which Penny Sue assured us was akin to carrying an umbrella to ensure it didn’t rain. I, for one, hoped she was right. The air conditioning felt deliciously cool, and it didn’t take long for us to drift into an uneasy sleep.
All was well until about three o’clock, the witching hour according to Ruthie. All of a sudden, the wind chimes clanged violently, and Angel catapulted from Ruthie’s arms to the center of the room, her back arched and tail standing straight up.
Chris propped up on her elbow. “It’s just a blast from the AC. Nothing to worry about.” She plopped back down.
“No, it’s not,” Ruthie whispered as she sat up. “Someone just tried the door handle, and there’s a shuffling noise on the porch.”
Penny Sue crawled across the floor to her purse and found her .38. I scooted to the box by the front wall and snatched the liquid taser. There was a tap on the window, and Angel let out a loud screech.
Chris snatched the keys to her car and turned off the lantern. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Millie agrees!” Crouched low, Ruthie scrambled to the back door.