Murder is the Pits

by Mary Clay

  I unplugged the fridge as Penny Sue filled the sink with warm water. “The goop in the bottom needs to thaw,” I explained as I tossed containers in the trash bag.

  “Good news,” Ruthie called. “It looks like Ivan’s going to miss us. It’s supposed to brush the coast of South America and head into the Gulf of Mexico. The Florida Panhandle will probably be hit again.”

  “That’s what they said about Charley,” Penny Sue said sourly. She brushed her foot on the gritty tile. “If you’re finished there, Ruthie, how about vacuuming?”

  “Sure, no problem.” As Ruthie started for the utility room, we heard a loud knock on the front door.

  It was Anastasia Clements, the Wilsons’ realtor. Dressed in jeans, a tank top, and running shoes, Anastasia didn’t look like your typical realtor. She plunked a digital camera on the counter and started working a key off a large ring. “I was across the street when the Wilsons called. I’m glad you’re going to check on their place—that’s one less thing I have to worry about.” She put the key and her card on the counter. “All of my clients are calling, each one in a state of panic. I’m losing my—” Her cell phone started to play the theme from Rocky. “See. Sorry, I need to take this.”

  She turned toward the hall. “Hello? … Pearl, I’m up to my ears in alligators right now, and besides, you know I can’t divulge that information. We’ve been through this before … Yes, I know who your son is … I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m with a client now. Goodbye.”

  Anastasia let out a long sigh. “That lady will be the death of me. As if I don’t have enough trouble, I have that old biddy breathing down my neck.”

  “That was Pearl Woodhead, wasn’t it?” Penny Sue asked.

  “Is she your friend?” Anastasia asked tentatively.

  Penny Sue grunted. “Hardly. One of the rudest people I’ve ever met.”

  “Rude and delusional,” Anastasia said. “Pearl thinks she’s some sort of princess and this is her kingdom. Claims she’s going to buy up this complex and wants a list of all my clients.” The realtor snorted. “Mad as a hatter, if you ask me. Pearl barely has a pot to pee in. I know for a fact her condo is mortgaged to the hilt, and her son makes the payments for her.”

  Penny Sue arched a brow. “Which condo is hers?”

  “A B-unit in the first cluster. Pearl and her husband were among the initial residents. He passed away a long time ago. I never knew him, but people say he was very nice. A woodworker, if you can believe it. Woodhead, woodworker.” Anastasia chuckled. “Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, huh?”

  Penny Sue snickered. “Lord’s truth.”

  Anastasia checked her watch. “If you have a digital camera and a computer, would you take pictures of the Wilsons’ place and email them? That’s what I’m doing. When you speak to them, ask if they’d like me to arrange repairs.” She picked up the camera. “Honestly, Charley repairs haven’t been completed and now this. There’s a shortage of shingles, and roofers are booked for months.” She scanned the room. “Did you get much damage?”

  “No,” Penny Sue replied. “We replaced the roof and all the windows a few years ago. Our only problem is erosion. Frances washed away the sand underneath the deck, and our stairway’s gone.”

  “Count yourself lucky. Call me when you’re ready for me to pick up the key.”

  “We will,” Penny Sue dried her hands and walked Anastasia to the door. “Thanks. Don’t work too hard.”

  “I wish.”

  Penny Sue handed me a bowl and a spatula to scoop out the slush on the bottom of the freezer. I filled the bowl; she dumped it into the sink and doused it with hot water. By the time the slush went down, I’d filled the bowl again. As we continued our assault on the freezer, Ruthie vacuumed the master bedroom.

  “What does this remind you of?” I snickered, handing her another bowl of grossness.

  “Magnetized mud. And you’re tacky to bring it up. My boobs still hurt from being dragged out of the tub.” She shoved the bowl back at me.

  “It was your idea to use two jars. We were only following instructions.”

  “Well, it wasn’t so funny on my side of the tub rim.” Putrid steam rose from the slushy drippings as she sprayed them with hot water. She leaned back, holding her nose. “This is truly disgusting.”

  “Only one or two more bowls before I’m ready to wipe it down with ammonia.” I handed her another load. “Speaking of disgusting, what do you make of that stuff about Pearl?”

  “You mean Princess Pearl?” Penny Sue cackled. “Princess of Darkness, Princess of Doom and Gloom. Hey, if she’s a Princess, what does that make Woody? Is he a prince? Woody, Prince of Doom and Gloom—that fits.”

  “Do you think she’s the person buying up all the real estate?”

  “Of course not. We know the last three units were sold to different groups. Besides, Anastasia said Pearl is mortgaged to the hilt. And, Woody is a government employee. He probably does pretty well, being a lawyer and everything, but I’m sure he’s not getting rich.”

  “He’s married; maybe his wife has money. He’s a lawyer, so he’d know how to set up dummy corporations. In fact, maybe that’s why Pearl’s place is mortgaged—they’re using the equity for down payments on the condos they buy.” I handed her the bowl. “This is the last of it.”

  “Praise the Lord, I can’t tolerate much more of this stinky steam.” She dumped the bowl and sprayed it down. “Down payments are one thing, making the mortgage payments are another.”

  “Interest rates are at an all time low right now, meaning payments are low, too. Besides, they’ll rent the units to cover the payments.”

  Penny Sue rinsed the bowl and filled it with warm water and ammonia. “Here,” she handed me the bowl with a sponge.

  “Gee, thanks. Wouldn’t you like to take over now?”

  She waved flippantly. “You’re doing fine. Besides, I need to call Daddy and tell him we’re all right. He may know something about the Woodheads. Pearl apparently knew Mama.”

  My eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Why me, Lord? Why did I always end up with the dirty work?”

  Before I could protest, Penny Sue took the portable phone into the guest bedroom to call her dad. A few minutes later, Ruthie showed up with the small cooler from the Mercedes. I’d forgotten all about the cooler we’d packed with ice and soft drinks for the trip.

  “I need a break,” Ruthie said, hopping on a stool. She popped the top of a cola. “What’s your pleasure? Tea, cola, water?”

  “Green tea. I think my system’s polluted by all of this ammonia.” I made a final swipe of the freezer wall, closed the door, and plugged in the refrigerator. We still had the lower compartment to clean, but this would get the icemaker started.

  I sat at the counter beside Ruthie. “Penny Sue’s calling her father to see what he knows about Pearl Woodhead.” I took a sip of tea. “You know, Pearl said she knew Guthrie’s Aunt Harriet.” I took my cell phone from my pocket. “Maybe I can get him to do a little detective work, too.”

  After all the calls I’d received from Guthrie, I only had to hit “send” to reach him. It took several minutes, but he finally answered. “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Man, the place is worse than a disaster. It’s, like, a catastrophe. You’re lucky I’m alive. I forgot the power had been off and opened the refrigerator for a cola. Whoa, I almost passed out. Gnarly. The worst smell of all time, like, there’s no word to describe it.”

  “Nasty?”

  “Man, that’s it—nasty. Yeah, it was totally nasty.”

  “How’s your knee?”

  “I’m getting tired, and it’s starting to throb.”

  “Don’t hurt your knee again by overdoing it. We’ll come up tomorrow and help you clean out the fridge.”

  “Wow, that’s really nice of you, Leigh, because this thing is so disgusting I think we should, like, load it up and take it to the dump. You know, the way Arlo did in Alice’s Restaurant.”

&n
bsp; I chuckled. As Grammy would say, he was eat up with that movie. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with the icebox we can’t fix with ammonia.”

  “Gee, you’re wonderful. Because, I think I’d, like, throw-up if I had to clean it. I’m doubly, triply, quadrupl—”

  “Hey, no problem. Have you talked to your aunt and uncle about the condo yet?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Would you do a favor for me?”

  “Anything, man, I owe you my life, my—”

  “You don’t owe me anything. I do need a favor. Remember the old lady, Pearl Woodhead, we met on the public walk when everyone was checking out the Russian in the dumpster?”

  “Sure, she had an 1860 Colt 45 cap pistol. That thing really looked real, didn’t it?”

  “Right. Remember, she claimed to know your Aunt Harriet, which means your folks might recall her. Do you mind asking your uncle what he knows about Pearl?”

  “You want me to play detective? That’s cool. What are we looking for, commander?”

  Gawd, now I’m his commander. I stared at the phone, not sure info about Pearl was worth it. Still, I’d gone this far. “We heard she thinks she’s some sort of princess and this development is her kingdom.”

  “That’s really twisted. I’d say Pearl’s Colt is a cap shy of a full strip.”

  I rolled my eyes at Ruthie and Penny Sue who were listening to my end of the conversation. “It is twisted, but she apparently believes it. We’re trying to figure out how she came up with such a wild idea.”

  “A-okay, commander, I’m on the case. Ten four.” He hung up.

  I smiled grimly. “I’m now Guthrie’s commander. He’s going to call his folks.”

  “Lord, I hope he doesn’t start saluting you,” Penny Sue said.

  Me too. Brownies were one thing, salutes—over the line!

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  September 8-10, New Smyrna Beach, FL

  Since I scraped and scrubbed the freezer, I insisted Penny Sue clean out the lower compartment. She reluctantly agreed. Like always, Ruthie and I would end up doing most of the work. Ruthie offered to wipe the compartment down with ammonia after it was emptied, while I agreed to assist with recyclables. Ruthie and I should have inspected the fridge before making our magnanimous offers. Most of its contents were glass and plastic, meaning Penny Sue’s task was merely to hand me the jars and bottles to be dumped down the disposal and rinsed. Ruthie would do the hard work, later, with the ammonia. Once again, Penny Sue came out on top but it also gave her time to talk.

  “Daddy said the Woodheads were a nice, private couple. He doesn’t remember much about Pearl, except that she always seemed out of sorts. Everyone called her husband Gerry, an Anglicized version of his American Indian name. He was apparently three-quarters Indian and his family had lived in these parts for generations, the last of a long-forgotten tribe. Gerry told Daddy this area was originally his tribe’s land.”

  “Pearl thinks she’s an Indian princess?” I said as I dumped salad dressing into the sink and rinsed the container.

  “I guess so. If he were the last of a tribe, I suppose that would make him chief. Is the chief’s wife a princess or a queen?”

  “Darned if I know.” I took a jar of mayonnaise and scooped it into the sink. Ruthie sat in the other room watching the weather forecast for the umpteenth time. “Anything new on Ivan?” I called.

  “No, still far south and expected to move into the Gulf.”

  “How would you like to take a stroll while you’re waiting your turn at the icebox?” I asked.

  Ruthie leaned against the counter. “Why? What do you need?”

  “You haven’t met Pearl, so she probably doesn’t know who you are. How about taking a stroll over to her condo?”

  “Good idea. It’s one of the B-units in the first cluster,” Penny Sue said. “Pretend you’re checking out damage. Just walk around and see if you notice anything unusual.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “About Penny Sue’s size,” I said, “with shocking white hair. The hair’s the giveaway. You can’t miss her.”

  “I doubt it’ll do any good, but I could use some exercise,” Ruthie said. “Let me change shoes.”

  Guthrie telephoned right after Ruthie left. “Commander, mission accomplished. It took some doing—I had to go through Harriet to get to Uncle Daniel. Anyway, the Woodheads had one child, Robert. Pearl’s husband was named Gerry, and he was a Native American. Uncle Dan said he was a super guy. Gerry was a woodworker who made beautiful tables and things out of stumps and driftwood. Uncle said they were, like, works of art. But, get this—Gerry’s true specialty was totem poles. Man, isn’t that awesome? Woodhead, totem poles!”

  “That is wild,” I agreed. “His family must have Anglicized their last name based on his craft.”

  “Yeah, man, like the old English did. Millers, Smiths, Weavers—they all took names from their trades.”

  Penny Sue was getting ahead of me and had placed a long line of jars and bottles on the counter. I figured I’d better get to the point. “Does your uncle know anything about Pearl?”

  “He didn’t like her. Uncle Dan said she was conceited and put on airs. She ragged Gerry a lot about not getting the proper respect. Gerry always blew her off, which made her madder. Seems she thought somebody owed him something. Uncle Dan tried to steer clear of her, because she reminded him of you-know-who.”

  “Harriet?”

  “Yeah, only worse. Hey, I’m almost finished here. Want to go out to dinner?”

  “Go out to dinner? What’s open?”

  “I saw Larry, the fisherman, in the parking lot. He told me the Pub brought in refrigerated trucks for its food and is grilling stuff out back.”

  “Want to go to the Pub for dinner?” I asked Penny Sue. “They’re grilling food out back.”

  “Yes, if they have ice and cold beer.”

  I glanced at the clock. “We’re still cleaning the icebox. How about six?” I arched a brow at Penny Sue. She nodded.

  “That’s cool.”

  “We’ll pick you up and bring your stuff down after dinner.”

  “That’s a plan, man.”

  Penny Sue finished emptying the bottles, and I started wiping the icebox with ammonia. I was almost finished when Ruthie returned.

  She sat at the counter and fished a bottle of cold water from the cooler. “It’s a long way up there, and the heat index must be over a hundred. There’s considerable damage, mainly roofs and decks. It’s a disaster.” She took a long drink and grinned. “I found Pearl’s place, and you’ll never guess what’s next to the stairway.”

  I smiled back. This was too easy! “A totem pole?”

  Ruthie’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

  I filled Ruthie and Penny Sue in on my conversation with Guthrie.

  “Respect?” Penny Sue mused. “The other day, on the walkway, Pearl said something about Woody not getting respect.”

  “That’s right.” I closed the icebox and washed my hands—they reeked of ammonia. I made a mental note to buy the lemon-scented variety in the future. “I think the name thing is a hoot—Woodhead, totem poles.”

  “Parker. I guess my ancestors parked buggies.” Penny Sue elbowed me, giggling. “Your ancestors, Martin, must have been birds.” Penny Sue pawed to the bottom of the cooler and found a beer. “What about Guthrie? Fribble. What’s a fribble?”

  Ruthie hopped down from her stool and pulled a dictionary from a drawer in the credenza. She thumbed the pages and went into hysterics. “It’s here! Fribble means a frivolous person.”

  “Truth is stranger than fiction!”

  “Wait,” Ruthie said. “There’s something else I forgot to tell you.”

  She had our attention.

  “Pearl drives a black Taurus.”

  The next few days were a blur of activity. Phone calls from concerned family and friends, phone calls to insurance agents who never answere
d or showed up when promised, busy lines and answering machines at any establishment remotely related to roofing or construction.

  Guthrie spent nights with us on the sofa and worked to clean up his condo during the day. Mold, he said. Even though we had electricity—which many people still didn’t have—he was afraid the wallboard had been infected during the five steamy days without power. Although there were no outward signs of mold, it was a definite possibility.

  We trooped next door to the Wilsons’ the morning after we spoke with them and found extensive damage. Like in Guthrie’s condo, moisture swelled the wallboard, and the saturated carpet would have to be replaced. We took a bunch of digital pictures, cranked the AC down to seventy-two—mold!—and emailed the pictures to Gary in Wisconsin. One look and Gary Wilson decided he’d better fly down. Besides, Ivan seemed certain to pass us by.

  We hadn’t been home long from Gary’s when Chris called wanting to know if we needed any help. She also informed us that the New Smyrna Speedway was covered with debris—all the billboards had blown apart—and was closed until the first of October. That news was truly a bummer, as Guthrie would say. Our court depositions had been delayed indefinitely, and we were counting on racing practice to give us a break from cleaning and construction.

  “You’re welcome to come stay with me and do some shopping,” Chris offered.

  “Thanks, but we wouldn’t feel right running off and leaving Guthrie and Gary Wilson to fend for themselves,” I said.

  Penny Sue, sipping a Bloody Mary, gave me the evil eye. I blew her off by curling my lip like Elvis.

  “The offer stands,” Chris said. “Call if you change your mind. Meanwhile, I’ll check around St. Augustine to see if there’s another place we can practice.”

  The moment I clicked off, the phone rang again— Frannie May from Boston. How were we? Did we get much damage? Her sister was doing great, but Fran was going to stay up North until the repairs to her house were completed. Carl guessed it would take another week or two. Was there anything we needed? If so, call Carl. He’d be happy to help.