Murder She Typed

by Sylvia Selfman

  “Dodi just told me why the police were at Dr. Linda’s last night. Her house was broken into.”

  “That makes sense. She probably realized the manuscript you stole was missing.”

  “That means I’m the person the police are looking for!” I couldn’t contain myself any longer and burst into tears. “Oh, Flo, what do I do now?”

  “You need to calm down, take a deep breath and relax.

  “Relax? Are you crazy?” I cried, “We have to do something now.”

  “We?”

  “I’m a wanted woman. My picture will be on all the post office walls.” I paused. “Do they still put pictures of criminals in post offices? I look dreadful in black and white.”

  “Look on the bright side. Officer Martinelli will be staring at your picture every day. See? There’s some good in everything. Though I suggest you make an appointment for a refresh of your hair dye in case the pictures are in color.”

  “Just tell me what to do. I’m supposed to go to writing class this afternoon but I can’t. I’m too scared.”

  “All the more reason to go! If you stay home, you’ll look guilty. You have to go to class and pretend nothing happened.

  “Maybe I’ll go to the police station and turn myself in instead. Maybe they’ll go easy on me.

  “No. Absolutely not. Go to class. Keep your ears and eyes open. And whatever you do, don’t say anything. Understand?”

  I nodded, my lips already sealed.

  “Izzy? Did you hear what I said.”

  “MMMM.”

  ***********************************************

  Dr. Linda stood in front of her desk. “Class, I’m afraid I must share some bad news with you,” she announced. “I was at my usual Wednesday bridge game, when I returned home to discover that my house had been broken into.”

  I slumped lower in my seat, as a loud collective gasp echoed through the room. Then everyone began speaking at once.

  “Was anything taken?”

  “Do the police know who did it?”

  “What a dreadful thing to happen.”

  “Nobody’s safe anymore. What’s this world coming to?”

  “I hope whoever it was gets the electric chair.”

  I felt the blood swoosh from my head to my feet as I pretended to fiddle with my cell phone. If I weren’t sitting I’d probably have fainted dead away, despite my never having fainted in my entire life.

  “Do…do they know who did it?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “The police are working on it,” Dr. Linda said. “They said they’d probably find the culprit and that it was lucky I wasn’t home when the robbery occurred or who knows what might have happened?”

  What? I sat up straighter. I didn’t get it. I must have missed something. “What did she just say?”

  “She said she was lucky she wasn’t home when her place was broken into,” Frank said.

  But Dr. Linda was home, in her living room talking to Flo when I took––stole––Sondra’s manuscript. Of course Dr. Linda wouldn’t know that. She probably figured whoever it was, broke in yesterday while she was at bridge. Which…got me off the hook!

  “So what’d the thief take?” Yettah asked.

  Dr. Linda shook her head sadly. “A few pieces of jewelry and, I’m sorry to say, all of your stories for our book.”

  I sat up in my seat. Did I mishear her? “Did you say jewelry? And stories, as in plural?” I asked.

  “You deaf?” Danny snapped. “That’s what she said. Jewelry and our stories.”

  “But I didn’t…” I stopped.

  “You didn’t what?” Danny asked, a strange expression on his face.

  “I…I didn’t…imagine anyone would want our stories,” I stammered. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t turn one in.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Frank asked.

  “Izzy wanted to spare us the pain of reading it,” Danny said smugly.

  I was both relieved and confused at the unexpected news. The thief had stolen jewelry, which made sense but why steal all the manuscripts? Whatever the reason, someone had broken into Dr. Linda’s home and whoever it was would now be blamed for the theft of Sondra’s manuscript. I was in the clear!

  “Class, despite what happened we must carry on,” Dr. Linda announced. “We’ll not let some thief deter us from publishing our book.”

  “Hear hear,” the class cried out.

  “We need to get your stories edited and off to the publisher,” Dr. Linda continued. “So please email me another copy by Sunday night. I want to make sure that our book will be ready in time for our party.

  “I guess I’ve been given an extra couple days to finish my story,” I said.

  “I told you before that you’re a good writer. You’re just a victim of self-imposed writer’s block,” Frank said, stepping aside to allow me to exit the room first. He certainly was different from Merv.

  “Self-imposed writer’s block–-that has a nice ring to it,” I mused aloud. “Maybe I’ll actually finish the story I started.

  “How much of the story have you written?”

  “Only two pages. Including the title page.

  “I guess you’re not too far along with it then. What’s the title?

  “Down and Dead in Palm Springs.”

  “Well, think of it this way. Thanks to the robbery you’ve been given a second chance,” Frank said.

  Little did he know just how true that was. Now I could finish my story and more importantly, I could do it from the comfort of my home rather than from a jail cell!

  “Say, I have an idea, Izzy, why don’t we discuss your story over dinner at Melvyn’s Saturday night. Maybe I can help you get going on it.”

  “Sounds like you’re asking me out on a date. You know Melvyn’s is awfully pricey.”

  “I am,” he laughed. “Asking you out on a date. And don’t worry about the price. So it’s a yes?”

  “Of course it is,” I said. “How could I refuse?”

  I was actually excited about going out with Frank. Not only was he a welcome relief from Merv but I’d always wanted to go to Melvyn’s. I couldn’t wait to get home and check out its online menu.

  As I drove out of the parking lot, I felt that a heavy weight had now been lifted from my shoulders. I was sorry Dr. Linda had been victim of a robbery but at least I didn’t have to worry about being a suspect. Maybe to assuage my guilt, I’d leave the manuscript in a bassinet, covered with a baby blanket, at Dr. Linda’s door one night––that is, after all the excitement over the break-in died down.

  Of course there was still the problem with Merv. He’d seen Sondra’s manuscript in my house. But hopefully he wouldn’t hear about the break-in or the stolen manuscripts or anything else that would make him suspicious of how I’d acquired it.

  I made a beeline for the cupboard as soon as I got home.

  Armed with a fresh pack of Pepperidge Farm Milanos and a cold glass of milk, I sat down in front of the computer, eager to begin work on my story. My plan was to get this story done and finished and printed out by the end of the day.

  I reached down to open the bottom drawer of my desk to make sure that I had enough printer paper—as I had used most of the ream to plant in Dr. Linda’s desk as ‘dummy pages’ when I stole Sondra’s manuscript. I estimated there were now about twenty blank sheets left.

  As I lifted them out, however, I saw that the top sheet wasn’t actually blank. It was the first page of my story, Down and Dead In Palm Springs which had somehow gotten into the stack of blank sheets. But where was the title page? I distinctly remembered printing it out and putting it in the drawer along with the first page.

  I flipped through the printer paper once again, then rummaged through the pile of papers lying on the desk. It wasn’t among them. So where was it?

  I dumped out the waste basket on the floor and checked through the tissues, the wadded up computer paper and the candy bar wrappers. Then I headed to the kitchen and scrounged
around the garbage can knowing I wouldn’t find it there either.

  I stopped and finished off the remains of coffee cake realizing that the title page of Down and Dead in Palm Springs by Izzy Greene had fallen into what Flo always called Izzy’s Black Hole.

  Chapter 32

  He rolled the recycling bin out to the curb for collection the next day. He was about to go back into the house when he changed his mind. No sense taking any chances. He’d burn the manuscript instead. He reached in and pulled out the shopping bag and carried it inside.

  He dumped the contents of the bag onto the dining room table. It was easy to find what he was looking for. He’d taken the teacher’s jewelry and the other writings only to muddy the waters. The jewelry might fetch a pretty penny but wouldn’t be worth the risk of trying to sell it.

  He popped open a bottle of wine, grabbed a wine glass, and settled into his favorite arm chair to look over Sondra’s manuscript before destroying it.

  What? It couldn’t be. Impossible! He ordered himself to calm down and go slow.

  There was the title page,

  My Lives by Sondra Sockerman.

  Then page one.

  Page two.

  Page three,

  Page four….

  He fanned through the remaining sheets of paper. Not a word on them––except for the last page.

  Down and Dead in Palm Springs by Izzy Greene.

  He threw the manuscript across the room. The pages floated to the floor like a flock of dead birds.

  Damn that meddling bitch!

  He would get Sondra’s manuscript from her even if it killed….her.

  Chapter 33

  I decided to forget about the missing title page of Down and Dead in Palm Springs. It wasn’t the first time I’d misplaced something. And yet something kept nagging at me. Was it among the blank pages I’d put in Dr. Linda’s drawer? If so, that would mean the thief had it now. But maybe that didn’t matter since he had all the other manuscripts from class as well.

  Whatever. I had more important things to think about. One of which was writing my story. I turned on my computer and clicked on my email. The usual ads for Viagra, two ads for products guaranteed to enlarge my penis without surgery or pills, and three separate ads for drinks that were sure to bulk up my pecs. I was about to send back emails saying that Izzy was short for Isadora and they probably had me confused with my long deceased Grandfather Isadore Greene, who, according to family lore, wouldn’t have needed Viagra––when I spotted a familiar email address and clicked on it:

  Izzy, I understand you’ve been concerned about me. I can’t go into detail but if you would meet me at the Tattle Tale Club on Vista Chino Road tonight at nine I’ll be more than happy to explain everything. Please don’t reply to this email. I’ll be expecting you. Sincerely, Sondra Sockerman.

  An email from Sondra? My mouth literally fell open in shock.

  Could it be that she was alive and well and back in the desert? It certainly seemed that way.

  Unless the email wasn’t actually from Sondra. What if it was a clever ruse to kidnap me? To bump me off. But at the Tattle Tale Club? That seemed unlikely.

  There was clearly only one thing to be done. Call Flo.

  I dunked my Pepperidge Farm Milano in my one percent milk, wondering how my life had become so entwined with Sondra’s, when all I’d done was innocently follow her up the hiking trail.

  “I’m not going,” I announced to Flo who, at my behest, had come over to check out Sondra’s email. “How do I know it’s legit?”

  “Of course it’s legit. It’s from the same address as the one you used to send her that email, right? See…she’s actually responding to your earlier email. Who else would be sending it? You have to go.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Sondra want to explain anything to me? I’m not a friend of hers.”

  Flo pursed her lips, a sign she was deep in contemplation, then nodded. “Think of it this way, if you meet with her, you’ll find out.”

  “Then you have to come with me. I’m not going to the Tattle Tale alone.”

  “Okay,” she said too quickly.

  I looked at her with suspicion. “We’re not going there to meet guys or for pleasure, you know. We’re going there on business.”

  “Pleasure is my business,” Flo said in her most femme fatale voice. “But okay, drinks are on you. And it’s your turn to drive.”

  “I thought you didn’t like my car.”

  “It’s not your car I don’t like, it’s your driving.”

  I didn’t want Flo to change her mind about going so I ignored the comment. “What do you think we should we wear?”

  “Dark glasses, a fedora and a trench coat.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Of course I’m not serious. We should wear something sexy. I heard the Tattle Tale is loaded with available and very desirable men.

  “Yeah and that means it’s also loaded with available and very desirable women.”

  “Hey, what are we? Chopped liver?”

  Hearing the magic two words––Sherlock came bounding out of the bedroom to rub against my leg. “Sorry Sherlock, it was a figure of speech. Flo, maybe we should bring Sherlock along.”

  “If it’s for protection, forget it. And if it’s for Sondra, she’d have asked for him if she wanted him.”

  “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “Tell me something that isn’t.”

  After Flo and I finished off the bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies, she left to change into something “more appropriate,” which I knew meant something much more inappropriate for our age.

  Our plan was to meet at eight. I’d drive.

  As I hunted around in my underwear drawer for the new bra I’d bought the other day, my eye fell on Sondra’s manuscript. I decided to read more of it in preparation for our meeting.

  Plopping down on the bed, I propped myself up with pillows and skimmed through the pages.

  *******************************************

  I was so involved in Sondra’s story, I didn’t realize that I’d lost track of time. I checked the clock on my nightstand and saw that I had only half an hour to get ready before picking up Flo. I gathered up the pages of Sondra’s manuscript and stuffed them back in my drawer underneath my underwear. Then I threw off my clothes and rushed into the shower.

  I turned on the water without realizing that it was aimed right at my head. My hair was soaked. But there was no time to blow it dry as I was already late.

  **********************************

  Flo was waiting by the curb when I pulled up. She was wearing a short, skin tight black skirt, red silk blouse and black mesh hose topped off with high platform shoes.

  She opened the car door and settled into the passenger seat.

  “You look like a hooker,” I said

  “Hooker? You should talk! You look like someone who’s gone through a car wash. Without the car.

  “My shower was acting up.”

  “I suppose your black pants and black blouse are a show of gravitas?”

  “Yeah, but underneath my conservative outfit, I have on a lacy bra and my too-small thong––though the latter may have been a mistake.” I squirmed in pain as I made a sharp turn onto Highway 1-11. “By the way, I read more of Sondra’s bio and if you promise not to interrupt I’ll tell you what I learned.”

  “First try not to cut the corners so sharply. Go ahead, what’d you find out?”

  “Well, it turns out that Sondra spent years in Hollywood trying to break into show biz.”

  “Another person with dreams of making it big in Tinseltown,” Flo sighed.

  “Seems like it. According to her bio she went the whole route. Total redo, face, nose, boobs, lipo and––get this––Sondra Sockerman’s not her real name. The transformation was so complete that when she ran into an old acquaintance from college he didn’t even recognize her.”

  “Hell, with all that
surgery, even I could look good.”

  “Sadly, the acting didn’t pan out so she decided to give up and leave Hollywood. She made plans to visit her mother who she hadn’t seen in years….hang on…I’m going to beat that light.” I sailed through the yellow with no time to spare. “Good job, Izzy,” I applauded myself and glanced over at Flo who looked a little green around the gills. “Anyway as I was saying, Sondra’s mother dropped dead of a heart attack before she had a chance to visit her.”

  “That’s too bad. And please stop riding the brake.”

  I ignored the insult. “Here’s the kicker,” I said, then paused for added suspense, “Sondra moved to Palm Springs to confront her brother who happens to be living here! It seems he got all the money by making the mother think that Sondra was dead.

  “Wow! There’s nothing more vicious than a family feud over money. Did Sondra happen to mention her real name or her brother’s name by any chance?”

  I shook my head. “Not as far as I read. But I can’t wait to get home and read more. It’s just lucky I didn’t get to return it to Dr. Linda’s after all.”

  I pulled up and parked as close as I could to the entrance of the Tattle Tale Club. Which wasn’t all that close.

  “Pickings look good,” Flo said, scanning the parking lot. Looks like a Mercedes and Beemer crowd.” Flo pulled her low-cut blouse lower.

  “Any lower and you’ll be exposing your you know what.”

  “For goodness sakes, Izzy, I do believe you’re jealous.

  I rolled my eyes but withheld comment.

  We carefully and slowly––thanks to Flo’s super high platform shoes––made our way around the cars and into the club. I stared at the crowd of people packed in like a can of wriggling fish bait. “How in the world are we going to find Sondra in here?” I screamed over the loud music.

  “Who cares?” Flo shrugged. “I just spotted some bigger fish to fry. Like that white haired guy sitting all alone at the end of the bar. I think I’ll just casually walk over for a drink.”