Scareplane

by Elise Sax

  I hadn’t thought of it, but it was a great excuse for me nosing around, although Grandma wouldn’t have liked me lying about matchmaking.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m always thinking about business,” I lied. I rarely thought about business. I thought about it slightly more often than I thought about changing my toothbrush.

  “I’m not on the market. I like my alone time.”

  “I understand,” I said, following him back to the kitchen. “You probably need time to adapt to your new life. Is it different than your old one? I bet Cannes is different from your previous town.”

  “I find that one life is pretty much like another and one town is pretty much like another. I just mind my business and cook. Now, if you would excuse me, I really have to get to work. Just call me about two weeks out from your event, and I’ll organize everything.”

  Arthur more or less pushed me to the door and opened it. “Bye,” he said.

  “The plane crash was such a tragedy,” I said. “But I’m so glad you came out of it okay.”

  “It was a miracle.”

  “Amazing that you were on the same plane with Johnnie Brinkhammer. An escaped murderer. It was like justice from up above. Literally and figuratively.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t know the guy,” he said, his face an unreadable surface.

  “One more thing. Did you give oatmeal cookies to Mike and Joyce?”

  He smiled ever so slightly. “You might want to do like I do, Miss Burger, and mind your own business.” He cocked his head to the side and studied me for a moment. “No, I guess you don’t mind your own business, despite what you say. I’ve heard about you. I heard about you snooping into the old man’s death in the house I crashed into. I guess you can’t help yourself. Might be wise to try, though. You don’t want to get hurt.”

  He had pushed me out the door, and now he shut it in my face. I stood there for a moment and caught my breath. I smelled my armpit. It smelled fine. So, why were so many people threatening me lately? I was getting it from all sides, and it was just making me more determined to keep going headlong into finding the killer.

  Arthur said he had no family, and there were no photos in his apartment. That was convenient for him, and it gave me an idea. I was going to have to go at this through the back end.

  I took a sip of my latte and closed my eyes in appreciation. “Ruth, you make the best coffee in the world. You should change this place to a coffee shop.”

  “Are you trying to get me to beat you to death?” Ruth growled. “We have a deal for you to get free lattes for a year, but we didn’t agree that I had to serve you inside my shop.”

  She had a point. “Sorry, Ruth. Your coffee sucks.”

  “That’s better. Look, your friends are here.”

  I turned around to see Lucy and Bridget walk in. Despite the warm weather, Lucy was wearing a knee-length, black trench coat and hat. Bridget was wearing a polka-dotted maternity dress, and her curly hair was hanging over her glasses. She looked tired, and she plopped down on a chair at the nearest table.

  “Lech has the hiccups, and every time he hiccups, I have to pee. Uh oh, there he goes again.” Bridget jumped up and shuffled to the bathroom, quickly, all the while keeping her knees together.

  Lucy sat down and gestured to me to sit next to her. “The red fox trots quietly at midnight,” she whispered.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “Nothing, darlin’. That’s my special spy phrase. Mission completed. I found the information you were looking for.”

  Lucy handed me a photo. “That’s Johnnie Brinkhammer’s wife. Her name is Corinne Brinkhammer. After the whole murder-for-hire thing, she moved away. I haven’t found her, yet, but I’m on it.”

  Bridget came back to the table, and Ruth brought her a pot of tea and a tea cup. “You drink this, Bridget. It’s good for your bladder. What are we talking about?”

  “It’s top secret, Ruth,” Lucy said. “Gladie is investigating.”

  “Is that right? Well, I know that woman,” Ruth said, tapping the picture with her finger. “Corinne. She lives on a farm up by the pear orchards. She comes down every once in a while for tea and her crotchet club. She’s made half of the tea cozies I sell here. I don’t have to order them from out of town anymore. The last time I saw her was about three weeks ago, before the plane crash.”

  Lucy, Bridget, and I looked at the rack of crocheted tea cozies. I was living in two degrees of separation. All roads led to killers, it seemed.

  “Do you have her address?” I asked Ruth.

  “I can do better than that. I’ll drive you there.”

  There must have been a lot of money in tea, because Ruth had bought a brand new, fully-loaded, Mercedes all-electric SUV. I rode in the front next to Ruth, and Lucy and Bridget took the back seat. We had to stop twice during the twenty-minute ride for Bridget to pee in the bushes along the side of the road.

  “So what are you thinking, Gladie?” Ruth asked me. “My tea cozy lady has something to do with these murders?”

  “I think that new bitch cop is the killer,” Lucy said. “Her fingerprints were all over the murder weapon.”

  “I hope she’s getting good representation,” Bridget said. “On average, women are more poorly represented than men. I should probably find out.”

  “What about those two who hit the road? My money’s on them,” Ruth said.

  I didn’t tell them who my money was on. I had a theory that was pretty far out, and I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure about it.

  Ruth turned off the main road onto a narrow, gravel one. We drove up higher in the mountains for about five minutes when the road leveled out to a wide plain. Corinne’s house was a small ramshackle one with a wraparound porch and surrounded by fields and corrals.

  And lots of goats.

  “She raises goats,” Ruth explained, as she parked in front of the house. “I guess there’s money in goats. Who the hell knows?”

  “Women have to turn to their own ingenuity and know-how to make a living these days. Can’t depend on a man, and we shouldn’t want to,” Bridget announced. “Boy, I have to pee.”

  She was the first to get out of the car, and she banged on the front door.

  A woman with thick, flowing gray hair, wearing a crocheted sweater, jeans, and rubber boots came from around the house with a goat in tow. “May I help you?” she asked Bridget.

  Ruth opened her car door. “Corinne, Bridget has a baby kicking her bladder. Can she use the can?”

  “Of course. The door’s open, and the bathroom is second door on the left.”

  Bridget didn’t need to be told twice. She opened the door and bolted into the house.

  “Are you Corinne Brinkhammer?” I asked her, offering her my hand.

  “What can I do you for? Are you looking for a sweater or a goat?”

  “I wanted to ask you about your ex-husband, Johnnie.”

  Corinne sucked air. “I don’t want to talk about him. The man tried to have me killed.”

  Bridget came out of the house. “Men are pigs, but that’s because they’ve been formed by a misogynistic patriarchal society. It’s not really their fault. Oh, shit. I gotta go again.”

  Bridget ran back into the house.

  “Corinne, how about we go inside and have a little chat. I brought my chocolate chip scones,” Ruth said, holding up a pastry box.

  There was nothing like sugar and carbs to smooth over awkward situations. Corinne let us in, and we sat at her kitchen table, sipping tea and eating scones.

  “Why do you want to talk about Johnnie?” Corinne asked. “He’s dead and buried.”

  “And yet you’re still scared of him,” I said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then, why did you move out to the middle of nowhere with only goats to keep you company?”

  “I like goats,” she said. “Although, I do get lonely from time to time.”

  “You should probably just spit
it out,” Ruth told her. “Gladie has a way of squeezing secrets out of people. That’s why so many people want her dead.”

  She was right. A lot of people had wanted me dead.

  Corinne leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “All right, I’ll tell you, but you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Ha!” Lucy barked. “You don’t know Gladie very well. She’s all kinds of crazy. But in a good way,” she added, throwing me a guilty look.

  “There was something fishy about that plane crash,” Corinne continued. “Too convenient. Johnnie was a snake in the grass. A schemer. I feel better out here with the goats, where he can’t find me, if he’s still out there breathing somewhere. Although, you’re right. I wouldn’t mind a little human interaction. I wouldn’t mind finding a man who likes goats and doesn’t want to kill me.”

  Holy crap. In the middle of my sleuthing, I had stumbled on the world’s easiest match. I knew where Corinne could find love and solve another problem at the same time. But for now, I had to focus on the murder spree.

  “Do you have a picture of Johnnie?” I asked.

  “God, no.”

  “Was he a short man?”

  Corinne nodded. “A couple inches shorter than you.”

  Ding. Ding. Ding. I knew who murdered Mike, Joyce, and Frank, and I knew why. But it wouldn’t be easy to prove.

  CHAPTER 15

  Once in a while, I have a blind day. It ain’t pretty. I wander around, not feeling as much as normal. Not understanding as much as normal. On those blind days, I think: Life is over. This is the end. I believe this, even though I’ve had blind days before, and my life is never over. The blind day ends, and then I’m back to your normal Grandma. But in the moment where I don’t see, where my third eye is closed, there’s fear. Lots and lots of fear. And the fear is stronger than the experience, dolly. It convinces me that it’s the end. But from me to you, dolly, I’ll tell you: There’s no end. Death, love, blind, seeing…there’s no end. The story continues.

  Lesson 20, Matchmaking advice from your

  Grandma Zelda

  “I’m not letting a goat into my brand new Mercedes,” Ruth insisted.

  “It probably won’t poop during the trip,” Corinne said.

  “It probably won’t poop?” Ruth asked.

  “We need the goat, and Corinne needs to come with us,” I said.

  Lucy grabbed onto Ruth’s arms and gave her a little shake. “Ruth, look at Gladie. She’s got the Miss Marple thing happening. Look at her eyes. She’s got murder twinkle going on. You know she does. It’s not the first time. She knows something. She’s got the killer in her sights. It’s now or never. Don’t be a wimp, Ruth. This is about justice. Don’t put a wrench in the works, or so help me God, woman, I’ll tell the whole town that you drink your tea with the tea bag still in the cup.”

  Ruth’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened in a big O. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, finally, after the shock wore off. “Lucy Smythe, you wouldn’t dare! I would never drink a cup of tea with the tea bag still in it.”

  Lucy poked Ruth in her chest. “Don’t push me, old woman. You play ball with the goat in your car, or the whole town will be using your name and Lipton in the same breath. So, help me.”

  “You’re evil, Lucy. Evil.”

  Lucy adjusted her trench coat and tightened the sash. “I do what I have to. Gladie is about to unmask the culprit, and I don’t want you sabotaging her efforts. I came back from my honeymoon so I could watch her in action. I’m going to see her bag the bad guy this time, no matter what, and nobody’s going to stop me. You hear me? Tea bag. Tea bag. Tea bag.”

  It was a standoff between two strong women. Ruth was stubborn as a mule, but she had a reputation to uphold, and no way was she going to let that go. So, in went the goat, which sat on Corinne’s lap between Lucy and Bridget on the ride back into town.

  Ruth decided to park at my grandmother’s house because Main Street had been blocked off to cars for the daffodil show. Grandma came out of the house and walked down the driveway toward Ruth’s car as we got out.

  “Dolly, I called Larry and told him to meet you at the show,” she told me. “I told him to clean up and bring a hammer.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” I wanted him to meet Corinne and get de-cursed from the goat. I didn’t know what the hammer was about, but I figured it could come in handy.

  The five of us and the goat walked to Main Street, which was hopping with activity. Morris had outdone himself. The street was a sea of yellow daffodils. The flowers were everywhere. It was gorgeous, and half of the town was there, enjoying the displays.

  “Hello there, Gaddie. How ya’ doin’?” Meryl greeted me by the outdoor bar. She was already three sheets to the wind and slurring her speech.

  “Just fine,” I said, looking around.

  “Morrish doesn’t know this yet, but the white daffodil peeps are on their way to cause touble,” she said and closed her eyes.

  “Maybe you should slow down, Meryl. Go and rest for a little while.”

  “I can’t rest! I’m the booze taster, and it tastes petty good shoe me!”

  She took another swig.

  “I better go guard my shop,” Ruth said. “These daffodil people get pretty rowdy. Let me know if you need help, Gladie. I’ve got my Louisville Slugger all set to go.”

  “I wish I could have a drink,” Bridget said. “Is that a taco truck?”

  My stomach growled. One chocolate chip scone wasn’t enough to hold me over for the whole day. I was starved. So, I gave the go ahead to get some tacos. It was lucky for us because Larry was there, too.

  “Hello, Gladie. Careful of the tacos. One almost put my eye out,” he said. “Is that a goat?”

  “Larry, I’d like to introduce you to Corinne. Corinne, this is Larry. He’s single, and he likes goats. Larry, Corinne is single and has a lifetime supply of goats.”

  “You do?” he asked her. His eyes had a dreamy quality. The possibility of a woman with a lifetime supply of goats had put him over the edge into happiness. It was like he was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. An end to his curse.

  “You like goats?” she asked him and blushed.

  “Do your goats eat clothes?”

  “They sure do.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Bridget said.

  “I’m kind of confused myself,” Lucy said.

  But Larry and Corinne weren’t confused. They walked behind the taco truck and talked, their bodies close to each other. Larry’s hammer bulged in his pants pocket, and Corinne’s goat chewed gently on Larry’s pants leg.

  My work was done. Another happy customer. I felt a wave of elation, followed by a definite feeling of power, like I was the Wonder Woman of matchmaking. I could do no wrong.

  “Tacos all around!” I announced and slammed a twenty-dollar bill into the hand of the taco truck person.

  “Thank you, Gladie. I could go for a few tacos,” Bridget said. “Look at my feet. They’re twice their normal size. Lech is doing all kinds of things to my body today.”

  Lucy put her hand around Bridget. “Come on. I’ll find us a seat where we can eat our tacos.”

  “I’ll bring them over when they’re ready,” I said.

  As soon as my friends had left, I felt a sharp object in my lower back. “Don’t scream. Don’t make any sudden movements,” I heard. Without turning around, I knew that Arthur Fox was there, and he was whispering threats in my ear. “We’re going to move away from the taco truck, and if you don’t behave, I’m going to bone you like a duck.”

  “You can bone a duck?”

  He jabbed the knife against my back and I yelped in pain. “Shut up. Not another peep. Come on. We’re going to the side street up there.”

  We walked to the side street. The daffodil show was in high gear with hundreds of people celebrating, but not one of them noticed that Arthur Fox had a knife to my back.

  He pushed me into a doorway
, and facing me, put the knife at my belly.

  “You couldn’t help yourself,” he said. “You just had to butt in.”

  “That’s the consensus,” I said.

  “And now it’s going to get you killed.”

  “You’re on a run. Four killed. Mike, Joyce, Frank, and now me. That’s an impressive number, Johnnie.”

  “You figured it out, huh?”

  “That you’re Johnnie Brinkhammer? Yep. I didn’t get any of it at first. There were so many suspects. So many jerks. But the underlying truth was that Mike Chantage had done a lot of dirty dealing. He was a dirty cop and a wife stealer. But he also liked to use information for his own profit. Blackmailing. It makes sense that when he recognized you, he didn’t alert anyone. Instead, he decided to blackmail you. It was pretty typical of him.”

  “Bastard thought he could blackmail me,” Johnnie said. “I let him believe that he was in charge, that he had power over me. But nobody has power over me.”

  “So, you stole the liquid daffodil bulbs from your landlord. He probably told you all about daffodils. Morris never shuts up about the flowers. Then, you cooked it in oatmeal cookies, or maybe you just put it in his iced tea earlier in the day. It wouldn’t have been hard.”

  “Mike had a flask. After he dropped dead, I dumped the flask. Nobody ever noticed. Joyce was a simple cup of coffee.”

  I nodded. “She had figured it all out. You killed a top cop and then had a bunch of other top cops investigating. It was only a matter of time.”

  Johnnie laughed. “That’s not what happened. I thought that Joyce recognized me, but she never did. Since I was the only one who fed her the day she died, she must have figured it out at the end. After that, Frank got a real bee in his bonnet. When I went to his hotel room to offer him my cookies, he caught on. The thing was that there was nothing wrong with the cookies. We got in a fight, and I grabbed the letter opener.”

  So, Detective Hot Stuff McGruff hadn’t killed Frank. Instead, she was just a crappy cop who had touched the murder weapon and then had gone to the bank. It gave me a certain satisfaction to know that she was bad at her job. Spencer wouldn’t appreciate a cop being bad at her job, even if she had a perfect body.