Fit to Die

by J. B. Stanley

  “You didn’t say anything bad about her personally, Megan. You were just worried about your business and your daughter’s welfare. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Megan nodded gratefully and handed James his bag. “I snuck a treat in there for you—one of our Raspberry Cheese Danishes. Have a nice day!”

  On Sunday afternoon following church service and then a light lunch comprised of tuna salad, some crackers, and a juicy peach, James straightened up the backyard. He mowed the lawn and then planted tiki torches in the ground around the picnic table in order to create a more festive atmosphere. Jackson was decked out in his painting overalls, but instead of being holed up in his shed working on a bird still life, he was covering the kitchen walls with a warm, milky coffee-colored hue.

  “I love this shade, Pop. What gave you the idea to paint the kitchen this color?”

  Jackson jerked his thumb at an old Southern Living magazine. “Your mama had a page turned down in there. Told me it was her dream kitchen. I’ve tried to match everything to those pictures.”

  James picked up the dog-eared magazine and immediately found the page illustrating his mother’s fantasy kitchen. Jackson had reproduced it almost exactly, right down to the stainless steel appliances, the terra-cotta tile flooring, and the vintage-style light fixtures. Now, he was completing the final touches by painting the room the precise color as the kitchen displayed in the glossy photographs. James stared at the magazine, trying hard to hold back tears. He hadn’t realized how much his father had loved his mother, or how much he still missed her. Their new kitchen was a masterpiece, created in memory of a woman for whom one of life’s great joys was cooking wonderful food for the two men she loved.

  “Don’t you have something to do with your time?” Jackson growled, sensing the mood that had overtaken his son.

  James laid the magazine back down, avoiding his father’s sharp gaze. “I’m going to the garden center to get some pots of petunias. Be right back.”

  The lines at the garden center were long, however, and after James struggled to maneuver his loaded wheelbarrow around clusters of animated gardeners to the register, load up the truck, and return home, he barely had enough time to arrange the violet and fuchsia blooms around the Henry’s cracked cement patio before Lucy’s Jeep appeared in the driveway.

  “Boy,” she began breathlessly, “have I been working like crazy! Sheriff Huckabee brought me two huge boxes filled with Ronnie’s personal effects. There wasn’t much that seemed personal about her life, though. No diplomas, letters, yearbooks, scrapbooks—just financial records and receipts and boring stuff like that. I did bring over two photographs, hoping that someone in our club might be able to identify the locations where they were taken.” She paused, taking in the picnic table with the checkered cloth, the lit tiki torches, and the containers of vibrant flowers. “This is really nice, James.”

  “Hello!” Gillian waved the tail of a long, gauzy, orange scarf in greeting as she and Lindy walked up the driveway. “We rang the front bell but no one answered … Oh, an outdoor dinner! How wonderful. We can dine under a tent of stars tonight.”

  Lindy peered up into the thick canopy of trees and smiled. “I don’t know. We all eat so fast that it might not get dark enough to see any stars. Why, hello Willy!”

  “Howdy all.” Willy hugged the three women and handed James a bottle of sparkling cider. “You’ve got a mighty fine place here.”

  “Renovations still going on?” Bennett called out, appearing around the corner of the house. “That why we’re roughing it tonight?”

  James grinned. “Actually, the kitchen is so incredible that I was afraid to soil it making one of my humble meals. Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll show you how it turned out after dinner.” By that time he was hoping Jackson would be upstairs instead of holed up in the den, poised for flight like a caged hawk.

  As James stepped inside to collect the pitcher of sun tea that he had let brew throughout the course of the day, he stuck his head into the den where his father was chewing on a bologna and cheese sandwich while watching the evening news. “You sure you won’t come outside with us, Pop?”

  Jackson eyed the doorway suspiciously. “I gotta keep current. Now, go on and shut that door and visit with your friends.”

  Gathering a wooden tray, the tea pitcher, and some drink glasses bearing faded designs of lemons and limes that the Henrys had used since James was a boy, he rejoined his friends as they pored over the two photographs Lucy had laid out on the picnic table.

  “Is that Ronnie?” he asked in shock, pointing at the tall, strong-looking woman with glasses and a baseball hat. The thick bangs of her boyish haircut practically fell over the heavy frames of her round glasses. She wore a Red Cross vest over a dirty white T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting walking shorts. She carried what appeared to be a Red Cross donation box and her face bore an expression of triumph. Her mouth had curved into a smile that displayed all of her teeth but became more threatening than appealing the longer James stared at it.

  “I know it doesn’t look like the Ronnie we knew,” Lucy said. “She’s not so bony here and she’s got a different hairstyle, but it’s her. The question is where is she?”

  “That’s easy.” Bennett pointed at the building in the background. “That’s the Astrodome in Houston. Those blurred red, yellow, and orange seats in the background are in the upper section of the ballpark.”

  Lucy squinted at the photo. “Good to have a sports nut in the mix. Thanks, Bennett.”

  “And I can tell you where that second picture is taken.” Lindy held her hand over her ample bosom. “My family would be sorely disappointed if I couldn’t, considering I have about twenty cousins who live right there. See that art deco building off to the left? That’s a hotel in South Beach. Some of my mother’s family lives in an apartment across the street.”

  “Miami?” Lucy asked.

  Gillian took hold of the photograph. “My, my. Ronnie is really young in this shot. She looks like an all-American girl.”

  James leaned over Gillian’s shoulder and examined the image of Ronnie in her early to mid-twenties. She was lounging on a low wall next to a blooming bush of cherry-red hibiscus and seemed to be soaking up the sun like a tropical lizard. Her light brown hair was streaked with blonde and fell in soft waves almost to her waist. She wore spectacles with wire-thin silver frames, a blue sundress, a pair of white Keds, and very little makeup. Her eyes were replete with optimism and her lips curved into a modest smile.

  “She looks like a completely different person in each of these shots,” James observed.

  “And totally different from the Ronnie we knew,” Lindy added with surprise.

  “May I?” Willy held out his hand from where he had been sitting quietly at the end of the picnic table.

  “Of course, sorry.” Lucy slid the photos in front of him. “I’ve just been dying to figure out where these were taken. I was hoping they’d shed some light on Ronnie’s past, but no bells are going off in my head.”

  Willy examined the shot of young Ronnie and then pushed it aside. When he picked up the photo of her posing at the Astrodome he drew in a sharp breath.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered darkly.

  “What is it, Willy?’

  “I’ve seen this woman. On TV.” Willy fell quiet.

  James felt a prickle on the back of his neck. “That’s what Pete said. That he thought he remembered Ronnie from TV.”

  “But in what context?” Lucy grabbed Willy’s hand excitedly. “Does it have to do with this photo, Willy?”

  “Hell yes it does.” Willy exhaled heavily. “This picture was taken when all those poor folks that had gotten beaten up by Katrina were refugees in the Astrodome. Ronnie pretended to be collecting money on behalf of the Red Cross.”

  Gillian was horrified. “Pretended?”

  Willy nodded sorrowfully. “So many folks showed their generosity of spirit durin’ that awful time, but t
he snakes came out of the grass as well. Ronnie was one of the lowest of those snakes. She collected money for days from the volunteers that had come from all over our nation to help, from the fine people of Houston, and from any givin’ soul who would drop a dollar in her box. Then she ran off with every dime.”

  “What a terrible creature!” Gillian exclaimed.

  “Well, she was caught.” Willy’s eyes gleamed. “Not all of the scoundrels were, but she was. She got jail time for it, too. Her story was all over the news for nights on end. I think the media used her case to show other thieves and sneaks that people were now wise to their kind.”

  The group was silent for a few minutes and then Lucy sat down and cradled her head with her hands. “This doesn’t help me narrow down a list of suspects. It’s as long as a country mile. People would take a number like they were at the deli counter in Food Lion to get revenge on such a piece of scum. To take advantage of such a tragic situation …”

  James felt himself unintentionally staring at Willy, along with the rest of his friends.

  “Don’t look at me!” Willy threw his hands into the air. “I haven’t got a violent bone in my body. Besides, I didn’t even recognize that wretched woman until I saw this here picture.”

  “We know you’re no killer, Willy.” A deflated Lucy reclaimed the two photos. “But Pete was able to identify her and someone else from her past did, too. But how am I going to figure out who?”

  “It might help if you knew her real name,” Willy suggested. “’Cause when she got arrested she was no Veronica Levitt. I’m sorry I can’t recall what she went by then.”

  “Hey, no problem. She’s a bona fide criminal, so I know exactly who would remember her name,” Bennett declared.

  “Who?” They all asked in unison.

  “Mr. Court TV,” Bennett stated. “A.k.a. Carter Peabody.”

  Lucy was waiting for Carter outside the post office with the photograph of Ronnie in Houston clenched in her hand. Bennett had called his co-worker the night before to warn him that a member of the Sheriff’s Department wanted to speak to him before his shift started.

  Carter was startlingly unfazed by his long afternoon of intense questioning the previous Friday and cheerfully told Lucy he had spent the weekend creating an outline for a screenplay he planned to write from the point of view of a postal worker turned bank robber. He told her he was actually grateful to have gained firsthand knowledge about the interviewing process and would love to be included in any investigation led by the Sheriff’s Department.

  Lucy refrained from telling Carter that he had a screw loose and showed him the photograph instead. He squinted at it for a few moments and then snapped his fingers and jabbed at the visage of Red Cross Ronnie.

  “I remember hearing about her from one of the members of on online chat room from the America’s Notorious Criminals website. I knew she was a woman with a criminal past.” His face glowed. “I believe I have a genuine knack for tracking down felons. Anyway, her name when this photo was taken was Martha Hari. I think Ronnie picked it ’cause it sounded so much like Mata Hari, the famous spy.”

  Lucy’s blue eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘picked it’?”

  “Oh, come on!” Carter gaped. “It’s gotta be an alias. No one’s born with a name like that!”

  “Well, we’ve got her prints and there’ll be a criminal record under the name of Martha Hari.” Lucy slid the photograph into her purse. “Maybe her true identity will show up on the NCIC database.”

  Carter almost began drooling. “You’re going to do a search through the National Crime Information Center? Can I watch?”

  “No!” Lucy barked and then immediately relented. After all, she would probably need to “borrow” one of the deputy’s passwords just to access the database, so in some ways, she was no different from Carter. They were both amateurs looking to get a more legitimate taste of the law enforcement pie. “Listen Carter,” she continued more gently. “I know exactly how you feel. I’m trying to solve this crime so that I can prove to myself and to my boss that I’m ready to take the written test and become a deputy.” Her eyes grew glassy. “I might even be ready to take the physical this summer.” Noticing the time, she shook off her reverie, pumped Carter’s hand in gratitude, and then hurried off.

  Lucy replayed her conversation with Carter late Wednesday afternoon as she and James sat drinking smoothies. They were actually having their snack at one of the plastic tables set up outside of a large gas station, part of which served as a sandwich shop. While lacking curb appeal, the convenience store served the best grilled sandwiches and fruit smoothies within hundreds of miles.

  “And what did you find out about Ronnie’s past?” James asked, while taking a generous slurp of his strawberry banana smoothie. “Or should I call her Martha?”

  Lucy stirred her orange crème smoothie and looked dejected. “Not much. She served less than a year out of a three-year sentence for her Katrina scam. Another case of overcrowding in our country’s correctional facilities. She had also been brought up on charges of fraud in the state of Florida, when she was only eighteen, but her case was dismissed due to lack of evidence.”

  “Was her name Martha then?”

  “No. Trudy Axelrod. That’s actually her real name. Her birth certificate and social security number are both under that name. I’m sure she has a whole slew of fake driver’s licenses and other documents, but it looks like she was born in Coral Springs, Florida.”

  “What was the Florida fraud charge about?”

  “Some kind of telemarketing fraud in relation to a phony investment. The legal terms were pretty confusing, as always, but Trudy claimed to be raising money to build a new senior center and casino south of Fort Lauderdale. The case fell apart because no one could link Ron … Trudy to the post office box where checks were sent or to the actual phone calls.”

  James angled his straw so that it could capture the last drop of red liquid in his cup. “She probably used a pay phone to make the calls. You know, there is research saying that the majority of the elderly are too polite to hang up on telemarketers. They are more susceptible to scams than the rest of the population.” He laughed. “The experts should come do a study on my father! I don’t think we’ve had a single repeat solicitation after Pop’s gotten through with the poor fool who dared to try to sell him something.”

  Lucy offered up a weak smile. “Anyhow, at least the sheriff was impressed that I was able to discover more facts about our victim (all thanks to our Sunday night meeting), but as it stands, her killer has outsmarted our entire department.”

  “Why don’t we go out and visit Mr. Wimple on Saturday?” James suggested, hoping to distract Lucy before she became too gloomy. “Someone donated the two latest David McCullough books in pristine condition and I thought, as a former history teacher, he’d enjoy reading them. At least it would take your mind off the case for a bit.”

  “That’s a great idea, James. I’m sure he’d love to have the company and maybe he’s remembered something else that would help tie Ronnie and Pete together. Have you called him yet?”

  “No. Those McCullough books just came in this morning.”

  “Well, let me at least do that much. After we visit Fred at Wandering Springs, maybe we could go out for that movie I owe you.”

  “Sounds like a date,” James replied, pleased that his idea had restored Lucy’s good spirits.

  It was difficult to ignore Lucy’s nervous energy as she and James drove out to Harrisonburg. She rapped her fingernails on the passenger window, crossed and uncrossed her legs, and continuously changed the radio stations.

  “You seem a bit edgy, Lucy. Have you got something on your mind?”

  Lucy cast him an enigmatic grin. “Kind of. You’ll find out soon enough what it is, but I just want to say how glad I am that you’re with me today.”

  “Huh?” James was befuddled, but Lucy ignored his confusion and began to sing along with a popular song by country
superstar Faith Hill. When she was finished crooning, Lucy asked James question upon question about his life in Williamsburg until he pulled his truck into the visitor’s lot of Wandering Springs.

  Fred Wimple was waiting for their arrival in the same chair on the sun porch where they had conversed with him during their previous visit. This time, he rose a bit shakily to his feet and greeted them eagerly. After thanking James profusely for the books, he turned to Lucy, his filmy eyes gleaming with the animation of intrigue.

  “I investigated both of your requests,” he announced as they took their seats in wicker chairs. “You were correct on both counts, young lady.” He then brandished a cell phone. “Now, I borrowed this from one of my friends. I haven’t had too much experience with one of these things, but I can call the right people if I need to. You just give me the signal and help will be on its way.”

  Lucy nodded. “That’s an excellent idea, Fred, thank you. Shall we have some of that famous limeade while we’re waiting?”

  “Absolutely.” Fred winked at his guests and raised a wrinkled hand into the air. As if by magic, a young woman appeared and took their order. “I’ll bring y’all some Thin Mints, too.” She smoothed down her stark white apron. “We had to buy so many Girl Scout cookies this year that we’ll never get rid of them if we don’t hand them out at every opportunity. Be right back.”

  “Would someone care to tell me what is going on?” James demanded quietly in what he believed was a tone of virtuous patience.

  Lucy cast her eyes around the sun porch and lowered her voice so that the pair of elderly women who sat in matching rockers on the opposite end of the veranda would not be able to listen in. James doubted that they could hear anything above the sound of their own voices and the steady clicking of their knitting needles, but he leaned closer to Lucy so that she could keep her voice scarcely above a whisper.