Flamingo Fatale (A Trailer Park Mystery Book 1)

by Jimmie Ruth Evans

  Wanda Nell took the bottle, opened it, and spilled some very tiny pills out into the palm of her hand. Shakily Miss Turnipseed grasped one of the pills and stuck it under her tongue.

  “Nitroglycerin,” she whispered after a moment. “For my heart.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Wanda Nell said, feeling like fainting herself. What had she almost done? “I’m so sorry, Miss Turnipseed. I shouldn’t have told you that way. I’m so sorry.”

  The small hand stroked hers. It felt like a butterfly fluttering on Wanda Nell’s skin. “Don’t blame yourself, dear. You couldn’t know about my bad heart. Just one of my tiresome spells.” Miss Turnipseed closed her eyes and rested for a moment.

  “Here,” Mayrene said, thrusting a glass of water into Wanda Nell’s free hand.

  “Try to drink some of this,” Wanda Nell said, holding the glass close to Miss Turnipseed’s mouth.

  Miss Turnipseed sipped delicately. “Thank you, dear,” she said. Her voice was stronger, and she made an effort to sit up. Wanda Nell helped her. The little body seemed so frail under her big, work-roughened hands.

  “I’m better, dear, thank you.” Miss Turnipseed’s color had come back, and she did indeed look much better than she had minutes before.

  Wanda Nell and Mayrene sat back down on the sofa. Wanda Nell’s stomach ached. She had almost given the poor little thing a heart attack. Mayrene patted her hand soothingly.

  “Now, don’t you worry, dear,” Miss Turnipseed said. “I’ll be just fine. But tell me, dear, about poor Bobby Ray. What happened? Was it an accident?” Tears began slowly trickling down her face. She reached again into her bosom and extracted a lacy handkerchief to dry the tears.

  “Well, no,” Wanda Nell said, hating to have to tell her the truth. “I’m afraid, Miss Turnipseed, that somebody killed Bobby Ray.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Miss Turnipseed said. The handkerchief fluttered as she dabbed at her face.

  Wanda Nell feared she was about to have another spell, as she called it.

  “That poor boy,” Miss Turnipseed said. “All he wanted was to take care of his family, and somebody hurt him like that.”

  Wanda Nell exchanged glances helplessly with Mayrene, who shrugged.

  “It’s pretty complicated,” Wanda Nell said, choosing her words with care, “but I guess what it boils down to is, somebody was after Bobby Ray’s money.”

  Beside her on the sofa, Mayrene coughed. Wanda Nell figured it couldn’t hurt to gild over the truth a little bit. She couldn’t bear to cause this elderly woman any more grief than she had to. She glared at Mayrene, warning her not to say anything.

  “People can be so greedy, and so vicious. What a world we live in nowadays.” Miss Turnipseed shook her head dolefully. “What are we coming to?”

  “I know, it’s sure terrible,” Wanda Nell agreed. “And the police are trying to track down who did it, and what became of Bobby Ray’s money.” Please Lord, she thought, let the police leave this poor woman alone so she never finds out the truth about Bobby Ray.

  Miss Turnipseed had been staring off into space, and Wanda Nell could see her lips were moving, even though they couldn’t hear her saying anything.

  After a moment, Miss Turnipseed’s gaze focused on them again. “When did it happen?”

  “Three days ago,” Wanda Nell said.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Turnipseed sighed. “A few nights ago, I reckon it must have been the night before he died, when he’d already left for Tullahoma, somebody was prowling around outside the house.”

  “What happened?” Mayrene asked.

  “It was about two in the morning,” Miss Turnipseed said. “The boys woke me up, they were making such a racket. And whoever it was must’ve heard them and took off.” She smiled proudly. “My boys look after me. Don’t you, boys?” Hearing themselves summoned, the dogs padded into the room and settled on the floor around Miss Turnipseed’s chair. Wanda Nell and Mayrene regarded them warily.

  “Whoever it was must have been after Bobby Ray’s winning lottery ticket. Did he even have time to go to Texas to collect it?” Her eyes fixed brightly on Wanda Nell, Miss Turnipseed waited for an answer.

  “No, ma’am,” Wanda Nell said, trying to think what to tell her. “He didn’t make it to Texas, after all.”

  “And the ticket?”

  Mayrene snorted. “That ticket’s gone, Miss Turnipseed. No point in pining over it now.”

  “You mean whoever killed Bobby Ray got away with the ticket?” Miss Turnipseed said, dabbing at her eyes again. “That’s just wicked, that surely is.”

  This conversation just kept getting weirder by the second, and Wanda Nell wasn’t sure what to say next to Miss Turnipseed. By not telling her the truth from the get-go, she’d gotten them bogged down in all these lies. She decided she’d better come clean, at least part of the way.

  “I’m afraid, Miss Turnipseed, that there wasn’t no winning lottery ticket,” Wanda Nell said, watching their hostess for signs of an impending spell.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Turnipseed whispered in response. “I was mighty afraid of that.” She fixed Wanda Nell with a stem gaze. “I didn’t want to say this, dear, because he was your husband, and he was a dear, sweet boy who was very kind to me, but I knew Bobby Ray wasn’t always as honest as he should be.”

  Wanda Nell breathed a sigh of relief. This little old lady wasn’t as naive as she first appeared. “No, ma’am, Bobby Ray was known to stretch the truth on occasion. I know that all too well.”

  “Tell me, then, did he have some money unexpectedly?” Miss Turnipseed folded her hands in her lap and watched Wanda Nell like a hungry little bird.

  “Yes, ma’am, he did,” Wanda Nell answered, wondering how much more she should say.

  “Then that’s where he got his rent money,” Miss Turnipseed said, almost to herself.

  “He didn’t owe you any money?” Mayrene asked, squirming on the sofa. “I’m sitting on a bad spring or something,” she whispered to Wanda Nell.

  “No, the day he left, he paid me everything he owed me, plus for two more weeks,” Miss Turnipseed said. “I’ll be happy to refund that extra part, dear.”

  “No, no,” Wanda Nell said, “you keep that money. I promise you, I don’t need it.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Miss Turnipseed said, “and I won’t argue with you, prices being what they are these days.”

  Wanda Nell stood up. “Miss Turnipseed, would you mind if I saw Bobby Ray’s room? If he left any personal things behind, well, I guess I ought to take ’em back with me.”

  “Why of course, dear,” Miss Turnipseed said. “You’ll forgive me, I know, if I don’t accompany you. Just go up the stairs, and it’s the first door on your left. The two rooms on that side were Bobby Ray’s.” She fumbled in a pocket of her dress for a set of keys. She handed them to Wanda Nell and indicated the correct key.

  “My maid hasn’t cleaned in there this week,” Miss Turnipseed called after Wanda Nell and Mayrene. “So please forgive the mess.”

  Upstairs, her hand trembling slightly, Wanda Nell inserted the key in the lock and opened it. She pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  Despite what Miss Turnipseed had said, the room was very clean. There was a faint odor of Bobby Ray’s aftershave, and Wanda Nell found herself tearing up unexpectedly as she smelled it. The furnishings were all antiques in good repair, and Bobby Ray had left little imprint on the room. Wanda Nell did find the pictures Miss Turnipseed had mentioned. She examined them one by one and wasn’t surprised to see that they all dated from nearly ten years before.

  “Oh, Bobby Ray,” she whispered, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. It was all so pathetic. The best he could do was ten-year-old pictures of his children.

  “I’ll go ask Miss Turnipseed for a box,” Mayrene said.

  Wanda Nell nodded. She peered into the closet, but there was nothing inside except a uniform. His work clothes for the casino, she guessed. She found littl
e else, just a few pieces of ragged underwear in a drawer and a few dirty magazines in the nightstand drawer.

  Could Bobby Ray have hidden any of the money here? she wondered. She didn’t have the heart to do a thorough search, and after thinking about it, she decided Bobby Ray wouldn’t have left the money behind. The money was in Tullahoma.

  She stared again at the dirty magazines. Bobby Ray would always buy them when they were still together, and he would try to hide them from her. But she always found them. He’d been buying them since he was a teenager and had to hide them from his mother and Charlesetta.

  That reminded her. Charlesetta had said something to her, something that might be important. She’d have to think about all this for a while.

  Mayrene came back then with a couple of small boxes, and together they packed the pitiful remains of Bobby Ray’s life in Greenville. Mayrene wrinkled her nose in disgust over the dirty magazines, but Wanda Nell just shrugged. They were no surprise to her.

  “What you wanna do with this uniform?”

  “We’ll take it with us,” Wanda Nell said, “but I don’t have any hankering to take it to the casino. Do you think we should?”

  “I don’t think it matters all that much,” Mayrene said. “They ain’t gonna go broke over one uniform.”

  Downstairs again, they checked on Miss Turnipseed. She sat where they had left her, in her chair guarded by her boys.

  “Thank you, Miss Turnipseed,” Wanda Nell said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you such bad news.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” the old lady assured her. “I’ll get on with things, never fear. You just take care of yourself and those precious children.” She paused for a moment. “And say goodbye to Bobby Ray for me.” She turned her head away.

  That almost made Wanda Nell break down completely. She clutched the box she held to her chest and tried to hold on to her composure. Mayrene moved closer to Miss Turnipseed, blocking Wanda Nell from view.

  “Is there anyone we can call to sit with you?” Mayrene asked.

  “No, dear, I’ll be fine,” Miss Turnipseed said. “My maid will be back soon from her errands, and she’ll look after me. Y’all just let yourselves out.”

  Wanda Nell had herself under control again, and she said goodbye to Miss Turnipseed. She and Mayrene made their way out of the house and into the sunshine.

  “Lord,” Wanda Nell said. “I feel about a hundred years old now.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mayrene said, following Wanda Nell down the walk to the car.

  Wanda Nell got her keys out of her pocket and went back to the trunk. “Let’s put that stuff in here.” She balanced her box on her hip while she opened the trunk with her free hand.

  The trunk popped open, and Wanda Nell moved some junk aside to set the box down. She moved over to let

  Mayrene put her box in, and as she did so, she caught sight of a black car coming slowly up the street toward them.

  Wanda Nell was about to open her door and get inside, when the black car came to a stop beside them. The driver’s window slid down.

  “Howdy, Miz Culpepper,” said the driver. “We want to talk to you.” The back door opened, and a hand motioned for her to come closer.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are,” Wanda Nell said, her heart racing, “but I’m not getting in any strange car.”

  “Yes, you are,” the driver said, pointing a gun straight at her.

  Wanda Nell stared blankly at the gun for a moment. Surely this couldn’t be happening, right out here in the daylight.

  The driver waggled the gun at her again. “Stop messing around, Miz Culpepper, and get in the car.”

  Wanda Nell stood her ground. She wasn’t going to get in that car. Surely they wouldn’t shoot her, right out here in the street. “I’m not getting in your car, mister. You can flash that gun at me all you want.” Her voice came out a lot stronger and more defiant than she thought it would.

  “You’d best be moving on, Bubba,” Mayrene said from behind her.

  The driver’s eyes widened, and the hand holding the gun faltered for a moment. Wanda Nell turned her head slightly, and she could see Mayrene, leaning across the hood of the car with her shotgun pointed straight at the driver’s head.

  Wanda Nell looked back at the driver. Smirking, he said, “Come on, honey, you don’t even know how to use that big ol’ gun. I can put a hole through Miz Culpepper’s head, and you can’t do nothing about it.”

  “I reckon you could,” Mayrene drawled back at him, “but then you ain’t gonna have a face left if you do. It’s pretty damn ugly anyway, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss.” She laughed. “Your call, Bubba.”

  The driver’s face reddened, and Wanda Nell feared for a moment that he was going to shoot her anyway. Then the hand went down, and the gun disappeared. He brought his empty hand back up and put it on the steering wheel.

  “That’s better, Bubba,” Mayrene said. “Now why don’t y’all just move on along, and leave us alone.”

  “If I might have a word with you first.” A voice with clipped northern tones came from the backseat A moment later a head emerged, shining in the sunlight, followed by a tall, lean body. He was completely bald and about fifty years old, Wanda Nell figured. He wore a suit that looked real expensive and a bit hot in the early afternoon sunlight.

  “I apologize for my associate’s rather rash behavior, ladies,” he said. “It was not my intention to frighten you, but I do need to talk to Mrs. Culpepper.”

  “Go right ahead,” Mayrene said. “Ain’t no reason you can’t talk right here, mister. I’m real comfortable.” She held the shotgun steadily on the driver.

  “Yeah, say what you have to say,” Wanda Nell told him, taking a couple of steps backward to make sure Mayrene had a clear shot if she needed one.

  The bald man spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, ladies.” He sighed deeply. “This is all terribly uncivilized, but if this is what you want. We could just as easily discuss this over a nice, leisurely lunch at one of this lovely city’s finest restaurants. My treat. What do you say?”

  “I say, talk or get the hell out of here. My trigger finger’s getting real itchy,” Mayrene said.

  Wanda Nell nodded in agreement. Her heart rate had slowed down to almost normal. These guys must be from the casino, and she was curious what the bald man wanted from her.

  “As you wish,” he said. He leaned against the car. “Mrs. Culpepper, first let me convey my sympathies on the death of your husband.”

  “Ex-husband,” Wanda Nell corrected.

  The bald man inclined his head slightly. “Whatever. The main point is, Mrs. Culpepper, your ex-husband took some-thing that didn’t belong to him. It’s my job to see that it is returned to its proper owners. With your husband—pardon me, your ex-husband—sadly out of the picture, it’s now your responsibility to help me.”

  “I don’t have your damn money,” Wanda Nell said, getting madder by the second, “and I don’t have any flippin’ idea where it is. Frankly, I could give a rat’s ass. It ain’t my problem.”

  “Oh, but it is,” the bald man began to say smoothly.

  Wanda Nell interrupted him before he could say anything else. “Now you just listen here, bud. You can threaten me all you want, but I ain’t got your damn money. You already had the nerve to send some of your goons to search my home and terrify my daughters and my grandson. What kind of men are you, to do something like that to children? Did your mama raise you to treat people like that? Where I come from, people who do things like that ain’t nothing but trash.”

  The bald man reddened slightly under the onslaught, but the expression on his face never changed. “If you’ve had your say, Mrs. Culpepper, I’ll continue. You can say what you like about me, but I could give a rat’s ass, to borrow your own colorful phrase. I want that money back, and I expect you to hand it over.”

  “Well, Bubba, I guess you’re just going to be disappointed. Santa Claus ain’t gonna
leave nothing but coal in your stocking this year.” Wanda Nell was so mad, she could feel the veins in her head throbbing. “I don’t have your damn money, I never did. And if I do find it, I’m gonna turn it over to the police. You can get it back from them.”

  “Now that’s a pity,” he said coolly. “I might be inclined to offer a reward if the money is returned without the police getting involved. But if they are, well, no reward.”

  Wanda Nell told him just what he could do with his reward. His expression changed, finally, and Wanda Nell didn’t like what she saw.

  “Very well, Mrs. Culpepper. This could have been much easier, but you chose to make it difficult. I trust you understand that.” He got back in the car and slammed his door.

  “Hold on a minute,” Wanda Nell said as the driver started to put the car into gear. “I do have one thing that belongs to you.”

  She went around to the trunk and pulled the casino security uniform out the box. Wadding it into a ball, she walked back to the black car and thrust it into the driver’s face. Scowling, he snatched it and dumped it in the lap of the man in the passenger seat.

  The wail of an approaching siren startled Wanda Nell. The driver heard it, slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the black car sped off.

  Wanda Nell leaned weakly against the car. “Oh, Lord, I’m glad that’s over.” She pushed away from the car and turned to face Mayrene. “And, honey, you were something else. I didn’t even know you brought that shotgun with you.”

  Mayrene grinned. “Told you it’d come in handy, didn’t I?”

  “Amen. But would you really have shot him?”

  “I shot plenty of snakes in my time, Wanda Nell. He just woulda been one more, that’s all.” Mayrene stowed the shotgun in the backseat.

  Just in time, too, Wanda Nell saw. A Greenville police car was coming up the street. She hoped they hadn’t seen what Mayrene was doing.

  “Y’all all right, ma’am?” The police car had come to a halt, and the officer driving poked his head out the window. “We had a report there was Some kind of disturbance going on in the street here.”