The two senior women hurried across the paved courtyard which lay between Old Main and the Shuffleboard Building. Just as they neared Barb’s electric golf cart, a jagged streak of lightning cut through the night sky. Thunder clapped so close that it jolted them. “I know we need to hurry,” Barb cautioned, “but we’d better take a few minutes to let down the sides on the golf cart or we’ll be soaking wet once the heavens open up.” They tore at the Velcro tapes, and the clear plastic sides unrolled and dropped down. “Just snap a few of the front snaps and some along the bottom edge, enough to hold the side curtains from blowing out,” Barb instructed. “Don’t take time to do them all. Then hop in and zip up.” When they were snug inside, she pushed the pedal down, and they drove noiselessly out of the courtyard.
“My long skirt feels good tonight,” Annie sighed, tucking the denim material around her legs. While most of the women in the park dressed in slacks or Bermuda-length shorts, she often wore a Granny dress, an easy fitting, floor-length cotton dress or jumper. Annie had explained earlier to her friends, “I just like to wear dresses, always have.” Her friends had smiled back politely, not convinced that dresses were better than shorts or slacks for casual wear.
The strong wind pushed against the little cart making it hard to steer. Then a deluge of rain suddenly blanketed them. Another streak of lightning was followed by a jolting boom. Immediately, all of BradLee Park was swallowed up in darkness. Once again, an electrical storm hit with fury; a frequent happening in central Florida. As she slowed down and strained to see her way with only the little headlights to guide her, Barb complained, “Tampa area and central Florida get more electric storms than anyplace else in the nation.”
“I know we do,” Annie groaned. “And when the lights go out then the phone lines usually go dead, too! Whatever will we do? I need a telephone, and I need it now.”
With a quick movement, Barb swung the steering wheel to the left and said, “Change of plans. We’ll go to Verna and Von’s instead.”
“Why there?”
“Von has a cell phone.”
Strange as it seemed, few of them in their ‘gang’ of four couples who were all close friends had not made the leap to cell phones as of yet, with the exception of Von who had one for emergencies only. They were content with their ‘land-lines’. Why would anyone actually want to be reachable twenty-four hours a day? was the general consensus when they discussed it amongst themselves. They laughed at the notion of answering a call while on the golf course or at the pool. Wasn’t that part of the point of getting out of the house and enjoying recreation? That you were ‘off duty’ and good news or bad, it would have to wait? These youngsters nowadays, they concluded, are wound way too tight. Everything has to be now, now, now! Even a phone call couldn’t wait.
“I do wish that Art were here or at least that I could talk to him now. And your Brad, too.” Annie said. “Both of our husbands have such level heads; they’d know what was best to do in this situation.”
“Hey, girl, I think you’re doing just fine with all the stress you’re under. And the fellows should be back from that shuffleboard tournament soon.”
Annie asked, “Did Mr. B go with them?”
Mr. B was Brad’s father, Barb’s father-in-law. He was the original ‘Brad’ in BradLee Park, and Lee was a nick-name for Leah, Barb’s mother-in-law. When their only son enrolled at Florida State University and decided he wanted to be an electrical engineer and not a truck farmer, the B’s sold their farm in southern Michigan and moved to central Florida. At first they ran cattle on their newly purchased land northeast of Tampa. Friends and family visited and enjoyed spending winters in this friendly, economical part of the state. So, the Bradkowskis bought a small travel trailer to use as a guest house. More came. From that innocent beginning, Brad and Lee Bradkowski slowly turned their cattle ranch into a beautiful retirement park filled with manufactured homes set on spacious lots.
Answering Annie’s question about Mr. B, Barb said, “Yes, he felt up to going. He wasn’t playing, though; this tournament wasn’t for pros, and Mr. B’s a pro, you know,” Barb added proudly. “Only amateurs competed today. He likes to go whenever Brad is playing, hoping his son will be able to turn pro, too.”
“Mr. B always has a good joke or two to tell so Brad should have a good story to share with us when he gets home,” Annie commented.
“We can all use some cheering up after what happened to you tonight.”
Annie agreed and then added, “I think they were going to eat after the tournament at that famous restaurant, the one that’s named for some Florida tree. You always have to wait to get a table there.”
“True, but they’d be getting to the restaurant early, before the big rush; so I don’t expect them to be late getting back.”
“I hope you’re right,” Annie murmured. “I’d sure like Art’s support right now.”
“You don’t want to wait for them to get here before you call the police, do you?”
“No, I think I’ll explode if we have to keep this secret much longer!”
The howling wind grew louder, making it hard to hear one another. They fell silent and sat forward, straining to see their way through the storm. The wind made Annie nervous; she had never liked wind ever since she lived through a deadly tornado in the Mid-West when she was a ten year old child. Now, she had the same sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she had then, but this time it wasn’t caused by the storm.
* * *
Tuesday Evening, 6:30 P.M.
It was a great relief to both women when they finally drove under the shelter of Vigeaux’s carport. There was enough room on the wide cement drive for Barb to pull her golf cart alongside Von’s Lincoln Town Car. They were happy to be protected from the heavy rain as they wiggled out of the side curtains. They had to pound hard on the side door of their friend’s manufactured home to be heard over the storm. When Von finally came to the door, he hurried them inside away from the stiff wind that was now blowing the rain sideways into the carport.
“Quick!” said Annie to Verna and Von without waiting to greet her friends, “May I use your cell phone. Please, it’s really an emergency!”
The Vigeauxs looked at Barb for an explanation, “She needs to call the police. She really does.”
“You’re welcome to use it, but it’s in my car. We’ll have to go outside. And, oh, you need to call the sheriff, not the police. BradLee’s in the county, not the city.”
“You’re right, Von,” Annie said. “I grew up in a city, and I always think of police before I do the sheriff.”
Verna, whose northern Maine accent was stronger than her husband’s, tried to get them to wait until the storm eased, “You’ll both get soaked if you go outdoors now. It’s raining way too hard to go out there, even undah the cahport. Surely, it won’t hurt to wait a few minutes. These kindar storms nevah last too long.”
“Please, this is an emergency. I really need to call for help right away,” Annie pleaded.
Von ignored his wife. He’d been a lumberman for many years, making his living in the rough, wild Maine woods, and he wasn’t about to let a Florida rainstorm keep him from going out to his car when it was parked in his own carport. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket ready to go outside. “I’ll bring it in. No sense both of us getting’ wet.” He thought to ask Annie, “Do you know the phone number?”
She shook her head.
“Well, while you look up the number, I’ll run out and fetch it. I keep it in the car just for emergencies.”
Verna pushed her glasses up on her nose, then reached for the phone book. As she was looking for the number of the sheriff, she asked, “Why do you have to call the police? I mean, the sheriff?” It was a natural question for a law-abiding woman to ask.
“Just give me the number,” Annie begged. “Barb can tell you more.”
Von’s shirt was damp by the time he arrived back in the house. He turned on the cell phone and dialed the number th
en handed the phone to Annie. She raised it to the side of her head. Von explained, “Just talk into it like you would on a regular phone.”
She thanked him and mouthed to he and his wife both, “Listen and you’ll get the whole story.”
She expected to be calm and collected, but when the dispatcher at the Sheriff’s Department answered, Annie blurted out, “There’s a body, and it’s dead, and it’s in a drawer, and…”
The dispatcher interrupted, “Ma’am, I’ll put you through to Sergeant Menendez.”
When the sergeant came on the line, Annie was surprised to hear a woman’s voice. The officer suggested that Annie take a deep breath and then begin. Annie told her story—that she had seen and felt the right arm and hand of a dead woman wearing jewelry, red fingernail polish, and light blue denim jeans and that it was in a drawer in BradLee’s Old Main Clubhouse.
When she finally gave the phone back to Von, Annie said with relief, “It took awhile, but I finally convinced that woman sergeant that she needs to come out here to BradLee and check this out.”
Von shook his head in disbelief, “Annie, you’ve had a horrible experience. You know Verna and I will do anything and everything we can to help you.”
“The first thing to do is to not say anything to anyone for a while. I may be in danger.”
“Just tell us what you want us to do. We’ll be there for you.”
“Thanks,” Annie said to her friends.
Verna said, “Von, you are wet. I don’t want you getting sick. We’ve got a mystery to solve, and you need to stay well. Go put on a dry shirt.”
Barb had been looking out of Vigeaux’s front window. She exclaimed, “I see some lights over there.” She pointed towards the part of the park where she and Annie lived. “Hopefully, ours are back on, too”
Annie looked out the window too. “And it looks like the rain is beginning to slacken. Like Verna said, these sudden, hard storms never last too long. Maybe the electricity is back on at my place by now. Please, may I use the phone again? I want to call home and talk to Art, or at least leave him a message on our answering machine, that is if it’s working. I’ll ask him to come over here or to find me at Old Main.”
Annie dialed her home phone number. When Art didn’t pick up, she pleaded to the answering machine, “Oh, Honey, I hope you get home soon; something awful has happened. I need you; I really do. Please call Brad and let him know that Barb’s with me at Vigeaux’s. If we aren’t here, we’ll be at Old Main with the Sheriff.” She knew that ‘need’ was a magic word and so was ‘Sheriff.’ Art would come looking for her as soon as he heard her plea, no matter how tired he was.
* * *
Tuesday, 7:00 P.M.
Brad Barkowski pulled his Chevy Suburban to a stop under the shelter of Art Andersen’s carport.
Art climbed out, stretched, said his thanks, and waved good-bye to his friend. He was exhausted after a long day away and was glad to be home. The house was dark, so he knew Annie wasn’t home from Bingo. He flipped the light switch on and then hung up his windbreaker in the Florida room. There was only one thing he wanted to do and that was to ease his long lean body into his favorite recliner and rest until Annie got back. As he crossed through the kitchen, he saw the light blinking on the microwave oven. That meant one thing; the power had gone out again.
Checking his wristwatch, he noted that it had only been off for twelve minutes. He decided that the microwave could wait; he’d reset its clock later. The answering machine was also blinking. He hesitated, thinking he’d really like to rest first. But since Annie wasn’t home, it might be a message from her. With a sigh, he pushed the button and immediately heard the distress in his devoted Annie’s voice. This summer they would be married 50 years, and he knew every nuance in her pleasing voice. This particular tone meant trouble. As the message was playing, he started pulling his jacket back on. He made a quick call to Brad and then hurried to his car.
It was still raining hard, but it wasn’t a downpour now. Fortunately, the streetlights were working on Lakeside Blvd. As he parked in Von and Verna Vigeaux’s driveway, Brad pulled in beside him. “Long time no see,” he joked as the two men shook hands.
“I didn’t expect to see you again tonight,” his friend answered. “Looks like Barb’s involved in some trouble that Annie’s stirred up.”
“She didn’t go into details; so I don’t know what it is. She just left me a message to come here first. But the sound of her voice has me worried.” Art shook his head, remembering some of the adventures that the two women had shared. “Those two have had some fun times together, but they’ve never had to call in the law before! Glad we got here before the Sheriff did. I want to be with Annie when she faces them.”
As they walked to the side door, Brad said, “And I’ll bet those officers aren’t any happier about having to come out in this weather than we are.” Both Art and Brad knew, though, that nothing would keep them home if their wives needed them; they’d be right by their sides.
Art added, “And I’ll bet those deputies are asking themselves, ‘What trifling thing has upset the little old seniors tonight?’ You can bet it’s something serious, or Annie would not have called the Sheriff’s department for help.”
* * *
Actually, Art wasn’t far from the mark. Earlier, Maria Menendez, a trim, dark-haired, thirty-year-old woman who had recently been promoted to the rank of sergeant, hung up the telephone at the Sheriff’s Department. She then called her assistant, Deputy Joe Juarez, and said, “We’ve got a weird one tonight, and the moon isn’t even full!” Juarez, young and athletic, was new on the force, and like Menendez, he was of Latin descent; he was Mexican, and she was Cuban. Recently, he had hired on at the county Sheriff’s Department after finishing a two-year criminal justice course of study at a local community college. Neither of the officers was thrilled to have to go out in a storm to answer a call that seemed strange—a real lulu.
“Tell me again,” Joe asked his sergeant as she got into his car, “Why didn’t that woman get a look at the dead woman’s face? It was right there in the drawer, wasn’t it?”
“It’s the weird ones that make our job interesting,” Maria Menendez answered as she fastened her seat belt. “All I know is what that Andersen woman told me on the phone. She claims she is a Registered Nurse, now retired and that there is a dead woman in some storage drawer in BradLee’s Old Main Clubhouse. She told me that she didn’t want to cause a panic at Bingo; so she just slid the drawer back and called us. If she’s actually a nurse, she must know a dead person when she sees one.”
“But, she didn’t see a dead person. You said she only saw a dead arm and hand!” Joe shook his head, not convinced that this wasn’t a joke of some kind.
“Well, my little friend,” Maria said to the young deputy who towered over her 5 foot 3 inch slender frame, “we may get wet, but we need to check this one out. Don’t put the siren on. No need to upset the little old seniors yet. They’ll be put off enough because their phones are out. We’ll be getting calls complaining, ‘Why can’t you make the Electric Company keep the electricity on?’ They’ll whine, ‘It doesn’t go off all the time up North where we used to live.’ Personally, if they like their precious North so much, why don’t they just stay up there?” Maria ended decisively.
“If you’re not fond of retirees,” Juarez said, “then you’re living in the wrong state.”
“I know. Florida is God’s holding pen. It isn’t that I dislike older people, it’s just that I’ve had some unpleasant dealings with some of them. Maybe this case will make me change my mind,” she responded as she drummed her fingers on her thighs.
“From the memo you just gave me,” Joe Juarez said, “I wouldn’t bank on it.”
They drove on without talking until Joe broke the silence, saying, “Some of the lights have come back on over on the west side of town. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and BradLee’s lights will be on by the time we get there. That would make things easier for
us,” he said.
Menendez answered, “Lights will certainly make it easier to identify a body. But there is usually nothing easy about solving a murder. However, it will be better if we’re there to find the body than if Mrs. Andersen had tried to handle it by herself. She probably did the cool thing. She actually sounded fairly sensible on the phone. Well, here we are. For your information, Joe, the people who live here are Von and Verna Vigeaux, friends of Annie Andersen and her friend, Barbara Bradkowski. Let’s find out the rest of the story,” Menendez said, getting out of the patrol car.
* * *
From Vigeaux’s front window, Barb watched the lights come back on. The parking lot for Old Main was full of cars; so she assumed that Bingo was still being played. She saw the deputy turn in and park the green and white cruiser. “They’re here,” she announced.
Art saw Annie draw in her breath and brace herself for the ordeal facing her.
The deputies introduced themselves as they entered the mobile home. The young man stood near Vigeaux’s front door while Sergeant Menendez took charge and began questioning Annie.
After retelling everything that had happened to her, Annie cautioned the deputies, “I don’t suppose I should try to tell you what to do, but I am old enough to be your mama—maybe your grandmother! I don’t think you should go charging into Old Main, not with all those old people in there playing Bingo. They might panic, and we don’t want anyone having a heart attack over this. Besides, that dead body will still be there. You can do this without making a big fuss. After all, it’s not going anywhere!”
The two uniformed officers shook their heads. Sgt. Menendez explained to the six seniors, “We can’t wait for Bingo to end; we must investigate right now. That body should not have been left unattended.” Annie started to protest, but the sergeant continued, “Under the circumstances you described, I understand your actions.”
The Traveling Corpse Page 2