“Do you own any knives?” Heather asked, trying to keep them on track.
“Probably,” Christa said. “But I don’t do very much cooking. And I’m not home very often. I like to listen to the races here. This is my lucky spot.”
Heather tied to ask another question about the murder weapon, but Christa put on her headphones in and listened to the new race.
“Let’s go Bada Boom! Come on. Come on, Bada Boom. No. No!” Christa threw her headphones down on the table.
“I didn’t pick as well this time?” Amy asked.
“He came in last,” Christa said.
“Oops.”
“When you place these bets, how do you do it?” Heather asked. “Is it on your phone?”
“Yup. I place them here,” Christa said lifting up her phone. “And Junior would bring my winnings.”
“Do you know who you’re actually placing the bets with?” Heather asked.
"Not really. Some big cheese on the island. That's what I've heard," Christa said. "Doesn't really bother me because it's all been honest."
“Where were you on Sunday morning?” Heather asked.
“Where was I? I think I was here.” She yelled at the bartender. “Hey Hank, was I here Sunday morning?”
“Yeah,” he yelled back. “She was here. She’s always here. It’s easier to remember when she’s not here rather than when she is.”
“When was she not here?” Amy asked.
The bartender thought about it. “Last Wednesday afternoon.”
Christa nodded. “Dentist appointment.”
Heather sighed. “The three people that we know received money from Johnny Javits before all have alibis. Singing in church, betting at a bar, and having brunch with the police chief.”
“Why do you think it had to be one of the people who got money from him before?” Christa asked.
"His pockets were empty, and the box he was carrying was taken," Heather said. "We thought the killer might have done it to take the money he was carrying. And the people he delivered to would know that he often had a lot of money on him."
“Well,” Christa said. “Did you talk to everyone he went to?”
“We spoke to the people we know of,” Heather said. “But there might be more.”
“I think there’s four of us,” Christa said.
“Why four?”
“Because of what I use on my phone to place the bets. It lists four usernames there,” Christa said, showing them. “And there’s only ever been these four there. I guess we’re a little group.”
“Then we’re only missing one person,” Heather said.
Amy nodded. "The Big CC, Christa, and Ned."
“You didn’t talk to Ethel?” Christa asked.
“Who?” asked Heather.
“Well, I don’t know any of the people you just mentioned. But the one person I know in the group is Ethel. She’s a bit of a friend. But there’s no way that she could be involved with murder.”
“That’s something we’ll have to determine,” Heather said.
Ethel
“Okay,” Amy said. “For once someone might have been right when they said their friend didn’t do it.”
Heather nodded. She and Amy were seated on a plastic-covered couch in a very peach-colored room.
"Would you like any pink lemonade, dears?" Ethel Thornbrush asked, placing drinks on a tray attached to her walker. The tennis balls on the bottom of the walker's legs scooted along the floor. She joined them and sat in a wicker chair. Her housedress matched the colors of the walls.
She smiled at them. “It’s not often that I have company. It’s so nice that you’re here. Even if you did say it was for an unhappy reason. What was it again? A murder?”
“I’m afraid so,” Heather said. “We’re looking into the murder of a delivery boy.”
“Oh no,” Ethel said. “Not a young boy!”
“He was out of high school,” Amy said. “I knew saying delivery boy made it sound like something happened to a child. Thank you for agreeing with me.”
“And he was killed, you say?” Ethel asked. “How can I be of help?”
"We're a little embarrassed to ask this,” Heather said. “But we were directed here because we heard you might do some gambling.”
“Oh, yes,” Ethel said, happily. “I do. I’m quite fond of it.”
“What do you bet on?” Amy asked.
"Usually the ponies," said Ethel. "But sometimes football too. I love to see how rough those athletes can be when they're trying to make a touchdown."
"And was there a young man who delivered money to you when you won?" Heather asked.
"Yes. A very nice young man called Jimmy. He would wear a blue baseball cap, and I always like to remind him that he needs a haircut," Ethel said. "Does he relate to this?"
“Unfortunately, he does,” Heather said. “He was the person who was killed.”
“What a terrible thing to ruin an otherwise lovely day,” Ethel said. “I love to have company, but not if someone had to die to cause a visit.”
“Did you know him well?” Heather asked.
“He would stop in and have lemonade with me when I asked,” Ethel said. “He probably thought of me as a grandmother and gave me edited versions of his answers.”
“He gave edited versions and names to everyone,” Amy muttered.
“But he was sweet,” Ethel continued. “He told me what a handful his girlfriend could be.”
“The way she was pounding on the door when we first met her?” Amy said. “I could see that.”
“He had some misgivings about her, but I told him not to throw away love. You don’t want to be all alone someday, waiting for a stranger to come by and keep you company or to find a thrill by placing a bet,” Ethel said. “Would you like any more lemonade?”
“I’d like to know what he meant by misgivings,” Heather said.
“Oh. Well, they were high school sweethearts. I think he was growing a little bored and she was waiting for a ring,” Ethel said with a knowing smile. “But recently, he seemed more cheerful about things. He must have made a decision.”
“Those earrings she showed us?” Amy suggested.
“Ethel, I’m sorry to ask you this, but I need to establish an alibi for everyone we talk to,” Heather said. “Where were you on Sunday morning?”
“I think I was home,” Ethel said. “It’s hard for me to travel much these days.”
“So, you weren’t by Sun and Fun Novelties that day?”
“No. I haven’t been by there for a while,” Ethel said. “But tell me, does that attractive young Mr. Rankle still run it? He used to be quite a looker.”
“Mr. Rankle?” Amy asked. “She does need to get out more.”
“Well, we wouldn’t call him young Mr. Rankle anymore,” Heather said, graciously.
“No. I suppose we wouldn’t,” Ethel said, thinking about it.
“I don’t think she could stab anybody,” Amy whispered to Heather. “Especially someone so young and fit that could overpower her.”
Heather nodded. “Thank you for all your help with your answers and for the pink lemonade.”
“Please, come by again,” Ethel said. “I’ll have dessert for you next time.”
“Next time, we’ll bring you some donuts,” Heather promised her. “A whole medley of different flavors so you can choose what you like.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Ethel said.
"And," Heather said, getting an idea. "We have a few senior friends who are very involved in the senior center here, Eva and Leila. They go to the beach and play pickleball and play bingo and see movies. It also seems like a great place to make friends. If we could get a car to pick you up, would you be interested in going there?"
“Well,” Ethel said, starting to light up at the idea. “I think I would like bingo. Maybe even more than betting on the ponies!”
Dead End with Donuts
“Maybe we should give up on the case a
nd just bring Ethel those donuts now,” Amy sighed.
She and Heather were sitting at a table at Donut Delights, mulling over the case with a side of Toasted Almond snacks.
"If only we had as many viable suspects as we did names for the victim,” Heather said. “Maybe then, we’d have an idea for how to shake something loose.”
"The gamblers had good alibis,” Amy said. “We didn’t find much out from them.”
“Well, I think Christa gave us a clue for something. Not that it helps much.”
“You mean sending us to see an old lady as a potential murder suspect?” Amy asked.
“Besides that. She said that a big cheese ran their gambling site. Big Cheese sounds an awful lot like Big C’s. Or Big CC. She might have misheard it.”
“I think you’re on to something!” Amy said.
“But we can’t do anything with that right now,” Heather said. “We would need a lot more than that to convince the chief to arrest his little brother. And I’m not sure if any of this relates to the murder.”
"I guess that's true," Amy sighed. "There's not a lot we know about this one. Are we even sure this was a robbery?”
“No,” Heather said. “We thought so at first because the wallet was missing, but Johnny Javits just kept his wallet at home.”
“That must tie into his hiding his identity thing,” Amy said.
Heather agreed. “He didn’t want anyone to know his exact identity so they couldn’t rob him. And maybe so the police couldn’t arrest him either.”
“But his hiding his identity was hard on us because it made him a John Doe for so long.”
“Then we thought it was a robbery because we learned he would often carry large amounts of money around town,” Heather said. “We thought the killer killed him to get the money.”
“But we’re not even sure that he was carrying money at that time,” Amy said.
“You’re right,” said Heather. “All we know is that the box of sunglasses he was carrying is missing.”
“Could there be anything to that?” Amy asked. “Could the sunglasses be important?”
Heather shrugged. “Neither Bill Weir from the warehouse or Mr. Rankle seemed to think so. But it’s something we could check out instead of sitting here lamenting that we don’t have all the answers.”
They sprang into action and headed over to Mr. Rankle's shop.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said when he saw them. “The bringers of doom to the street.”
“We’re here trying to solve the case,” Heather said.
“Are you going to haul me down to the police station again? I bet you got a real kick out of that.”
“Yeah,” Amy admitted.
“The police needed to talk to you,” Heather said. “So much of the crime related to you. And now we have another question we need to ask.”
“About what?”
“The sunglasses you ordered. Did they have any special significance? Were they worth a lot of money?” Heather asked.
“Basically, were they worth killing for?” Amy asked.
“Those sunglasses?” Mr. Rankle asked. “Not at all. They were stupid looking things that had flamingo designs on them. I know they’re hideous, but tourists seem to like them.”
“So, they couldn’t have had any bearing on the murder?” Heather said.
“Not that I can see,” Mr. Rankle said. “Not unless a tourist wanted them really badly.”
“I wonder why they’re missing then,” said Amy.
“Maybe they were just taken to make us have robbery on the brain,” Heather said.
“Do you have anything else on the brain?” Mr. Rankle asked. “I know you solved other cases before. Why can’t you solve mine? You don’t want to, do you? You want to see me suffer.”
“We don’t want to see you suffer,” Heather said.
“Well, maybe a little bit,” Amy muttered.
“We’re trying our best. It took us a long time to identify the victim, and now we’re still looking for a motive for his murder,” Heather said.
“I bet it was someone from out of town,” Mr. Rankle said.
“Why?” asked Heather.
“Because they like to make trouble,” he said angrily.
“It had to be one of your customers,” Heather said. “Or someone who had access to those knives you sell.”
“I sell so many of them,” Mr. Rankle said. “People love to use knives with fish handles when dealing with fish. To be honest, I don’t understand half of the novelties I sell here. You won’t believe the junk that people buy.”
The door to his store opened, and Mr. Rankle hurried over to the customer, eager to show off his wares. He presented them as if they were treasures instead of how he was just describing them.
“I wish we could find out who bought the knife,” Heather said. “Maybe Mr. Rankle has some sales receipts. Even if we have to dig through a lot of information, if we find out who the killer is, then it would be worth it.”
“I guess so,” Amy said. “But it sounds like he sold hundreds of those knives.”
They wandered around the store and saw where the decorative knives were kept – in between the fishing and kitchen knickknack sections. There were still many on display.
“Seems like bad taste,” said Amy.
They wandered the store some more and came across something else interesting.
“Those look like the earrings that Jessie was wearing,” Amy said. “The ones she said Johnny got for her.”
“They do,” Heather said, frowning. “But she said they were worth a lot of money.”
"Maybe these are knock-offs?" Amy suggested.
“I guess the crime scene tape didn’t scare off all my customers,” Mr. Rankle said, happily as he rejoined them. Then he remembered who he was talking to and scowled. “No thanks to you.”
“People need to get their sunscreen somewhere,” said Amy.
"Mr. Rankle, we need to see whatever sales receipts you have,” Heather said. “Anything in relation to knives and earrings.”
“I’ll give you my records, but it’s not organized like that.”
“What is it organized like?” asked Heather.
Mr. Rankle removed a huge bound book from under the desk.
“Big,” Amy answered.
“That’s just this month,” Mr. Rankle said.
"I guess we'll make a few trips from here to Donut Delights," Heather said. "We can use the tables there."
They were certainly going to get a work out that day lugging the large books across the street. They loaded up and began to leave, but not before Amy could say, "Oh, by the way, Mr. Rankel. Ethel Thornbrush says hello."
They were surprised to see Mr. Rankle’s cheeks flush.
Books
“I feel like we’re back to where we were before we visited Sun and Fun Novelties again,” Amy said, giving up on going through the books of sales receipts. “Except now my arms are tired.”
"Ryan and Peters said they'd be here soon," Heather said. "With the four of us, I'm sure we can find the answer."
“But what are we looking for?” Amy asked.
"Something definitive,” Heather said, rather vaguely.
“Well, I hope Ryan is bringing the car so that he can bring these books home tonight. I’m not carrying them again.”
“Do you want some donuts to go with your research?” Digby asked, approaching them.
"Sure," Heather said. “I can never say no to a donut.”
“Me neither,” Amy agreed.
They took the donuts, but then Heather noticed something. “Digby, is something wrong?”
“With the donuts?” he asked.
“With you?” Heather said. “You just gave us the donuts. You didn’t perform anything when you gave them to us.”
“Yeah,” Amy said. “You didn’t sing anything or perform a death scene or try a puppet show.”
Digby shrugged. "I guess I'm getting nervous about my audition. It's
supposed to be tonight. But what if I'm not good enough?"
“You’ve got to try,” Heather said. “It’s something that you want to do. You can’t let fear hold you back.”
“Besides,” Amy added. “You’re the most dramatic person I know. You’ll do great.”
“And we’ll be front row center in your show when you perform,” Heather added.
"Oh, you two," Digby said. He held one hand in the other, and his eyes began to tear up. "You like me. You really like me."
He wiped the tears from his eyes and then smiled.
“How did you do that?” Heather asked.
“It’s called acting,” Digby grinned.
“That seems familiar,” she said. The gears in her head were beginning to turn.
“Oh,” Digby said, demonstrating. "A trick to getting yourself to cry on command is to put your hands together, but then use one hand to pinch the other. You could also cut yourself with your nail. You just want to get real tears to form, and then you can act like your sad."
"You were pretending to cry," Heather said. “You were just acting.”
“Exactly,” Digby said. “Do you think I should do that at my audition?”
Heather didn't answer.
"Ignore her," Amy said. "She's in full-on sleuth mode. She can only think about the case, but I think that means she's close to an answer."
“Come on,” Heather said, grabbing the books.
“Where are we going?” Amy asked.
“Ryan and Peters are taking too long to get here. We need to find them,” Heather said. “I know who the killer is.”
“Why did you want to see me again?” Jessie asked. “Did you find out the money? Did you discover who the killer was?”
“Yes, and yes,” Heather said. She and Amy stood outside her door. Jessie held her hands together and began to tear up.
“That’s a neat little trick,” Heather said. “My assistant just showed me it. A way to make yourself cry on command. To give a little performance about how sad you were about your boyfriend’s death.”
“But you were there when I found out he was dead,” Jessie said.
“Yes. A wonderful performance,” Heather said. “It was meant to be for the benefit of his neighbors to try and prove that you still thought he was alive. But we showed up on the scene.”
Toasted Almond & Murder: An Oceanside Cozy Mystery - Book 17 Page 6