Death and Decopauge

by AR DeClerck

  Death and Decopauge

  A Franny Calico Mystery, Volume 2

  AR DeClerck

  Published by AR DeClerck, 2018.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Death and Decopauge (A Franny Calico Mystery, #2)

  Chapter One: The Body and The Mailbox

  Chapter Two: Smooth Glue

  Chapter Three: The Russian Connection

  Chapter Four: Pasta and Pistols

  Chapter Five: Lost Sister

  Chapter Six: The Old Hornsby Bridge

  Chapter Seven: Juleps and G-Men

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  About the Author

  Published by AR DeClerck

  Moline, IL 61265 © 2018

  Text Copyright © 2017 AR DeClerck

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Chapter One: The Body and The Mailbox

  There is nothing quite like driving one’s car into a mailbox to avoid a body in the road. The Packard Twelve had taken the hit better than she’d expected, and the woman behind the wheel found herself unhurt, but rather surprised.

  She climbed down from the car, careful to hold on to her hat in the whipping wind as she surveyed the damage. A bit of ding near the right front fender, but it could have been worse. The crimson paint would cost a pretty penny to repair, but the car was drivable.

  The man in the road, however, had not fared so well. He lay sprawled face down in the gritty dirt of Cumberland Street, missing one loafer and his hat, which had probably blown away when he fell. From the odd angle of his left leg and the not-so-subtle absence of the rise and fall of his chest, the woman knew he was dead.

  “Bugger,” she muttered, looking left and right at the dry, brittle corn fields that ran for miles in either direction on both sides of the road. The only house for miles belonged to the mailbox she’d mangled, and to a man who preferred his solitude to the tune of a twelve-gauge shotgun aimed in the direction of anyone aiming to interrupt it. She returned to her car and retrieved her bag and the car’s keys before she turned and began walking down the long dirt path that led to the solitary house. Of all the places to find a dead body, it had to be less than a mile from Thomas O’Leary’s property.

  The woman cursed her bad luck but had the good graces to blush a little as she did. She wasn’t a complete heathen, despite what her sister might wish to believe.

  “Of all the luck,” she said to herself the second time her modest heel got stuck in a clump of dirt. “A dead body in the road and I end up nearly smashing it.”

  “That’ll be far enough, missy!” The distinct sound of the loading of a gun met her ears.

  She groaned but tried to manage a polite smile. “Tom? Tom O’Leary?”

  “Go away! I don’t need the word of the Lord!”

  “I’m not here to preach, Tom.”

  “No missus to sell your wares to, neither.”

  “I’m not selling anything, Tom.” She tried to keep her exasperation under control as she pulled off her hat and let him see her face a little better.

  “Franny? Franny Calico? Is that you?” The old man squinted at her but kept the gun at chest level.

  “Yes, Tom, it’s me. Put the gun down and ring the Sheriff.”

  “What do we need him for?” Tom’s eyes grew narrower, and the gun lifted a notch.

  “Because there’s a body in the road on the other side of your mailbox, and I almost hit it with the car.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Well if I knew that, I’d have said, wouldn’t I?” She pressed her lips together and tried to get back to her polite tone. “Your telo is working, isn’t it?”

  “Works fine,” Tom muttered. He stared at her for a few more moments before he lowered the shotgun with a sigh. “You hurt?”

  “No, but I’m afraid your mailbox is dead.”

  She saw him almost grin and decided she’d nearly performed a miracle.

  “Mailbox can be fixed. You say the feller is dead? Sure?”

  “I know what a dead body looks like, Tom.” As the daughter of the only mortician and coroner for three towns, she’d seen enough dead bodies to know one on sight.

  “Reckon so,” he agreed. He turned, and then looked over his shoulder at her when she didn’t immediately follow. “Well, you’d best come on in and ring the Jump boy.”

  Sherman. Franny felt a momentary panic before she got it under control. Sherman Jump was the Sheriff now, she’d almost forgotten. She’d had a crush on him since grade school but hadn’t seen him much since he’d gone off to Chicago to be a policeman. He’d only moved back to town in the last few months, but he’d made enough friends to be quickly elected when Sheriff Paulson retired. She followed Tom up the steps and into the house, breathing deeply when she got the hot press of the sun off her shoulders. Prudence, Illinois was a hellhole in the heat of the summer.

  “Telo’s in there.” Tom pointed to a small alcove where the heavy black telephone sat on a small table. He walked away toward the kitchen and she picked up the receiver.

  “Operator?”

  “What extension, please?”

  Franny recognized the voice on the other end of the line. “Geneva, it’s me. Franny.”

  “Franny!” Her sister’s voice was warm and sweet, like her. “What do you need, hon?”

  “I’ll need Sheriff Jump and Daddy, I guess.”

  “Oh, Franny! Who’d you kill now?” Geneva laughed at her own joke for a moment before she sobered, realizing Franny wasn’t laughing along with her. “Fran? Are you all right?”

  “There’s a body in Cumberland Street just past Old Man O’Leary’s place. That’s where I’m calling from. I swerved to miss it and hit his mailbox.”

  “Oh dear!” Geneva sounded suitably distressed for a woman of her morals and good standing. “I’ll ring them both right away. Who is it?”

  “I’ve never seen him before.” Franny took the glass of lemonade that Tom handed her, and she gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll be at Tom’s when Daddy and the Sheriff arrive.”

  “Franny.” Geneva’s voice was sharp with censure. “Don’t meddle in this. You remember what happened last time, don’t you?”

  Fran sipped her lemonade but didn’t comment. If she didn’t promise to stay out of it, then she wouldn’t be lying to her sister.

  “I’m sending them out now.” Geneva hung up and Fran dropped the receiver back onto its cradle.

  “The Sheriff and my father will arrive shortly,” she informed Tom. She put her hat on. “Thank you for the use of the telo and for the lemonade.”

  “Where do you think you’re off to?” Tom asked suspiciously.

  Franny opened the door with a grim smile. “I’m going to have a look at our friend in the road.”

  “That’s no place for a lady!” Tom protested as he picked up his shotgun.

  “You’re welcome to come along,” Franny invited. Without another word she let the screen door slam behind her and she headed back toward the dead man in the road.

  TOM FOLLOWED HER A few steps back, muttering the whole way. Franny sniffed, but secretly
she was amused by the gruff old man. He was hardly the curmudgeon he liked to make himself out to be.

  At the end of the driveway Franny looked both ways before crossing the rutted dirt to crouch by the body. She wrapped her skirt modestly over her knees and studied the man’s prone form thoughtfully.

  “Have you ever seen him before, Tom?” she queried. She didn’t recognize the man, but with the highway going up outside of town they had new faces in town every day.

  “Can’t tell with his face in the dirt.” Tom scratched his head, his shadow a welcome bit of shade in the heat of the day. “Reckon we might roll him over?”

  “Carefully,” she agreed. Tom crouched on the man’s other side, and they took hold of the man’s shoulders, pulling him over so that he faced up. “Oh!”

  “Well, now, that’s a surprise.” Tom let go of the man’s shoulders and his face was a study in disbelief.

  Franny looked carefully over the features of the corpse, from head to toe. “I’d have to concur,” she said at last. “A rather large woman dressed in man’s clothes lying dead in the road on a summer’s day.” She arched her brow at old Tom. “Not your typical death in Prudence.”

  “Not typical in any town south of Chicago.” Tom gave the body a distrustful once over. “Things like that don’t seem normal.”

  Franny chuckled. “You mean a woman dressed in a man’s suit, or a dead body in the road?”

  “Both.” Tom fanned his face and looked down the road where a plume of dust could be seen a few miles away. “Looks like your sister was quick to get the law.”

  Franny rifled through the woman’s pockets and found a wallet, a plain handkerchief and a stub from the local picture show. She opened the wallet and counted out fifty dollars in crisp bills before searching for an ID card.

  “You reckon you should be touching all those things? That’s the police’s job, ain’t it?”

  She glared at Tom and continued in her search. “The ID says Wharton Price, though I daresay that’s not her true name.” She tucked the wallet back in the jacket pocket and stared at the ticket stub. “This morning’s show.” She curled her hand around the stub. “Look at her shoes. They’re covered in mud.”

  “Hasn’t rained in these parts in nigh a month.” Tom peered at the mud on the shoes of the dead body.

  “She got into mud somewhere between the theatre and the road.”

  “Not only that, she had a scrapper.” Tom pointed to the raw, bloody knuckles of the dead woman.

  “How does a woman, man’s clothes or not, get roughed up and killed, then dropped on the road like trash less than two miles from town? I thought Prudence was safer than this.”

  “Reckon we can ask the Sheriff.” Tom pointed to the black and white squad car headed toward them, lights flashing. Right behind it was her father’s black GMC panel van.

  Franny stood and brushed down her skirt and straightened her hat. She cursed the sun, which had probably already started to freckle her nose, and the lack of a private moment to freshen her lipstick. She stepped away from the body and stood next to Tom as the Sheriff and the coroner pulled to a stop on the other side of the road.

  “Franny!” Her father burst from the van and hurried to her, his hat in his hand. He looked her over with a nervous shake of his head. “Are you well, girl?”

  “I’m fine, Daddy,” she assured him. “The car will need some paint, and Tom’s mailbox took a hit.”

  “I’ll repair the box, Tom,” her father promised the other man. “And the car will fix.”

  Franny smiled. Her father was one of the most kind-hearted people she’d ever known. Tom nodded in thanks as the Sheriff approached.

  “Franny, I don’t believe you’ve been introduced to Sheriff Jump.” Her father nodded to the tall man in the crisp brown uniform.

  “Sherman and I went to school together, Daddy.” She nodded to the Sheriff as calmly as she could. “Hello, again.”

  He had grown taller and his lean body had filled out, but his dark brown eyes were the same. They still made her feel hot and flushed when he stared at her. His lips curved up as he held out his hand to her.

  “Nice to see you, Franny! Wow, you’ve grown up!” His hand was dry and callused against hers as they shook.

  She swallowed hard and managed a nod. “Yes, thank you. You too.”

  His smile died as his gaze landed on the body. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

  “I’m the coroner’s daughter. I’ve seen worse.” She hurried back to the body. “I came around the curve there, and I had to swerve out of the road to avoid hitting the body. Of course I got out to check if it was a drunk in the road, but I knew immediately she was dead.”

  “She?” Sherman followed her to the body as her father and Tom went to the van for the stretcher.

  “Tom and I turned her over to try to identify her, and we realized that it’s a woman dressed in a man’s suit.” She pointed out the mud, and then handed him the movie ticket.

  “You should never touch the items inside the crime scene, Franny.” Sherman frowned as he looked at the ticket stub. “It could be evidence.”

  “It is evidence,” she assured him, ignoring his lecture. “It proves that our victim was alive this morning and dead before I came around that curve at eleven.”

  “This isn’t ‘our’ victim.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. The nerve! “This is a Prudence PD investigation and you are a witness.”

  “Daddy, tell Sherman how I used to help the Sheriff before he retired.” She glared back at Sherman as her father approached.

  “She was good at solving mysteries,” her father said affably as he and Tom set the stretcher on the ground by the body. “Bob was always saying she had a fine eye for clues.”

  “Bob Paulson is retired and I’m the Sheriff now.” Sherman pocketed the ticket and turned to look her square in the eye. “We do things by the book in Prudence now, Miss Calico. Please try to remember that.”

  Miss Calico now, was it?! Franny bit her tongue and tried to keep her voice civil. “Well, then, Sheriff Jump, I suppose this means my part in this mess is done. For now.”

  “Forever, Miss Calico.”

  She stopped to place a kiss on her father’s cheek and then on Tom’s before she flounced off toward her car. She turned when she was a few feet away. “You’ll figure out you need me, Sheriff, and when you do I’ll be at my shop. Good day.”

  She marched the rest of the way to her car and climbed in, muttering curses under her breath the whole way. The Packard roared to life and she let dirt fly from her tires as she pulled away from Tom’s mailbox. As she passed by on the way to town, she gave Sherman Jump her dirtiest glare. He might be the Sheriff now, but he had no idea the way things really worked in Prudence, Illinois. He’d need her sooner or later, and then she’d make him pay for sending her on her way like a schoolgirl. She grinned with anticipation as she picked up speed. Maybe this summer wasn’t going to be boring after all.

  Chapter Two: Smooth Glue

  Franny got angrier the closer she got to town. How dare Sherman Jump tell her what to do?! She’d known that man since he was a boy knee-high to a grasshopper. She’d spent more than one afternoon after school at the behest of Ms. Collins because Sherman and his friends had taunted her one too many times for her liking. She didn’t let him bully her then and she wasn’t going to let him bully her now!

  She ignored the indignant beeping of the other cars that passed as she screeched into her spot in front of the store. It irritated her more to see that Mildred Thomas and several other ladies were already gathered outside waiting for her. Of course, she was late. On this day, of all days, when she had her first fully booked calendar.

  “Franny, thank goodness!” Mildred fanned her sweating jowls with her delicate lacy fan. “We’d begun to wonder if you’d stood us up.”

  “Me?” Franny closed the door of her car and barely managed to make it a gentle click as opposed to a slam. She strai
ghtened her hat and tucked her gloves into her handbag. “I would never!”

  “We’ve been waiting over an hour in this heat!”

  Franny wanted to say that it was barely sixty-five out at the moment, and if Mildred wasn’t dressed in dreadful black velvet and lace she might be cooler, but she bit her tongue. “I do beg your pardon, ladies. As you can see by the state of my auto, I’ve had a bit of a to-do on the road.”

  “Oh, Franny! Are you all right?” Miss Stanford, one of the younger ladies in the group, looked pale at the idea of an auto accident. Franny figured she’d never driven a day in her young life.

  “Quite.” Franny removed her shop key and opened the doors, standing back to let the ladies file in. “I’m afraid I fared much better than the dead person I nearly hit with my vehicle.”

  Franny’s declaration had all the ladies tittering and gasping, and Mildred went so far as to fall onto a flowered chaise in a near faint. The others gathered around her and offered her water, but Franny feared it was more the fit of her corset than the news that took her breath away.

  Franny hung up her hat and dropped her bag on the counter. “No need to fret, the poor dear was already dead before I came ‘round the bend, I assure you. My father and the Sheriff are investigating now.”

  “I suspect we’ll have news of an arrest soon, then,” Miss Stanford said with a blush over her cheeks that made Franny’s jaw ache she clenched it so tight. “The Sheriff is quite wonderful at his job.”

  “Is he, now?” Franny sniffed and pulled out her fashion plates, making a bit more noise than was required. It was childish of her to act this way, she was aware, but it felt good nonetheless. She looked at the lot of them. Four ladies in their mid-thirties from the church, Mildred who was nearing sixty, Miss Stanford and Miss Pike both in their twenties. A varied bunch, to be sure. Well, such was the life of a fashionista. “Tell me why each of you is here, please.”

  “Oh!” Miss Stanford’s blush deepened. “Kate and I need dresses for the Summer Festival dance.”