Death and Decopauge

by AR DeClerck

  “Franny Calico!”

  She slowed as she recognized the voice of Old Tom. He was waiting for her at the corner, wearing his cotton button up and tan trousers. His white hair gleamed in the sun, and his blue eyes twinkled a bit as she approached and kissed his wrinkled cheek.

  “Tom! What are you doing out and about?” she wondered. “I thought you were a rare sight in town these days.”

  “Ayup.” He nodded and squinted against the sun. “Sheriff said I had to come in and give a formal statement.”

  “The Sheriff.” Franny knew her tone conveyed her dislike of Sherman and she didn’t care. The man was a complete bore!

  “Where are you headed, dressed so smartly?” Tom asked.

  Franny had forgotten that the fashions she took for granted as everyday wear in Paris were considered ‘fancy’ in Prudence. She glanced down at the brown silk chemise overlaid in brown lace, cinched at her waist with a wide leather belt. “I’m headed over to Carston’s to talk to Peggy Carston.”

  “You’re not searching out the feller we found yesterday, are you?” he asked keenly. Tom was old, but he was no fool.

  “Maybe.” She filled him in on the scene Virginia had witnessed, and the three Russian men who’d taken a room at Carston’s only three days before. She half expected the old man to demand she hurry to tell Sherman.

  He surprised her by holding out his arm. “Let’s go then, before the boarders leave the rooming house for the day. I expect Peggy is serving breakfast about now.”

  She took his elbow in her own and grinned at him, delighted that he seemed as interested in solving the mystery as she.

  “Whatever you do, don’t ask about Russians,” he advised as they crossed the street and headed for the rooming house. “It’s best to have some pretense for being there and observe on the sly.”

  “Tom, you’re a wily one!” She eyed him with surprise.

  “In the war I was gathering information, and it wasn’t easy. Blend in, appear like you belong, and remember everything you see and hear.”

  Franny wanted to ask him more about the war, but they were already nearly to the rooming house. She knocked on the door and heard a scuffle before it was pulled open by a stout red-haired woman with freckles all over her pert nose.

  “Franny Calico, tan my hide!” the woman exclaimed, pulling Franny in for a hug against her ample bosom. “I haven’t see you in an age!”

  “Good morning, Peggy.” Franny smiled at the woman, genuinely glad to see her. The Carstons were a childless couple who always treated the town’s children like their own.

  “And Thomas O’Leary! I’ll be!” Peggy kissed Tom’s cheek. “What brings the two of you here?”

  “Tom is thinking about moving to town,” Franny said quickly, ignoring Tom’s scowl. “He would like to see a room.”

  “Oh, of course!” Peggy beckoned them in. “I’m serving breakfast now. Would you care to join?”

  “Just some coffee, Peggy. Thank you.” Franny shrugged at Tom’s accusing look as they followed the woman down the hallway toward the back of the house, which was taken up by a huge kitchen and dining room. A long table dominated the narrow room, and several men and two women sat around it, eating a hearty breakfast. Franny recognized Jim Carston, Peggy’s husband, but the others were all strangers.

  “Jim, Old Tom might be wantin’ a room!” Peggy called to her husband, who nodded politely to them before returning to his morning paper. “These are our current boarders. Maddy McKenzie and Patsy O’Donnell. They work at the paper mill in the office.” The two women smiled and nodded. Peggy pointed to a tall man with blonde hair. “This is Father Jacobs. He’s passing through on his way to Springfield.” The priest nodded politely. “And these are the Simoninsky brothers; Viktor, Peter and Karl.”

  Franny managed to hide her surprise and smile politely at the three heavyset men. Viktor was an older man with mean eyes and a cruel mouth. Peter and Karl were younger and looked enough alike to be twins. Viktor must have been the man Virginia saw assaulting the dead woman in the movie theater. Old Tom had noticed too, Franny could tell from the way his eyes narrowed slightly on the Simoninskies.

  “You’re finally tired of living out on the farm?” Peggy asked Tom as she handed them cups of steaming black coffee.

  “Just considering my options,” Tom said smoothly. He sipped his coffee and never took his eyes off the Russian men at the other end of the table.

  “It’s a great rooming house,” Maddy said chipperly. “We love it here.”

  “Yes, just lovely,” Patsy agreed.

  “Food is overcooked, and sheets are rough,” Viktor said in heavily-accented English.

  Franny did not miss the way Peggy’s mouth tightened and the slight shake of Jim’s head, keeping her calm even when it was obvious she was angry.

  “I can work on that,” she said tightly.

  “When did y’all arrive in Prudence?” Franny asked casually. “Was it a very long trip?”

  “Maddy and I came in a few weeks ago,” Patsy answered. “We’re from Chicago, and the company transferred us here.”

  “I am traveling through to a convention in Springfield,” Father Jacobs answered. “A few hours either way for me.”

  “We come from St. Petersburg to California. Now here. Very long trip,” Karl answered.

  “Oh, that is a long way,” Franny said, doing her best to appear vapid and unassuming. “Where is your final destination?”

  “We go to Chicago,” Viktor answered, his tone putting a stop to the questions. He dropped his fork and stood, his brothers following suit. “We will return for lunch. We need meat and bread.”

  “Sure thing!” Peggy said, and when the men were gone she sighed. “Thank goodness! I’ve never had more demanding boarders than those three! ‘More soap’, ‘more towels’, ‘softer sheets’.” She shook her head in exasperation.

  “Did they travel here alone?” Franny asked as she finished her coffee.

  “There was another brother, but they said he went on to Chicago ahead of them. They’re waiting on a package, I think.” Maddy looked at Patsy, who nodded in agreement.

  “What was the other brother’s name?”

  Maddy looked at Patsy, who shrugged.

  “His name was Sasha.” Jim glanced at them over his paper. “Smaller and younger than the other three and with far better manners.”

  Sasha Simoninsky was no man, though these folks didn’t know that. Chances were, she also wasn’t a sister to the three men who’d just left the table.

  “Thanks for the hospitality, but we need to go.” Franny stood, and Old Tom followed.

  “Don’t you want to see the room?” Jim’s sharp glance told Franny he knew exactly what they’d been up to.

  “Did Sasha leave a room empty?” Tom asked.

  “Why yes, he had a room of his own. How did you guess that?” Peggy wondered.

  “Just a guess. Can I see his room, then?”

  “Sure, but he left some things behind. The others didn’t seem keen on moving it out.”

  “That’s fine by me.” Tom followed Peggy as she headed toward the stairs. Franny walked next to him and elbowed his ribs. He grinned at her, as thrilled with the investigation as she was.

  Peggy led them to a room at the far end of the hallway, and she opened the door with a heavy key. It was neatly kept, the bed made, and the floors swept, and the only signs it had been occupied was a large brown leather suitcase at the end of the bed.

  Franny was elated when the doorbell rang, and Peggy hurried off to answer it, leaving them alone. Tom hefted the suitcase up on the end of the bed and opened the clasps.

  “Well, this goes to prove that Sasha wasn’t their brother.” Tom held up silk underwear and several dresses. He dug deeper into the suitcase as Franny kept watch on the stairs for Peggy’s return.

  “Anything of interest?” she called a moment later in a hushed whisper.

  “I found some money and an identification. I
t’s in Russian, but that’s our gal.” He tossed her the leather pouch and the picture was certainly the dead woman. “Ah, what’s this?” He held up a black booklet.

  “Diary?” Franny guessed.

  “No words, just columns and rows of numbers and letters.” He showed the pages to Franny. The pattern made no sense to her, but she got the idea it was something important from the precise way each entry was carefully written. “Could be code,” he murmured, studying it. “But could be she was a bookie.”

  “Bookie? As in gambling?”

  “Mayhap.” He shook his head and returned the book to the suitcase. Franny froze when she recognized the voice speaking with Peggy at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Take the book!” she whispered to Tom, grabbing it and pushing it into his shirt pocket. She tossed the clothes back into order and shoved the ID down deep. “It’s Sherman and he’s headed this way!”

  Tom helped her lower the suitcase back to its position and she pulled him to the window just as Sherman and Peggy entered the room.

  “Such a nice view!” she said brightly to Tom as if in mid-conversation. “I think you might like it here, Tom.”

  “I don’t know,” Tom played along. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  They turned when Sherman cleared his throat.

  “Oh, hello Sheriff!” Franny did her best to appear surprised to see him. “Are you thinking of renting a room here, too?”

  “No, I’m not.” Sherman glared at them both. “I have a house, remember?”

  She did recall that he’d purchased his uncle’s house just off Main Street when he’d returned from Chicago.

  “Well, Tom was considering it.”

  “Was he?” Sherman’s sharp glance went over the room and came to rest on the suitcase at the end of the bed.

  “Well, thinking on it,” Tom answered. “Still not sure.”

  “I bet so.” Sherman’s glare got hotter and Peggy looked between them, confused.

  “We’ll be on our way, since I’m sure you’re here on official business then!” Franny started for the door, only to have Sherman block her path.

  “You’re not investigating my case, are you Ms. Calico? Because I seem to recall telling you the consequences of interfering in police business.”

  “Of course not, Sheriff!” She took Tom’s arm and shot him her best smile. “I’m going to breakfast with a man who thinks I’m a knockout and is proud to have me on his arm.”

  She flounced past him, her head high even as her cheeks burned with outrage. The man really was too much! She and Tom hurried down the stairs and out onto the street before she let out a long breath.

  “He didn’t look happy to see you,” Tom said as they walked back toward her shop.

  “He never is.” She pulled the black book from his shirt pocket. “Can you give this a once over tonight and let me know if you find out anything in the morning? I have clients for the rest of the day.”

  Tom took the book and put it back in his pocket before he paused in front of his old pickup. “Be careful, Franny. I didn’t like the looks of those Russians.”

  “Me either. Don’t worry, Papa wouldn’t let me take a shop in town without having a gun behind the counter.”

  “Good. Keep it loaded and don’t be too mad to call the Sheriff if you need him.”

  She laughed as he climbed behind the wheel. “You be careful, too!”

  He nodded, and she watched him drive off before she went to unlock the door to the shop. The phone was ringing when she entered, and she got to it on the fifth ring.

  “Calico Dresses, We Dress for Less,” she said brightly. She froze when she heard sobbing on the other end of the line. “Genny? What’s the matter?”

  “Oh Franny! It’s Papa!” Geneva’s sobbing grew louder and more insistent.

  Franny’s heart dropped like a weight, and she clutched the counter. “What is it, Gen? What’s happened to Papa?”

  “He’s been attacked, Franny! They found him on the floor, bleeding. They’ve taken him to the county hospital.”

  “I’ll be over to get you in a minute.” Franny picked up her purse and scrambled for her keys. “Is he still alive?”

  “Yes, he’s alive, but they beat him something awful, Franny.”

  “Who was it? Do they know?” Franny’s mind went instantly to the three Russian men she’d met that morning.

  “No, but they tore apart the mortuary and trashed it all!”

  “Is anything missing?”

  “That’s the most awful part; they took that dead body! The one you found in the road. It’s gone!”

  Chapter Four: Pasta and Pistols

  Franny sat next to her father’s bed and held his wrinkled hand while Geneva wept over his shoulder on the other side. She wanted to snap at her dramatic sister, but, in truth, she felt equally devastated.

  There were few things in her life she would remember as clearly as the moment she hurried through the doors of the county hospital, sweeping past the heavyset nurse to push back the curtain in the emergency department. Her father was swaddled in bandages, pale and small under the blankets. Her father, who was the dominant member in her life, was fighting for his own. Her legs felt weak, her heart beating hard against her ribs. Geneva clung to her arm, silent and as shocked as she.

  Doctor Baker had joined them a few moments later, spouting words like ‘concussion’, ‘coma’ and ‘brain swelling’. None of it managed to penetrate the fog of anger that swirled in Franny’s mind. How dare anyone touch her sweet, silly Papa. It had taken every ounce of her self-control to keep her at Papa’s bedside instead of running over to the rooming house to confront the big Russians.

  “Franny?”

  Franny broke herself out of her reverie and raised her eyes to meet Geneva’s teary stare. “What?”

  “You have that look. It’s scaring me.”

  Franny breathed deep, trying to erase the fury that was surely showing on her face. She bent to press her lips to her Papa’s hand. “I’m sorry. But I am angry.”

  “So am I, but the Sheriff will handle it. We need to be here for Papa.”

  When had her vapid, silly sister grown up? Franny nodded, taking Genny’s advice. They were the only family she had left, and her place was here with them.

  “Ladies.”

  Franny turned when she heard Sherman’s voice at the door. He looked exhausted, with deep circles under his eyes and a half day’s growth of beard covering his cheeks. He leaned against the door jamb and stared at her father. “How’s he doing?”

  “Doc Baker doesn’t know if he’s going to wake up.” Franny realized her voice was harsh, and Genny blanched at her sharp tone.

  “He will,” Genny disagreed vehemently. She wiped a few more tears off her cheeks. “He has to.”

  “I’ve never known a man stronger than your father,” Sherman assured them both. “He’ll pull through just fine.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this?” Franny stared at the bruises that had begun to show around the edges of the bandages on his face. “Because I want to have a moment alone with them when you do.”

  “May I speak to you outside.” Sherman sounded tired, and his shoulders were slumped.

  Franny placed her Papa’s hand under the blanket and stood. “Stay with Papa,” she said to Geneva. “Watch him.”

  “I’ll have a deputy outside the door to keep an eye on them.”

  Franny followed Sherman into the hallway and saw that Deputy Bill ‘Greevy’ Nielson was standing outside the door. She had known him since she was a young girl, and he was one of the few members of the police force that she would absolutely trust to keep her father and sister safe. They nodded to one another as Sherman took her arm and pulled her a bit farther down the hallway, away from prying ears.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her in a soft voice. His brown eyes were filled with heavy worry.

  “I’m not the one lying in that bed, nearly beaten to death.” She
paced, the anger resurfacing. She clenched her hands into fists as she muttered curses that her parents would never have approved of. Her shoes rapped a staccato beat on the tiled floor as she tried to calm the tide of fury inside her. “They beat an old man. For what?” She whirled to Sherman, shaking with tears on her eyelashes. “Why would they hurt him like that?”

  Sherman’s arms were warm as they wrapped around her and she let herself be pulled against his warm, wide chest. He didn’t speak as she sobbed, expelling all the anger and horror that she’d been too afraid to share with her soft-hearted sister. When she had no tears left, she sniffed and pulled away to take her handkerchief from her bag and wipe her eyes.

  Did she trust herself to speak? One moment the man was infuriating her and the next he was holding her as gently as any lover ever had. He kept her on edge and it was just as scintillating as it was annoying. “Thank you,” she managed.

  “My pleasure.” The words hinted at more than a simple response, but she couldn’t let that deter her from the real point.

  “Who hurt my father?”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure.”

  “You think it was the Russians, the same as I do.” She pushed the handkerchief into her bag and snapped it shut. She turned to him and stared directly into his eyes. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

  “Franny...” He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes, as if trying to gather his patience. “Believing that something is true, and proving it’s true, are two different things. You know I can’t arrest someone without evidence.”

  “The mortuary was destroyed, the body of another Russian was stolen, and you’re telling me that you don’t have any evidence?”