The Turtle Mound Murder

by Mary Clay

  She stared at the flame until a twinkle appeared in her eye. She snapped upright. “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine,” Penny Sue warbled, snapping her fingers. “This little light of mine ...” she quick-stepped out of the kitchen.

  I fell in behind her and picked up the song. “I’m going to let it shine.”

  Ruthie paused long enough to beseech the spirits for indulgence, then let out a loud trill, “Let it shine, let it shine, let it shin-ne.” All that done with a terrific rendition of a barefooted time-step.

  We danced and sang our way through the condo, lighting candles and shedding light in every crack, corner and closet—even under the bed. We ended up in the living room, breathless and giddy, our candles mere nubs getting dangerously close to skin. We reformed our circle and stood quietly. Ruthie thanked the spirits and gave a final invocation for world peace. On cue, we all blew out our flaming stubs ...

  ... and Penny Sue started singing Kum Ba Ya.

  She’d just hit the verse about someone’s praying Lord, when there was a knock at the front door. Our mouths dropped open, each of us wondering what to do. The place smelled like a drug den, the dozen or so scented candles having little impact on the smudge stench.

  “Open the windows,” I whispered. Penny Sue turned on the exhaust fan in the kitchen as Ruthie and I drew the blinds and threw open the windows. In the daylight we could see a thick haze of smoke.

  Penny Sue surveyed the scene and realized the situation was hopeless. The choice was to answer the door and explain the peculiar odor or ignore it and hope the intruder would go away. “What kind of a person would drop in, unannounced at,” Penny Sue consulted the clock over the credenza in the dining area, “ten in the morning? It’s positively uncivilized.”

  Ruthie nodded. “I hate it when people come over without calling first. They invariably arrive when I’m in the middle of a terrific meditation. So rude.”

  “There’s no excuse for it in this day and age; everyone has a cell phone.” I jumped on the rationalization bandwagon.

  “You’re right,” Penny Sue said emphatically, as if she needed encouragement. “I’m not going to answer it.” She set her lips resolutely.

  We were all feeling justified and smug when the stranger banged on the door again. The whole wall shook.

  Penny Sue’s resolve turned to ire. “Who is that? Can’t they take a hint?” She stomped down the hall and unlatched the front door, creating the perfect draw for the open windows. A thick cloud of smudge smoke blew through the screen into Woody’s face. He coughed and covered his nose.

  “Good morning, Penny Sue.” He eyed her robe. “Did I interrupt something?”

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  Woody didn’t know anything about American Indian purification ceremonies we found out. Though Ruthie showed him the charred remains of the smudge stick, he remained skeptical. In fairness, all the hacking and sneezing made it hard for him to do much of anything; Woody was clearly allergic to the smoke. An interaction between the sage and his mean streak, Penny Sue whispered to me. Whatever the reason, we benefited, since his visit was short and to the point.

  He handed Penny Sue a plastic bag with three bullets and her tagged .38. “Tests were inconclusive,” he choked out. “You can have this back-k for now.”

  “Inconclusive?” she repeated. “Come on, Woody, you know I didn’t kill anyone. Admit it.”

  He covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. “Inconclusive. In light of your clean record—”

  “Clean record? I have no record,” Penny Sue snapped.

  “There’s the matter of disturbing the peace … but, semantics aside, make sure your record stays clean,” Woody inclined his head, indicating the hall and the dopey smell.

  “Get serious.” Penny Sue reared back preparing for a sally.

  I interrupted. “I assume we can leave town now.”

  “Let me know first,” he mumbled through the handkerchief.

  Ruthie piped in. “What if there’s a hurricane? There’s a storm in the Caribbean.”

  “Let me know before you leave. Good day, ladies.” Coughing, Woody left the condo and headed to his car.

  Al, from next door, appeared a second later, waving the party invitation. “Thanks—” he started, then paused to take a deep breath, a knowing grin stretched his lips. “—for the invite.” His eyes caught the bagged gun in Penny Sue’s hand. He continued without missing a beat. “I’m looking forward to the party. Can I bring a bottle of wine or something?”

  “Just yourself,” Penny Sue answered cheerily, starting to shut the door. “It’s a casual get together, mostly neighbors.”

  Al backed away, taking the hint. “I look forward to it,” he said, eyes riveted on the gun.

  “So do we, it should be fun.” Penny Sue shut the door and threw the deadbolt. “We’ve got to get rid of this smell.”

  Ruthie turned on the exhaust fans in the bathrooms. Penny Sue found an old fan in the owner’s closet which she positioned in the middle of the back door, blowing outward. She even donated her Sensual Nights candles to the cause, but the place still stunk to high heavens.

  It was after eleven by then, and Charlotte was due at one o’clock to clean. So I threw on some clothes, smeared on lipstick, and headed to Food Lion for air freshener. It was on special, two for one, so I bought six cans of the heavy duty stuff for bathrooms—the kind that supposedly kills odors in addition to scenting the air. I also purchased two cans of Lysol spray as a last resort. If all else failed, we’d mask the odor with a stronger one.

  I left the store confident I had the problem licked and was about to step into the parking lot, when I noticed a scruffy guy standing beside Penny Sue’s daffodil-colored Mercedes. It was Stinky. I rushed back into the store and watched from the cart area.

  Stinky circled the car once, then approached the driver’s side. The car’s proximity alarm went off. He jumped back out of range and shrugged innocently at a couple walking by. He scanned the parking lot, looked back at the Mercedes, then strode to a motorcycle parked a few spaces away and roared off. I lolled in the store until I was sure he was gone.

  I debated calling Deputy Moore, but had only brought my wallet, so didn’t have his phone number. What good would that do, anyway? Stinky was long gone. And, even if he’d intended to burglarize the car, he hadn’t touched it, so no laws had been broken. Best to let the incident slide, I figured, not wanting to push my luck with the one person in authority who seemed sympathetic to our plight. Besides, I sure didn’t want Deputy Moore coming to our marijuana-reeking digs.

  Penny Sue was waiting impatiently when I got home. “I thought the hogs had gotten you,” she said, taking the bag from me and putting it on the kitchen counter. She reached in with both hands and came out with cans of Lysol and air freshener. “What’s this?”

  I explained my deodorization plan.

  “Always thinking,” Penny Sue said, giving me a can of air freshener.

  “That’s why she was president of the sorority,” Ruthie said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s why she’s always covered in spots.” Penny Sue sniggered, pointing to a splotch on my shirt.

  I angled my freshener in Penny Sue’s direction. “Watch it, or I may be forced to use this on your mouth.”

  “Kidding, kidding.” Penny Sue twirled away, spraying the air as she went. Ruthie and I followed suit, sans twirling. We expended all six cans and reconvened in the living room.

  “What do you think?” Ruthie asked, sniffing.

  Penny Sue replied, “Smells like a sweaty French prostitute.”

  I saw my opening and jumped in with both feet. “Gee, Penny Sue, I didn’t know you spoke French.”

  Penny Sue puffed up like a blowfish, her mind searching for a witty response. Finding none, she finally grinned. “Touché.”

  We showered and dressed in record time; at least Ruthie and I did, and we were sharing a bathroom. Penny Sue was another stor
y. Alone in the spacious master suite, her clothes neatly stored, Penny Sue could not manage to get ready in the hour before Charlotte arrived. At one point we heard some knocking around and low cursing. Ruthie and I exchanged knowing glances; the place would be a wreck when she emerged.

  Charlotte arrived right on time, and I answered the door. To my dismay, her scruffy husband was with her.

  Judge not according to appearance. I could hear Grandma Martin say as I held the screen door open for Charlotte and Pete to enter. A staunch Southern Baptist with a photographic mind, Grammy could, and did, provide Biblical guidance in virtually every situation.

  The appearance quote came up often since Grammy’s closest neighbor, Mr. Dinks, was the homeliest man we kids had ever seen. His hair, cut short, grew at bizarre angles—one big cowlick. His small eyes were set close together, and his chin didn’t exist. His lips were puffy and twisted like Pete’s, but worse, and they didn’t move when he talked. Mr. Dinks tried to be nice, giving us candy and strawberries and wanting us to ride on his shoulders, but I never trusted him. No matter how hard I tried to be a good Christian, to walk in the ways of Jesus like Grammy said, the guy still gave me the creeps. And, I had the same creepy feeling about Pete. There was something about him that wasn’t right, something I simply didn’t trust.

  “Why don’t you start in the kitchen? Penny Sue hasn’t finished dressing.” I refrained from saying Her Highness, my first inclination, since Grandma Martin was fresh on my mind.

  A jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion. From Proverbs, the quote was another one of Grammy’s favorites which was applicable to a wide range of situations like fibbing, staying out past curfew, smacking my younger brother for beaning me with a baseball, or making snide remarks about people. Though, snide remarks were a two-quote infraction which typically earned a Judge not, that ye be not judged, too. Fortunately, Penny Sue fluttered by in her cotton gauze, squelching the Biblical groundswell building in my head.

  “Hi, Charlotte,” Penny Sue said, plopping her purse on a bar stool. She turned to Pete who was languidly dusting the dining room table. “And my bartender. I’m going to the liquor store now. What should I get?” She took a notepad and went to confer with Charlotte’s seedy partner.

  I nearly fainted. I couldn’t believe Penny Sue had hired Pete to tend bar. If his liquor knowledge extended beyond beer and whiskey, I’d be surprised. (Sorry, Grammy.) On the plus side, his pugnacious puss would surely keep alcohol consumption in check. I for one would think twice before asking him for a refill. Perhaps that was Penny Sue’s plan. Or, maybe she wanted him there to make herself look good. The contrast was striking.

  “Ready girls?” Penny Sue chirped. “We’ve got a full afternoon of shopping ahead.”

  I picked up a bag of garbage from the kitchen and followed her to the car. “We need to stop by the Dumpster,” I said, swinging the trash bag into the trunk. The Dumpster was tucked in the midst of a small clearing in the palmetto scrub next to the highway. As condo complexes go, it was one of the best treatments I’d ever seen for the smelly receptacles, because the green Dumpster blended perfectly with the green underbrush, making it all but invisible.

  Penny Sue backed the car in so the trunk was next to the bin’s lid. As neither Penny Sue nor Ruthie showed any inclination to move, I finally got out and heaved the bag into the container. I was closing the trunk, when a flash of red caught my eye on the highway. A red pickup truck had stopped on the shoulder of the road; a moment later, a Volusia County Sheriff’s car pulled in behind. My heart skipped a beat.

  Penny Sue’s window went down. “What are you doing back there?” she called.

  “Shh-h.” I slinked around the car to her window. “A sheriff’s car just pulled a red truck over,” I whispered, pointing to a small opening in the brush.

  Penny Sue switched off the engine. “Is it the red pickup?” she asked anxiously.

  “Is it Deputy Moore?” Ruthie piped in.

  I stood up slowly to get a better view. I could see two men standing at the back of the truck, but couldn’t make out their faces through the brush. “I don’t know. I need to get closer.”

  Crouching low, I skulked to the edge of the clearing and knelt behind a bushy palmetto. Though I couldn’t distinguish words, I heard the muffled sounds of men talking, and one had the familiar, deep timbre of Deputy Moore’s voice. Maybe we were wrong about Deputy Moore, and he was working our case, after all. I had to see. I shifted from side to side until I found an opening in the brush with a view of the highway. Both men were leaning against the truck with their backs toward me. Their slow, sweeping hand gestures told me it was a casual conversation, the type one might have with an old friend.

  My shoulders slumped with disappointment. I’d really hoped it was Deputy Moore who’d come to our rescue, like a white knight, by tracking down Rick’s killer and our stalker. I sighed dejectedly and glanced down at the very moment a lizard started to scamper up my leg. I yelped and batted the little reptile away, rustling the bushes. The men turned in my direction. I hunkered down, afraid to breathe. They stared for a second, then, seeing nothing, resumed their conversation. Yet, that moment was enough. I saw them both clearly, full face, and it was Deputy Moore and Mr. Red Pickup!

  I stayed motionless in the brush until the men shook hands and drove away, then raced to the car and fell into the backseat, panting.

  “What? What?” Penny Sue demanded, seeing the horrified look on my face.

  I told them what I’d seen, how the men acted like old friends.

  “That’s why Moore tried to play down the truck angle,” Penny Sue stated. “He was covering for his buddy.”

  “Do you truly believe Pickup Man killed Rick?” Ruthie asked with an edge of panic.

  “He’s the best candidate,” Penny Sue replied matter-of-factly. “The question is whether Moore is in cahoots with him.”

  “Cahoots on what? The murder? Turtles?” I asked. Ted Moore had seemed like such a nice guy. He’d screwed in the light bulb on the porch for us, shown concern for our safety, and generally been a first-class gentleman. Surely, my judgment of character wasn’t that bad. I thought of Zack. Maybe I was off base, again. “I guess there’s no one we can turn to, no one we can trust,” I muttered gloomily.

  Penny Sue regarded me in the rearview mirror. “Sure there is—we have each other,” she said blithely. “After all, we’re the Daffodils.” She smiled impishly. “Come on, we’re jumping to conclusions about Deputy Moore. That,” she waved at the highway, “doesn’t mean a thing. We have a party to think about. Don’t let this ruin the day.”

  I gave her a thin smile. “You’re right. It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone—it’s to be expected. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah,” Ruthie agreed weakly.

  Penny Sue started the car and slapped it into gear. “Perk up, now. This incident means nothing; forget it ever happened. We have a million things to do before the party.”

  Our first stop was the liquor store. Scotch, vodka, gin, bourbon, wine in every color, champagne, and imported beer; we had so much stuff I was surprised we didn’t need a special permit to transport it. From there we went to Dollar General where we found the Furbies.

  Ruthie rubbed the stomach of the display model. The furry critter laughed and said, “Big fun.” Delighted, she stroked its head. It made a smooching sound and declared, “I love you.”

  “Watch this,” Ruthie continued. She stuck her finger in the Furby’s mouth.

  It went, “Yum-m,” then said, “Hungry.”

  “Isn’t it cute?” Ruthie asked as she reached for a leopard-spotted model with blond hair. I picked up another box and started reading.

  “Absolutely the most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” Penny Sue gushed. She put her finger in the display’s mouth as Ruthie had done.

  “Yum, very hungry. Again, please,” it said.

  “The poor little thing’s st
arving to death,” Penny Sue said. She stood there with her finger in its mouth, the critter going, “Yum, again. Yum, again. Please.” Nearby shoppers drew close. “If only it were this easy with men,” Penny Sue quipped loudly.

  A gasp went up among the throng, and a petite black lady in her eighties went into hysterics. “You got that right, honey. Don’t take much to get the ‘again, again.’ It’s the ‘yum, yum, please’ that’s always missing. I need one of them.” The little woman lunged in front of Penny Sue and snatched a silver Furby.

  Penny Sue quickly grabbed the only remaining toy and hugged it to her chest. “Ruthless,” she whispered, watching the old lady toddle away. “Lord, this is as bad as the after-Christmas sale at Saks.”

  “Penny Sue,” I said, as I put my Furby back on the shelf. “It doesn’t really pick up words from the surroundings. It won’t work.”

  She pouted. “I don’t care. I’m getting one anyway, he’s darling.”

  “Me, too,” Ruthie exclaimed cradling her Furby. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we start another riot.”

  We picked up batteries and headed through the Express Check-Out lane with two Furbies.

  The next item on our To-Do List was a leather bra or halter top for Penny Sue. We sat in the car, air conditioner running, Ruthie engrossed in powering up her Furby.

  “Where do you suppose we’d find one of those halter tops?” Penny Sue asked.

  If I knew, I didn’t want to tell her, even though our need to appear normal had diminished with Woody’s return of the gun. Despite his protests to the contrary, Penny Sue was obviously not a suspect in Rick’s murder. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious and show a little decorum in front of the neighbors. After all, we weren’t completely in the clear as evidenced by the fact that Woody wouldn’t let us leave town without his permission.

  “I’ll bet you’d have to go all the way to Daytona Beach to find one,” I replied with all the credence I could muster, hoping against hope that Penny Sue would drop the matter until after the party. No such luck.