The Turtle Mound Murder

by Mary Clay

  Always happens. I thought Penny Sue was going to explode. I took her arm and steered her toward the bar Pete had set up in the kitchen. “Let’s have a drink.”

  She ordered a double martini. Much to my surprise, Pete knew what he was doing. “I can’t serve that food; Lyndon will think we’re a bunch of hicks,” she complained between long sips of her cocktail.

  I looked back at the table; it was pitiful. I, like Penny Sue, had expected the caterer to provide china and silverware. Ceramic plates and metal forks, at least. “Are there enough dishes here?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do. It’ll be fine; this is the beach. No one will think anything of it. Besides, it’s only cocktails, not dinner.”

  Penny Sue sighed ruefully. “I hope you’re right.” Then to Pete, “Pour the drinks heavy.”

  The doorbell rang. It was Jonathan, the biker banker, and his wife Marie who wore leather shorts and a skimpy bandeau top. Penny Sue shot me a look that said, “See,” as she escorted them to the bar.

  Lyndon and Al were the next to arrive followed by several sets of neighbors, though the older couple from the balcony behind us was conspicuously missing. Penny Sue took their absence as a sure sign that they were the culprits who’d stirred up trouble with Woody. I tried to soothe her with a string of lame excuses, yet deep down, I knew she was right.

  By four o’clock the party was in full swing. Pete poured a steady stream of drinks while Shirley spent most of her time wiping chocolate shards from the floor. For once Penny Sue was not the center of attention; her backless sundress was no match for Marie’s leather shorts or Charlotte’s youth, long legs, and ample bosom.

  A gray-haired neighbor with a handlebar mustache homed in on Marie and followed her like a puppy. Clad in shorts and a low-cut shirt, Charlotte got stares from everyone, especially Al and Lyndon. Early on I saw our neighbor corner her in the hall. Minutes later, Lyndon did precisely the same thing. Thankfully, Penny Sue did not see that tête-à-tête, though Pete did. And, Pete definitely had a mean streak. At the first lull in his duties, I saw him herd Charlotte down the hall and push her against the wall. His fist was clenched, and I feared he might strike her.

  I headed for the corridor, I had to do something. “Charlotte, could you help me put out some nuts?” I stopped, realizing the statement hadn’t come out quite right. No matter. Pete dropped her arm and backed away, heading toward the master bathroom.

  “Okay,” Charlotte answered, watching his back and rubbing her forearm.

  She followed me into the kitchen where I made a pretense of searching for cashews. “I guess we forgot to buy them,” I finally said. “Oh well, why don’t you see if the guests on the deck need anything.” She nodded and brushed past Pete—who’d just returned—without a word. I handed him my glass and smiled as sweetly as I could. (Sorry, Grammy, my initial opinion of Pete was correct. He was not to be trusted.) “Vodka tonic, please.”

  “Make that two,” a deep voice said.

  It was Al. This was my chance to find out what he knew about the man in the red pickup. I smiled invitingly, trying to mimic Penny Sue. “So, you come to New Smyrna Beach often?” I asked, taking my drink and backing into the hall, where we could talk undisturbed.

  “Every chance I get. I like it here—quiet, not much traffic.”

  I nodded. “This is the first time I’ve been back since college. I’m amazed how much New Smyrna’s grown.”

  “New Smyrna’s grown all right, but it isn’t in the league of Jersey. It’s beautiful there in the summer, but the traffic is a killer.”

  “Same for Atlanta. It takes thirty minutes to go five miles, and I live in the suburbs.” I took a sip of my drink for courage. “Say, we’re in the market for a handyman to fix a few things around the condo. Can you recommend someone who’s good?”

  “Can’t help you there,” he replied crisply.

  “Oh, we saw a red pickup truck at your place when we arrived. I assumed it was your handyman.”

  Al shrugged. “Don’t know anything about that. I’m just renting the place.”

  Just renting. I’d assumed Al owned the condo when he said he came to New Smyrna often. “Rats, we hate to pick someone at random from the yellow pages, you never know what you’ll get.” I watched closely for his reaction.

  He canted his head sympathetically. “Right. Sorry I can’t help you. Some of these other guys,” he waved at the room full of people, “probably know someone.”

  “Good idea, I’ll ask around.” Darn, a dead end; but, at least, it eliminated Al from the suspect list.

  We’d chatted for a while about restaurants, fishing, and local attractions, when Al leaned close with a mischievous grin. “Want to step outside for a little smoke?” he asked confidentially, patting his pocket. “I’ve got a joint here that’s primo stuff.” He winked broadly.

  “No,” I said a little too loudly.

  Al took a step back, looking puzzled. “This morning … I just thought—”

  The smudge stick! Al thought we were smoking marijuana. “Oh, that! It’s not what you think. Ruthie’s into American Indian rituals. We were burning sage and sweetgrass for good luck.”

  “Sure. Sorry.” Al downed his vodka tonic, clearly not believing a word I’d said. “How ‘bout some food.” He motioned toward the buffet with his glass. I followed him to the table where he quickly disappeared into a group around the shrimp bowl. That was the last I saw of the man for the rest of the party.

  The remainder of the afternoon was uneventful. The Furbies were a big hit as was Penny Sue’s embellished tale about the old lady who jumped in front of her at Dollar General. Virtually all of the women commented on our Daffodil brooches, several of whom—including Shirley—were divorced and wanted to join the club. Though the food wasn’t very good, most of it was eaten. And, thanks to our caterer, my fears that people would linger too long proved unfounded. Promptly at seven, Shirley started packing up the aluminum platters, providing an unmistakable hint that it was time to go; which the guests did to a profusion of Wonderful-party, So-nice-to-meet-you’s. All except Lyndon who tarried until everyone had gone. He planted a big kiss on Penny Sue when he left.

  “That’s one sexy man,” she said with a smile so wide I could see her gums. “I’m definitely wearing that halter top tonight.”

  * * *

  Penny Sue wore the halter top and so did about two dozen other women in their forties. Marie came in her shorts, though she’d switched the bandeau top she wore to the party for a silk blouse. Short, tall, thin, and ... ample (like Penny Sue), Harley Davidson leather covered a wide array of boobs and butts that evening. Aside from the motorcycle garb, very few people were dressed in costume, though I did see a number of umbrellas and slickers, a sure sign of diehard Rocky fans.

  Lyndon had never been to a Rocky Horror Show, which was the reason he’d insisted on attending. Knowing only that it was a rowdy masquerade, he’d tried to comply with the custom. Sadly, Lyndon’s getup made him look more like an expensively dressed Captain Hook than an alien transvestite. No matter; Lyndon had a high old time. He laughed and clapped and even squirted a few people with our water pistol.

  We pulled in the driveway of the condo at three o’clock. The wind was howling and it was so dark you could barely see your hand in front of your face.

  “The porch light is out again,” Ruthie observed.

  “Wind must have jostled it loose,” Penny Sue said.

  Lyndon backed up his rented Continental and aimed the headlights on the front door. “Better?” he asked.

  “Much,” Penny Sue said, handing the condo key to me in the backseat. “Why don’t y’all go ahead? I’d like to speak with Lyndon for a minute.”

  Ruthie and I got the hint, said our good nights and hurried inside. I poured a diet soda and stretched out on the sofa. “Making out in a parking lot,” I commented. “It seems so high school.”

  “Dating at any age gets silly. Ho
rmones short-out the brain.” Ruthie chuckled as she switched on the light beside the fireplace. “Darn,” she said, holding up the pole that went in the track of the sliding glass door. “We forgot to lock up, again!”

  I shook my head. “Penny Sue must have gone out for a cigarette. She’s been smoking like a chimney.”

  “Maybe she’ll cut back now that the party’s over and Woody’s off her back.” Ruthie turned on the television. Hurricane Lizzie was moving north, parallel to the Florida coast, thanks to a cold front sliding in from the west. If the current track held, the storm could make landfall in North or South Carolina. “The last few days have worn me out. I vote we stay a day or two longer, then head home.”

  Home. I didn’t have a home to go to, or at least, not for long. I told her about the offer on the house. “I should get back, too. And, I suppose I should call Zack about the house. I’m sure he’s overjoyed.”

  “Have you thought about what you want to do?”

  I sniffed back tears. “No. I guess I can’t put it off any longer.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like. Our place is huge, much too big for Daddy, me, and Mr. Wong. The guest suite in the south wing has its own entrance. You’d have privacy.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see how things go.” I checked the clock in the dining room; it was almost four. “Want to see the turtles? Gerty said they’d dig them up at six.”

  “Sure. How about we catch a catnap, first.”

  I set the oven timer to wake us up and went back to the sofa. Ruthie curled up on the love seat. Neither of us heard Penny Sue come in. Her bedroom door was shut when the buzzer sounded.

  “Do you think we should see if Penny Sue wants to go?”

  Ruthie rolled her eyes. “I’m not knocking on that door. No telling who’s in there.”

  “Good point.” I followed Ruthie out on the deck and turned to close the sliding glass door. Coated with salt spray, the thing wouldn’t budge. I planted my feet and pulled hard; it screeched across the track. Then, I heard a yelp and a guttural retching noise. I whirled toward the noise and gasped with revulsion.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Stinky—clearly dead—was sprawled across the deck next to the sidewalk, and Ruthie had managed to barf all over him. Bent double, Ruthie backed into me, still retching. I yanked the door so hard, it opened like it had Teflon tracks. Then, I dragged Ruthie, puking and crying, to the kitchen sink. “Penny Sue,” I screamed. I could care less if she had company. “Penny Sue!” I really bellowed.

  “What?” Penny Sue answered, opening her bedroom door. She pulled on her robe as she ran down the hall. Her hair was standing straight up, and she hadn’t bothered to take off her makeup, judging from her raccoon eyes. “Wha—” The puke smell hit her when she reached the living room. “God, what’s wrong with Ruthie?” she asked through the hand covering her nose.

  “There’s a dead man on the deck, Penny Sue. It’s Stinky.”

  Penny Sue raced to the back window and peered through the vertical blinds. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

  “He’s stiff,” Ruthie said between sobs.

  “Lord.” Penny Sue held her face with both hands. “I’ve got to think; stay calm.” She paced back and forth. “What’s the number for nine-eleven?”

  Still holding Ruthie over the sink, I gaped at Penny Sue, not believing my ears.

  “What’s the number?” She yelled, holding the phone in one hand as she ran the other through her hair, which only stood up even more. In another situation it would have been funny—she looked remarkably similar to the wild-haired fight promoter, Don King—but, with the vomit stench and Ruthie still heaving, I was in no mood for games or stupidity. “For godssakes, Penny Sue, the number is nine-one-one. That’s it, nine-one-one!”

  “Of course.” Penny Sue placed the call with shaking hands and got a wet towel for Ruthie’s face. It took both of us to get her to the bedroom. We put the wastebasket from the bathroom next to the bed.

  “Yell if you need anything,” I said, closing the door. Sirens were already approaching on A1A. The first contingency arrived a few minutes later. Penny Sue scampered to her room to dress, as I answered the door. It was one of the young officers who’d responded to Rick’s murder. I motioned toward the back of the condo.

  Dawn was breaking as the patrolman stepped out on the deck into a puddle of puke. He scowled at me as if I were responsible. I shrugged and pointed toward the body. The crew-cutted officer knelt carefully and checked Stinky’s neck for a pulse. He shook his head and stood.

  I went inside and prepared to clean the floor. It was a coping mechanism I’d picked up from my mother. When my grandmother died, Mom cleaned out the attic and basement. When my younger brother was hospitalized with an unknown lung infection, she’d cleaned the whole house. If she and Dad had a fight, she might straighten a closet or a drawer—the amount of effort directly proportional to the seriousness of the situation. My first therapist said it was healthy, the equivalent of counting to ten. Perhaps. If nothing else, it got the house clean. The house. The sold house. It had been squeaky clean for over a year, I thought bleakly.

  I headed for the utility room. The mop and bucket were next to the dryer. Without thinking, I snatched the mop with one hand and the bucket with the other. I almost fell down. I’d completely forgotten the heavy pesticides I’d stowed in the bucket when we first arrived. I hefted the bag of bug killer out of the bucket, careful to lower it to the floor gently, so the flimsy bag wouldn’t break. Then I loaded the bucket with ammonia and went back to the living room where I mopped vomit to the piercing whine of sirens. Judging from the red and blue flashing lights that danced on the walls, most of New Smyrna Beach’s police and rescue units had responded to the call. Thanks to Ruthie’s weak stomach, the crews went around the building to get to the deck, instead of traipsing through the condo as they’d done with Rick. Amazing how a dirty diaper or a little up-chuck could scatter a throng of the most manly men. I used to hate that about Zack: how he’d invariably disappear when anything odoriferous came up. This time, the male shortcoming suited me fine.

  I finished the floor and sat down in the living room with Penny Sue, who’d combed her hair and donned slacks and a silk blouse.

  “Thanks for cleaning up,” she led off. “You’re so responsible and such a good friend, I don’t know what I’d do without you. What happened? You were going to see the turtles when you found him?”

  I nodded. “It was still dark. Ruthie tripped over the body.”

  “And barfed. Boy, he’s really stinky now.” Penny Sue picked up the remote and turned on the television. It was tuned to the Weather Channel. Lizzie was a couple hundred miles due east of Miami and moving north.

  “I think it was a premonition,” Ruthie said from the hallway. The color had returned to her face.

  “You feeling all right?” Penny Sue slid over to make room for her on the sofa.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry about the mess. His name, Stinky; I think our calling him that was a premonition.”

  “Premonition of what? That you’d vomit on him?” I asked.

  Ruthie looked down at her lap. “That and his untimely end. If I recall correctly, I was the one who pinned that label on him.”

  Penny Sue and I hesitated, both searching back through our memory banks. Ruthie was right.

  “I wonder what he was doing here,” Penny Sue said, breaking the silence.

  I raised my hand. “I believe I know that answer. I saw him at Food Lion the day before yesterday. He must have followed me home.”

  “You saw him?” Penny Sue asked incredulously. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “I’d gone to buy air freshener after we’d smudged the condo. He was circling your car when I came out of the store. The car alarm scared him off. I thought he was long gone by the time I finally left.”

  “You think he followed you here, then came back last night to rob us?” Ruthie asked.


  “Makes sense. That is a big, distinctive Mercedes. Stands to reason a person with an expensive car has expensive jewelry to match. Shoot, I think we were all decked out in our finest when we first met him at JB’s.”

  Penny Sue canted her head ruefully.

  “And, wait.” I pointed at Ruthie. “You tripped over the pole. Remember? The sliding glass door was not locked last night … or the night before!”

  We both looked at Penny Sue. “Not me,” she said, waving off our unspoken accusation with both hands. “I made certain that stupid stick was in place before we left. It was in the door track, I swear.”

  “Then, someone was in the condo.” I stood. “We’d better see if anything is missing.”

  We reconvened in the living room a few minutes later. Ruthie led off. “Someone’s definitely been through my drawers. I don’t see that anything’s missing, but my clothes are rumpled, you know, like someone was rifling through them.”

  “Mine are, too,” Penny Sue said excitedly.

  I regarded her skeptically. Ruthie was a neat freak, but Penny Sue? How in the world could she tell if her clothes had been disturbed?

  She curled her lip at me. “I know what you’re thinking. Although my stuff might look messy to an outsider, there’s order in that chaos and someone has been through my things. Nothing seems to be missing. I had all my jewelry with me, except for the emerald necklace, which I accidentally left in the bathroom soap dish. It’s still there.”

  “If Stinky came here to rob us, why didn’t he take the necklace? It’s worth a fortune.”

  “Maybe he didn’t see it,” Penny Sue replied.

  “Or, maybe, robbery wasn’t his motive.” I didn’t have to say rape, the look on Penny Sue’s face told me she understood.

  Ruthie shook her head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Stinky wasn’t the one who went through my things,” Ruthie stated emphatically. “His energy is definitely not on them.”

  “Who’s energy is?” Penny Sue asked.