by Wendy Byrne
Despite my earlier thoughts and figuring there'd be a lot of morbid people scouting out the scene of the crime, the area behind the building was deserted. There weren't any trucks unloading, and the aluminum dock doors were shuttered.
My artist's eye for detail had me recalling every nuance to Gus's appearance—from the way his left shoulder stooped to the downturn of his eyes even when he smiled. Sensory memories popped into my mind as being back here brought forth every detail from the exhaust of the truck still lingering in the air to the smell of the cotton quilts as I'd unpacked them. It seemed odd that I had no such recall about the odor of the body itself.
Was it self-protection that had caused the smell to go unnoticed by my hypersensitivity? Or had the murderer disguised the aroma somehow?
I walked past the loading docks while a sense of déjà vu urged my mind to remember. I'd missed something. Was it the smell? Or was it something to do with the person and/or persons I vaguely remembered walking away when I pulled into the parking spot? Or did it have something to do with the elusive Gus? Speaking of, where was he?
Maybe he was running late, or maybe he wouldn't show, or maybe something had happened to him in the interim, or maybe I was losing my mind. Any one or a combination of those possibilities were inevitable. Only one way to find out. I keyed in his number, but voicemail picked up. "Gus, it's Izzy. I'm waiting for you. Are you still coming?" I couldn't contemplate why he didn't answer, only ponder the consequences.
I was alone.
The skies opened as rain pinged along my shoulders. I tiptoed through the dust and dirt that was quickly turning to sludge.
Just as I was about to give up, a grinding sound prickled my senses seconds before the roar of a truck squealed around the corner. I pressed close to the building to avoid the inevitable splash of mud, but when I turned, the truck was heading straight for me—as in, it would run me over like a bag of trash on the highway.
Without much in the way of shelter, I ran toward the dock, hoping somebody might hear the commotion or, at the very least, help me to get out of the way. A small overhang on the dock that allowed trucks to back up and unload wouldn't protect me if the truck meant to harm me. I couldn't cower underneath and hope to be safe as the truck would easily fit under it and crush me.
Instead of staying where I was, I jumped and grabbed the edge of the dock before hauling myself to the top and safety—unless the truck driver had a gun—then I was toast. The aluminum doors rattled as I pounded on them, hoping to attract some attention.
"Let me in," I screamed. Somebody had to hear me. I'd either die or scare off the person in the truck.
The side door squeaked open just as I closed my eyes anticipating getting riddled with bullets any moment. Instead, Viola smiled as she peeked through the door opening. "Izzy, what are you doing back there?" Her smile faded. "What happened, dear? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I stumbled inside after one last look at the retreating gray truck and the barely visible license plate's number. It looked like SRC… That's all I could see.
Should I call Chaz, or should I assume I'd been mistaken about the intent of the gray truck? They hadn't pursued me enough to kill me, even if the thought didn't make me feel much better.
"There was a truck in the alley that nearly hit me." I gave the sanitized version of my visit with the truck from hell.
"No wonder you look so out of sorts. Why don't you sit down for a spell, and I'll fix you a plate of goodies?"
According to the Qs, sweet concoctions solved everything that ailed you. And right now, I couldn't agree more. Besides, it beat dealing with the cold, hard truth any day.
CHAPTER FIVE
Between numerous unanswered phone calls to Gus and what happened yesterday behind the quilt museum, I was still wrestling with my thoughts about what to do next the following morning. Considering I hadn't slept well, I'd had more than enough time for a shower and had gotten dressed and ready for the day by the time the Qs knocked on my door.
"Good morning, ladies," I said, putting on my best smile as I opened the door. While I wanted to share the terror I'd felt yesterday, I didn't want to worry them. Besides, I still wasn't all that sure it wasn't a case of my overactive imagination. Now might be the time to fill them in on my lack of progress regarding Gus.
As usual, the Qs were dressed in their finest attire, decked out in floral-print shirts and black pants and sensible walking shoes, except for Dolly who wore her signature tennis shoes. As for me, I'd put on some leggings and a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt and running shoes. I figured they'd want to get breakfast and then head home.
"You're on the front page of the Gazette this morning," Alice said as she walked inside and handed me the paper.
"Did they have to pick the most unflattering one?" Geez, the woman had snapped a thousand pictures, and they picked this one—my eyes looked like they were bugging out of my head, and my mouth was open, and not in a delicate little O-shape but in a wide-open gape where you could practically see my molars.
"I like it. You look feisty and in charge," Ramona said, not looking me in the eye.
"Don't you think I look a little crazy?"
Alice examined the picture. "Well, truth is, we did laugh about it this morning."
"You do look the tiniest bit unhinged, but that might be your hair," Dolly added.
I clucked. "You're my friends. You're supposed to lie to me." Instead they laughed, and so did I. "Oh well, there's only a couple thousand people in this town…" I shrugged to convey an indifference I didn't really feel. All those ghastly memories of my divorce from Joseph and the stuff that was written about me in the gossip columns bubbled to the surface. I didn't want to go there now, or ever, for that matter. Instead, I opted for the other pressing matter occupying my mind. "Fess up time. I talked to Gus yesterday." Phew, it felt good to let that out. "He's scared about talking to the police. I was supposed to meet him behind the quilt museum so we could talk more about possible suspects, but he didn't show, and now he's not answering his phone, and I don't know what to do. I've gotten myself into a pickle since I can't tell Detective Chaz the truth without putting Gus's faith in me in jeopardy. But now I'm more worried that something might have happened to him."
"Oh my," Viola said as she shook her head. "Why didn't you tell us yesterday?"
"I…well…I didn't want to worry you ladies or get you even more involved in this mess. Plus I was hoping I'd be able to make contact by now."
"We're in this up to our eyeballs together, girlie," Alice said as she patted my hand.
"That just means we have to solve this whole thing as quick as we can," Ramona added.
"Don't worry. I bet he ditched his old phone thinking the police might be able to track it," Dolly said.
"So you don't think he's dead?" My deepest darkest fear tumbled out.
Viola drew me into a hug. "Absolutely not. He'll call soon, and then we can fill him in on all we've found out."
Their confidence never failed to boost my own.
"Which fits in perfectly with our plans this morning. We were thinking that instead of going to the breakfast bar at the hotel, we should go to the local diner. That's where we're going to get the gossip and find our own potential list of suspects." As usual, Alice brought it back to the real issue. Right now, I relished the distraction. Besides, food and mystery while surrounded by a crowd was right in the middle of our wheelhouse, as well as the perfect recipe to make me feel safe again.
Still, I mulled the trajectory for trouble on a scale of one to ten and figured the morning excursion garnered a four. Not bad for the Qs.
"Midtown Diner is the place we want to go. I found out through my friend Iris who has a stepbrother who used to live in Winterset. They have good cinnamon rolls and strong coffee. That's a winning combination to me," Ramona said.
I shrugged. Pick your battles—my new motto—along with several others I'm sure to use depending on the circumstances. "Sounds like a plan.
We're going to head home after that, right?"
There was a group mutter that I couldn't, or more likely didn't, want to interpret. Either way, I figured there'd been a plan hatched that I hadn't counted on.
"We heard they're having Lori's funeral this afternoon at City Park, which is in line with her wishes. That's what it says in the paper. It's going to be today because the minister's going out of town," Viola said. "It will only be a service as the body is still being held at the coroner's office. You would think a bullet hole in the forehead points to a pretty clear cause of death."
Alice harrumphed. "Men always try to make things much more complicated than they really are."
I saw where this was going and wasn't sure I was up for the challenge on day two of a couple of hours of sleep. "Let's head to the diner, and we can decide from there what to do next."
"Good call. Talking strategy while getting a read on the locals will be perfect to help us solve this mystery," Dolly said.
"We're pros at this now, so we'll have this figured out in no time," Alice said. "We'll have Detective Chaz eating out of our hands."
My brief exposure to the detective told me that might be darn near impossible, but I'd let them roll with their fantasy of outsmarting him. I suspected his quiet demeanor was a facade for a whole lot of intensity bubbling below the surface. Those eye-stares he gave would be enough to make me confess on the spot. I don't think the Qs had any idea what they were dealing with. And I had no intention of telling them either.
"Which reminds me, Chaz said that Lori was born in Inez and lived there off and on. Do any of you know her?" I asked.
There was a group headshake until Alice spoke. "Not that I can remember, but if we put out some feelers, we'll probably come up with something."
We headed out the door and walked the short distance to the diner. As promised, the place was booming at this late-ish for breakfast nine o'clock hour. Wizened waitresses bustled back and forth, serving customers while the constant ping of the bell coming from the kitchen spoke volumes about the cook's expediency in getting the job done.
We found a corner booth toward the back and squeezed in. For some reason, whenever we took over one of those curved tables meant for more than four people, I always ended up surrounded by Qs on both sides. Which was probably fine, but I always felt like I'd been trapped. However, I'm sure they thought of it as their wall of protection, which was kind of sweet.
"I'll do the talking," Alice unnecessarily announced. She always took the lead in the questioning, even if sometimes I wished she'd fade a little more into the background.
A waitress who looked to be in her mid-to-late-fifties with the nametag revealing the name Trixie came by once we were settled and doled out the coffee and plunked down a basket of what looked like stale rolls onto the table. That didn't matter to the Qs. The ladies dug in to grab their personal favorites—salt sticks for one, old fashioned white rolls for another, those hard-as-a-rock buttery-looking things with a knot at the top for yet another.
"I suppose you heard about the murder? Our friend Izzy discovered the body," Alice said. The carrot she dangled—meaning me—would make anyone more curious.
"I saw your picture in the morning paper. It wasn't a good look for you." Trixie gave me a not-so-nice once-over before she slid into the booth to join us. "Shame what happened about Lori. I didn't know her well, but she seemed nice enough."
"We heard she was having an affair with a married man," Ramona commented. Since I'd never heard that before, I had to believe she was making it up to get a reaction.
"After working here for thirty-five years, you learn people love to gossip—doesn't have to be true, necessarily—just something for people to talk about."
"Besides the murder, what else do people gossip about around here?" Dolly asked.
I hated to admit it, but these ladies were doing a good job so far in learning the ins and outs of the town. Peppering Trixie with questions seemed to go down easier coming from them than from me.
"There's the usual stuff about the local fair and who'll be crowned the parade queen, taking bets on if Mayor Johnson will ever retire. But after that, most ladies talk about Detective Chaz. Half the women in town have a mad crush on him. The other half can't stand him. It's one of those 'you love to hate him or hate to love him' kind of things."
"He's a cutie—that's for sure," Ramona said. "Of course, I'm a wee bit too old for him, but that doesn't mean I didn't notice."
Alice chuckled. "A wee bit? Gracious, you're old enough to be his grandmother." She took a sip of coffee. "So you haven't heard anything about an affair between Lori and some married guy?"
"Nope. I imagine if she were having an affair, I would have heard about it. Where are you ladies from?" Trixie made a move to get up but instead glanced around and sat back down.
"Inez," they spoke at once.
"Where did Lori work?" Alice asked. Not the type to give up, she charged on.
"She worked here for a while, but we were on opposite shifts most of the time. Last I heard, she was involved in a local theater group in town. But of course, that's not a real job as there's no pay involved. She did work with Peter Daniels at his accounting office as a receptionist. They dated, I think." She tapped her finger to her temple. "Come to think of it, there was a little dust up when she was dating him and Delbert Cummings at the same time. But you would have thought they would have killed each other, not her. She was a good looking woman and was well-known around these parts if you know what I mean."
"Woman like that, stealing all the available men, probably a lot of jealousy," Dolly added.
"Available is a relative term around here. Peter was a widower, and Delbert was married at the time, although he professed to be"—she did air quotes—"separated. I don't see Peter in here much, but Delbert is a regular. He's sitting in the corner booth by the window."
When she said that, all five of us glanced in that direction. Fiftyish with a buzz cut and dressed in a business suit, he was sort of good looking if you could overlook the fact he might be a murderer. A bevy of waitresses swarmed around him, anticipating his every need. Either the guy was a great tipper or high maintenance. I was betting on the latter.
"How about female friends?" Viola asked, bringing our attention back to Trixie.
Trixie pondered that for a few minutes before she spoke. "She hangs with community theater types mostly. None of them live in Winterset so not sure about their names. As for in town, she hung with the Wells twins—Greta and Rhonda. They didn't care for her much because she allegedly stole one of their boyfriends. I don't see either one of them killing her over it, though. Besides, between the two of them, I don't think there's enough brain cells to pull it off." She chuckled. "Oh, I almost forgot. She had a big fight with Cindy Begay, Detective Chaz's sister. Not sure what it was about, but that's when she got fired from here." Without another word, she slid out of the seat and strolled into the kitchen.
"I'm so glad we came here." Alice said what we all were thinking.
"We got a lot of info. I'd like to look into the theater group she mentioned before we head to the service this afternoon." In my head, I kept thinking about the potential volatility of Cindy Begay and factored that into my suspect list. I scrolled through my phone to look for information. "There's a community theater about twenty miles outside of town. I say we should go there and ask around."
"And we probably should hope Detective Chaz doesn't find out about it," Ramona said.
* * *
The community theater looked to be an old school building that had been converted. A poster on the window advertised their current production, The Gazebo. Being from New York, I used the word production loosely. Not to be a snob, but it's hard to compare community theater in Iowa with Broadway.
I vaguely remembered the story about blackmail and burying somebody in the backyard beneath the gazebo. It was one of those dark comedies that were popular at one time…maybe about forty years ago.
&
nbsp; I rest my case about Iowa versus New York.
Beneath the poster was a notice about Lori's death from the paper. The entire article had a red mark through it with a note scrawled below it that said good riddance. I tapped on the notice while the ladies hovered around me.
"That seems like a pretty good suspect if we knew who wrote it," Alice said as she did everything but rub her hands together in glee.
"I wonder if Chaz knows about any potential trouble here?" Dolly asked.
"Maybe you should drop a few hints next time he talks to you," Ramona said.
I peered into the window, although it was dark inside. I imagine they only opened up for rehearsals at night, but I didn't think I wanted to hang around any longer than necessary.
"I wish we could get inside to see if there are any names posted so we'd know where to start. Whoever wrote that note had some connection here and could be the murderer."
"Let's see if there's a key hidden," Viola said as the others started their usual search under potted plants and welcome mats.
Despite my reticence to indulge in Iowan behavior, I began to search by the bushes in front where I spotted a brown metal box. When I pried it open, I spotted a key. I wasn't surprised. I'd learned over the last six months that, unlike normal folks, Iowans were predictable in their lack of security fears.
"Let's go inside and see if we can find the proverbial smoking gun," Dolly said.
I held out my hands to stop them all from going inside. "Maybe we should think about this. We are technically breaking and entering, aren't we?" Guilt surged to the forefront as I contemplated what might happen if we were caught. Instinctively, I glanced underneath the porch structure to see if I spotted any cameras. Nothing but an old light fixture that probably didn't work.
"We're not going in there to steal anything. We're going in there to crack the case like we always do." Alice said.