by Wendy Byrne
"Why don't you ladies stay out here and be lookouts just in case?" I could always hope they'd listen to reason.
"This place is in the middle of nowhere. What are the chances anyone would come by?" Ramona asked.
I capitulated. There was no way I'd win this argument. "But let's be quick about it. And don't turn on the lights. Use the flashlights on your phones." Despite the fact it was the middle of the day, the place had no windows except for the ones by the doors.
"There's a list of actors on the bulletin board," Viola said. "Why don't you take a picture with your phone."
After I did that, we walked around the space to see if there was anything else of note. Folding chairs were housed in one of the closets, while a rack of clothing was bundled off to the side. I couldn't help but notice there was a fur coat very similar to the one Lori was wearing when she was murdered. An array of boxes were broken down and lined up against the wall.
The place was small, so it didn't take long to finish and get back into my car. Before we headed for the funeral, I opened up the list of actors posted on the bulletin board. Lori's name was crossed out, and the name of Cindy Begay had been written in with red letters as the new lead in The Gazebo.
Chaz had to know about his sister's involvement at the theater group and probably knew about her replacing Lori now that she'd been murdered. How could he possibly be objective in investigating this murder?
CHAPTER SIX
I've done some awkward things in my life, but going to a funeral for someone I didn't know seemed absurd. Then again, given my life of late, why was I surprised?
After the bombshell laid on us by the waitress this morning about Chaz's sister and our findings at the community theater, I figured we had little choice but to show up and see if we could find her in the crowd. After we parked the car, I did a quick search on my phone for pictures and located one for Cindy with the theater group and showed it to the ladies.
The photo had been from the Winterset Gazette publicizing the production of A Street Car Named Desire. Cindy played the bit part of Eunice while Lori had the lead playing Blanche. I had to wonder if this animosity had been brewing for a long time if this had been the norm in this theater group.
I couldn't imagine a scenario where Chaz could be objective in this murder investigation. Now it seemed like the Qs and I were honor bound to follow this investigation if we wanted the guilty party brought to justice. We'd have to do it on the down low since I figured Chaz would not be very happy if he knew we were sniffing around. "I wish we would have found a better picture of her, but we should be able to spot her."
"At least we know what Delbert looks like and found a photo of Peter on his business website. Are we going to split up again and try to find our suspects like the last time we did this?" Alice asked.
"That worked before. No sense in trying something different," I added.
"I say we should keep an eye on people who look shifty," Ramona said.
"I agree," Dolly said.
I had trouble trying to define the word shifty in Q-speak, so I clarified, "How about we pay close attention to people who are behaving outside the norm of what you'd see at a funeral?"
"Sounds about right," Viola agreed.
"Try to notice body language too—like clenched fists or over-the-top weeping, raised voices—that kind of thing," I said.
"I'm going to turn up my hearing aid so I can catch everything they say." I wasn't surprised at Alice's proclamation. It seemed like her newly acquired hearing aid was less of a necessity and more of a listening device.
"Alright, ladies, let's circulate and meet back here at the end of the service," I said as we stood beneath a large weeping willow tree. Different than the other tall oaks spread throughout the park, it seemed like a good marker. They went their separate ways while I contemplated the perfect place to eavesdrop.
Even though spring hadn't officially sprung yet, sunlight filtered through the budding branches this afternoon. While there was a decent sized crowd gathered for the service, some folks were jogging around the paths of the park. They ran across the bridges and onto the grounds around it, coming and going at regular intervals, seemingly oblivious to the growing crowd.
Thinking through our potential suspect list made my head hurt, especially if I thought about the possibility that Cindy Begay killed Lori. But I still couldn't wrap my head around how she could have gotten the body inside that box on her own. She'd have to have help. But who?
I didn't know the woman, but based on Trixie's comments, it didn't seem like Cindy was very stable. That had to mean her friend list would be pretty small. On top of that, having a friend who would intentionally become a partner-in-crime seemed like a miniscule possibility. As I thought through the potential scenarios, I tried to get a feel for the mourners.
Although it seemed strange to come to a funeral dressed in leggings and tennis shoes, I wasn't the only one dressed casually. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But, either way, I blended in with the crowd.
The hilly terrain made me thankful for my tennis shoes. This place would be murder—pun intended—to negotiate in high heels. After the rains yesterday, patches of mud popped up along with patches of green grass.
I watched as the Qs scattered amongst the crowd while I tried to find a good target for further investigation. Picking out Cindy Begay amongst this gathering of a hundred or so people would be challenging. But giving up wasn't an option, either, as I felt a burning need to get to the bottom of this one way or another.
Based on the photo of the theater group, she appeared to be tall like her brother. She also had dark hair and what looked like dark eyes as well as a solid, rather than willowy, build. Chaz's angular features and strong jawline worked on a man but didn't transfer well to a female and actually were a bit of a mishmash. As I glanced over the sea of people, the preponderance of light-haired women made my search for a tall, dark-haired woman a whole lot easier.
As the minister began to give his eulogy, I inched my way through the crowd and tried to decide where to start. If I had to guess, nearly every inhabitant of Winterset and then some decided to make an appearance today, but I suspected a lot of that had to do with the unnatural manner of Lori's death. Taking that into consideration, I did my best reconnaissance and floated among the people while searching for any woman who looked remotely close to Cindy Begay and, kept my eyes and ears open.
"She was a homewrecker, pure and simple. Lori got what she deserved." If I were a dog, my ears would have perked up as I glanced around the crowd trying to pinpoint who that had come from. Other than knowing a woman had said it, I had no clue, so I had to move around and hope she said something again.
This time a little louder would be nice if possible.
The minister hesitated for a second before he began again. "We come here today to celebrate the life of our sister, Lori. A lovely woman, she—"
"That woman is going straight to hell if you ask me." A collective shushing sound rippled through the crowd while the minister hesitated a beat before he continued to speak words that I ignored. I wanted to find the woman or women who voiced their dislike for Lori. I knew the general direction, but that didn't help much when there were so many people attending—and predominately female.
The more I thought about it, the voices seemed to have come from different spots in the crowd but still in the same general vicinity. I strolled in the general direction at a pace that hopefully said just meandering around for no particular reason. While it sounded mean-spirited, I really wanted her to say something more so I could do a little more pinpointing. Quietness didn't help my fact-finding process.
Where's a rash, impulsive woman when you need them?
Heck, I was one of those women not that long ago when I donated my ex-husband's Hugo Boss suit collection to charity. I smiled just thinking about it.
Enough of past victories. I need to get focused.
As I moved along, I listened carefully
to what people were saying—or if they were saying anything. Most remained silent, listening to the minister talk but thereby ruining my chances for catching the person who shouted. A rumbling of voices came from the left, so I sidestepped in that direction.
A group of ladies in their forties and fifties seemed to be restraining another woman based on the death stare and shushing going on around her. Instead of saying anything too loudly, the woman mumbled under her breath. While I couldn't distinguish what she was saying, a sense of negativity bled through her tone and in her demeanor. The women surrounding her didn't seem pleased.
Two of them could have been twins but not identical. Maybe I was grasping at straws, but they could be Greta and Rhonda. I snapped a picture on my phone and hoped for the best. One had ink black hair and an intensity about her that reminded me of Chaz and resembled the photo I'd seen. Must be his sister, Cindy. Would someone kill somebody else over a part in a fledging community theater production? Especially if that someone had been given the bottom of the barrel in terms of parts in the past? People have killed for less.
I kept my eye on the threesome as I shuffled through ideas as to how I might approach them. Attending the service this afternoon had been unexpected, but I needed to roll with anything that looked the tiniest bit suspicious and let the chips fall where they may. A gentleman, along with Trixie from the diner, joined the group of ladies. He seemed vaguely familiar and close to the same age of the others, but I couldn't figure out where I'd seen him. Out of the entire group, he appeared to be the most grief-stricken as Trixie patted his arm. The others seemed to be more focused on anger than sadness, which made them look guiltier from my perspective.
I edged closer, but before I could figure out my next step, Cindy broke from the group and started running. No one made an attempt to chase after her, instead shrugging it off like it happened all the time before they broke up to go their separate ways. While I wanted to keep track of the group, I knew I had to follow Cindy. If I could locate one of the Qs to take over duties for me, that would be ideal. Given their short stature and the large crowd, that proved impossible.
Instead, I ran and didn't look back. Luckily, she'd worn a red scarf tied around her neck, making her easier to spot in the sea of black clothing.
She had long legs, as did I, but her efficient running style made me believe she did it often. That meant I'd have to work harder to keep up. Despite my laziness all winter, I managed to keep her in my sight until she ran into some kind of maze thing situated in the middle of the park. I must have zigged while she zagged as I no longer heard the sound of the rustling of the bushes as she ran by.
Crap.
I needed to regroup and figure this out, and wandering aimlessly inside a maze didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, I retraced my steps and found my way out and surveyed the park once again. I didn't want to give up, but that's when I spotted the freakin' tower in the middle of the place. I ran in that direction and didn't look back.
Easy peasy.
Made out of stone, the old structure called Clark Tower resembled something that should be part of a castle lookout used to forewarn the king of an invasion. Nearly out of breath, I vaulted up the stone steps until I reached the open windows about twenty feet off the ground. They were low enough and wide enough that I could peer out and see everything.
Leaning over the edge, I pulled the small pair of binoculars I had in my purse. I think they were actually Alice's that somehow ended up in my purse, but it didn't matter. I needed to spot Cindy and see if she was doing anything that might make her look guilty. I wasn't sure what that might be, but I was willing to take a chance. For all I knew, she might meet with someone who could be her accomplice.
Normally, I had a problem with heights. Joseph made fun of me for not going up in the Eiffel Tower when we were in Paris. I knew it was romantic, but that thing was ginormous—much bigger than the pics would lead a person to believe. I'd wimped out on that milestone on our honeymoon.
However, if I would have known that all those emergency "business" phone calls he'd taken during our honeymoon had been love chats between Joseph and his latest girlfriend, I might have gone up in the Eiffel Tower with him just so I could push him off.
Not really, but it's fun to think about. Enough nostalgia. Right now, I needed to get with the program and focus. Being distracted by nasty thoughts about Joseph kept me from focusing on my A-game.
I slid my purse onto my forearm and braced one hand on the window opening while I held the binoculars with the other. As I searched the area, I saw Viola talking with somebody toward the front of the crowd by the minister. I also noticed two men I thought were Delbert and Peter among the crowd as well.
I twisted to my left as I spotted a blur of red. I thought that was Cindy heading back toward the street. I saw no signs of either Trixie or the guy who'd been so broken up by Lori's death. As I leaned a little further out, the mass of my body weight shifted.
"Ooof." I struggled to right myself while my legs left the safety of the stone floor, and my hands sought something to grab onto. It seemed like my body had become a teeter-totter with my midsection resting on the window ledge. I needed to right myself and hoped the momentum of kicking my legs would ground me rather than send me out the window. Although it wasn't too far to the ground, it would be enough to break something—my arm, leg, or head—and none of them seemed like good options.
I rocked my lower half, struggling to get my feet on the floor, and was starting to win the battle when I felt something like a shove to my back. Now more than half my body was outside rather than inside. Inch by inch, I attempted to scoot my body back to safety, but I had no leverage. If the trees outside had reached their full bloom, I might have been able to snag a branch, but wishful thinking wouldn't make that miraculously happen. Had somebody actually shoved me, or had I overextended my body out the window while I was mindlessly thinking about my marital troubles from before?
Either way, I needed to minimize the damage because I was losing the battle. Fast.
Luckily, the ground broke my fall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My head bounced off the not-yet-grass-covered ground. Pain rocked through me as every bone in my scull screamed in agony. I saw stars circling my head like a cartoon character. Yikes, that hurt.
Opening my eyes seemed like a really bad idea, but I did it anyway. Luckily, I fell off what would be considered the back side of the tower, so my "accident" didn't draw a lot of attention. The last thing I wanted to do was answer questions about how I ended up flat on my back with twigs no doubt stuck in my hair and bruises on every inch of my body.
While everyone was on the other side listening to the minister, I laid there willing some breath back into my lungs. It was too late to track down if a pusher had been involved. Besides, I didn't have it in me to rush around chasing anyone right now. While I considered how to negotiate my way to a sitting position—starting slow and easy with a little more resting on the side—an elderly couple stopped and loomed over me like I was some kind of curiosity to be examined.
"Are you alright, dearie?" the woman said to me before speaking to the man, "I told you I heard somebody fall, Harold. You need to turn up your hearing aid a little."
"Do you need some help?" The gentleman asked as he grasped my hand. The guy was eighty years old if he was a day and was using a cane. His assistance in getting me to an upright position also remained dubious.
"Maybe we should call an ambulance, dear," the woman said as she clucked.
"No, I'm fine. Just a little clumsy." My whole body ached as the old man helped me to my feet after a couple failed attempts.
Pathetic.
"You're looking a little peaked, dearie," his equally fragile wife said as she examined my face with her hands on my cheeks in the way older people had a tendency to do.
"No, I'm fine. Really." I tried to focus all my energy into sounding upbeat and positive while trying to block out the fact that every square in
ch of my body was screaming in agony. I'd never had a high pain tolerance, and my sojourn into Iowa seemed to prove that more and more every day.
"If you're sure, honey. We were about to go through the maze and find the sundial."
I brought my knees up to my chest one at a time hoping to release some of the achiness that had settled in my back. "You're not here for the funeral service?" I couldn't resist doing a bit of investigating during my recovery period. My pain should be able to benefit me for purposes of this investigation, at least a little.
"Is that why there's such a crowd? We're here on a day trip with a senior citizens group. Most of the ladies went to the Quilt Show today, but my Harold isn't much for that, so we decided to check out the park on such a beautiful day."
"You folks have a great day in Winterset. Make sure you hit Northside Cafe for dinner and have the coconut cake for dessert. It's amazing." I forced myself to smile when I waved and tried not to limp as I set off to find the ladies. Maybe I'd recover a bit of my pride during the interim as well.
Before I found them, I walked straight into Chaz. This kind of thing happened to me all the time, so I wasn't surprised. I never got away with anything.
"I thought you were going home today?" He lowered his sunglasses to the tip of his nose, giving me one of his intense stares.
"The ladies and I decided to stick around and pay our respects to Lori."
"You have a scrape on your cheek. And do you know there's a piece of—" He pulled an errant piece of shrubbery out of my hair. "Is that from an evergreen bush? Don't tell me that's a new fashion trend."
I shook my head but moaned as pain radiated around my neck. "I took a bit of a tumble. But I'm fine."
"Are you the person who fell out of the tower?"
Do I admit what happened and risk looking like a complete loon? Or do I figure out some kind of excuse for having scrapes all over me?