Murder and Misdeeds

by Helen Goodman

  That didn't sound like Brian, Fonnie thought. He was a cop. If there were the slightest doubt as to the cause of death, he'd want to learn the truth. Or was he so besotted by the beautiful Melanie, he'd agree to anything she said?

  “But Melanie, you're so observant. Are you sure you didn't notice anything unusual about Buzz when he fell, or when he was in the ambulance?”

  “Other than the fact that he was dying?”

  “I mean anything that might indicate—poison?”

  The waitress waddled up, set down two cups of coffee, emptied packets of cream and sweetener from her apron pocket, and slapped down the ticket. She gave Fonnie a bright smile. “Enjoy your coffee.”

  Melanie tore open two packs of artificial sweetener, dumped them into the hot brew and stirred it vigorously. Without looking up she echoed Fonnie's last word. “Poison?” She stirred some more and shook her head in rhythm with the spoon. “But that doesn't make sense. Why would she?” The young nurse caught her breath. “I mean, why would anybody do that?”

  Fonnie noted the accusatory “she” Melanie had flung out, but decided not to comment on it. “That's what I was wondering. Who would want Buzz dead?” Fonnie lifted her cup, stared across the table. “In mysteries, now is when the detective asks, 'Who stood to gain by his death?'”

  Melanie shrugged. “I suppose that would be Midge, if you're talking about life insurance. On the other hand, Paul might benefit a great deal from it.”

  “Paul?” Fonnie lowered her cup so quickly the coffee sloshed over the saucer and onto the table. She grabbed a napkin and swiped at the spill. “How on earth could it benefit Paul?”

  “The law firm. It's Myers, Garrison, and Trent. Paul is the newest and youngest partner. It's no secret that Edgar Myers wants to retire early and become a beach bum. With Buzz Garrison out of the way, Paul Trent will be in the driver's seat. He'll be free to bring in some younger partners who can do all the work while he enjoys being top cat. How's that for a motive?”

  “Insulting, appalling, and slanderous! How can you even think such a thing?”

  “Whoa, Fonnie.” Melanie put both hands in front of her face as if to ward off a blow. “I didn't say I thought that. I was just mentioning the possibility. Besides Paul had already left when Buzz collapsed.” She took several sips of her coffee and then added, “But we both know some poisons are slow acting and that alcohol could disguise any bitter or odd taste.”

  Fonnie pushed back her chair. “I will not sit here and listen to disparaging remarks about my new son-in-law. Anybody could have slipped something into Buzz's drinks. Goodness knows, he had enough of them.”

  “I know. And I'm sorry I upset you. I really wasn't serious about Paul. It's just that I hate for Midge to be the only valid suspect. If, of course, any poison is found. Personally, I still think the man died from a heart attack.”

  Fonnie felt a dark doubt creep into her mind along with the darkness that had fallen during their conversation. Only a few days ago when she had first met Stephon and then Melanie, she immediately liked both of them. Now she was having second thoughts. Wasn't anyone what they purported to be any more? She smiled at Melanie as she rose from the table. “I hope you're right. Then we can just go back to mourning the death of a fine man instead of looking for suspects in a murder case.”

  Even as she said the words, Fonnie knew there was little chance of that. She was convinced there had been, and probably still was, a murderer at the Beachside Motel. And she refused to listen to that little voice inside her head that kept trying to tell her it was none of her business, to wait for the complete autopsy results, and then leave it up to the police. However, by then, she thought, it might be too late. Fonnie didn't clarify to herself what she meant by “too late” or exactly what she meant to do. But she had the whole weekend ahead of her. She might as well start snooping, sniffing, and sleuthing around.

  As Fonnie left the dining room, she spotted Hank Peacock in the lobby hunkered deep in a batwing chair. She approached him without hesitation. He was doing a newspaper crossword puzzle and hadn't made much progress. It seemed as good a place as any to start her investigation.

  “In my hometown paper,” she said, “the Friday puzzles are pretty hard. Is that true in this paper?”

  Hank jerked his head up, smiled, laid the paper on his lap. “All crossword puzzles are hard to me. I can't even find a three-letter word for a small salamander.”

  “Eft. I find puzzle makers like little words that start with e. Like eft, eel, emu, eon.”

  “You sound like an expert.”

  “Not really. But I find it a challenge. Nothing like a puzzle to keep the brain circuits running smoothly.”

  “Or to give one a major case of frustration.” He glanced back at the white and black spaces. “Know a word for 'evidence of hard work'? Six letters.”

  “Sweat comes to mind, but that's only five letters. I'll get back to you on that one.” While she was talking, Fonnie pulled a chair over closer and sat down. She intended to bring the conversation around to the late Buzz Garrison, but she didn't want to sound too abrupt. “Tell me, why are you working on a puzzle if you don't enjoy it?”

  “Something to do. And I had to get away from the weeping widow.”

  “Midge?”

  “Yeah. I don't mean to sound uncaring, but she's been crying on Doris's shoulder all afternoon. I was hoping to get home, but Midge doesn't want to leave, and Doris won't go without her. So it looks like we're stuck here.”

  Fonnie squirmed in her chair, trying to frame her next question. “Was Midge given any details about the autopsy and about why the medical examiner requested a further examination?”

  “Not really.” Hank stretched, wiggled his hands. “I'm getting stiff sitting around here. Buzz and I had planned on some golf this weekend before heading back to the work-a-day grind. Now I don't know when I'll get back to business.”

  Fonnie wondered if Hank had avoided her question or if he really didn't know anything about the autopsy. She'd get back to that later. “We didn't have much of a chance to get acquainted before the wedding. What kind of business are you in?”

  “I have a Lexus dealership in Richmond. Done pretty good if I do say so myself.”

  “Is that where you met Paul? He drives a Lexus.”

  “No. We belong to the same country club, same civic organizations. Ditto Buzz and Edgar.” Hank glanced at the crossword puzzle again and tossed it on the table by his chair. “To heck with that. What I need is a good steak to feed my brain.”

  “You haven't eaten?”

  Hank shook his head. “I was waiting for the gals to come down, but Midge probably can't stop her blubbering long enough to eat.”

  Fonnie's first reaction to Hank's crude remark was anger, but then she decided the poor man's stomach was doing the talking. Maybe she could maneuver the situation to her own advantage. Her detective instincts told her it would be a good idea to spend some time alone with Midge—time to squeeze out every ounce of information she had. “Call up there, Hank, and tell Doris to come down. I'm sure she needs a break. And tell Midge I'm bringing dinner up to her. That way she'll have a dry shoulder to cry on.”

  “Great idea.” Hank jumped up and dashed for the phone. He turned back and grinned. “I owe you one.”

  Fonnie started to the dining room to ask for a take-out tray, then turned and asked, “What room is Midge in now? I heard the desk clerk earlier say he was moving her.”

  “Two-twenty,” Hank said. “Doris helped her move her clothes. They left Buzz's stuff in their old room. I guess it was too much for Midge to handle his things at this point. I'll tell her you'll be up in a little while.”

  “As soon as I can snag a handsome young waiter. There's no room service here but there's always a way.”

  The club was jammed, the music deafening, the smell overpowering. Keisha had a sneaky suspicion the odor of smoldering pot was co-mingling with sweat and beer. She was relieved, when after a few danc
es, Stephon suggested they go elsewhere.

  “The trouble is there's not much elsewhere to go.” Stephon slid in the car beside her and kept on going. His right arm encircled her shoulders, brought her lips close to his. He kissed her soundly. “Of course, we could move the car to some secluded place and move ourselves to the back seat.”

  Keisha promptly dislodged his arm, slid over to her door. She smiled sweetly, but her voice was frosty. “I don't do back seats.”

  Stephon was at a loss for words for about ten seconds. “I hear ya.” He turned the key, revved the motor. “And what do you suggest?”

  “A booth at McDonald's, a chocolate shake, and conversation.”

  “Anything you say, ma'am.”

  The crowd was thin at McDonald’s and they found a booth in the back corner. Keisha was pensive as she alternated between sipping on her straw and twirling it through the frosty mush. Stephon stirred his shake with a spoon before attempting the straw. “Now about that conversation. Is there something you want to know about me that we haven't already covered?”

  “Not exactly. It's just that I was surprised by that remark you made about Midge this afternoon. Practically accusing her of murder. What was behind that?”

  “Oh, that? Nothing. My macabre sense of humor. Sometimes it overtakes my good sense.”

  “Then you don't really believe Midge might have had anything to do with Buzz's death?”

  “Naw. But it's true she and Buzz squabbled like alley cats during a full moon.”

  “What did they squabble about?”

  Stephon took a loud slurp before answering. “Anything and everything. Money, bridge scores, weather reports, the federal deficit, NASA. You name it and they could argue about it. It seemed like a game with them.” Stephon paused. “Although, at times....”

  Keisha stopped mid-sip. “At times, what?”

  “I hate to say it, but at times they really seemed mad enough to kill each other.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fonnie knew better than to order a heavy meal for Midge. She decided on New England clam chowder, sliced turkey on whole wheat, cheesecake, and hot tea. She gave five dollars to a waiter to deliver the tray.

  While Midge's dinner was being prepared, Fonnie went up to her own room. She immediately noted the blinking light on the telephone and hurried to get her message.

  “Hi, Gram. Just wanted to touch base with you. I'm calling on my supper break. Melanie filled me in about Buzz's autopsy. I'm sure sending the blood samples and stuff to the state ME is just precautionary. The local ME is probably inexperienced. At any rate, don't be concerned about it. I'm working first shift tomorrow so will call you tomorrow night.” There was a slight pause and then Brian added, rather hopefully, Fonnie thought, “Be good and don't get into any trouble.”

  “Of course, I'll be good,” Fonnie said to her mirror image as she gave her silver hair a quick brush back. “It's hard to be bad when I look like Grandma Moses. As soon as I get home, I'm going to have my hair dyed back to red—or maybe pink.”

  She gave a last swipe with the brush. “But right now I've got to go console a grieving widow and pump her for information.”

  Fonnie and the waiter appeared at Midge's door at the same time. Fonnie knocked and called in a gentle voice, “Midge, it's me, Fonnie. I've brought you a bite to eat.”

  A muffled voice answered, “Come on in. It's open.”

  Midge sniffed, wiped her eyes, and motioned the waiter to set the tray on the table. The young man did as directed and then beat a quick retreat to the door. He paused just long enough to ask if they needed anything else, and seemed relieved when Fonnie shook her head. She sensed that weeping women made him nervous.

  Fonnie assumed her “charge nurse” countenance and strode over in front of Midge. “Now, I want you to march yourself to the bathroom, wash your face with cold water, comb your hair, and then come back and eat without sniveling. Do you understand?”

  Midge's mouth dropped open and she stared in amazement at Fonnie for a few seconds. Then she nodded her head, gave a tiny smile, got to her feet and aimed for the bathroom.

  When she reappeared, Fonnie directed her to a chair in front of the table. “Now eat. Later we'll talk.”

  Twenty minutes later Midge laid down her napkin by the nearly empty plates. “That was good. I didn't realize I was hungry. Thank you.”

  “You're welcome. You keep your tea and I'll set the tray in the hallway to be picked up. Then you and I are going to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “First of all tell me exactly what the doctor or the medical examiner or whoever it was, said when you were notified about the autopsy results.”

  Midge scrunched up her eyes, sniffed, and reached for the box of tissues. Fonnie beat her to them. “You are not going to cry. You are going to help me find out what happened to Buzz.” Fonnie reached over and took Midge's trembling hands. “You owe it to Buzz.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Buzz would want me to be strong.” Midge sat up straighter, took a deep breath. “I don't know exactly what was said. Edgar took the call. He'd left a message with the doctor that he was to be notified as my attorney.”

  “Is he your attorney?”

  “I guess so. Buzz did all our legal work and now that he's gone....”

  “So the medical examiner told Edgar and he told you. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Midge sipped her tea and played with her spoon. “All he told me was that they were unable to determine the exact cause of death, and that further tests were indicated—or something like that. He said they were going to send blood samples to the state chief medical examiner.” Tears again started streaming down Midge's cheeks. “And the worst thing is, they said they might not know anything until after the long weekend.”

  Fonnie handed Midge back the box of tissues and waited patiently through the mopping up operation. When she thought it was safe to proceed, she asked, “Are you sure Edgar was told Buzz's body could not be released for cremation until they had more information?”

  Midge nodded. “I think so. At least, Edgar said he would have to change the arrangements and that he was going to stay here until we knew something definite. So, of course, I'm going to stay also. I can't go home and leave Buzz here.”

  Fonnie shifted in her chair. “All right. Let's go on to something else—like Florida.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me about your last few days in Miami. What did you and Buzz do? Who all was there? When did Buzz first get sick? Everything.”

  “Well, Buzz and I left home—we live south of Richmond—to drive down to Florida the last week of January. We took our time, stopped and visited friends in Raleigh and in Savannah, and got to Miami on the first of February.” Midge wrinkled her forehead as if in an effort to remember all the details. “Hank and Doris were already there, been there several days. We've been vacationing together in Miami for years, usually in the late winter. We always stay at the same motel. The boys golf while Doris and I shop. In the evenings we play bridge. Nothing exciting. Just a nice getaway—especially if we're having a cold winter in Virginia. We often run into friends we've made from other years—snowbirds from Michigan and Canada. Edgar and Lula often came down in years past, but not this year. Since Edgar bought this bit of the North Carolina beach, he spends all the time he can here. And of course, Hank's niece, Melanie, lives in Miami and visits when she can get away from the hospital.”

  “So Melanie visited often?”

  “She came over a couple of times that last week. We're a little tame for her tastes though. She likes night life. Last Friday she talked us into going out to a swanky nightclub. I think the boys agreed only because Stephon had dropped in unexpectedly and they didn't know how to entertain him.”

  Fonnie was getting tired and she began to wonder if this questioning was leading anywhere. It had been a long day and it was warm in the room. Her eyelids began to flutter and she thought longingly of her soft pillow. But
when Midge mentioned Stephon, Fonnie's brain sprang back to attention. “Why was Stephon in Miami? Something to do with his real estate job?”

  “Oh, no. He came to see a Miami Heat game the next day. I guess he has a friend on the team. At any rate, he knew we were there and dropped in. And it just so happened that Melanie came that same evening and we all ended up going out.”

  “But Melanie and Stephon didn't know each other before that?” Fonnie felt the answer to this was important, but couldn't explain to herself just why.

  “I think they'd met before, when Melanie visited Hank and Doris at their home. They acted like good friends.” Midge gave a rueful smile. “Of course, I doubt if Melanie ever met a man who didn't become a good friend. You know what I mean?”

  Unfortunately, Fonnie understood exactly what she meant. Poor Brian, she thought. Was he just another number on Melanie's list of conquests?

  Before Fonnie's thoughts could wander any further in this direction, Midge went on. “It was the next morning Buzz started getting sick.”

  “The morning after the nightclub?”

  Midge nodded. “I thought he had a hangover. He'd drunk quite a bit that night. Later in the day he felt better. He and Hank played golf in the afternoon. Doris and I went to a dreadful movie. Whoever rated that one G, had to have been blind. When we got back, the boys were having a drink with Stephon. He'd dropped in again, but didn't stay long as he was on his way to the basketball game.”

  “I see.” Fonnie didn't see anything. It was just something to say when one doesn't know what to say.

  As it happened, she didn't have to say anything else, Midge continued with all the details. “I think Stephon was hoping to run into Melanie again and was disappointed she wasn't there. After he left, Melanie came sweeping in, loaded down with Chinese food. Buzz dug in with gusto. He loves Chinese.”

  “So he was feeling all right then?”

  “Sure was. But then during the night, he started moaning again. Stomach cramps, nausea. I told him I thought he had the flu and he said he thought maybe he'd been drinking too much or maybe getting a stomach ulcer.”