Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series)

by Dane McCaslin

  ‘For your information, Miss Nosey, I had to run back to my apartment for something. When I got back to the fairground, there was a roadblock, so I just turned around and went back home.’ Lily’s nose elevated itself in the air.

  I had to laugh. ‘Miss Nosey’? Coming from Lily-who-broke-into-our-place-and-rifled-Miss-Bea’s-handbag?

  That was certainly rich, I thought wryly.

  Miss Bea, bless her sweet soul, quickly put a stop to the sniping before it got going in earnest. She turned to Leslie and asked her to put the tea kettle on. ‘Oh, and bring out the rest of the cookies, won’t you, dear?’ Leslie nodded and headed for the kitchen, but I stubbornly stayed put; I wasn’t about to miss anything.

  I figured if I didn’t meet Miss Bea’s eyes, I wouldn’t feel the need to join Leslie. Keeping my gaze carefully on Lily and watching Miss Bea with my awesome peripheral vision, I clamped my mouth shut and took a seat next to Lily, who promptly scooted to the end of the sofa. Talk about childish! I could see Miss Bea eyeing me for a moment, but she turned her attention back on Lily with a small sigh.

  Sorry, Miss Bea. I was disappointing her, I was sure, but the need to know was greater than the need to obey.

  As I’ve mentioned before, we humans have an innate need to fill silence with noise. Miss Bea, apparently well acquainted with this particular foible, sat and waited patiently for Lily to begin talking. Although I was itching to say something, I followed the lead of my employer and sat with my hands folded in my lap. It was a strategy that soon paid dividends. Unfortunately, at the time we didn’t realize it, but hindsight is a vision-cleanser.

  Clearing her throat a bit nervously, Lily began talking. ‘I was sitting in the dressing room, waiting for someone to come and get me, when I realized that I’d left my cellphone at home. I really need to keep it with me at all times, especially since my mother has been so ill. Anyway, I decided I had enough time before the performance to get there and back, so I took off. I’d parked in the side lot. You know, the one that some of the food vendors use? There was an empty spot there, so I figured, why not? I mean, we all have the same kind of parking placard.

  ‘Like I already said, I ran to my apartment, grabbed my cell, and got back as soon as I could. Only, when I got here, the police weren’t letting any cars through, so I had to turn around and go home. I heard about the murder on the news, so I decided to come over and see what you all knew. No one answered the door, though, and I just knew that you’d understand if I let myself in.’ Here Lily paused for breath, looking from me to Miss Bea, trying to read our faces.

  First of all, I was amazed that she could justify her trespassing as ‘letting herself in’. Now that would make for an interesting police report, I mused. Next, I felt as though something in her tale sounded off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it just then. Finally, it blew me away that Lily could even entertain the idea that Miss Bea was that naïve.

  Oh, how wrong I was.

  Miss Bea’s kindness was never more evident than at that moment, but as I mentioned before, this was all hindsight. Over tea and the rest of our cookie stash, the four of us managed to have a fairly decent conversation, moving from poor Josie to life as a librarian to the future of our troupe. Finally Lily patted her lips with a napkin and stood to leave, smiling at the three of us. I alone noticed that the smile did not reach her eyes. Leslie and Miss Bea tend to believe in the good of people. I, thankfully, am not afflicted with that inconvenient virtue.

  I pulled out the vacuum that was kept in the trailer’s pantry and attempted to clean up the glass shards that still littered the carpet like pieces of a falling star. Leslie carried the tea things to the kitchen; I could hear her and Miss Bea chatting amiably as they washed up and put away the teacups. I was dead beat and the idea of holding a friendly conversation at that time of night – correction, that time of morning – was not my cup of tea.

  Oops. My humor must’ve been tired as well. Please pardon the pun, dear reader.

  We finally retired to our respective rooms, and I found myself turning the lock on the bedroom door, something I would not have done before the Lily incident. I could hear Leslie and Miss Bea doing the same, so at least I was reassured that I was not being paranoid. On the other hand, if I was paranoid, then so were they. Not that this comforted me much, but there you have it.

  I did get a few hours of shut-eye, but not the deep sleep needed for true rest. I staggered from the bed at ten o’clock, yawning and stretching and attempting to coax myself into feeling like facing the day.

  Leslie was still in bed, but Miss Bea already sat at the breakfast table, looking as pert and perky as a robin. In fact, she brought to mind one cheeky little fellow I had spotted in the parking lot of Skinny Joe’s Steakhouse and Brewery. He – or she, perhaps, not being a bird expert –had sat watching me as I walked by, not even flinching when my cellphone had trilled out ‘Ode to Joy’ as I passed. Miss Bea was just like that, I thought. She didn’t flinch or scare easily, but instead contented herself with letting what would be happen without bouncing up and down the emotional scale.

  The bird analogy stuck with me as we moved through that day. I began to notice, really notice, some of her mannerisms: the slight tilt of the head when listening to someone speak, the bright eyes that darted around the room, and the tiny bites as she daintily consumed her meals. Goodness, I thought. I had never been around so many examples of wildlife! Even the people in my life seemed to be more creature-like than I was used to.

  I wonder if this was how Crazy Great-Aunt Opal got her start toward the Wonderful Land of Make-Believe.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The performances, of course, were all cancelled, of necessity. The fair organizers still offered us two-thirds of our fee, thankfully, so at least we didn’t lose much in that department. I guess we could have packed up and hightailed it back to Copper and the lodge, but Miss Bea thought we should remain where we were, at least until the police had concluded their investigation. In reality, I was glad to stay. It would have driven me clean over the edge of sanity to leave without knowing what was up.

  And I guess I felt some slim margin of responsibility toward Josie. The poor girl was only signing on to portray a victim of murder, not really be one.

  Something was moving around in my mind, trying to find the passage that would lead from the subconscious to the active brain, but I still couldn’t quite pin down what it was. I let it go for the present; there were still quite a few other issues to focus on rather than stew over an idea that may or may not play a role in the investigation.

  One of the aforementioned issues was that of Andy and Bert. ‘Angry’ doesn’t even begin to describe how they were feeling. What with the police interviews (they had a total of three, if you can believe that), the loss of a part-time job (not our fault) and the fact that they had been told not to leave the area (which included heading off to the casino where they both worked), those two were emotional wrecks.

  Skinny Joe was another problem. He continued to skulk around the fairgrounds, looking for heaven-knew-what and giving the investigators a hard time, accusing them of wasting valuable taxpayers’ monies with the harassment of his nephew (his words, not mine). On top of that, he had the nerve to come looking for Miss Bea the very day following Josie’s demise, but we four ran defense for her and effectively ran him out of Dodge.

  Percy and Oleta McLaughlin were also an issue, but not as bad as they might have been. If that had been the case, I would have very firmly insisted to Miss Bea that we were leaving. That instant. The McLaughlins were the typical bystanders at an accident: not really wanting to stare but unable to contain themselves. When the pair of them arrived next afternoon with a plate of home-made muffins and an eager look on their faces, I could do nothing but allow them in to pry and ask question after question.

  They were somewhat of a help, though. Percy had replaced the window right away, and Oleta, bless her gossipy heart, could hardly wait to share with us what she’d he
ard about Josie from her sister, who had gotten it from her daughter, a cashier at the supermarket, who had gone to school with Josie.

  Miss Josie, to no one’s surprise, had not been the model of virtue during her high school career. A brief fling in her sophomore year with a professor ended her college endeavor, and the most recent bit of information had her linked with a married bank teller. Whether this were true or not, I still felt mighty uncomfortable discussing the newly departed’s life so callously. I had to get away from it, so I offered to make tea to go with the muffins, which, by the way, were cranberry orange, one of my favorites.

  Leslie was upset by the talk as well. That was obvious to me the second she walked into the kitchen, mere steps behind me. Leslie prefers to see the best in others, and listening to someone being verbally masticated did not jive with her credo of ‘live and let live’.

  There were some days that I felt I was surrounded by saints. Thank goodness for Miss Lucinda.

  Speaking of whom, Miss Lucinda had given up the rental of her small trailer and moved in with us. I was a bit uneasy when she made the suggestion, but was instantly put at my ease when she announced that she would share ‘her dear Beatrice’s room’, something that ‘dear Beatrice’ did not seem too crazy about. But Miss Bea, being Miss Bea, displayed a stiff upper lip to go with the moustache that she was sporting (apparently the woman waxed, and simply hadn’t had the time or inclination to do so recently) and said nothing.

  With our party now complete, we four women held a powwow on the second day following the murder, trying to determine the best course of action to take. I suppose we had all somehow decided to take on the mystery ourselves, not trusting the professionals to do it correctly.

  Leslie was all for following Lily around town, hoping to catch her public confession that yes, she had murdered Josie in a fit of rage. Or pique. Or whatever type of fit it is that killers have. With no evidence that pointed to Lily as the killer, though, we finally had to drop that idea.

  I personally had my money on Skinny Joe. Well, actually, I thought it might have been Skinny Joe and Andy working together but, again, the motive angle was a bit fuzzy.

  Miss Bea felt that the Andy angle – Andy solo, not in a duet – might be the more obvious line of inquiry. That was filed under ‘perhaps’ for us to take a look at later.

  Miss Lucinda was silent, her eyes closed and her lips moving in silent conversation with herself. Or with her evil familiars. That in fact would not surprise me. With that wild lavender hair and the malevolent grin she trotted out from time to time, Miss Lucinda reminded me of the wacky witch Madame Mim in The Sword in the Stone. (Remember? The one who challenges Merlin and becomes all sorts of crazy-looking creatures?)

  When she finally opened her eyes and spoke, it could have been Mandarin Chinese for all the sense she made.

  ‘Still waters run deep,’ Miss Lucinda announced, looking solemnly at the three of us, who stared back in confusion. Being around this woman sure took care of my homesickness; she was the doppelgänger for you-know-who, residing back in Piney Woods, enjoying the ‘luxury lifestyle’ at her assisted-living apartments.

  Leslie was the first to respond. Choosing her words carefully, modulating her tone as if dealing with a child, she asked, ‘Could you please explain what it is you mean, Miss Lucinda?’

  Miss Lucinda snorted. ‘I certainly can explain. Now you listen to me, the three of you. Who is the one person who had the means and possibly the motive and has not been questioned even once by the police, at least that we know of?’ She gave us all the Mrs Fiornelli fish-eye, waiting for one of us to raise our hand and give the correct answer.

  I did. Believe you me, it was an automatic response. There is something about a teacher – or someone who can channel ‘teacher’– that instantly throws me into student mode.

  ‘Yes, Jo?’ Good grief, I thought, I feel like I’m sitting back in Stonewall Jackson Elementary, trying to earn brownie points with Mrs Fiornelli.

  ‘I think,’ I began hesitantly, ‘that you are speaking of Julian Sweet.’

  I didn’t need to hear her response; the triumphant look on her face confirmed it.

  Now it was Miss Bea’s turn to snort. These Becklaw Women are eloquent snorters, I’d discovered.

  ‘Lucinda Becklaw, as usual, you have come to one of the most ignorant conclusions that not even the Easter Bunny would believe in.’ Wait a minute, I thought, what did the good ol’ EB have to do with this? There had better be some ’Splainin, Lucy. Well, not Lucy, per se, but you get the Desi drift.

  The look of disdain that Miss Lucinda shot at Miss Bea was troubling. After all, these two gals were sharing a bedroom. I really didn’t want another murder on our hands.

  ‘First of all,’ she said, giving Miss Bea a hard stare before turning to me and Leslie, ‘Julian wasn’t in the dressing room when you went to see what that Skinny Joe creature was up to, remember?’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Leslie protested. ‘We only saw Joe standing at the dressing room door and heard him call for Andy and Bert. For all we know, Julian could have been in there as well and just busy.’

  Miss Lucinda nodded her head in acknowledgement. ‘I considered that, Leslie. But this is why I don’t think he was there at all: the officers swept the dining hall and all of the rooms, including dressing rooms, and no one else was in there. I think that when we were all focused on getting our costumes on, he must have slipped out to wait for Josie for some reason known only to him, confronted her about something, got angry, and killed her.’

  We three in the audience sat silently, letting Miss Lucinda’s words roll around in our heads. It did make sense in an odd way, I thought. We’d been concentrating on the people we saw, rather than the ones we didn’t see. And Julian definitely fit the latter category.

  ‘Could it be possible,’ I began, ‘that Julian had gone back out to his car? Maybe totally missed seeing Josie?’

  ‘Hmm. Maybe,’ answered Miss Lucinda thoughtfully. ‘I think I would have seen him out there, though. Remember, I had to go back out to get something that Derek had left in the station wagon. I think the very fact that I didn’t see him points to his involvement somehow.’

  Now that was convoluted reasoning! Crazy Great-Aunt Opal … well, you know. She’d probably pound Miss Lucinda on the back and welcome her to the Nutter’s Club if she could have heard us talking just then.

  ‘OK,’ I replied. ‘Let me get this straight: you didn’t see Julian out in the parking lot and he wasn’t in the building, so he must be the killer.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Miss Lucinda beamed at me as if l had won the spelling bee. Oh, boy. This was beginning to make sense to me, and I didn’t even know what I was talking about.

  Miss Bea rose to her feet a bit stiffly, clutching the edge of the table for support.

  ‘I suggest we adjourn and have some sustenance, girls. No one can think on an empty stomach. “Empty stomach, empty mind”, as my beloved Desmond would always say.’

  I think I felt the oncoming shock waves of Miss Lucinda’s response before she even opened her mouth. Leslie must have as well, because she seemed to shrink back a bit and edge toward Miss Bea.

  ‘Your Desmond must have been one smart cookie then, Beatrice. The last time I saw him, his girth was as large as a man twice his height.’ With that salvo, Miss Lucinda rose to her feet as well, the two of them glaring at each other from the opposite sides of the table.

  Well. This little exchange was getting us nowhere but fast. I decided to take charge.

  ‘Miss Bea, Miss Lucinda. With all due respect, the enemy is Out There, not In Here. If the two of you could remain civil just long enough for us to finish this conversation, I think we might latch on to something worth pursuing.’

  Aha. I’d done it now, I thought in a brief moment of panic. The Becklaw Barrage turned toward me as if one brain in two bodies, their combined glares laser-like in intensity.

  Leslie’s face mirrored the shock I was feelin
g, and she had that little ‘mouse running in a circle’ look in her eyes. But, brave woman that she was, she attempted to defuse the situation.

  ‘Ah, Jo, that is … er … a great idea. I mean, if Miss Bea and Miss Lucinda think so, that is.’ With that little gem hanging in space, some of the passion melted from the Becklaw visages. I silently applauded Leslie, who was now glistening with nervous sweat. Miss Bea came to her senses first, turning to Leslie with her patented gentle smile.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Leslie. I get a bit ‘het up’ about things like this, and then it always seems to get out of hand, doesn’t it?’ That, I think, seemed to be directed at her sister-inlaw.

  Miss Lucinda apparently agreed with me. Her face shifted from fiery intensity to glacial freeze, but to her credit, she kept her mouth clamped shut.

  I think that was a true ‘defining moment’ for the four of us gals. In spite of the fireworks, we began to work together in earnest, and the end result was nothing short of miraculous. Without knowing it at that moment, we had solved the murder of Josie, ‘lady of the night’.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Next day we decided to drive back into town, the six of us, and see what the Manchester Police Department was up to. Actually, we were going to check and see if anyone had been arrested, confessed, or otherwise helped to conclude this entire affair.

  Officer Kingsley, that nice policewoman (policeperson?) from the crime scene, was on duty and available to take our questions. She found a room large enough to accommodate us all and took us back en masse, an impromptu parade of amateur sleuths determined to be involved. I confess that I did some minor snooping as we walked through the halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of detectives at work or in conference. I’m not too sure what I thought I’d learn from this little exercise, but who knew? Detecting might be transferable via osmosis.