Well, when in a quandary, look to Crazy Great-Aunt Opal for advice. The gem I came up with this time was this: “A good question is half the answer.”
My problem was articulating the question.
Chapter Twenty-four
In spite of my worries over a good night’s sleep, I did OK. To be honest, I was more anxious over what the next day would bring, i.e. Julian Sweet, and working out what made him so angry at Andy and Company. I wasn’t looking forward to talking to him, but that was the only way I figured we could get at the truth.
I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye, standing at the edge of the trees, in the shadows. It was as if he wanted me to see him. Wanted me to notice him. Not to worry, Julian, I thought grimly. I saw you.
Breakfast was a little subdued. The old dears had stayed out a little later than they were used to, and this morning they were feeling the after-effects. And bless their dear hearts, they still got up at the regular time, putting the toast in the toaster and tea on the table. Miss Bea’s hair was at its best– or worst, depending on your view– this morning, the frizzy mess piled high over one ear and anchored there with a maze of hairpins. Not to be outdone by her sis-in-law, Miss Lucinda’s lavender mop was arranged in a massive bun at the back of her head, two pencils stuck through it at odd angles to keep it there. I shook my head in amusement; if I lived to be their age, I could only hope to have the same panache.
Finally full, I stood up and began clearing the table, stacking our crumbcovered plates and teacups carefully. Leslie followed suit, carrying the empty teapot and butter over to the counter. Miss Bea and Miss Lucinda stood up and walked to the front room, still in the process of waking up. I had noticed before that when Miss Lucinda was extremely tired, she tended to limp a bit more than usual. This morning, the limp was pronounced.
While Leslie washed the dishes, I rinsed and dried. We worked well together; maybe the two of us should work on Julian today and leave the Becklaw women behind to rest. I put the idea to Leslie, who promptly agreed.
We got ready in record time. I recalled the adage that had come to me the night before, the one about the question being half of the answer. I needed to frame the question in such a way that I got the answer I needed. How to do that was still the issue.
On the drive into town, I hit up Leslie with a plan. ‘Let’s go by Julian’s house.’
She looked sideways at me as she drove, one eyebrow hiked up. ‘And?’
‘Well, I don’t know. It’ll come to us when we get there.’ I looked out of the passenger window at the landscape that was becoming as familiar to me as that of my home in Piney Woods.
‘Jo, we need a reason for stopping by his place. We can’t just waltz up to his door and ask if he’s the killer.’
She had a point.
‘OK, then. What should we say?’ I must admit I hadn’t one decent idea in mind. The only thing I could think of was trying to make that elusive connection between getting mad at some buddies over being teased and the deaths of two young women. That was certainly a stretch.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe tell him what you learned from Andy, then just see how he reacts.’ Leslie signaled a left turn, and we pulled into our usual spot behind the library.
First things first, though. We needed to use the library’s phone directory collection to ferret out Julian’s address. It was still a bit early, only eight-forty, and the library opened at nine. I suggested a short constitutional around downtown Manchester.
We locked up the station wagon, Leslie shoving the keys deep into her jeans pocket. Setting off toward the center of town, we began to stroll, enjoying the morning. Colorado in the spring, even high in the mountains, can be deceptive. A day can begin as gray and dismal as a dungeon, only for the clouds to break apart and the sun to shine in full glory. On the other hand, a sunny morning did not guarantee a sunny afternoon, so I had learned to take advantage of days like this.
We had just passed the post office and were approaching the craft shop when Leslie grabbed at my arm. ‘Don’t look!’ she hissed.
Of course I looked. And I saw him, leaning against the corner of the store across the street, sipping a coffee and watching us, not bothering to hide that he was staring.
Julian Sweet, slightly built and not in the least physically intimidating, made my skin crawl. I had not one reason why, I couldn’t even begin to explain. I just had That Feeling again. Locking eyes with me, Julian made sure that I saw him, then casually turned and walked back the other way, tossing his cup into a trash can.
I fished my cellphone out of my pocket, noticing I had three missed calls, all the same number. I groaned. Mother again. I’d really have to make an effort.
‘I’m going to give Officer Kingsley a call,’ I told Leslie, thumbing through the contacts list until I located her number, then pressed the little green telephone icon to place the call.
‘Kingsley,’ came the abrupt answer. She certainly didn’t waste any breath on unnecessary words, I’d noticed.
‘Good morning, it’s Jo Anderson calling.’ I waited for her to acknowledge me and got only an earful of dead air. ‘Hello?’
‘I’m here. How can I help?’ Officer K sounded a bit grumpy this bright Colorado morning, so I came to the point quickly.
‘Can we – Leslie and I – come by and talk to you? We’re in town right now …’ I broke off as she interrupted me.
‘Look. I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m up to my eyeballs in these murders, along with the nonsense up at the casino last night, so now’s not exactly a good time to see you.’
‘We were at the casino last night,’ I offered. ‘I didn’t notice any nonsense going on, only that crazy drunk lady who kept falling all over the place.’
The silence this time was attentive. I could hear papers rustling as Officer Kingsley moved things about. ‘Could you two swing by the office in about ten minutes? I’m on my way to a quick meeting, but I can meet you in the lobby at nine.’
I calculated quickly. We could just make it there if we hoofed it right now. I know we had the car, but I wanted to walk off some of my renewed energy, maybe get a spark of something fired up in my brain. ‘We’ll be there,’ I promised, then disconnected.
‘What’s that all about?’ asked Leslie as we turned around and began walking in the direction of the police station.
‘I’m not sure. Something about the casino. I told her we were there last night, and now she wants to see us.’
We made it there in record time, only slightly out of breath. The officer at the front desk told us to wait, that Officer Kingsley would be down in a minute. We plopped down into a pair of chairs. The lobby was typical of your average police station, not, I hasten to add, that I’ve spent much time in one. The line-up of plastic chairs, the kind that stick to the backs of sweaty legs, the ‘Most Wanted’ posters around the walls, the metal detectors by all doors, both in and out. A most depressing place, I thought.
The near door swung open and Officer Kingsley stood there, one ear covered with her cellphone. She motioned for us to follow her back, giving the desk sergeant a brief wave. We followed her through the warren of offices, some occupied, others dark and silent. This time she took us to her office, shutting the door behind us before moving around to the other side of her desk and sitting down.
She was still listening intently to whoever it was on the other end of the line, so Leslie and I amused ourselves by studying the many commendations hung around the room. Apparently Officer K was well-liked and successful at her job.
Finally the call ended, and after a brief moment to look over the notes she had been taking, Officer Kingsley looked up at us, a serious expression on her face.
‘OK. Tell me what you know about the casino.’
Leslie and I looked at each other, completely baffled. What in the world was she talking about?
‘Could you maybe give us a hint? I mean, we were there last night, sure, but nothing happened.’ Unless that creepy p
it boss had reported me and Miss Lucinda as stalkers. That was always a possibility, I admitted.
‘After the last deposit was made, the night office was broken into and most of the money was taken. I say ‘most’ because some of it was still in the bag when we were called out early this morning.’
I took a good look at Officer Kingsley. She did indeed have the appearance of one not getting a proper amount of rest.
I considered my words, then offered, ‘Andy Grimes, one of the extras that Miss Bea had hired to play in our performance, told me that he thought Julian Sweet had a weird reaction when some of the other employees teased him about being the burglar.’ OK, not technically true. But still, if I could have gotten Andy to talk more, he might have said that.
Officer Kingsley stared at me a moment then pulled her notebook closer to her and readied her pen. ‘OK. Tell me what you know, Jo.’
I spent the next few minutes recapping the conversation with Andy, how I felt that somehow the murders were tied up with the burglaries – never mind that I couldn’t articulate it – and that Julian, again, was the center of the issue.
To her credit, Officer K took me seriously, or appeared to, and for that I was grateful. I’d had my fill of being the ‘special’ member of the group, the one whose actions and reactions were considered borderline nutcase at best.
‘Let me pass this on to the others on my team. I’ll give you a call if I need to talk to you again, OK?’ She stood to her feet, indicating the meeting was at an end.
Leslie and I took our time strolling back toward the library. I had a sudden urge for a bagel and cream cheese, and I knew that the small grocery store on the next block boasted a deli/bakery combo.
And I recalled Oleta McLaughlin’s comments about someone who worked there who had talked about Josie. Maybe this fount of knowledge would also want to talk about Julian Sweet.
Chapter Twenty-five
The store’s interior was dim compared to the outdoors. Glancing up at the ceiling, I figured it out for myself: half the lights were turned off; probably their nod to the Green Movement.
The deli and bakery shared an area near the back of the store, and that’s where we headed. The bagel and cream cheese craving had grown to include a crème horn and an iced sugar cookie. I blamed it on the fresh mountain air.
While we waited our turn, Leslie and I perused the offerings inside the bakery’s glass cabinets. Trays of glazed donuts, some iced and covered in sprinkles, sat beside huge apple fritters, puffed and warm and ready to melt in your mouth. Cookies of all kinds, croissants and bagels – it was all here.
‘Can I help you?’ The pleasant-looking young girl behind the counter smiled at us, plastic gloves at the ready.
I gave her our order and we watched as she retrieved the goodies and popped them inside a waxed paper bag emblazoned with the store’s name and logo. We paid for our purchases and were just walking away when someone from behind the deli side of things called out, ‘Ain’t you girls part of that traveling show? The one where that girl got killed?’
Swell. Just what I needed – not! I’d made up my mind to ignore the joker and walk out, when Leslie stopped beside me, turning toward the voice.
‘If you are speaking of Becklaw’s Murder Mystery Tour that got canceled due to a murder then yes, that’s us. Can I help you with something?’ Leslie’s voice was polite, that dangerous form of acquiescence that indicates temper. Ms Deli Counter had better be careful, I thought.
‘I was talking to Aunt Oleta about you the other day. That Josie, she was one bad girl. Always messing with others’ boyfriends, starting trouble with gossip,’– as if what she was doing wasn’t gossip –‘and making life miserable in general around here. Can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone.’
By this time we had edged nearer to the tall counter holding meats and cheeses, close enough to see the gal that stood on the opposite side of the glass, a stained apron tied around a middle that mimicked her Aunt Oleta’s to a tee. Not all family traits were winners.
‘I’m sorry you feel that way about Josie, er … Lola,’ I said, reading her name from the badge riding on her ample chest. Hmm. Another reminder of her familial ties.
Lola snorted. ‘You have no idea, missy,’ she said defensively. ‘Why, she nearly wrecked my own house with her giggling and swaying and carrying on. Every man in town just about lost their eyeballs starin’ at her.’ Lola slammed a half ham down on the slicing counter as if she had Josie in her hands.
I looked at Leslie from the corner of my eye. Now here was yet another motive being bandied about: the spurned woman angle. From where I stood, things were getting crazier and more confusing.
Leslie had started inching back toward me, my cue to say brightly, ‘Oh, would you look at the time! Leslie, we need to get back. Nice talking to you, Lola.’
We made our escape, bakery bag clutched tightly in my hand. I wasn’t about to lose seven dollars and twenty-two cents’ worth of sweets.
Once on the comparatively safe street, I turned to Leslie, asking, ‘What was that all about?’
She shrugged. ‘I thought that maybe she’d give us something else to work with. Instead, she came off as the Crazed Wife of Manchester.’
I agreed. Lola and her Aunt Oleta were indeed cut from the same cloth.
In tacit agreement, we made our way back to the library. It was open now, but I sat down on a bench near the entrance, face to the sunshine and hand in the bakery bag. I needed a sugar hit before I tackled another person involved in these crimes. Leslie and I munched in silent contentment, recharging our mental batteries and thinking about the next step: getting Julian’s address and paying him a visit.
Goodies eaten, address obtained, we made our way back to the station wagon. And froze. Wedged under one wiper blade was what looked like a wadded up paper napkin. We inched toward it cautiously, not knowing what to expect.
‘Shouldn’t you call Officer Kingsley?’ Leslie, asked me, sounding a tad nervous. I laughed. ‘What for? Because someone stuck their trash on Miss Bea’s car?’ I reached out to free the object, then snatched my hand back. Something was moving inside the wad of paper.
I looked on the ground for a stick or something to poke with, and spied the broken end of someone’s car antenna lying near the back tire. I picked it up and stopped, the antenna frozen skyward in my hand like a – well, like an antenna.
It was Miss Bea’s. Whoever had stuck that little gift under the wiper blade had also taken the opportunity to let us know that this wasn’t a joke. OK – it was time to call Officer Kingsley.
We waited for the cavalry to arrive, huddled together on the bench beside the library. Within a few minutes, we saw the familiar black and white come pulling up to the curb, Officer K emerging from the passenger’s door. She and her partner, a short burly man with arms as big around as my thighs, walked over to meet us. I saw them glance at the car before coming over, but they made no comment. Maybe cops have their own telepathic communication.
I had used the past few minutes to take stock of my life as it had transpired up until now. I had to conclude that no one in their right mind would have ever put me in the middle of anything like this. All I had wanted to do was to see the world and get out from underneath my mother’s thumb and watchful eye.
Actually, that seemed like a fairly safe place to be right then.
‘Jo? Leslie? You two OK?’ Officer Kingsley stopped in front of us, her back to the sun.
I had to cover my eyes as I tried to look her in the face, but the slanted rays of the morning light were too strong. I stood.
‘I’m OK, thanks, just a little upset. Not as upset as Miss Bea’s going to be, though,’ I added, handing her the busted antenna.
Leslie nodded. ‘We were in the library for about ten minutes and the car was perfectly fine when we went in, wasn’t it, Jo?’
She turned to me for confirmation and I nodded. Nothing untoward had jumped out at me as we had walked by. Of course, I had been focus
ing on the goodies from the bakery.
As if she could read my thoughts, Officer Kingsley looked at me, her eyebrows lifted in question. I blushed.
‘Well, maybe I was in a hurry to get at the bagels and cookies we just bought,’ I confessed. ‘I really didn’t look at the car, but I think that I would have noticed something.’
Officer K’s expression clearly said, maybe, maybe not. One thing for sure: I was getting much better at reading others’ faces.
‘Let’s take a look at the windshield, shall we?’ The two officers walked over to the station wagon’s front end, snapping on gloves as they walked. This looked semiserious, and my heart began to pick up the pace.
The brawny officer leaned in closer, poking at the object with the end of one gloved finger. I saw something moving again, then the tip of a long tail – a long, skinny tail, to be exact – emerged. Cupping both hands around the wriggling mass, he turned around to face us, showing us the tiny mouse that had been tied to the stick that ran along its back, the stick then thrust through the paper. Poor thing. It must have been in shock.
I must be in shock! I was feeling sorry for a mouse!
We made it through the interview process, our plans to visit Julian’s house shelved for the present. I say ‘the present’ because I was still working from feelings I had about him and his connection to Josie and Lily. There was definitely something there, something tenuous, but there nonetheless. With the assurance that this was some mindless prank– nothing had been written on the paper, after all – we took off.
After that little escapade, we decided to go on back to the campground. I hadn’t called anyone and told them about our predicament, deciding it would be better to tell Miss Bea in person about her beloved station wagon.
The KOA was bustling with new visitors. The McLaughlins were standing outside talking to some new folks, a young couple with a child that seemed to be hopped up on sugar or something. The little girl’s stubby pigtails bounced as she jumped frenetically from boulder to decorative boulder, her parents oblivious and Mrs McLaughlin barely able to contain herself. I grinned. Better her than me.
Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) Page 16