A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

"How could they have all done it together?" Wendy asked.

  "Come on, my child," Lexie said to Wendy. She was following my line of reasoning easily. "Use your imagination. Joy White could have been responsible for getting Trotter to the party. She was invited, not him. He only came as Joy's guest. Alice Runcan could have been hiding in the pantry and used the opportunity to add the cyanide to his drink while I was outside assisting the caterer with the sandwich tray. Then Alice could have scurried back to be in the ideal position to snap photos when the lights came on which could later serve as proof of her alibi. Meanwhile, Rayleen sliced Trotter's throat. You do recall how anxious Alice was to show the photos to Detective Russell, don't you?"

  "And to rub her boobs all over him," I said. "Just as if it were a preview of coming attractions on Alice's part."

  "I wouldn't put it past her," Wendy replied. "Alice has always been pretty promiscuous. So, where were Joy and Rayleen when the lights came on? Does anyone remember? In Alice's photo it was Mom standing next to him, not one of those two."

  None of us had any recollection of Joy's or Rayleen's location when the lights came on and everyone had shouted to surprise Wendy. Nor did any of us know who might have noticed and could accurately place the two ladies at that critical moment so that we could question them.

  I considered the fact everyone in the room was stunned at that point in time. All eyes were, no doubt, riveted to the spot where Trotter's dead body had lain bleeding on the parlor floor. I'd bet that Joy and Rayleen could have both shed all their clothes at that moment and not one person in the entire room would have even noticed.

  "Could Alice, Joy, and/or Rayleen have been the voices you heard as you were preparing Trotter's drink?" I asked Lexie.

  "It's possible. I'm sorry, but I was so busy at the time that I paid very little attention to whoever was in the kitchen with me."

  We still weren't sure how to proceed with our impromptu investigation. We left the night club with more questions than answers. The six of us decided to sleep on it and meet the next morning for breakfast at the Alexandria Inn to come up with a game plan. There was a sick baby in the neo-natal ward at Wheatland Memorial that Mattie was emotionally invested in so she'd have to head to the hospital following the meeting. But Wendy told us she'd be calling in sick with a headache and upset stomach.

  "With seven bloody Marys under my belt, I have a bad feeling I won't be lying about it either," she said with a groan.

  Chapter 15

  I woke up early the next morning and nobody else was stirring. The Spitz sisters left before daybreak, and there were no guests checking in for the next several days. Stone had told us the business was in its yearly back-to-school lull and wouldn't pick up again for a couple of weeks. I tiptoed into the kitchen and made a pot of Folgers in the Bunn coffee maker on the counter. After it had finished brewing, I took a cup out on the back porch.

  Nursing a slight hangover, I went over the conversation we gals had engaged in while huddled in Sparky's restroom the night before. I was optimistically hopeful, but not at all confident, about the Three Musketeers theory I'd concocted. To pull off such an elaborate scheme would take precise timing, advance knowledge of who'd be where and when at nearly every moment, and a great deal of just plain dumb luck. To plan an assault of this magnitude and have it come off without a hitch seemed too improbable to me. I still thought we should look into it, but not devote all our time and resources on a scenario so unlikely.

  I had brought my iPad out on the porch with me and whiled away a good half hour playing Scrabble. I found it wasn't nearly as much fun when you were playing against a computer that could match you play by play. And unlike competing against Rip, I couldn't get away with making up words, complete with believable definitions, when I was in a tight spot.

  Just as I was about to clinch a victory, my cyberspace competitor used the "O" in my word, "boat", to form the word, "QUIXOTIC", which to my dismay landed on a triple word score square. To totally rub my nose in it, the computer used all seven tiles for an additional fifty points. Even though I was now way behind my cyber competitor in scoring, I was happy to declare the game a tie when I heard voices in the dining room.

  * * *

  Lexie was pouring coffee and placing the cups at six places at one end of the massive table, which had a total of twelve matching chairs. The other four people were already seated. Wendy was enthusiastically chattering non-stop when I walked into the room.

  "I was reading through the newspaper this morning and came across a blurb about a wedding tonight in the 'Daily Happenings' column. I couldn't believe it when I saw that Candy Kobialka was marrying Bobby Crushnut at the Rockdale Baptist Church at six o'clock this evening." Wendy must have thought no one would believe her remarkable find, because she laid the somehow newsworthy clipping down in the middle of the table.

  "Why is that important?" I asked. "Was this soon-to-be Candy Crushnut at the birthday party?"

  "Oh, my God! I hadn't put it together, but I hope for Candy's sake she keeps her maiden name. And, no, she wasn't at the party, but that's not important anyway," Wendy said.

  If Wendy thought her news was not important, then why was she so passionate about it? Before I could ask, she answered my question.

  "Candy Kobialka used to occasionally hang out with Alice, Joy, and Rayleen. Although the three girls seemed to think there was no room in their elite club for a fourth musketeer, they were close enough to Candy that I'm anticipating all three ladies will be at her wedding tonight. What do you think, Mattie?"

  "I'd almost bet on it," her friend replied. "Or, at least Rayleen, who shared a locker with her our senior year."

  "Exactly! That's what I figured when I saw the announcement this morning," Wendy exclaimed.

  "How many bridal shops are there in Rockdale?" I asked. I knew where Wendy was heading with her news.

  "Only one that I know of," Mattie replied. "Why?"

  "Give me a minute and I'll explain." I then Googled the shop and found a phone number for the store. Using the inn's landline phone, I called the number and asked the gal who answered the phone if they were handling the Crushnut wedding. When she confirmed that they were, I gave a thumb's up signal to the other five sitting at the table.

  I spoke with the shop owner for a few minutes, telling her I was penning an article about the nuptials for the next day's issue of the Rockdale Gazette. I asked a few generic questions before asking for a list of names in the wedding party.

  "Cool," I said after I'd hung up the phone. "It looks like Rayleen will indeed be attending the wedding. She's one of Candy's bridesmaids."

  Rip shook his head in puzzlement and asked, "And how does all this benefit us in tracking down Hayes's killer?"

  "I think it'd be interesting to see how the three girls interact if they all show up at the wedding, and chances are good that they will. They might huddle in a corner and discuss how well their murder scheme turned out, or blatantly ignore each other to prevent anyone from putting two-and-two together. If they just mingle socially like people who have nothing to hide, that will tell us a lot too. There's also the off chance of getting into a conversation with one, two, or all three of them." I explained my reasoning to everyone.

  All five nodded and Lexie said, "I suppose it's worth a shot. If only two of us go, the rest of us could be exploring other avenues at the same time."

  "Good idea," Wendy said. "Now obviously Mattie and I can't go since they all know us and will know we weren't invited to the wedding. And Mom and Stone would stand out like a sore thumb due to the hubbub around town regarding the murder. I guarantee Rockdale's ever-present grapevine is in full force right now."

  "So," Wendy continued, looking directly at Rip and me. "Have you two ever crashed a wedding?"

  I answered quickly, "No, but it's been on our bucket list forever!"

  Rip turned to me and asked, "Won't it be obvious that we aren't even remotely acquainted with the couple getting hitched?"

 
"Not at all," I said. "Who in their right mind would attend the wedding of people they didn't know?"

  "That's my point!"

  "No, that's my point, Rip!"

  "Huh?"

  "Remember that old lady in the raggedy fur coat who attended our wedding and spent the entire reception at the refreshments table?"

  "Yes, and I still think she hid the champagne bottle in her coat and made off with it before your pappy could make a toast to us." He turned to the other four at the table and explained, "We didn't have a pot to piss in or a window... well, you all know the saying. Rapella's pappy gave us the bubbly for our wedding present. It was the only highfaluting thing about our entire low budget, shotgun wedding. Neither Rapella nor I had any idea who the woman lurking around the refreshments was. I'm thinking now she was just some old down-on-her-luck lush who attended our wedding in order to high-tail it with the booze."

  The other four at the table laughed, and then I said, "My point is that, throughout the wedding, even though there were only about thirty people in attendance, we both thought she was a relative of the other's. I'd heard you speak about your pa's estranged sister who he described as an eccentric old maid. The old lady in the molting mink jacket seemed to fit the bill, so I assumed it was her!"

  "And I assumed she was your pappy's sister because she acted wacky just like him."

  I smacked Rip on the side of the head with the back of my hand and continued. "We'll just act like we are long-lost relatives of either the Kobialkas or the Crushnuts, depending on who we might be talking to at the time, and try to avoid conversations with anyone who's not relevant to the murder case. Trust me, Rip, no one will even question our presence."

  While we were attending the wedding, Wendy was going to try to contact a couple of her friends who were better acquainted with Falcon Jons, including one who worked as an engineer at Jons's aerospace firm. We weren't quite ready to quit sniffing up that alley yet. Mattie had to report to work in an hour and wouldn't get off until much later in the afternoon, so she'd be unable to help out that day.

  Andy was hauling a dozen Herefords to the livestock auction that afternoon while Stone and Rip were going to try to find Detective Russell and have an in-depth conversation with him about the case. Stone, as the spouse of their only current suspect, and Rip, as a lifetime detective, hoped their combined credentials would earn them an audience with the lead investigator. Their attempt to get a foot in the door to see the detective the previous day had been unsuccessful.

  * * *

  Rip and I had limited space in the Chartreuse Caboose for clothing so our wardrobe selections were sparse. We had stopped by Boney's garage to pick up Rip's only suit, which worked equally well for both weddings and funerals. I chose to wear the dress I'd worn to the surprise party because my only other dress had gone out of style decades ago. I couldn't remember the exact year I'd bought it, but I'm pretty sure it was during the late sixties. As I recall, I'd purchased it from a thrift shop to wear to a protest against the Vietnam War.

  We arrived at the Rockdale Baptist Church at straight-up noon, as the newspaper blurb had stated was the time the wedding was to commence. I told Rip we were at the church Lexie met Georgia in and both still attended services there, as did Alice Runcan.

  As we stepped out of the truck, the Beach Boy's rendition of "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena" was playing on the oldies station, and I couldn't get the song out of my mind. I was humming that tune softly as we eased through the rear door of the sanctuary and took our seats in the back pew, just as the bride and groom were exchanging vows.

  Rayleen Waters was standing with three other identically dressed gals to the right of the bride, as expected. I scanned the room quickly and saw Joy in a seat next to the aisle about seven rows back from the pulpit. Fitting into this wedding party will be a breeze, I thought. There were so many guests in attendance I was confident we'd be able to fly under the radar with no problem.

  Even contact with Joy would not be a complicated matter. If I could convince her I knew her mother, I could surely convince her that Rip and I were long-lost cousins of the groom.

  I continued to search the crowd for Alice Runcan but couldn't locate her. As the owner of Zen's Diner, I considered the fact she may not have been able to leave the busy restaurant during the lunch hour on a Saturday.

  At the conclusion of the ceremony, the groom gave his new bride a brief, dispassionate peck on the lips. It was the kind of kiss he'd have been apt to bestow on his grandmother when he ran into her at his high school football game. I often gave Rip a more amorous kiss just for carrying the trash out for me. Clearly, an over-abundance of PDAs would not be an issue for this newly-married couple.

  We melded into the throng of people exiting the sanctuary to gravitate down the staircase into the basement where the reception was to be held. While the invited guests mingled and greeted friends and relatives with hugs and handshakes, Rip and I meandered around the buffet line. It crossed my mind briefly that the newlyweds might be wondering about the old couple lingering around the food table. Like the elderly lady at our own wedding nearly a half-century ago, we probably appeared to be waiting for an opportunity to make off with the champagne bottles situated next to a number of crystal glass goblets. I knew Dom Perignon was not an inexpensive brand of the high-alcohol-content libation.

  At one point, Joy White caught me staring at her when I'd spotted her across the room. Looking none the worse for wear from her several days of broken-hearted grieving, she nodded and I nodded back. Joy looked surprised to see me but made no effort to walk over and greet me. I hoped I'd get an opportunity to speak with her before the reception concluded.

  Rip and I were standing together at the rear of the room when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and found myself staring right into the eyes of the recently declared Mrs. Candy Crushnut. She gave me a polite hug and said, "I wanted to thank you for coming to our wedding. It's such a pleasure to meet some of Bobby's relatives for the first time."

  "And it's a real pleasure for us to meet his new beautiful bride as well. I'm Rapella and this is my husband, Clyde. Rip, as everyone calls him, is Bobby's father's uncle's third cousin twice removed. Although we seldom see this side of his family, we were going to be in town anyway, so we decided to take the opportunity to attend your beautiful wedding." I spoke in a casual but friendly manner.

  "Thank you. Where are you folks from?" Candy asked.

  "Pasadena," I replied. There was no need to lie but it was the first place that came to mind, even before Rockport, Texas, our actual hometown.

  "Cool," she replied. "I'm so glad you could make it, and I know Bobby will be delighted too."

  The tone of her voice made it apparent she was getting ready to move on to greet other guests so I quickly changed the subject. "We were surprised to see Rayleen Waters here. Her late great-aunt and my mother have been friends forever. Coincidentally, we just saw Rayleen a few days ago at a surprise party for a mutual friend of ours. Tragically, one of the guests was killed before the party could even get started."

  I glanced at Rip just long enough to see him roll his eyes. I was relieved when Candy took the bait and ran with it.

  "Yes, it's been all over the news. That's just unbelievable, isn't it? At least they have the killer behind bars, I heard. But I've been so busy tying up loose ends for this wedding that I haven't had much time to pay attention to the news."

  "I understand completely, sweetheart. Were you a close friend of Mr. Hayes?"

  "No, not really, but I remember Rayleen went to homecoming with him our senior year. Caused a real dustup between her and Alice Runcan as I recall. But they got over it, and Rayleen had forgiven Trotter for causing the quarrel. In fact, she just told me recently that the two of them had discussed forming a committee to plan a fifteen-year class reunion to be held in a few years. She's been real torn up about his death the last several days."

  As Candy was speaking, a petite, dark-haired woman, a
bout twenty feet from us, caught my eye. As the woman turned slightly to her right, I recognized her as the caterer. I almost cut Candy off when I asked her, "Oh, do you know Georgia Piney?"

  "Not too well, personally, but she's friends with my parents. Georgia and her husband were clients of my father, who's a partner in the Hocraffer, Zumbrunn, Kobialka and Wright law firm. He represented them when they sued Trotter Hayes and his family after their daughter, Tori, committed suicide, and then again in their lawsuit against the fertilizer plant after Mr. Piney was diagnosed with brain cancer. Well, I need to make the rounds and welcome all the guests, but it was nice meeting you both."

  Before Candy could turn around, her new husband came up behind her and put his arms around his bride's waist from behind. She reached back with her right hand and patted his cheek, and said, "I've got to go talk to some other guests, Bobby, but you'll want to visit with your relatives from California."

  "I'm sorry," he replied, looking at Rip and me as if trying to place us. "I didn't even know I had relatives in California."

  "Oh, yes. Rip is your uncle's third—"

  "Which uncle?" Bobby asked.

  Oops! I didn't see that one coming. I knew he'd recognize all of his uncle's names, and with a zillion and four names to choose from I was fairly certain of guessing the wrong one. I considering trying "Bob" because a large majority of Americans have an Uncle Bob in their family and there was a decent chance that Bobby was his namesake. But if Bobby turned out to be in the minority and said he only had two uncles named Theodore and Winston, how would I respond?

  So instead of replying, I did the only other thing that came to mind. I grabbed my chest and leaned over, groaning dramatically, with a couple of sudden lists to the side for effect. Fortunately, Rip knew me well enough to realize what I was doing and didn't pull the phone out of his suit pocket to dial 9-1-1. Bobby looked alarmed though, and probably wasn't keen on having some little old lady from Pasadena keeling over dead at his and Candy's wedding reception. He reached out to grab hold of my arm to help me regain my balance. Panicking, he asked, "Are you okay? Should I call for an ambulance?"