by Nic Saint
“Stop stopping me!” she yelled, her voice echoing nicely through the cavernous space.
“Stop slapping already!” Estrella cried. “What are you, five?”
“I’m older than you, so you should stop first,” Ernestine told me.
“You’re only five minutes older, so that doesn’t count!” I countered.
“God isn’t liking this,” Estrella warned, though she’d probably never prayed in her life.
This had the desired effect, for Ernestine stopped slapping me and directed another anxious look at the ceiling… and started crossing herself.
I crouched down and studied the cross. About a dozen bolts were attached to the back. They were all covered in plaster, probably from having been bolted into the wall. I then walked over to the back wall, and studied the holes. A wooden door afforded entrance into the next space, so I opened it and walked through. It was a small room with an altar, a bunch of clerical clothes hanging on clothes hangers against the wall, a collection of candles and brass candelabras placed on a small table, and a bookcase laden with clerical tomes.
“This is the sacristy,” Ernestine said in a hollow voice. “We’re not supposed to be in here!”
I ignored her and walked over to where I assumed the cross had been bolted into the wall. On the floor there was a lot of fine white chalk, and a number of bolts that had dropped down. About seven feet up, a dozen holes had been drilled into the wall, where the bolts had been that held up the heavy cross. So someone had unscrewed these bolts, knowing the cross would come tumbling down. There were faint drag marks in the dust, probably where a ladder had been placed. I looked around and saw a wooden ladder placed against the wall.
“We checked all that,” suddenly a male voice sounded behind me. When I whirled around I saw Sam studying me from the doorway.
“Oh, my God!” Ernestine cried. “You scared the crap out of me!” Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth. “I said C.R.AP.!”
“Crap is not a bad word,” I told her. “So relax.”
“Crap is a bad word.”
“Well, it’s definitely not as bad as hell or damn,” I said.
She produced a sort of whimpering sound and bolted from the sacristy.
“How the hell did you get in here?” Sam asked.
Estrella had placed her hands on her hips. “The better question would be why the hell did you lie about Pierre? He’s not dead and yet you said he was!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, God. Do we have to go through that again?”
“Again?” I asked. “We only went through it once, and frankly I found your explanation sorely lacking, Sam.”
“Look, can I talk to you alone?” he asked, casting a weary eye at my sister.
“No, you cannot talk to her alone,” Estrella replied before I could. “Whatever you have to say, Samuel Barkley, you’ll have to say in front of the two of us.”
He threw up his hand. “Like I told you over the phone, when Pierre’s heart stopped I had an epiphany. The first thing that went through my mind was how glad I was that Pierre wasn’t married. Cause I’d hate to have to be the one to tell his wife that he’d died on the job. So that got me thinking. If we were to be together, and I were to die, one of my colleagues would have to go over and tell you I died. And I wondered how you’d feel about that.”
Estrella opened her mouth to speak so I shushed her. I was pretty sure she’d say something very unchristian. She closed her mouth with an angry click.
“And then I thought how unfair that would be to you, so…”
“So you decided to break up with me,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, I did,” he admitted.
“You louse!” Estrella screamed. “You rotten louse!”
“I think it’s actually kinda cute,” I said, my anger melting away.
“It took me three days to mull this over, and on the fourth day I finally realized I was being an idiot.”
“I’m glad you admit it,” I said with a smile.
“Well, it was actually Pierre who told me I was an idiot. He said I should at least discuss things with you before I went and decided on something as important as this. Which is why I wanted to take you out—to discuss… our future.”
“You have no future in this family, you louse!” Estrella yelled.
“Estrella, too much,” I said.
“I thought I was overdoing it,” she confessed. “Shall I…
“Yes, please. Just…”
“I’ll just go now,” she said. “I’ll join Ernestine. Help her… pray.”
Sam and I just stood there, an awkward silence descending upon the sacristy. A portrait of a tortured saint stared back at me from the wall. Judging from his expression of loathing, he seemed to feel I’d done something very bad. Another saint looked like he was about to cry. Maybe the crown of thorns on his bloodied head had something to do with that.
“Um, so…” Sam finally said. “I just wanted to apologize again, and…”
“It’s okay, Sam,” I said, deciding I’d made him sweat enough already. “It’s totally fine. I get why you suddenly panicked.”
“I didn’t panic, exactly.” When I gave him a pointed look, he quickly amended, “Okay, so I panicked. Where does that leave us?”
“That leaves us where we were before: taking it slow. I don’t have a lot of experience with this dating thing, and neither have you, so…”
“So we pick up where we left off?”
“Yes, we do.”
And to celebrate this reconciliation, we kissed. With all these saints staring at us, I didn’t feel quite comfortable to go beyond a chaste kiss, though, so we left it at that.
“Now that we settled that,” Sam said, “what the hell are you three doing here?”
“Looking at the crime scene,” I said blithely.
“Looking at the crime scene.”
“Yup. We’ve decided to solve this murder.”
He gave me a long, hard stare. “You can’t solve this murder, Edie. This is a police investigation. You’re not the police.”
“I know that, but we’re concerned citizens. And neighbors, I might add.”
“So? I’ll bet there are a lot of concerned citizens out there. They don’t start their own investigation. Besides, from what Cassandra told me there was no love lost between your family and Leann Peach.”
“That still doesn’t give anyone the right to murder the woman.”
“How did you get past Marco?”
“Estrella used her powers of persuasion.”
He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
I pointed at the holes in the wall. “So someone mounted a ladder and unscrewed those bolts, huh?”
“Yes, and whoever did it must have known Mrs. Peach would be here.”
“And must have had access to the sacristy.”
“I talked to Father Frank. He told me he always stepped out around the time Mrs. Peach stepped in. She came round every day at seven o’clock sharp, so he made sure he was never in at that time.”
“He wasn’t a big fan of Mrs. Peach, huh?”
“Not exactly. He said she was a big pain in the butt. Always causing trouble for the other parishioners. She was an evil woman. His exact words.”
“Wow. For a priest to call someone an evil woman… she must have been truly evil.”
“I guess she was.”
“So whoever did this must have known Mrs. Peach’s schedule.”
“And Father Frank’s habit of popping out when she popped in.”
“Interesting.”
We both stared up at the holes in the wall. Apparently one of Mrs. Peach’s many enemies had finally found a way to dole out some divine wrath. Ironic.
“Are you two done in here already?” Ernestine asked, popping her head in. “I’m getting awfully nervous, Edie. Awfully nervous.”
“I better skedaddle before Stien suffers a nervous breakdown,” I said.
“A lot
of people get nervous at crime scenes,” he told me.
“It’s not that. She’s nervous God will strike us down for using bad language in church.” He laughed at this. “Don’t laugh. She’s serious.”
“I’m not laughing,” he said between two laughs. He escorted me from the sacristy and back into the church. “So what movie do you want to see?”
“What movie do we want to see?” Estrella asked. “We’re all joining you, remember?”
“Oh, Jesus,” Sam muttered.
“Sam! Language!” Ernestine exclaimed.
I had the impression Sam’s punishment wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 10
We walked back to the flower shop and passed by the house. When we arrived, we saw a big black cat plaintively meowing in the front yard of Mrs. Peach’s house. I recognized her as Snoozles.
“Oh, poor kitty,” said Estrella, instantly streaking over.
“What’s going to happen to that cat?” asked Ernestine.
“No idea,” said Sam. “I just figured Mrs. Peach’s sister would take her.”
“Fat chance,” I said. “Paloma Peach didn’t get along with her sister.”
Same stared at me. “How do you know so much about Mrs. Peach?”
I hitched up my shoulders. “I have my sources.”
“Renée Reive,” said Ernestine. “She told us the whole story. She knows everything about everybody. It’s amazing.”
“I guess I need to have a word with Renée Reive, then,” said Sam.
“Stien!” I hissed when Sam joined Estrella to stroke Snoozles. “Don’t reveal our sources! It’s rule number one!”
“Rule number one for what?” Stien asked confusedly.
“Rule number one for…” I flapped my arms a bit. “For snoops!”
“Snoops?”
“Yes, snoops. It’s a word.”
“I know it’s a word. It’s just not the right word.”
“So what is the right word?”
Stien shrugged. “I guess we could call ourselves private detectives.”
“Nobody hired us, so we’re not detectives.”
“I would argue that one can be a detective even if one doesn’t have a client.”
“We’re not detectives,” I insisted. “That’s entirely too… Nancy Drewey.”
Ernestine arched an eyebrow. “Nancy Drewey?”
“Sue me,” I said and walked off in a huff to join Sam and Strel and the cat.
“I think Sam should adopt this fine feline,” said Estrella, directing an entirely too sweet smile at Sam.
“I’m not adopting a cat,” Sam grunted.
“Well, neither are we,” I said. “Gran hates cats. She thinks they ruin her flowers.”
“I guess Snoozles will go to a shelter, then,” said Sam.
“Oh, no, Sam, you can’t do that!” Ernestine cried. “This cat needs a home.”
“Well, the shelter will give her a home.”
“Snoozles is a he,” I said. “And shelters don’t provide homes for cats, Sam. A cat like Snoozles goes to a shelter to die.”
We all stared down at the black cat, who was purring up a storm and rubbing his flank against Sam’s leg and butting his head against the palm of his hand.
“I think it’s clear who his new owner is going to be,” I said.
“Yeah, Snoozles likes you, Sam. He clearly wants to be with you,” Estrella said, giving me a wink. She probably thought she was punishing Sam by foisting this cat on him.
“I can’t have a cat,” said Sam. “I’m a cop. I should have a dog.”
“Well, you can be the first cop with a cat,” I said. “You can break the mold.”
“But I don’t want to break the mold!”
“Be a pioneer, Sam,” Ernestine encouraged him. “Be a revolutionary.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, picking up the cat. “You guys are something else.”
“You can still back away from this relationship, Sam,” said Estrella. “Like you did the last time.”
“I’m not backing away from anything,” he grumbled.
“So take the cat,” she insisted.
He gazed up at me. “What do you say, Edie?”
“Take the cat,” I said. “He obviously likes you. And cats are fun. They keep you company.”
“I don’t need company,” he said. “I’m a pretty busy guy, you know.”
“Yes, and he has you,” Ernestine told me.
“Take the cat,” said Estrella. “Just in case you decide to bail on Edie again. At least you’ll have Snoozles to keep your bed warm at night.”
Sam darted a look at Estrella that I was pretty sure no man should ever direct at a potential future sister-in-law, but she took it in stride. “Oh, I’ll take the damn cat,” he growled, and picked up Snoozles and stalked off down the street.
“Sam, language!” Ernestine cried.
“Screw it. We’re not in church!” he yelled without looking back.
“I think he’s mad,” said Ernestine as we watched Sam’s retreating back.
“Good,” said Estrella. “Now he knows how we feel.”
“How I feel, you mean,” I said.
“How we all feel. We’re sisters. Your pain is our pain.”
“I think I made him mad,” said Ernestine, chewing her bottom lip nervously.
“Who cares who made him mad!” Estrella cried. “What matters is that now he knows he can’t screw around with us.”
“Screw around with me, you mean.” I frowned. “That didn’t come out right.”
“That came out exactly right,” said Estrella with a grin. “He won’t do it again, Edie.”
“Screw around with me? But I want him to—”
“All right, you two,” said Ernestine. “Enough already about Sam Barkley. We’re snoops now, so we should probably… do some snooping.”
“Snoops?” asked Estrella. “What is she talking about?”
“I told Sam we’re investigating the murder of Mrs. Peach,” I said. “So we should probably call ourselves something. Snoop was the first word that came to mind.”
“I don’t like it,” said Estrella. “Maybe sleuths?”
“Ugh. Let’s just give it some more thought.”
“So what’s next?” Estrella asked.
“We should go back to Floret & Bloom,” said Ernestine. “Our customers will be wondering where we are.”
Just then, Mrs. Peach’s next-door-neighbor Lucy Peanut stepped out onto the stoop, carrying a garbage bag. She walked along the short path in our direction, a frown creasing her brow, obviously lost in thought. She was a skinny woman, with gaunt face and dark, sunken eyes. She did not look healthy.
“We should talk to her,” I said. “We’re snoops now. We should do this.”
“But what about the store?” Ernestine asked. “We can’t just leave the store. Gran would kill us if she knew we left the store unattended for so long.”
“Why don’t you and Strel head back to the store?” I suggested. “I’ll just ask Mrs. Peanut a few questions.”
“We shouldn’t break up the band,” said Estrella. “It’s bad luck to break up the band.”
“We’re triplets,” I said. “Not joined at the hip. Now go along.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, and stalked off in the direction of Floret & Bloom, a visibly relieved Ernestine by her side.
“We shouldn’t leave the store in the middle of the day like this,” Stien was saying. “It’s bad for business.”
“What business?” asked Strel. “Nobody buys our flowers anyway.”
I sauntered up to Mrs. Peanut, who was placing her garbage bag on the sidewalk.
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Peanut,” I said.
She glanced up, looking startled. “Oh. Hi, Edelie. How are you?”
“Fine. Horrible thing about Mrs. Peach, huh?”
Lucy Peanut looked over at her late neighbor’s house, as if fully expecting Mrs. Peach to come walking out. Then she nodded. “Yes, it
’s a terrible tragedy.”
“We talked to Flavio just now. Flavio Moreskin? He told us Mrs. Peach was not a very good neighbor.”
Lucy gave me a feeble smile. “Flavio is such a dear. He and Erick are just the sweetest neighbors possible.”
“Flavio said Mrs. Peach once painted him and Erick blue because she didn’t approve of them tanning in the nude.”
“Yes, they told me the same story. Did you see the pictures? They snapped some great pictures.”
“Yes, he did. And he told me he and Erick aren’t the least bit sorry that Mrs. Peach is dead.”
Mrs. Peanut’s eyes widened in shock. “He said that?”
“Yes, he did,” I assured her. “And you can’t really blame him, can you, after what she did to them?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “No, I guess I can’t.”
“Is it true that she once put a bunch of beetles in your lettuce?” I asked, deciding to get to the point.
“Did… Flavio tell you?”
I nodded.
“He really shouldn’t have. It’s bad karma to speak ill of the dead.”
“Well, I’m sure she can’t hear us now.”
Lucy darted another look at Mrs. Peach’s house, as if to ascertain the veracity of my statement. But Mrs. Peach was still conspicuously absent. “It’s true,” she finally admitted, worrying the hem of her shirt. “She once released darkling beetles in my vegetable garden. They ate all my lettuce, and most of my other crops. In fact I had to start all over after the incident.”
“Are you sure she did it?”
She nodded, hugging her bony form. “Yes, I’m sure. She told me after the fact. Asked me ever so sweetly if the beetles she’d donated to my yard had helped ameliorate my soil. Said she’d read somewhere that beetles are great for the soil. But she knew very well that darkling beetles are a pest.”
“She was a pest,” I said heatedly now that I was confronted with this fresh proof of Mrs. Peach’s wickedness. “She accused my grandmother of being a witch, and filed dozens of complaints with the police.”
“Yes, she told me about that. Said she wanted to rally the neighborhood to drive you away from Safflower House. Luckily nobody agreed with her. Cassie is just the nicest person possible, and she did such a good job raising you three girls after your folks died. I wouldn’t think about trying to drive you away from your home.” She shook her head. “You’re quite right, Edie. Mrs. Peach was not a good person. She had a mean streak.”