Murder on Memory Lake

by J. D. Griffo

  Alberta jotted down the address where she was supposed to meet Lucy’s mysterious comrade later that night and was again filled with a rush of adrenaline. Not only was Alberta finding undercover detective work to be exciting, but this second stint at employment was already much more satisfying than her first.

  CHAPTER 10

  Oro è che oro vale.

  Helen wasn’t going to make getaway car driver her follow-up career to her decades spent in sisterhood, but she was proving to be a very reliable chauffeur. When Alberta and Jinx asked her to drive them to meet Olive a few towns over from Tranquility, she told them she and the Buick would be gassed up and ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Alberta wasn’t the only one enjoying this excursion into the investigative arts.

  But when they pulled into the parking lot of a grungy strip mall, they were introduced to the seedier side of undercover detective work. The Olive Branch Pawn Shop was located between The Rose Tattoo Parlor Shoppe and Johnny Giambona’s Bail Bondsmen Service. It looked like Alberta really did hop an international flight, and the safe enclave of Tranquility felt as far away as the Kremlin.

  “If you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m calling Vinny for backup,” Helen announced.

  Once inside Olive’s place of business things, thankfully, got a little less seedy. The musty odor and piles of mismatched items for sale made Alberta and Jinx feel as if they were at a quaint antique store somewhere in Maine. Of course, one whose proprietress was a feisty Russian émigré.

  “You must be Lucy,” the woman from behind the counter sneered. “You’re late!”

  Olive Berekshnyav looked like she just stepped out of a KGB training video. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back into a bun that sat on top of her head, and her stout figure was covered in a dress of the same color that was both sleeveless and shapeless. She wore no makeup or jewelry, and her perfect posture would’ve made the most hardened military man weep with pride. Both hands were buried into the two pockets of her dress as she stared at them with contempt, but not suspicion. So, as Jinx had suspected, Lucy and Olive had never met, only spoken to each other on the phone. All Alberta had to do was impersonate a dead woman and they might finally find out what kind of collection Lucy had because the only reason Lucy would have to be in contact with a pawnbroker was to make a sale. Unfortunately, they still had no idea what Lucy was selling. Fortunately, that was about to change.

  “So where is your collection?” Olive asked.

  “What collection?” Alberta replied.

  “Your TV Guide collection!” Olive shouted.

  As Olive cursed them in Russian for their stupidity, Alberta and Jinx’s eyes lit up with excitement as they grabbed each other’s hands, both suppressing the urge to hug Olive for supplying the missing and very important piece to their puzzle. Lucy had a collection of TV Guides that she was obviously going to sell to Olive unbeknownst to anyone, including her daughter Enza.

  “Yes, of course, my TV Guide collection,” Alberta said backtracking. “I . . . uh, I didn’t bring it.”

  Before Alberta and Jinx could offer up a reason as to why they didn’t have boxes of TV Guides in tow, Olive did it for them. “It’s because of her, isn’t it?” Olive said with disdain as she pointed at Jinx. “The greedy daughter always gets in the way.”

  Despite the age difference, Jinx was up to the challenge, and when she spoke she sounded exactly like the forty-something Jersey-born gold digger that Enza Saulino was.

  “We want mawe,” Jinx demanded.

  “What?” Olive replied.

  “Mawe!”

  “I do not understand what you are saying,” Olive explained. “Your accent is thicker than the white winter snow of my beloved homeland.”

  “What Enza’s trying to say,” Alberta explained, “is that she, I mean we, want more.”

  “More?!”

  Olive shouted so loud it wouldn’t have been surprising if she was indeed heard back in the former Soviet republic she called home. “What did I tell you? In your own native tongue I spoke . . . Oro è che oro vale . . . Everything is worth its price, and the price for your collection is fifty thousand dollars. That was my offer and you accepted so you could add it to your retirement fund since your daughter keeps spending your money like it is her own!”

  Jinx couldn’t believe that someone would actually pay fifty thousand dollars for a bunch of magazines. But she couldn’t dwell on that, she had a role to play. “I don’t care what my mother agreed to, we want mawe,” she repeated. “I mean, you know, more.”

  Olive stared at them with such contempt that the temperature in the pawn shop fell so rapidly it felt as if they were standing in the middle of the Russian tundra two seconds before the onslaught of a blizzard. “You listen to me, comrades, Olive Berekshnyav is a businesswoman who keeps her word, she is not some money-hungry daughter or a weak-willed woman,” Olive seethed as she leaned over the glass-topped counter that Alberta and Jinx were grateful still separated them from the furious pawnbroker. “You agreed to the fifty thousand dollars and now you insult me by asking for more? Get out! Get out of Olive Berekshnyav’s store and never come back!”

  Driving back home the chill of Olive’s words was about to get chillier.

  “You know what this means, right?” Jinx started. “Lucy may very well have been killed for her TV Guide collection.”

  “How I used to love reading the TV Guide,” Alberta mused. “Not the new version, the old ones that were small and the same size as the Reader’s Digest.”

  “That was a little before my time, Gram, but I do remember them,” Jinx said. “I just can’t believe someone would have killed her for it.”

  “I think you’re both missing the point,” Helen said, her eyes focused on the road.

  “What point is that?” Alberta asked.

  “Whoever knew about Lucy’s collection probably knew that she was about to sell it, which is why they stole it from her storage unit and killed her,” Helen stated. “But since they haven’t tried to sell the collection themselves, they must still have it.”

  “You’re absolutely right about that, Aunt Helen.”

  “I know,” Helen agreed. “We can cross off Enza and Donny from the list of potential thieves because neither of them would’ve wasted any time selling the collection, so the next likely suspects would have to be someone she worked with.”

  “Right again,” Jinx said. “You’re really good at this.”

  Helen sighed, “Working for the Catholic Church for so long, you get used to being surrounded by sinners.”

  Once again, Alberta wanted to have a discussion with her sister about why she truly left the convent, but the backseat of the Buick was not the ideal place to engage in a heart-to-heart. Alberta would have to concentrate on solving one mystery at a time.

  “So, what should we do with this information?” Alberta asked.

  “I’ll meet you at the office tomorrow,” Helen announced. “It’s time I took my sister to lunch to celebrate her new job.”

  * * *

  At precisely noon the next day, Helen was standing in front of Alberta’s desk ready to take her to lunch when she was informed that there would be an addition to their party.

  “Marion’s at an off-site meeting today, so Beverly is free to join us,” Alberta announced.

  “Listen to you, ‘off-site,’” Helen teased. “It’s like you’ve been a working girl all your life.”

  “It’s just like riding a bicycle,” Alberta replied.

  “You don’t know how to ride a bike,” Helen said.

  “Shut up.”

  Alberta introduced Beverly to her sister and soon after the preliminary hellos and reassurances that she wouldn’t be intruding on their sisterly lunch, the three women were sitting at a red vinyl banquette at China Chef. The restaurant was actually an all-you-can-eat buffet so the plates in front of the women contained a smorgasbord of Chinese specialties: egg rolls, pork fried rice, dumplings, lo mein, shrimp with lobster s
auce, General Tso’s chicken, and beef and broccoli. Every food category imaginable was represented.

  While the women ate they shared snippets of their lives. Alberta and Helen learned that Beverly had never married and had been born and raised in Tranquility.

  “I’m what used to be referred to as a townie,” she said. “That was when Memory Lake was more of a vacation spot for the folks from your part of Jersey and not the full-fledged community it is today.”

  “You must’ve seen a lot of changes over the past decades,” Alberta observed.

  Nodding her head in agreement, Beverly replied, “Oh yes, lots of changes.” Then she added with a wistful hint to her voice, “Though I still seem to stay the same.”

  “In a sea of change everybody needs an anchor,” Helen said, crunching on an egg roll. “Is that what you were for Lucy?”

  Alberta almost dropped her fork into her moo goo gai pan. She was used to Helen’s brusque nature, but was surprised that her sister would be so callous, especially when she had told her how upset Beverly was over Lucy’s death. She quickly learned that the direct route is sometimes the best to take when looking for answers.

  “Oh Helen, I hope so,” Beverly replied, seemingly grateful to talk about her dead friend. “I didn’t know her that long, she used to work on another floor until a few years ago, but we were close and, well, neither of us have . . . had I guess is the right way to say it, any family or good friends around here, so we did rely on each other.”

  “And what about Marion?” Helen asked. “Do you play the same role for him?”

  This time Beverly didn’t reply with such genuine candor. For a moment she froze and stared down at her food until she found the strength to speak again. But when she did, she continued to gaze at her plate and not look Helen in the eyes as she had only seconds before.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Beverly mumbled.

  “I mean you’ve been Marion’s secretary for a very long time, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” she replied, still more interested in her food than making eye contact. “Almost twenty years.”

  “Such an important man as Marion, he must rely on you to keep his ship running smoothly,” Helen elaborated. “You must be his anchor too.”

  “I’d like to think so.” Finally, Beverly looked up from her plate, her face a curious combination of so many conflicting emotions, but she had only one sole purpose: to leave the table as quickly as possible. “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  When Alberta was certain Beverly was out of earshot, she hissed at her sister. “What the hell was that about?”

  “You can be so naive, Alberta,” Helen replied. “Can’t you see for yourself?”

  “See what?”

  “Beverly is having an affair with the boss.”

  Chalking it up to Helen’s many years of being cloistered in a convent and not an active participant in the real world, Alberta told her sister that she needed to curtail her active imagination. Helen, however, stood her ground and explained that she didn’t come to the conclusion that Beverly and Marion were having an affair based on an intuitive hunch, but rather cold hard facts.

  “Beverly is the woman I saw Marion consoling at the wake.”

  “What?” Alberta cried. “You said you didn’t get a look at the woman’s face.”

  “I didn’t,” Helen confirmed. “But the backside of that woman is quite unique. I’d recognize it anywhere, and her hair isn’t what Mama would call subtle. She most definitely was the woman who Marion was all over, whispering in her ear, draping his arm around her shoulder, touching her elbow. I may have taken a vow of chastity, but I’m not stupid, Berta, I know the difference between a friendly touch between a man and a woman and a touch that’s the product of something much more intimate.”

  Simultaneously impressed and shocked, Alberta realized that Helen could once again be right. Why couldn’t Beverly and Marion be having an affair? They were both roughly the same age, Marion was handsome and Beverly, despite her attire, wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Plus, in the short time she had been working at Wasserman & Speicher, she had noticed that Beverly wasn’t a very good assistant. She thought it was because she was still in shock over Lucy’s death, but maybe it was because she just stunk at her job, and the only reason Marion kept her on the payroll was because she was better lying on a bed than sitting behind a desk.

  When Beverly returned to the table, she announced that she must have eaten something bad and wasn’t feeling well. The women quickly paid for the check and were almost out the door when they got another surprise that made Beverly turn even whiter.

  “Marion! I thought you were at that meeting all day,” Beverly declared.

  The faintest flicker of alarm appeared on Marion’s face, but his fluster quickly dissolved into calm. “Hello, Beverly. Everybody has to eat lunch, isn’t that right, Alberta?”

  “You’re asking an Italian about the importance of food?” she joked.

  “And this must be your sister Helen,” he added. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

  Alberta held her breath waiting for Helen to answer, hoping that she would keep her typical blunt demeanor in check and understand the importance of concealing certain bits of information. Luckily, her sister didn’t disappoint.

  “No, I don’t believe so either,” Helen lied. “Not since you and Berta graduated high school.”

  “Time surely does fly, doesn’t it?” Marion asked rhetorically. “Now, if you ladies would excuse me, there are some boring businessmen over there that I need to get back to.”

  Beverly reached out and grabbed Marion’s arm and the look of fear returned to his face once again. “Mr. Klausner, I think I ate something that doesn’t agree with me,” Beverly said, releasing her hold on him to clutch her stomach. “I should go home.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” But when tomorrow rolled around, Beverly didn’t. The next day, Friday, another absence. Not courageous enough to bring up the subject with Marion, Alberta asked Denise if she had heard from Beverly and was told that she hadn’t, but then added with a conspiratorial whisper that this wasn’t abnormal behavior on Beverly’s part.

  “She, um, does this quite a bit,” Denise admitted before scurrying back to her office.

  In between answering Marion’s phone calls, ordering lunch for a department meeting, and alphabetizing files, Alberta called Beverly’s cell phone and home numbers, but never once got hold of her or received a return call. For most of the day and the entire drive home, Alberta imagined Beverly was lying in a pool of blood on her living room floor and half-expected to find the woman floating in the lake exactly where she had found Lucy.

  “You’re taking this crime-solving thing a bit too far,” Helen barked.

  “This time you’re wrong, Aunt Helen,” Jinx said. “Gram’s senses are being awakened after lying dormant for so long. I think you’re on to something.”

  “I hope Beverly is all right,” Alberta said. “She really is such a lovely woman.”

  “Only one way to find out, Gram,” Jinx announced. “Time for another break-in.”

  * * *

  Standing outside Beverly’s front door, they realized that it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy to break in as it was to get into Lucy’s condo. Beverly lived on the first floor, and her building, along with an adjoining garage, was surrounded by a very tall privacy fence equipped with a security alarm system, so there would be no shimmying through a back window. Also too, as Joyce would say, she lived right off a shared public space where some people were sitting on benches and others were walking their dogs so anyone could see them trying to jimmy the lock or breaking her front window to crawl through. They would have to try and enter the old-fashioned way.

  Alberta knocked on the front door and called out for Beverly in a voice a few notches above normal, but not quite a yell that would startle the neighbors. She did this a few more times.

  “Can I h
elp you?”

  Alberta and Jinx turned to the right to see the face of an elderly woman peering out at them. The rest of the woman’s body remained inside her condo.

  “Hello,” Alberta said cheerily. “My name’s Alberta and this is my granddaughter, Jinx. We’re looking for my friend Beverly, do you know where she is?”

  “Jinx? I thought I had a funny name—Ruthanne—but Jinx? Now doesn’t that just take the cake?”

  Stepping out onto the terrace that connected both condos, they saw that Ruthanne’s body was as elderly as her face. In her slippered feet, she stood just under five feet tall, and her blue and yellow floral housedress hung loose over her bony frame. Her updo looked like it was a few days overdue for a trip to the beauty parlor, but her face, although wrinkled, radiated warmth and kindness that reminded Alberta of long-passed relatives and reminded Jinx of her grandmother.

  “Don’t you worry about Beverly, honey,” Ruthanne said with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m sure she’s just gotten lucky.”

  “Does she like Atlantic City too?” Jinx asked.

  Ruthanne laughed so hard at Jinx’s comment that she had a coughing fit that made her extend her arm to grab hold of her doorframe so she wouldn’t fall over. The loose skin underneath her arm continued to jiggle even after her coughing subsided.

  “Oh no, honey, not that kind of lucky,” Ruthanne continued. “The kind of lucky that makes her leave looking like that sad sack Bette Davis and come back home looking like Lana Turner. You know, like her you know what don’t stink.”

  “You mean she’s with her boyfriend?” Alberta inquired.

  “I can’t be one hundred percent sure, being that I only came back a few days ago from my sister’s. She lives in one of those fifty-five and older communities in Barnegat,” Ruthanne said. “Costs a fortune, but they provide three meals a day. Since Dolly, that’s my sister, can’t cook to save her life, it’s worth every penny.”

  Alberta couldn’t think of anything worse than not being able to cook her own meals but didn’t want to get on Ruthanne’s bad side, so she said, “That sounds amazing.”