Murder at the Moonshine Inn

by Maggie King

  Remembering that Patty wanted to know about the funeral arrangements, I called her. She sounded like she was writing down the details as I recited them. Had she touched base with Brad?

  “No, he hasn’t returned my call,” she said when I asked.

  I found Andy’s name in his mother’s obit. Alexander M. Jones. Alexander, huh? I hadn’t noted that unusual parsing of Andy out of Alexander during my initial perusal of Vince’s articles. No matter, I still couldn’t find him on Facebook. He didn’t appear to have much use for Twitter or LinkedIn either, either as Andy or as Alexander. Thinking that he might use his middle name, I turned to the family tree to see what the “M” signified.

  I located the folder labeled “Family Tree” on my hard drive and looked up Andy. Alexander Michael Jones, born February 10, 1973. Again I turned to social media and again social media failed to come through. While the Alexander Michael Jones and Michael Jones names appeared countless times, the ones that interested me remained elusive. If I got desperate I could search out the ones who hid their visages by displaying their pet’s photos. But I didn’t plan to get that desperate.

  •••

  On Saturday, I arrived at Patty’s apartment to pick her up for our lunch date. When Patty, clad in white capris and a red knit top, opened the door, we exchanged our usual hugs. I waved a hand at a number of half-full boxes placed around the living room and asked, “Does this mean you are going back to Pittsburgh?”

  “It does.” Patty smiled but I noticed the strain around her eyes. “I didn’t realize we had so much stuff.”

  “It accumulates in the blink of an eye. I hope Vince and I don’t have to uproot ourselves. I shudder just thinking what packing up our place would be like.”

  I noticed a copy of Greater Tuna in one of the boxes. I had seen the play years before in New Orleans. Two men played the entire cast of characters, male and female, of various ages. I exclaimed in delight when I saw The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. “I loved The Woman in White. I just read it a few months ago.”

  Patty smiled. “Yes, it’s one of my favorites. Have you read The Moonstone?”

  “No, but it’s on my TBR list.” When Patty looked askance, I explained, “To Be Read list.”

  “Hazel, I don’t feel that great. Do you mind if we don’t go to lunch?”

  “Oh no, not at all. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. I’ll make some herbal tea and we can sit and chat here.”

  “Okay. Do you want me to fix the tea? Since you’re not feeling well . . . “

  “I’m fine, just not up to eating anything. Have a seat.” I sank into one of the ugly chairs and Patty stepped into the kitchen for the tea preparations.

  “Where’s Paul?” I asked.

  “Either at the storage unit or the library. He planned to stop at both places.”

  “Any more news on Nina?” Patty asked after a pause.

  I shrugged. “As far as I know, they don’t have any suspects. It could be a robbery. Her laptop is missing.” I didn’t mention Brad. To my knowledge he was the only suspect—at least the only one they could pinpoint. I thought of the two women in the Florida car.

  “Oh, I almost forgot—” Patty went to a table by the door and took a folded sheet of paper from her purse. “Here’s that medical history you wanted.”

  I scanned the handwritten list. Aside from Patty’s father’s cardiac issues and our cousin Marcie dying from pancreatic cancer, deaths on my father’s side of the family appeared to be from natural causes. “For the most part our relatives die in their sleep. And at advanced ages.”

  I nodded. “Good to know. Thanks.” When I refolded the sheet and tucked it in my bag I saw the list of cozies set in the ancient world that I’d printed from the online Cozy Mystery List. I handed it to Patty.

  “Oh, thanks, Hazel. I’ll take a look at this later.” She placed the printout on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living area.

  “So, are you two going to live with Paul’s mother?”

  Patty nodded. “She’s due to leave rehab and won’t go to assisted living. Her house isn’t conducive to an elderly, frail person. There’s just one bathroom and it’s on the second floor. There are no handicapped accommodations, like railings and such. But she insists on living there. The place is a mess so she doesn’t want any health care there.”

  So she gets her dear son and daughter-in-law to do her bidding, be her unpaid slaves.

  Patty placed a tray laden with a teapot, mugs, and a plate of cookies in front of me.

  “So it would help Mom to have someone there,” Patty said as she poured tea. “And she’s such a nice lady.” One corner of Patty’s mouth tightened, belying her words. Patty’s mother-in-law sounded like a self-centered shrew to me. Would a “nice lady” expect her son and his wife to uproot themselves? Granted, the two hadn’t really settled down in Richmond. Still.

  Did Patty and Paul have financial difficulties? This tiny apartment. Even if the place was meant to be temporary, I felt sure they could afford something bigger. Patty must have a good pension from her years of teaching. And Paul—I still didn’t know what he’d done for a living. Maybe they were big spenders—or had been, until reduced circumstances forced them to cut back. And reduced circumstances could be driving the decision to take care of Mom, especially if Mom was providing free room and board.

  An uncomfortable pause followed. I sensed that Patty left whole paragraphs out of her account. But it was their business. “So when are you two actually leaving?”

  “Tuesday, right after the truck’s loaded up.”

  “Truck?”

  “Paul’s brother from Pittsburgh is coming down with his truck.”

  Why couldn’t the brother care for the mother? Likely one of those inexplicable family deals. Maybe the son and/or his wife had more backbone. Aloud I said, “Oh. I thought you’d wait until the end of the month. Isn’t your rent paid through then?”

  “We’d hoped to stay until then, but Mom’s getting out of rehab sooner than we thought, so we had to move things up a bit. But we’ll be back to visit. And you can visit us.”

  I didn’t see that happening. We hadn’t sufficiently bonded. And from all appearances, she and Brad weren’t close enough to bring them back here to visit him. “Have you told Brad?”

  She looked startled almost like she was thinking “Brad? Who’s he?” Then she collected herself. “Not yet.” She looked down at her steaming mug. “We’ll be at the funeral on Monday. It’s the least we can do for Nina.”

  “Vince and I will see you there.”

  Patty looked puzzled. “I didn’t realize you knew Nina well enough to attend her funeral.”

  “I’m friends with her neighbors, Trudy and Eileen. We’re going to support them.”

  “And I guess Vince is going to see if the killer shows up. Isn’t that what they do? But Vince is retired, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he’s going with me. I imagine the detectives in charge of the investigation will be there.”

  “Well, I’ll miss our lunches,” I said after a couple of beats. In truth, I felt relieved, but decency dictated that I express regret. Much as I’d enjoyed meeting a newfound family member, I didn’t really find Patty interesting, and more often than not our conversations were tough going. We had little in common beyond our love of books. That was something, but not enough.

  “Me too,” Patty agreed. I wondered if she felt as relieved about the end of our lunches as I did.

  “Maybe you’ll find a book group in Pittsburgh. Or you can start your own.”

  She looked alarmed at my suggestion. Was starting a book group that daunting? How does one reach her age without developing some initiative? Or self-confidence? What kind of English teacher had she been? In my experience, teachers in general had take-charge personalities. And she’d taught high school English for many years, probably needing the hide of a rhinoceros to endure those challenging adolescents. How had she coped? Unless
she harbored a facet of her personality reserved for her students.

  Patty stood. “I want to take a look at this reading list you gave me.” She grabbed the printout from the kitchen counter and returned to her chair.

  “Oh, Lindsay Davis—I’ve heard about her.” As we discussed the titles and authors on the list Patty’s face and shoulders visibly relaxed—she was clearly more at ease than she had been when talking about Paul, her mother-in-law, and the apparently alarming notion of starting a book group. That’s what going back to the ancient world will do. No wonder some people liked to live in the past.

  But this investigation had me rooted in the present so I couldn’t tarry in antiquity for long. “Can I ask you something about Marcie?”

  When Patty nodded, I went on. “I’m curious about her decision. I just read about a former college classmate who became a teacher and then founded a chain—franchise, I guess—of gyms. So I wondered what prompted Marcie’s decision to become a stockbroker?”

  “Money, I guess. And she had a bad experience with her early investments, so she educated herself about investing. That led her to becoming a stockbroker.”

  “Tell me, maybe you told me this before . . .” She hadn’t said anything before about what I was about to ask, so that was for form. “Did Marcie go to any of the major cancer centers, like Sloan-Kettering, or Duke?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Did I catch a flash of anger in Patty’s usually mild eyes? If so, the flash was truly a flash and disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

  “Just wondered.” That prompt netted me nothing.

  Patty picked up the teapot to freshen our mugs. But instead of the tea landing in my mug, it flooded the cookies and splashed on the legs of my slacks.

  Patty profusely apologized and stood wringing her hands. I assured her that it was all right, accidents happened, and dashed to the kitchen for paper towels. A large carton of newspaper-wrapped items took up most of the space in the small kitchen. My own moving experiences had taught me that smaller boxes were much more manageable than large ones.

  Back in the living area, Patty and I mopped up the spill. I regarded the tea stain on my slacks. Normally I wore dark colors but that day, as luck would have it, I’d chosen a lighter palette. Obviously, a return home was in order before I continued with my errands. I laughed to myself at the unlikelihood of being involved in two beverage incidents in less than two weeks. Of course, Patty’s spill didn’t match the drama of Phyllis’s flinging Nina’s coffee in her face.

  “I’m so sorry, Hazel. I don’t know how I missed your mug like that. I guess I’m . . . well, I’m kind of discombobulated. Moving always does this to me.”

  “Oh, I totally understand. Moving’s the worst. You should have seen me when Vince and I moved in together.” Actually, our move hadn’t been that bad, but Patty needed empathy. Plus I intuited that moving in with her mother-in-law wasn’t an item on her bucket list.

  As I prepared to leave, it occurred to me that I should do something for Patty and Paul, not just let them go off. But I really didn’t relish time alone with them. Even with Vince present, the conversations weren’t enjoyable. And so I found myself saying, “Come over tomorrow night. We’ll invite some friends over for barbecue. Let’s say . . . five o’clock?”

  “Oh. Well . . . okay. Thanks.” She smiled.

  Now I’d have to rustle up some people. And food.

  TWENTY

  AT HOME I changed clothes and grabbed a quick lunch before tackling my impromptu guest list. Vince invited his former partner Dennis Mulligan and his wife, but they couldn’t make it. Lucy, Dave, and Kat could. I suggested that Kat bring Demetrios, the lover who had her all aflutter, but she said he was out of town.

  I spent the rest of the day running errands, including buying items for the next day’s do. I came home with fixings for hamburgers, all-beef hot dogs, salads, chips, buns, drinks, and so on.

  On Sunday Kat called. “Is it okay if I bring Tammy? You know, my step-mom? I guess she’s still my step-mom.” Kat’s father had died the year before and Kat remained close with his widow.

  “Sure.”

  “She has some information about Nina and Brad that you might find useful. But since Patty’s Brad’s cousin, we don’t want to mention it when she’s there. So can we arrive a little early?”

  “Of course. But Patty called and said they’d be five or ten minutes late.”

  “Great. Oh, and a word of warning. Tammy never stops talking. Never. She’ll hog the conversation.”

  “That’s okay. If she has useful information she can talk all she wants.”

  Lucy and Dave arrived first. “I know we’re early, but I thought you might need some help,” Lucy said.

  “We brought baked beans,” Dave indicated the pot he carried. “Vegetarian.”

  “One of Dave’s specialties,” Lucy added. “They’re really good.”

  Dave was a handsome man with dark hair showing gray at the temples. His warm brown eyes and ready smile lit up a room, to coin an oft-used phrase. I knew he was ten years younger than Lucy but her youthful appearance made the age difference unnoticeable.

  “I’ll put these in the kitchen,” Dave said as the doorbell rang. Kat and Tammy.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to Kat’s hot pink top and prison-orange capris. Tammy stood out as well, with her neon pink lipstick, matching nails, and hair sculpted into short white spikes that didn’t so much as quiver.

  After rapid-fire introductions, Kat said, “Tammy wants to tell you her story before Patty and Paul get here.”

  Tammy started. “I heard about poor Nina. I find it most interesting that Brad was married to Rox and apparently was the one who found Nina.”

  “Yes, it is interesting,” I agreed.

  “Vero’s mother and my mother went to the same hairdresser for years. On the same day, at the same time. Vero’s mother hated Brad. So did Vero, for that matter. She even went to a different dentist.”

  “Oh, I forgot that Brad was a dentist,” Lucy said.

  “Nina said that’s how she first met Brad. He was her dentist.” I waved my hand at Tammy. “Go on, Tammy. You were going to tell us something about Vero.”

  “Wait”—Lucy held up her hand—”Who’s Vero?”

  “Veronica Jones, Brad’s first wife,” Tammy said.

  After Tammy described Vero’s death by drowning, I asked, “So, why did Vero and her mother hate Brad?”

  “He was unfaithful. He had flings with his patients. His hygienist walked in on him once. He and his patient were ‘doing it’ right in the chair.”

  “Talk about uncomfortable,” Lucy commented.

  Kat’s bawdy laugh filled the room. “Did the patient still have that paper bib clipped to her?”

  Was Nina the patient who had benefitted from Brad’s bedside manner? Years earlier, I had read a Susan Isaacs tale of a dentist who not only preyed on his female patients but took photos of them while they were asleep in his chair. Did Brad carry sleaziness that far? If so, he’d better watch out—Ms. Isaacs’s fictional dentist ended up dead.

  “One of his conquests turned into a long-term fling,” Tammy said. “The hygienist told Vero about everything that went on.” Again, I thought of Nina.

  “Why did Vero stay with him?” Kat asked.

  Tammy waved a hand. “Despite all her education, Vero had no interest in supporting herself. I don’t think the woman worked a day in her life.”

  The peal of the doorbell cut off further discussion. “That’s Patty and Paul,” I stage whispered, unnecessarily.

  “Well, I pretty much finished with what I had to say, anyway,” Tammy said.

  Patty and Paul Ratzenberger both greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. Paul combed his white hair straight back with no part, like some of the Fox News anchors.

  Sunday’s steamy weather made staying indoors for the festivities more appealing than going out on the patio. Vince tended the grill and chatted with Paul and Dave. From
the few words I caught, I gathered they were discussing Nina’s murder.

  In stereotypical fashion, the women stayed indoors and set the bowls of salad and condiments on the large dining room table. The chatty Tammy gushed over the soft green theme of the dining room.

  I smiled. “When we first saw this house, Vince said the whole interior matched my eyes.”

  Green prevailed throughout, especially in the dining room with its mint-green wrought iron furniture and floral wallpaper. I thought back to decades before when school blackboards gave way to “greenboards,” the restful and refreshing color expected to enhance learning. I had no idea if the expectation was met, but greenboards had to be easier on the eyes.

  “Speaking of green eyes,” Tammy said, “Hazel and Patty look so much alike around the eyes.”

  At that moment the men burst through the door, laden with platters of grilled meat, cutting off commentary about the family resemblance between me and Patty.

  During dinner, Tammy regaled us with anecdotes involving her two greyhound rescues. She made a number of impassioned speeches on the importance of rescuing animals. My attempts to get the other guests talking were overpowered by the relentless Tammy who had an endless supply of dog-related stories to share. I made brief eye contact with Kat, her lips arranged in a Mona Lisa smile. I remembered her warning about Tammy, but since she’d provided potentially useful information about Brad and Nina, I overlooked her nonstop chatter. We wedged into the conversation occasional compliments on the deliciousness of the food, especially Dave’s vegetarian beans.

  When I presented the cake I’d bought for Patty and Paul, everyone exclaimed, asking them about their plans. About all they managed was “We’re going back to Pittsburgh.” Tammy grabbed the opportunity to tout the Steel City Greyhounds, a Pittsburgh area rescue organization dedicated to finding homes for the animals no longer deemed fit for racing.