Mabel, Murder, & Muffins

by Sharon Mierke

  That cheered her up. We walked to a small Mexican restaurant that advertised cheap margaritas. By the time we’d downed two drinks each, emptied two bowls of homemade salsa with their own made-on-the-premises chips, it was hard to look at the large platter of food that was plunked down in front of us. Especially the generous plop of runny beans. The helpful server suggested that we have another drink so that’s what we did. After that, we cleaned our plates.

  I’m not sure who was up the most that night but I do know we went through a half bottle of anti-acid pills. We both vowed never to eat beans and drink margaritas again. Actually, Flori would never have even smelled a margarita except I told her it was an authentic Mexican drink and the folks in the restaurant would’ve been very hurt if we hadn’t had some of their national drink.

  In between trips to the bathroom, I slept but somehow in the background of every dream I could hear Esther’s voice on the answering machine, threatening my life.

  The next morning, the sea mist was so thick we could hardly see the water from our window. Even with the morning traffic, however, we could still hear the constant soft rumble of the ocean. We made coffee in our little coffee maker, added the powdered creamer, and sat on our balcony. I drank half a cup and threw the rest down the sink.

  By the time we had showered and dressed it was almost nine. Flori looked exceptionally colorful in her flowered sea blue and lime green tent dress. Of course, she wore her wide brimmed straw hat with the matching blue and green band. No one would even notice me in my jeans and white cotton shirt. I did put on some light pink lipstick so I wouldn’t be too outshone.

  All the way to the restaurant, Flori ‘ooed’ and ‘aawed’ over every wave that hit the shore. I was thankful that I was the one who had the camera. I’d learned from all the pictures of the Hoover Dam that every water picture would look almost identical.

  This time we tried the Yellow Rose Family Restaurant. Over eggs, bacon, and grits, we discussed our plans. Well, they were Flori’s plans and they were my strategies.

  “What street did you say you wanted to visit, Mabel?”

  “Avenue P½.”

  “Avenue P½ ?”

  I nodded. My mouth was full of egg.

  “What kind of street is that?”

  “It isn’t. It’s an avenue.”

  “I mean, why would they have the ½ ?”

  “No idea. Maybe it’s to confuse everybody.” I shoveled in another mouthful.

  “What’s on that street that you want to see anyway?”

  “Hobbs.”

  Her eyebrows went up and disappeared under her bangs. “That’s where your friend Grace lives?”

  “Lived, Flori. Lived. Past tense.”

  “Well, I know that, for Pete’s sake. It just came out, that’s all.”

  “I know. It hasn’t really hit me yet either. Hard to believe I was with her, laughing and having a good time, a week ago.”

  “You were laughing and having a good time with her?”

  I buttered and salted my grits. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Oh.” Flori concentrated on her food. “This bacon is not cooked enough,” she muttered to herself.

  After breakfast, we took a leisurely walk along the beach. The morning mist had lifted and the sun shone. The sandy beach was quickly filling up with some of the locals. Already, girls with very little on were sunbathing and boys in skintight rubbery suits were heading into the water with their surfboards. We went back up to the street and caught a bus to the downtown area. The driver was talkative and as he pointed to different houses, he told us some of Yellow Rose’s history and some of the latest gossip.

  “Did you hear about the murder of Grace Hobbs?” I asked. Flori poked me and gave me a dirty look.

  “Can’t say I did,” he said. “Was that before or after the big hurricane in 1900?”

  “No,” I said. “That was during the warm spell about a week ago.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Nope, didn’t hear about it. Strange, too. There’s not too many murders here in Yellow Rose. By the way, if you want a good cup of coffee, I’ll drop you off right in front of the coffee shop,” he said. “Tell him Tom sent you and you’ll get it cheaper.”

  I’ll do anything for a good cup of coffee so that’s what we did. There wasn’t much point in explaining the murder to him. If he knew Grace, he would’ve expressed some surprise. He did seem to be a storehouse of knowledge though so he might prove useful to me at some point.

  The coffee shop was at the corner of 23rd street and some letter of the alphabet, but I forget which one. It was long and narrow with hardly any customers and the few who were there, were nursing a cup of coffee and reading. How long did this fellow expect to stay in business? Paintings from local artists covered the walls and Flori gushed over all of them.

  Flori and I wandered around through the shops on J Avenue. Although I wasn’t interested in buying anything, it did give me some ideas as to what I might like to stock on my shelves. Flori had a long list of things to buy for her husband, kids, and grandkids.

  “You better wait, Flori,” I said, as she started grabbing everything in sight in one of the souvenir shops. “Don’t forget we have to do some walking. Besides, you still have a few days to buy things. Why don’t you look for now and then you can compare prices?”

  “Oh, you’re so right,” she said, and started putting the t-shirts back. The young sales girl curled her lips at me.

  We caught the bus back to the hotel. It was getting hot and humid and the cool room was refreshing. Flori flung her hat on the chair, flopped on the bed, and was soon asleep. I left a note for her and slipped out the door.

  How far away could Avenue P½ be anyway?

  Chapter Thirteen

  P ½ was farther away than I’d expected. Well, I don’t know what I expected. I found it difficult trying to remember the alphabet backwards. The street was in an older section with houses probably built in the 20’s or earlier. I’m not sure why I picked this address to investigate first. Perhaps, it sounded more ominous. P ½. Murder on P½. Hmm…of course, the murder couldn’t have taken place here. Unless the body was transported in a refrigerated truck or something back to Parson’s Cove. Did that mean that Grace never returned home after her vacation in Las Vegas or did return and then, for some reason, went to Parson’s Cove? Was she coming to see me? No, why would she do that?

  I kept walking until I stood right across from the house. It looked like a small square box painted light green. The paint was peeling, the steps going up to the porch were falling apart, and almost every other shingle on the roof was missing or flapping in the breeze. In comparison, the house next door looked like it had just been painted, not a shingle was out of place, and the yard with its shrubs and flowers was immaculate. I realized as I looked down the street that seemed to be the trend. One lovely house could have something resembling a chicken coop on either side.

  I stood and waited for a few minutes. There was no sign of life. The whole street was silent. A couple of dogs barked back and forth from somewhere. There were two or three cars parked further down. I waited a bit longer.

  I checked the street once again before I crossed. The wrought iron gate was sagging and permanently held open by the weeds that wound their way around and through the railing. The yard was cluttered with plastic weather-beaten Christmas decorations (a faded plastic Santa Claus, a cardboard snowman lying on its back staring up at the sky, and a reindeer with one leg missing), two garden gnomes on each side of the steps, and several rusty gardening tools tossed under a window. A ceramic pot filled with plastic flowers sat on the floor beside the door. There wasn’t one home in Parson’s Cove to compare with this.

  My heart was pounding as I banged on the door. Silence. Before knocking again, I walked to the side of the house and looked towards the backyard. I was actually quite surprised at how far back the building went. Did I dare walk back and knock on the back door? Before I could decide, I heard someone yel
l, “Can I help y'all with somethin'?’”

  I looked around but couldn’t see anyone. “Where are you?” I yelled back.

  “Never mind. I’ll be right down, darlin’.”

  Now I realized the voice came from next-door, behind an upstairs window covered with hurricane shutters. No wonder I couldn’t see anyone.

  In about two minutes, a large black woman was standing at the fence facing me. The first thing I noticed, besides her size, were her clothes. She was a black version of Flori.

  “You lookin’ for somebody?” she said.

  I didn't want to say Grace Hobbs so I just nodded.

  She shook her head. “Haven’t seen anyone round here for a few days now. You some relative or something?”

  “No,” I said. “I knew Grace from a trip we took together. I wondered if this was where she lived. Did you know she was in Vegas?”

  “Lord, no. I hardly see anything of that woman. If she were away for a month, I probably wouldn’t notice.” She sighed. “Now, if the yard were cleaned up, you can bet I’d notice that!” She laughed and showed off the whitest teeth I’d ever seen in my life. “What’d you say you wanted with her, honey?”

  “Well,” I said. “I really didn’t want her for anything. In fact, the truth be told, no one will be wanting her for anything ever again, I’m sorry to say.”

  “What on earth are you sayin'? Grace might not be the most Christian person in this world but there’s no need to be talkin’ bout her like that. We being neighbors and all, you know.”

  There’s really no nice way to put some things. Now, I understand how those cops feel when they have to tell the family a loved one has been murdered.

  “What did you say your name was?” I asked.

  “I didn’t.” She glared at me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, you didn’t.” I held out my hand and smiled. “My name is Mabel Wickles. I’m from a little town called Parson’s Cove, a long ways away from here. It’s much smaller than Yellow Rose, if you can imagine. I came down with my friend, Flori Flanders. Actually, Flori is sleeping right now at the hotel. I left a note saying I was going for a walk on the beach to collect shells and not to expect me back for at least an hour or more.” I looked at my watch. “My time is almost up and I seem to be babbling a bit, so I guess I’d better tell you.”

  She frowned so hard, there was a wrinkle from the middle of her forehead right down to her chin.

  “Tell me what? You are babblin' and you ain’t makin’ much sense.”

  “Grace was murdered. Maybe a week ago. I don’t know for sure when, because her body was dumped in the woods behind our nursing home.” My legs started feeling rubbery so I inhaled deeply and exhaled before continuing. “We only have one nursing home because as I said, Parson’s Cove is small.” My tongue seemed to keep moving without any help from me. “Anyway, someone found her body there. I won’t go into detail as to who found the body. Well, I’m the one who identified her. It was really a fluke because when I snuck into the morgue I had no idea I’d be looking at someone that I knew. You can imagine the shock when I lifted the cloth and saw it was Grace. As I mentioned, we were on a vacation in Las Vegas together. We both won it. I’d never met Grace or her friend, Andrea, before. In fact, that's the first time I ever won anything and now I'm hoping I never win anything again.”

  The wrinkle disappeared, as her eyes got bigger.

  “Grace was murdered?” Her voice softened and her eyes watered. She swallowed. “How? How was she kilt?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Did her good for nothing husband murder her?” Now her watery eyes blazed with anger. Again, she didn’t wait for an answer. “I knew it. I knew someday, he’d get into some kinda trouble. There was always somethin’ not right goin’ on in that house. Sinister lookin’ men and women, comin’ and goin’. More than once, I had to call the cops. Lotta good that did." She grunted. "Can't say Miss Grace was mixed up in things but you know sometimes they looks good when they's doing bad. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead, you understand. ”

  She sniffed a couple of times and shook her head before turning her attention back to me. “My goodness, darlin’, this has got to be awful for you. Imagine lookin’ at a dead body like that. Here,” she grabbed my arm and started pulling me along the fence beside her. When we reached the end, she said, “Can you come around to me all by yourself now, sweetheart?”

  I almost said, “I think so, Flori.” Instead, I just nodded. I walked out the gate and she met me on the sidewalk.

  She put her arm around me and half-carried me to her house. We walked up wooden steps with a wooden railing to the second floor. I realized then that there was a garage on the bottom floor. It was a house on stilts.

  Her kitchen was dark and cool. She walked over to the sink and poured a glass of water.

  “Here,” she said. “This will make you feel better.” It did help.

  “Now,” she said, “what’s all this about Grace? Was it Cecile who killed her?”

  “Is Cecile her husband?”

  She nodded. “He’s one of those cagey guys, you know. Always looks out the corner of his eyes at you. Wouldn’t trust him for a minute. Not that fellow. All he does is fix cars on the side. When I say, ‘on the side,’ you know what I’m sayin’?” She cocked her head to one side.

  I shook my head. “No, what are you saying?”

  “I’m sayin’ that’s just a front. He’s been dealin’ drugs or maybe somethin’ worse for years. I don’t know if Grace ever got involved but then again, like I say, I never saw much of her lately. By the way, honey, I never did tell you my name, did I? Guess I just got so caught up in this murder thing.” She held out her hand. “My name’s Stella. Stella Townley.”

  This handshake was much firmer than the first one.

  I looked up at the clock. I’d been gone almost two hours.

  “Stella, would you mind if I called my friend at the hotel? She might be starting to worry about me.”

  ‘Might’ was putting it mildly. It took almost ten minutes to calm Flori down and convince her that I was okay. Finally, I just handed the phone over to Stella. I slipped out the door and hurried back to the hotel.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I walked, gasping and puffing, into the room. Flori was still on the phone with Stella. I showered, dressed, and blow-dried what little hair I have, and Flori was still on the phone.

  It wasn’t until I stood in front of her doing charades and wanting her to guess, ‘let us eat supper,’ that she finally said, “Oh Stella, I think Mabel is here now so I’d better go. We’ll see you bright and early in the morning then.”

  “You think I’m here now?” I said when she finally put the phone down.

  “Yes, I think you are, Mabel.”

  “We’ll see her bright and early in the morning?”

  Flori looked flushed with excitement.

  “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? Stella is going to help us solve the mystery.”

  “Stella is going to help us solve the mystery?”

  “That’s what I said. Aren’t you happy about that? We’ll have someone right here from Yellow Rose to help us. She’ll know all the hideouts and everything.”

  “Hideouts?”

  Flori stood up and scowled. “Mabel, why are you repeating everything that I say?”

  “Well, pardon me, Miss Detective Who Doesn’t Want to Get Involved, it’s just that you keep saying we. If I remember correctly, you distinctly said, ‘I will not get involved in this murder case. I will only come with you so you don’t get yourself killed.’ And, if I further remember, you repeated that to me at least ten times before we even got on the plane.”

  Flori blushed and her eyes filled with tears. “I know but it just seems different now. Now, there’s someone else to watch over you, too. It will be so much easier if I have someone to help me.”

  I knew she was ready to burst into a flood so I handed her the box of tissues and said, “You’re right. It will be easier
for both of us.” She blew her nose and I gave her a hug. “Now,” I said, “where do you want to eat? I’m starving.”

  “How about seafood? I think I’d like to avoid Mexican for another day or so.”

  We strolled down the seawall to a little establishment that said it had the freshest seafood on the Gulf coast. It was another warm evening and the breeze off the water was just enough to make a person wish they’d brought their sweater. Flori, of course, remembered hers. The food was delicious. Flori splurged on a bottle of wine, which she insisted we finish before we leave because even though it was the restaurant’s cheapest, it was expensive. At least, to anyone from Parson’s Cove.

  “And not as good as Sadie MacIntosh’s chokecherry wine,” she said. “Not by a long shot.” Her tongue slid out to catch a drop that almost escaped from the side of her mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “The taste will improve the more you drink.”

  Flori giggled until everyone at the surrounding tables began staring and I gave her a gentle kick under the table. “Flori,” I said, “everyone is staring. Here, have another drink,” and I filled her glass up to the top again. At that point, she totally lost control and the people beside us burst out laughing too.

  Well, by the time, we were finished the wine and ready to go, Flori had everyone’s address and knew pretty much everything there was to know about anyone. Except Big Bill’s little prostate problem. That was something, he said, he didn’t like to talk about; at least, in public. Perhaps, he and Flori could go out for lunch. If I hadn’t given her a kick and the evil eye, I’m sure she would’ve hauled off and hit him with her handbag. It was bad enough that she gave him a three-minute lecture on fidelity. I didn’t need that much attention. We were getting too much as it was.

  “I think you’ve missed out on a lot of things in life, Flori, because you’ve been stuck in Parson’s Cove.” We were almost at the hotel now and the sun was settling down in the west. The sky in the east was pink and powder blue. “If you were let out on the loose, I think you’d pretty much know someone in every state or maybe every country.”