Murder, She Floats

by Rachael Stapleton

  “Oh, well, hey there, stud muffin. Can’t a woman stop by and say hello to the most eligible man in town?”

  Dad’s face went beet red, then he stuttered. I decided to save him. “I saw the sold sign on the flower shop. You all done with that?”

  “Yeah, you know my third husband had the green thumb, and he kicked the can last year.”

  “Third? Wow. You’re as popular as you are pretty.”

  “You know it, and I dated a locksmith in the next town over but apparently he’s married. He was broke, anyway. I’m so silly, you think I’d learn to marry for money by now. So, looks like I’ll need to find a job. You know of anyone hiring?”

  I considered it for a moment, then shook my head. “Not at the moment. I just got into town but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said. “Speaking of which, can you by chance pick a lock? I mean, you were law enforcement, right?”

  “I think you’re confused on what enforcing the law means–it’s the thieves who pick locks, not the cops.”

  “Oh yeah, my bad. Well, you are a private investigator.”

  Both Dad and I just stood there staring at her as she rifled through her purse.

  “Oh, you know what... Nevermind, I found my key ring right here.” She jingled a giant, janitor sized key ring. “Tootaloo.”

  Dad turned to me and shook his head. “She couldn’t possibly need all the keys on that ring.”

  I smirked. “We were saying… something about tornados in pearls?”

  “Hush now, before we summon another one,” he warned, grinning. “Anyway, go see Nana pronto and find out what she knows. Her husband’s family built that house so she should know the history, or at least she’ll know someone who does. I can’t think of anybody outside of Benjamin Baboon and Patricia Tate who worked there during that time, but Benjamin hasn’t been around since I was a kid and Mrs. Tate passed on a few years ago. There’s got to be someone out there. I’ll pull the layout and make room.” Dad hitched his pants and sat forward at his desk, a rare look of purpose in his eyes. “E-mail me an article as soon as you can, okay, sweetie. Damn good thing this paper comes out on a Friday, or we’d be caught with our pants down.”

  An image I didn’t appreciate. Thanks Dad. Then I saw a forty-watt bulb switch on over Dad’s head and wondered if he’d just had the same mental image. When I left, he muttered about the “craft sale ladies becoming unglued and stringing him up if he moved them to the back page.”

  I stepped onto the sidewalk–still warm despite the clouds–and checked the time. It was mid-morning, which meant Nana would still be home. She often played gin rummy, crib or canasta at the Boho Retirement Village in the afternoons.

  I was strolling to my car when I heard someone call my name. Aw shoot. Sweat droplets tickled my lower back and trickled to my belly button, unimpeded by my lack of brassiere. Whether it was the sound of that voice or the hot weather I couldn’t be sure.

  “Good morning, Penelope. Nice to see you up and out so early for a change!”

  Helen Patone, the mayor’s wife and resident queen of Bohemian Lake, had crept up on me–just like a cockroach. Conversations with Helen were hard without a drink in your hand; whiskey, coffee, or at the very least poison. Since it was only 9 a.m. it was probably too early for whisky and poison.

  “Hi, Helen. Actually, I’m always up early. However, I just moved back to town, so that’s why you never see me.”

  Helen smiled awkwardly at me and smoothed down the pleats of her pink striped skirt as if suddenly realizing she’d spoken out loud. “Anyway, don’t you want to ask me what’s in my hand?” She waved a stack of papers at me.

  “What’s in your hand, Helen?” I asked, with all the excitement I could muster. Which was none at all. She smiled and nodded, eagerly handing one over.

  “Posters advertising the treasure hunt’s local business sponsors to our out-of-town guests. Aren’t they lovely? One of the students designed them. The things you can do on a computer these days.”

  Helen and her daughter Kaitlyn were the lead members of the town’s organization committee and basically held a fundraiser, party or fair at least once a month. They recruited help regularly but since they were bossy, lazy and miserable, no one wanted to help them. They usually had to resort to high school volunteers who needed extra credit.

  “Very nice, Helen.”

  I turned over the folded paper, and she nudged me, hard, in the ribs, and grabbed her poster back. “I’m sure that handsome father of yours will let me put one up in the window of the newspaper. Don’t you think?”

  “Of course,” I said with a smile.

  “So how are you doing? How’s Lucas?”

  I took off my jean jacket and tied it around my waist. “Lucas?” I repeated, puzzled. “He’s doing fine, I guess.”

  “Well,” she said, tugging on one of the small gold hoops in her ears. “I just mean, given that you two broke up and all.”

  I froze. Ah. The real reason for Helen stopping me in the street.

  “Excuse me?”

  “He’s dating some actress now, right?” she probed, leaning closer. I could see her pores under the thick coating of make-up. “Somebody Bilch? That’s what I heard. Awfully close to the B word if you ask me.”

  My sentiments exactly. “Well, yes, but…”

  She smiled, her painted lips revealing perfectly bleached teeth.

  “Penelope.” She lowered her voice. “I’m so sorry. You must be absolutely devastated. Everyone knows he cheated… well, I don’t want to say…”

  My mind spun for a moment. What the hell was she talking about? Lucas and I had split, and he had started seeing someone right after, but he wasn’t cheating on me.

  I cleared my throat. “Helen, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. Lucas and I broke up amicably. That was it.”

  “Right,” she said, nodding, her blond bob bouncing on her shoulders. “Only he left you.”

  My temper flared. “He did not leave me,” I said. I patted the side of my purse and debated hitting her in the face with it. I settled it on my shoulder instead. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “And if you must know, it was my idea to split.”

  “Interesting,” she said, tapping her fingernail to her lip, her eyes locked on me. “I heard… other things.”

  “Well, you should know how stories get twisted,” I said, pasting a smile on my face.

  She waved a hand in the air. “Yeah. I do.” She tilted her head toward me. Waves of perfume rolled off her, and I fought back the urge to sneeze. “Anyway… I should be going. I’m so glad you’re back though. Our own little amateur sleuth in town again.” She smiled and waved her perfectly manicured talons in my face, then turned on her two-inch mule back heels and tottered away.

  “Never you mind her, Penelope dear. The stick up Helen’s rear is larger than usual this week ‘cause her daughter’s lowlife boyfriend is back in town,” a voice said off to my right.

  I turned and saw the voice belonged to Mrs. Miller, a local woman in a wheelchair outfitted with tires that looked more appropriate to a dirt bike. She had to be in her eighties by now.

  “And he’s brought himself another girl.” She laughed so hard she wheezed. “What a fool that Kaitlyn Patone is.”

  “Mrs. Miller. It’s so nice to see you. How have you been?” When I was still a kid Mrs. Miller was already old, with silvery white hair and long, bony fingers that rested on the arms of the wheelchair. Today she wore a white George Jones t-shirt and shorts, along with bright white shoes that looked like they'd just left the rack that morning.

  She waved a hand in the air. “Bah. I’m still breathing, so that constitutes a good day. Where you off to, anyway?”

  “Caravan Manor. I’m going to see Nana.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you then, sweetie. Tell her I said hello and the next t
ime Helen tries to razz you, just shut her up with that little tidbit about her numpty headed daughter.” She winked at me and motored on down the street.

  Chapter Five

  _____________

  C aravan Manor sat at the end of a long drive. I parked my car in the lot and made my way down the drive on foot, taking in the eclectic mix of gables, turrets, and pillars.

  Once a summer my Great-Aunt Gloria would take holidays here and I’d stay with her. I loved running through the hidden passages with Mallory and Dani Vianu–the granddaughters of the owner and proprietor.

  “Well, hey there, stranger,” I said as I waved to Nana Vianu’s longtime gardener. He paused for a moment, trading his pruning shears for a bottle of water.

  “Trubble.” He chugged back half the bottle and then wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “Well now, isn’t it nice to see your pretty face back in town?”

  I smiled at the nickname, remembering a time when everyone had either called me trouble or Lucky Penny, mostly because I always found trouble but was lucky enough to survive it.

  Jeff the gardener picked up his pruning shears and went back to work on the Manor’s sprawling gardens as I entered through the massive front doors. A group gathered sipping coffee around the bar to the left. A buffet of snacks sat off to the side and directly in front of me was the reception desk.

  “Good morning! Welcome to Gypsy Caravan,” the girl at the front desk said as she hung up the phone. “Can I help you?”

  “Hello.” I took in the ornate coffered ceiling as I walked closer to the desk. It had been a while since I’d been here and I’d forgotten how impressive the interior of the place was. A grand staircase took up the back wall with large, intricately carved newel posts.

  “Can I help you?” she asked again.

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” I apologized. “I was busy gawking.” I didn’t recognize the girl at the desk but she looked pleasant enough. She held out her hand.

  “I’m Lise, and welcome to Caravan Manor Resort. Did Emillion bring you in?”

  “Emillion… no. Who’s that?”

  “He drives the Resort’s caravan, ma’am. He usually picks our guests up in town and gives them the gypsy tour.”

  “Oh, that would be why. I’m not a guest. I live across the lake and I’m looking for Nana.”

  I could hear Nana’s laughter in the distance, and the tinkling sound of a piano. Dani loved music–she was always playing one instrument or another.

  “Is Dani with her?”

  “No, I think Dani is helping Emile with something.”

  I thought I sensed annoyance in the girl’s eyes, but perhaps it was just that the phone rang. She glanced down the hall. “Nana is having tea in the parlor. Go ahead.” She waved me on and resumed her telephone duties.

  I moved down the corridor, taking in all the architectural details, until I found open pocket doors and Nana seated on a chaise, her eyes glued to the screen of her tablet.

  “Nana?”

  She glanced up at me, tossing aside her trendy red glasses as if embarrassed to be seen wearing them. Unlike most of the seniors in Bohemian Lake, who wore muumuus and tracksuits, Nana Vianu had style. She dressed in an off-the-shoulder dusty rose tunic with brightly embroidered flowers. Her hair was a combination of white and silver and braided around her head and across her forehead like a boho headband. Her dark eyes were still sharp.

  “May I help you?”

  “Nana, don’t you recognize me? It’s Penelope Trubble.”

  “Penelope, my goodness, girl–look at you. Come here and give me a hug already.”

  “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Oh heavens no, I was just watching a funny video my friend sent me. A monkey punched this guy in the junk.”

  “That sounds mean. Was it one of those viral ones, like funniest home videos?”

  “Not like that at all. It was my friend Alma–she really hates her nephew-in-law so she pushed him into the monkey pit at the zoo while she taped it and then had the boy next door help her put it to music. It’s hilarious.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “Don’t worry, no actual monkeys were hurt.”

  I shook my head and sat down adjacent to her. “I thought maybe Dani was playing for you. Does she still live here?”

  “Yes, of course. She’s probably in the kitchen helping the chef prep dinner. She’s the assistant chef now. Mallory’s here too somewhere.”

  “Mallory’s back?” I was surprised. Mallory had bailed on Bohemian Lake to wander the world even before I did. Well, in truth Mallory had always wandered. Her parents were musicians and traveled constantly, but Caravan Manor was their home so they always came back–until they went missing in ‘98.

  “Mal has been home for a year and she pretty much runs the manor now, but if you’re not here to see the girls, what can I do for you, honey?”

  “Dad bought the newspaper.”

  “I heard that. How wonderful.”

  “Yes. Anyway, he sent me over. Apparently there was a coin lost at Gypsy Caravan Manor in ‘62, and the town, in conjunction with the newspaper, is running a contest—”

  “Yes, the 1913 Liberty Head nickel,” Nana chimed in. “The contest is my doing.”

  “It is?”

  “Well, not on purpose. I was telling an old friend who was staying here with her family last month about the lost nickel incident. Turns out her daughter works for a magazine and boom… next thing I know this place gets a five star feature in the travel magazine and we’re bombarded with phone calls about the missing million-dollar nickel. The town council jumped on the publicity bandwagon and the first person to find the decoy in the lake gets five thousand dollars.”

  “I thought it was ten thousand? A million pennies if I remember correctly.”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. Sorry, the town council is matching my donation. It will be fabulous for the tourism industry around here, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely, but how come you haven’t talked to Dad about running a story in our paper?”

  “Oh, I guess I should have. It all happened so fast. I told Ted right away but of course he passed right after. I heard a rumor that your Dad had bought the paper from Ted’s widow but I haven’t seen him lately. To be honest, it was all very cloak and dagger–him buying the paper and all. Besides, the Bohemian Lake gossip mill–cough, Helen and the social committee–usually handle the newspaper fodder.”

  I nodded. “Fair enough. I think Dad had his hands full with the detective business last month. He definitely had no plans to buy the paper but he couldn’t refuse Ted’s widow–he’s always had a soft spot for her.”

  “Oh, your dad has a soft spot for everyone. He must be the most generous man in town. I don’t know how he does it. I can’t stand to be nice for more than five minutes at a time, or at least that’s what the girls are always harping about.”

  “Uh-oh, we must be approaching five minutes. I’ll get down to business.”

  Nana chuckled.

  “I’m trying to write a human-interest angle on the lost nickel story.”

  Nana set her tablet down and sighed profoundly. “Hmm, I was seven years old at the time and it was my husband’s family who lived here. I’m not sure what I can tell you.”

  “Could you point me in the direction of a relative or an employee who would have been around at the time?”

  Nana got a distant look in her eye and leaned back on her pillow. “I’ll have to think on that. We’ve had quite a few employees over the years but Jeff has been around the longest and he’s only been here since Mal was born in ‘91. I know from pictures that Ben Baboon’s grandfather worked here–of course, he ran off in ‘62 and hasn’t been seen since, so that won’t help.”

  “What about your husband or his family? Didn’t they ever talk about the incident?”

  “I do remember my late husband commenting on how odd it was that Mr. Moviestar’s wife was out on one of the boats with such a valuable item. I m
ean, especially considering the stink she put up when she lost it–you know she even made my late father-in-law purchase scuba equipment and the workers searched for days, but that coin was just so small.” Nana studied the back of her veined hands.

  “So odd,” I mused. “Why would someone go on a boat with a rare coin worth a million dollars?”

  “I know, right? No common sense. And why would she even have it? It wasn’t even hers. It belonged to a coin dealer who was also staying at the manor, and it was in his room. She said it was in her dress pocket by accident. That she’d found it in the hall. The police assumed that it had fallen out of Mr. Walton’s case, but my husband said there was no way that could have happened. Mr. Walton was meticulous, and he never carried his case in the halls. It would have been stored and packed away properly in his suitcase.”

  “Why didn’t she turn it in if she found it? Didn’t she know what it was? And if it was lost... how did anyone really know what it was?”

  “I can’t say. All I know is that the coin dealer, Mr. George Walton, had to leave for a show where the administrators were planning to display it. Of course, Walton never made it, having died in a car crash while en route. Authorities found the other coins at the scene of the wreck, but the 1913 Liberty Head Nickel was not one of them, so I guess maybe Ms. Moviestar did have it.”

  “Did your husband believe her?”

  “Oh, he believed she had the coin, but he didn’t buy that she’d lost it in the water.”

  “So, he thought she pretended to drop it so no one would look for it? And others would assume it was on him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But why even bring up the coin then? If she wanted to get away with it, why pretend to lose it? Why not just stay quiet about having it at all?”

  “That’s an excellent point, one I pondered myself. Maybe someone saw her with it so then she had to pretend to lose it.”

  I leaned back in my chair, just now noticing that my butt was asleep. “That’s quite a story, Nana. I wonder where the real coin is now?”

  “Buried?”

  “Huh? Buried where?”