Calamity @ the Carwash (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (11 page)

So, I spent Sunday morning, vacuuming up
cat hair, cleaning out boxes of cat litter and baking four dozen strawberry and
blueberry muffins. Two dozen of each. I’d picked the berries only weeks before
at one of the farms not far away and froze them immediately so they were very
fresh. After eating Flori’s cinnamon bun and then two muffins, I knew there was
a need to go for a long walk. It’s my belief if you’re going for a walk, there
might as well be some purpose to it. Otherwise, to my way of thinking - you’re
not walking, you’re meandering.

It isn’t the best manners to just pop
into someone’s place, especially on a Sunday afternoon but I knew there was
someone who wouldn’t mind at all. I was sure Charlie Thompson would be sitting
on the library bench and I wanted to know if he had any more information for
me.

The sun was now peeking out and it was
turning into one of those perfect weather days. I could see Charlie’s red plaid
shirt from two blocks away.

He didn’t look up until I called out,
“Hey, Charlie, how are you today?”

I did note a slight hint of a smile on
his lips, which is a good sign when it comes to Charlie.

“Mind if I sit down?” I never wait for
an answer. I sat down beside him and didn’t say anything. I could see why he
liked sitting here. Not that I would want to, day after day after day, but it
is a good spot for seeing almost everything that goes on, on Main Street in
Parson’s Cove.

“You want to know more about the
mystery?” he asked after about five minutes of silence.

I didn’t want to appear too anxious.
“Only if you wish to divulge it, Charlie. Do you know anything more? Do you
think that it had something to do with Bernie’s murder?”

He shrugged.

“Does that mean you might know more or
you don’t know if it had anything to do with the murder?”

Charlie frowned. “You ask such hard
questions, Mabel. All I know is what I’ve seen.”

“What did you see? Is it something we
should go to the police about, Charlie?”

He shrugged and then shook his head.
“Not enough evidence.”

The secret to discussing ideas with
Charlie is never to lose your patience.

“Can you tell me what you saw?”

    He started to rock back and forth so
I knew he was getting nervous.

“It was dark. Very dark, but I saw the
taxi parked behind Scooter’s garage.”

At that point, Charlie closed down. His
rocking increased and I knew if I didn’t leave, he’d become more agitated.
Since he’s my eyes and ears in the night I want to keep those lines of
communication open – even if the lines are very short.

This really didn’t seem like much
information. I mean, why shouldn’t Calvin be visiting Scooter Macalvey? I’m
sure they’ve been friends for years. For all I knew, they could’ve been staying
up half the night playing poker.

Scooter repairs shoes in his garage. I
personally don’t know how he survives on what he makes. No one gets his or her
shoes repaired anymore. It’s just as cheap to buy a new pair. Some of the older
ones still like to take their shoes to him though. Scooter’s wife, Betty, works
in the kitchen at the hospital so I imagine she’s the one who puts most of the
food on the table. Sometimes I walk down the back lane, usually looking for a
cat or two, and I’ve seen the huge garden they have. Scooter must look after it
when he’s not replacing heels on someone’s shoes. Come to think of it, he might
not be doing too good a job as it was growing pretty wild the last time I gave
it a glance.

I started for home I admit a bit
disappointed. The town was so quiet. I didn’t see any police cars anywhere –
not Reg and his boys, nor Captain Maxymowich and his boys. What was happening
with this murder case anyway? Was Melanie really the killer after all? Was her
brother the killer? On the other hand, were there things about Bernie that we
didn’t know? It wouldn’t be the first time that someone in Parson’s Cove was
leading a double life.

The only person walking down the street
was Amy Hunter. She was taking her little Pekingese for a walk. It suddenly hit
me that Murray McFerguson wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. When I’d been
down on the beach and looked at the back of his house, it was so quiet and
lifeless looking. Perhaps it would be good to drop in to make a quick visit.
After all, he was the one who lost two friends: one human and one canine. I
could drop off some muffins for them.

I was looking forward to Monday. Hunting
for clues in solving a murder is almost as exciting as the moment that you know
who did it. One thing for sure - I was certainly looking forward to Monday much
more than Wednesday. This was going to be the last time I would go to the city
with those old codgers. I would invite Flori over after supper for a nice glass
of wine and break the news to her.

Chapter
Seventeen

Monday morning was clear and bright. The
sun shone, the birds sang, and my cats couldn’t wait to get outside. For a
brief two hours or so they could pretend to be searching for their food in the
wilds of Africa. As I watched from the kitchen window, I was sure the birds
were getting a kick out of it too. Sammy, my only white cat, sat under a tree
branch, his body literally trembling with anticipation. The branch was about
six feet above him but he bravely kept leaping into the air. The bird never
moved but simply looked down at him and fluttered its wings.

It was nine and I was almost as excited
as Sammy was. Surely today I would find more clues to Bernie’s murder.

I was glad now that I’d baked some fresh
muffins. Erma met me at the door. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days but
she cheered up a little when she saw the muffins. Erma isn’t quite as big as
Flori but almost. Like Flori, she has a contagious laugh. I always enjoy it
when she comes into the store. She’s the type of person who can find something
to laugh about in almost any situation. It looked as if she was having a hard
time finding anything to smile about this time.

“Erma, I wanted to come by and see how
you folks are doing.” I handed her the bag with the muffins in it. “This must
be an awful time for Murray. I know how much he loved that old dog and how
close he was to Bernie too. How is he doing?”

Erma stood back and motioned me inside.
We stood in her living room.

“I don’t know what to do, Mabel. Come
and look at him.”

I followed her through the house and
into the kitchen. She stopped at the window.

“See him there?”

I stood on my tiptoes and looked out.
Murray was sitting in a chair at the back end of the property apparently
watching the lake.

“I see him but what’s wrong? Why don’t
you like him sitting by the water? Don’t you think it’s good for him?”

“At first, I did. In fact, I’m the one
who suggested it but now it’s out of hand, Mabel. He sits out there staring
into space all day long. He doesn’t even come in to eat. If I didn’t take his
food out to him I think he’d starve to death. I’m at my wit’s end. Would you go
and talk to him?”

It was a strange request since I never
really ever talk to Murray. Not that I don’t say hello when I pass him on the
street but I’ve never had any reason to strike up a conversation. Now to start
communicating with someone who’s lost his best friend and his dog by the same
murder weapon is something entirely different.

“Please?” Erma looked so desperate that
before I thought of what I was doing, I smiled, nodded, and walked out the back
door onto the deck and down the lawn to see Murray. I had no idea what I was
going to say. This is one reason why I stay away from funerals. Some people are
good at condolences but not me. If I do go to a funeral, I go with Flori and
Jake. That way I can stand beside them and nod. I’ve even had bereaved folks
send me a thank you card for the thoughtful expressions that I shared with
them. All that for just a nod.

The closer I got, the more I realized
what bad shape Murray was in. He didn’t even hear me coming and when I said his
name, he looked up as if he was seeing an apparition. Like he didn’t know who I
was.

“Murray,” I said. “It’s me, Mabel
Wickles.”

It took a few seconds to register.

“Oh, Mabel. You’ll find Erma in the
house.” He turned and continued looking out through the trees to the lake as if
this was a very important job or something.

I plunked down on the grass beside him.
If he noticed he didn’t let on.

“I’ve already been in to see Erma.”

As if seeing me again for the first
time, he said, “Oh, that’s nice.” He kept staring into space as if I wasn’t
there.

“Murray,” I said. “I came to offer my
condolences. I’m so sorry to hear about Bernie and about your old dog, Biscuit.
You must be devastated.”

He nodded and tears sprang into his
eyes.

“He didn’t have to do it.”

“He? Whom do you mean, Murray? You mean
the person who killed Bernie or the one who killed Biscuit?”

He hesitated for a moment and I saw
another emotion cross over his face. Anger. It was only for a second and if I’d
glanced away for that long, I would’ve missed it. In fact it was so intense, it
was much more than anger – it was a mixture of rage and hatred. This was
something new. Murray always seemed to be as laid back as that old dog of his.
Not that I see him on a regular basis but if someone in Parson’s Cove has any
type of problem, be it alcohol abuse, soap opera addiction or anger management,
everyone knows about it. Of course, he had every right to be so angry.

His face softened and tears welled up in
his eyes.

“I loved that old dog, Mabel. He never
did anyone any harm. There was no reason for him to kill old Biscuit.”

“Him? Who’s ‘him?’”

Murray looked up at me. “Him is the
s.o.b who threw a brick at my dog and killed him. That’s who ‘him’ is. Anybody
who does something like that deserves to die himself.”

“What if it was a ‘she?’ Melanie claims
to have killed Bernie. Maybe Biscuit was there and in her anger, she picked up
the brick and threw it at Biscuit too. You know, sort of like two birds with
one stone.”

He shook his head. “Bernie could be a
jerk and I’m sure Melanie felt like killing him sometimes but she would never
kill a dog. Besides, Biscuit was killed out in that empty field.”

“But what if whoever killed Bernie took
the dog and dumped him in the field?”

He looked up at me with a puzzled look.
“Why would a person do that?”

“I don’t know. It just seems to me that
if they were both killed by the same brick, they must’ve been together at the
time. What if Biscuit saw her killing Bernie and he attacked her? Even the
meekest dogs will protect people, you know.”

He shook his head again. “No. Biscuit
would never attack. He was the sweetest dog in the world. It was some stranger
who did it. Some deranged stranger.”

“How do you know that? Why would some
deranged stranger kill Bernie and your dog?”

If I’d thrown ice-cold water in his
face, I couldn’t have received a more shocking reaction. For one brief moment I
thought he was going to jump off that lawn chair and sock me in the jaw. He did
literally lift himself off about five inches. That was enough to make me stand
up and very quickly for someone with arthritic knees.

With his fist and his teeth clenched, he
yelled, “Get off my property, Mabel Wickles, if you know what’s good for you.
Don’t I have enough to worry about than having you poking around here in my
business?”

When someone uses that tone with me, I
don’t dilly-dally. I headed back to the house as fast as my short legs would
take me. Erma was waiting on the deck by the back door.

“See, I told you.” She plucked a used
tissue from her apron pocket and dabbed at her nose. Her eyes were red from
crying. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him, Mabel. He’s heartbroken
over that old dog of his. If he’d died of old age, I don’t think it would be so
hard on Murray. And, losing Bernie too – he just can’t handle it all.”

“Has he talked to you about Bernie in
the past few weeks or so? Did he tell you if Bernie and Melanie were having any
trouble?”

“Trouble? What do you mean ‘trouble?’
Are you talking about what Prunella overheard? Because if that’s what you’re
referring to, I wouldn’t put much faith in it.” She held the door open for me
and followed right behind. It banged shut. She motioned to one of her kitchen
chairs for me to sit. “I never knew this but, Mabel, Prunella has been a secret
drunk for years. Someone was telling me that all she does is sit on her porch
and drink margaritas.” She pulled two mugs down from the lower shelf of her
cupboard and filled them with coffee. “Cream and sugar?” Before I could answer,
she took a carton of milk from the fridge and put the sugar bowl in front of
me. We shared one spoon for stirring. Erma peered at me over her cup. “Why
would you ask if Murray talked about Bernie and Melanie? I’m sure he doesn’t
know anything about their private life. Bernie used to go fishing with Murray
but it seemed Bernie was busy lately. Excuse my French but that sort of pissed
Murray off a little. I mean, friendship is something special. After so many
years, you don’t just drop someone. Right, Mabel? I know one thing for sure you
wouldn’t drop Flori, would you?”