Death of a Domestic Diva (32 page)

“I grabbed a lamp, threw it at her. It knocked her out. One of her T-shirts was lying on the couch. I grabbed some scissors laying out on the desk, cut up the T-shirt. And I strangled her. I thought it was a fitting end for her. I figured someone might find out the truth later. So I decided I had to take Verbenia as soon as possible and get away. I've gotten all the money we'll need—and this gun, in case someone tries to stop us.”

It struck me then, with Tyra being Vivian's mother and my second-cousin-once-removed, Vivian and I (and Verbenia and I) were third cousins, which made Lewis my half-third-cousin . . .

Suddenly, Vivian moved the gun from its cozy spot under her sweater, up to my temple.

“I've told you the story. Now get me to where my sister is. And she'd better be there, or I'm killing you on the spot.”

So much for family ties saving me. This woman had killed her mother—granted, a mother in name only . . . a mother who'd abandoned her . . . who only came back in her life to use her and her sister for her own means . . . but still. I had no doubt Vivian Denlinger would kill me.

We pulled into Owen's driveway a few minutes later. The bookmobile was gone. I knew Owen had said he'd go off with Winnie—and he always keeps his word—but I hoped that for once he hadn't. That he'd charge out, my white knight, to save me. I really did. I was desperate. I was sweating. I was terrified. Being saved by my boyfriend seemed like a great choice over being shot to death. I could show my liberated side later, by picking up the tab for a celebration dinner of turkey hot shots and cherry pie over at Sandy's Restaurant.

I parked in front of the fourth garage over. I looked over at Vivian, offered a wavering smile. “Um, this is it, my um, boyfriend's house. Guy likes to come here.”

“To your boyfriend's house?” Vivian did not sound convinced. And she did not look amused.

“My boyfriend has, um, lots of books. Guy likes to count them.”

Vivian nodded—satisfied for the moment. It wasn't true, but it was something that, as the sister of an autistic woman, she'd find believable.

Then she thought of something else. “Are you trying to set me up? What if your boyfriend's here?”

“Actually, he told me he's spending the whole day at the library today.” Which was kind of true.

We got out of the car. I led the way to the front door, Vivian staying right behind me, gun in my back. I didn't knock or ring the bell. I just took hold of the doorknob, hoping that Owen had left it unlocked, like he usually did—not because of the safety of Paradise, but because he kept forgetting to lock it. In case he was still here, I didn't want Owen coming to the door, face to face with a gun.

I opened the door, but didn't step in. Running was still an option. It would work better if I was outside, I figured, than inside Owen's tiny house.

“Guy,” I called cheerfully and loudly. In case Owen was still here, I wanted Owen to realize I was here—and not acting quite myself. Of course Guy wouldn't be here, and Owen would know that. “Yoo-hoo, Guy, it's Josie. You counting the books in there with Verbenia?”

Vivian gave me a shove, making me trip my way into the house. She shut the door behind us. We both stared at the front room, filled with books, but no Guy. And, of course, no Verbenia.

“You said they'd be here. You'd better not be lying, Josie Toadfern, or I swear I'll kill you right here, leave your body for your stupid boyfriend to find.” She was shrieking. If Owen were here, he'd have heard her by now. But no, Owen wasn't rushing out to save me. I was alone with Vivian.

“Well, let's just check the kitchen, okay?” I started moving in that direction. “Guy really likes to eat.”

I was thinking maybe I could make a dash out of the kitchen door without getting shot, circle around to Owen's car, and speed off.

She followed me into the kitchen. I groaned. I'd forgotten that the kitchen table plus Owen's vacuum—still attached by an extension hose to Billy's Cut-N-Suck on the table—blocked my way to the door.

Vivian's eyes narrowed. She lifted the gun, pointing it right at my face.

And then Owen came in. He was yawning and scratching his head, his eyes still half shut. “Josie, that you? I was taking a nap—”

Vivian whirled around, turning her gun on him. Suddenly, Owen's eyes got wide. His jaw fell slack.

Here was my white knight, frozen in place.

So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I quickly undid the hose from the vacuum, grabbed it by the end, and whirled. Billy's Cut-N-Suck whacked Vivian's head on the first go round, knocking her out, cold.

Epilogue

It's taken awhile, but life in Paradise has pretty much gone back to normal.

That afternoon at Owen's, I had to call the Paradise Police Department a few times before I convinced the dispatcher I wasn't a crank phone caller just pretending to really have Tyra's killer, felled by Billy's Cut-N-Suck, in Owen's kitchen. Sooner or later, the dispatcher believed me, and Chief John Worthy came out. Vivian eventually came to, refusing to speak until Verbenia was found.

And Verbenia was found, along with Guy, out at the old orphanage, just like I'd guessed. No one is sure how they got there, or if Guy followed Verbenia, then led her to the orphanage when she couldn't think of where else to go, or if they planned it together, or why, exactly, they went. Don's theory is that Verbenia probably wanted to leave to hide somewhere until Vivian went out west, so Verbenia could then go back to Stillwater. It's not a theory Vivian would like.

Vivian, though, upon learning her sister was okay, wept gratefully. At first she told Chief John Worthy that she'd killed Tyra because she was an unhappy fan, frustrated by too many fancy napkin folds and window toppers that didn't quite work out. She was trying to protect Verbenia, still.

I could understand that—but I had to tell the whole story to Chief Worthy anyway, because Elroy and Billy were still in jail for murder.

He didn't seem to believe my story.

But Paige came forward, and confessed that she knew of Tyra's plan to make an announcement having to do with Stillwater in order to turn attention away from her business problems, although she hadn't known the specifics. Don verified that Tyra had been about to make a huge donation—she'd just needed a few days for her accountants to pull together the funds—although he didn't know about Vivian and Verbenia being her daughters and wouldn't have accepted the donation if he'd known of her plans. And Hazel confirmed Vivian and Verbenia's relationship to Lewis and Tyra.

So, finally, Vivian confessed the whole story, just as she told it to me. A short version of it got out, and the press had a field day with it, interviewing everyone they could think of about this shocking revelation about Tyra Grimes's real life, including each other. Stillwater hired guards to keep the media away from Verbenia.

And then, all at once, the reporters left. Some of them trailed after Vivian when she was taken to the women's penitentiary to await her trial. The rest just took off—kind of like a flock of starlings that land somewhere, and then suddenly take off again, for no apparent reason. Maybe there was news elsewhere to find. Maybe, with Tyra being dead, the story wasn't as interesting as it would have been if she'd been alive.

In any case, the reporters left. Billy was let out of jail. He and Paige came to see me, the same day I reopened my laundromat, to let me know Billy was going with Paige back to New York, where together they were going to start a shelter for unwed runaway pregnant teens—kind of a way, for Paige, of making up for what she called “wasted time” working for Tyra. And definitely a cause Billy could believe in.

Guy and Verbenia settled nicely back into Stillwater.

The day Billy and Paige left town was also the day of the grand re-opening of Elroy's Gas Station. Nothing about it has changed, except that Elroy sells tuna fish salad sandwiches again. And he seems to have a new confidence that suits him well, most recently shown when he announced at our last Chamber of Commerce meeting that he'd learned from the state's travel commission that removing Paradise from the official state of Ohio map had been a mistake due to a computer glitch. Paradise is set to reappear in the next edition of the map.

The sign and pole at Sandy's Restaurant got fixed, so Sandy's happy again.

As for me, well, I repainted the front window of my laundromat with a toad sitting happily on a fern, and the name of my business spelled the right way: Toadfern's Laundromat. I gave the cappuccino maker away.

Owen and I are still dating. And I'm liking his kisses more and more.

I see Winnie every Wednesday, on the bookmobile.

My insurance company finally took care of the broken window in Billy's old apartment, which is for rent.

My hair has grown back to a nice little blond fuzz that gets a few stares, but that feels really nice now that it's summer, so I've shucked my baseball cap for the duration of warm weather.

And just the other day, I found right outside my apartment door a package of homemade peanut butter cookies. No note.

The logical thing is to assume they're from Becky, since I did her family's laundry even while my laundromat was closed, and Becky's known for making great cookies and leaving them as thank yous for people.

But logic isn't always what's needed, I find. Sometimes a leap of fancy helps. Or a leap of faith.

Either way, I'm packing up a nice picnic lunch, just for me and Guy, just because it's a nice Sunday afternoon. We'll have tuna salad sandwiches from Elroy's gas station. A few peanut butter cookies. And Big Fizz diet colas. We'll take our picnic out to the old orphanage.

Maybe, while Guy stares at the orphanage, thinking whatever it is he thinks when we're there, I'll think a little too about all that's happened.

But mostly, I'm just going to enjoy this perfectly beautiful, sunny, bright day in Paradise.

PARADISE ADVERTISER-GAZETTE

Josie's Stain Busters

by Josie Toadfern

Stain Expert and Owner of Toadfern's Laundromat

(824 Main Street, Paradise, Ohio)

As most of you already know, I'm writing this month's column right after one of the biggest weeks of mayhem ever in Paradise. But now that the TV news trucks have pulled out of town, it's time to take a deep breath and consider lessons learned (stain-wise) from these events.

Note:
A hearty congratulations to Mrs. Beavy, one of my Toadfern Laundromat regulars and our town historian, for her fine interview on WMAS-TV's Masonville Nightly News regarding how recent events are like nothing that's ever happened here before.

I'm sure Hazel Rothchild will do a fine job as the new owner of Rothchild's Funeral Parlor. Already, she's creating several new promotions, including a free gift to all who pre-pay for a casket (installment plans available):
What To Bring When Loved Ones Die: Recipes from Paradise's Finest Wakes and Funerals
.

I for one hope Hazel's cookbook includes her fine recipe for lime Jell-O salad. And I'm sure she won't mind if I share a bit of laundry lessons learned from having done Lewis's shirts for many years:

      
1.
   
Pre-treat heavily sweat-stained shirts with a mixture of equal parts water, dish washing soap, and ammonia.

      
2.
   
And pretreat ring-around-the-collar with shampoo—the cheaper the better.
(Note:
Wally's Drug Emporium up in Masonville is having a 50% off promotion on shampoo this week.)

May Lewis rest in peace.

On a brighter note, before all mayhem broke loose I was able to advise Becky Gettlehorn about how to get the mustard stain out of little Haley's new sundress—simply pre-treat mustard stains with a dab of glycerin. Becky tried it, and it made Haley's sundress look so new that Haley wore it to the Gettlehorn family reunion last weekend over at the Second Reformed Church of the Holy Reformation's fellowship hall.

Of course, none of us will ever forget our visitors, Tyra Grimes and her assistant, Paige Morrissey. We'll all miss Tyra's homemaking expertise, but I'm mighty proud I was able to give her good advice about laundering her favorite white blouse when she spilled some Big Fizz diet cola on it during a little tussle at my place.

Cola, tea, and coffee—as I told Tyra—are tannin stains, so don't pre-treat them directly with soap, because that may just set the stains in. Instead, wash as soon as possible in warm water. If a stain remains, re-wash in warm water with all-fabric bleach.

Fortunately, Tyra's favorite blouse was stain-free after she followed my advice. And I hear, from Paige Morrissey, that Tyra looked mighty fine decked out in it for her funeral up in New York. May Tyra also rest in peace.

Speaking of Paige, I'll admit that for a while I suspected her of foul play when she told me her sweater was stained with cocoa . . . but the stain looked a lot like dirt. I tested her claim by soaking her sweater in cold water. The stain didn't budge—as it would have with cocoa—but came right out when I washed it in hot water, because:

      
1.
   
Cocoa stains fall in the protein category (along with blood, I might add). Presoak in cold water and then wash; if you wash something with a protein stain straight off in warm or hot water, you'll basically cook the stain right into the fabric.

      
2.
   
On the other hand, soaking dirt-stained items in cold water won't do a bit of good. Instead, wash them in the hottest water the item can handle. (Always check care labels!)

As it turned out, Paige's sweater got dirty when she was helping Billy move some things around. Paige and Billy are doing just fine in New York, and ask me to tell Paradisites one and all “hello.” And Billy says to let everyone know he's still a Cut-N-Suck distributor, just in case anyone has home hair-cutting needs.