Murder is the Pits (10 page)

“Come on, boy.” Timothy grasped Guthrie’s
waist and guided him up the stairs.

Penny Sue almost swooned over Timothy’s
bulging arms and thighs. “Such a loss,” she mumbled.

Heather chuckled. “Looks like Fred might
have had more than one of the pink pills. Okay, let’s see this
rusted aluminum.”

We started with Guthrie’s hurricane
shutters. I pointed out the smooth edge and the rust residue.

Next, we took her to the crawl space under
Mrs. King’s house. A big woman, Heather took one look at the tiny
door and decided to take our word. “You have a plumber who can
verify the strange rust?”

“Sonny Mallard.”

“I know him. Good guy. Remodeled my
bathroom.”

“What about the railing?” I asked.

“What railing?”

“The one that collapsed. Was it
aluminum?”

“Let’s see.” Heather led us under the crime
tape to the side of the building where the railing lay. It was
wood.

I looked at the bottom of the post. “There’s
a smooth edge—it didn’t break.”

Heather and Penny Sue (talk about a pair)
nudged me aside. “You’re right! The railing support didn’t break,
so why did it fall?”

I pointed to the balcony that was ringed by
short, square boxes—the size that would accommodate the handrail
posts. The box on the corner was missing.

“I’ll bet a dollar those boxes are
aluminum.”

Officer Brooks called to her partner who was
filling out paperwork. “Have you swept the house? All right if we
go in?”

He nodded.

“Come with me.”

“I’ll wait here,” Ruthie said, biting her
fingernail.

“We’ll be right back.” I followed Heather
and Penny Sue to the front of the building.

The first floor was empty of furniture and
unremarkable, except for the wood interior, which looked like
something you’d see in Vail or the mountains. To the left of the
door were the stairs to the second floor. We trailed behind
Heather, single file. I, for one, was glad she took the lead, since
she had her hand on her gun, ready to fire. No goons or nefarious
characters appeared. We followed her through the first bedroom that
had a door to the balcony. This room was empty except for an Igloo
cooler. We trooped to the corner of the porch. Penny Sue and
Officer Brooks both stooped to examine the square fittings that
lined the balcony.

“Looks like aluminum,” Heather said quickly.
“Both the aluminum and wood were bolted to the deck.” She moved to
the corner, where the form was missing, and ran her finger over the
floor. She held it up for us to see.

“Nothing. No sign of any rust. Looks like
the thing just pulled out of the deck. The wood over here is pretty
soft.”

Penny Sue cocked her head at me. “Heather’s
right. The rusty aluminum bandit wasn’t here.”

Damn. I was sure all these weird things were
related. Truth be told, I suspected Yuri was somehow
involved—trying to scare people out of their houses so he could buy
them cheap. So much for that theory. Okay, this accident wasn’t
related to the aluminum, but the other stuff was very
suspicious.

“Something very strange is going on. Do you
have a forensics division like the one on TV, you know,
CSI:
Crime Scene Investigation
?” I asked as we left the building.
“That’s what we need. Experts, computers, and scientists. People
who can explain how aluminum rusted.”

Heather shook her head. “We’re a small city.
The county doesn’t have those kinds of resources. Besides, this
railing broke because of rotten wood. Whatever happened to Mrs.
King or Guthrie is another matter. There’s no evidence of a crime
in either case, so there’s no reason for us to get involved.”

I understood. Guess we’d have to find our
own expert if we wanted to pursue it.

Heather thanked us for our cooperation and
headed for Guthrie’s condo. We found Ruthie and headed home.

“I love that show,” Penny Sue said.

Huh? Penny Sue had a grasshopper mind, but
this transition stumped me. “What are you talking about?”

“
Crime Scene Investigation
. Gil
Grissom, the leader of the team, is really sexy. A shame the
electricity is off, I think it’s on TV tonight.”

“If it’s a network show, we could listen to
it on the radio,” Ruthie offered.

“Wouldn’t be the same if you can’t see the
wounds and autopsies. Do you know a forensics expert, Leigh?”

“Not exactly.” I was thinking of Carl
Aninna, Fran’s son. With all of his contacts at MIT, if Carl
doesn’t know the answer, I’ll bet he can find someone who does.

“The aluminum rusted, so what?” Ruthie
said.

“If we knew how it rusted, we might get a
clue about the person who tried to break into Mrs. King’s
condo.”

Ruthie waved off my comment. “I have no
intention of playing detective. This is a police matter, they’ll
handle it.”

“Not if Woody’s in charge.” Penny Sue
stopped short and put her hands on her hips. “That weasel called us
girls. And, what about him saying he’d instructed the police to
call him whenever I’m involved in anything. Harassment, if you ask
me. I’m not a criminal.” She grinned mischievously. “I’d like to
solve this case just to shove it in his face. He is such a jerk.
Besides, it gives us something to do while we wait for the
depositions. We can’t go to any plays or movies without
electricity. So many buildings are damaged, it’ll be a while before
things get back to normal.”

Ruthie grimaced. “We could read a book or
play cards. Even work on our tan, once the sky clears.”

Penny Sue curled her lip. “Bor-ing!”

“You sound like my Furby.”

Uh oh, they were getting testy. I turned the
corner to our driveway and stopped. A black Jaguar was parked on
the side of the lot. “Isn’t that Igor’s car?” I asked Penny
Sue.

“His name is Yuri.” She looked around. “I
wonder where he is. I’d love to find out if he sent the pink
rose.”

I tugged her arm. “Come on, you don’t want
to chase after him like a shameless hussy.”

“Maybe he left a note on our door,” Ruthie
said.

Penny Sue grinned. “Yeah. He probably
stopped by to make sure we were okay.”

“More likely checking on Mrs. King,” I said
under my breath.

“What did you say?”

“I need to call the hospital and check on
Mrs. King.”

“Yes, you really should.”

* * *

August 14, New Smyrna Beach, FL

There was no
note on the front door
from Yuri, the hospital was short-staffed and couldn’t release
patient information except to immediate family, and the condo was
as hot as Hades. None of this made for good humor, especially for
Penny Sue. Rubbing a coveted piece of ice on her neck and forehead,
she moseyed to the front door every few minutes to check on Yuri’s
car. Disgustingly thin Ruthie, immune to the heat, happily listened
to the news on the boom box. As long as our batteries held out, she
would be fine. I was somewhere in the middle—hot, borderline
cranky, and slightly bored. I snagged one of the few remaining
Snickers, which made me feel a lot better momentarily.

“Darn,” Penny Sue muttered, stomping down
the hall. “Yuri’s gone and he didn’t even come by to say ‘Hello.’”
She stopped and watched me. “What are you eating?”

I pointed to the coffee table. She snatched
the cellophane bag and held it up to the light. “Three measly bars,
that’s all that’s left? Guthrie ate a whole pan of brownies, all
the Hershey Kisses, and most of my Snickers. Some nerve. That,
after we were kind enough to let him stay with us.”

I swallowed the last bit of candy. “He
offered us some brownies.”

“Yes, but you freaked us out with that
marijuana,
Alice’s Restaurant
stuff. The stupid brownies
were probably fine. He ate the whole pan and didn’t act much
different.”

“Who can tell? He acts spacey most of the
time,” I said.

“Well, I wish I’d tried one now. ’Course,
then he’d probably have eaten all the Snickers.” Penny Sue grabbed
a candy, ripped the wrapper viciously, and popped the whole thing
in her mouth. “Ne-e-ew,” she started, then covered her mouth and
motioned for me to wait. Finally, she swallowed, ran her tongue
over her teeth—behind closed lips, of course—and spoke. “What are
we going to do? I’m sure all the stores are closed.”

“They are,” Ruthie confirmed absently.

“Do about what? Snickers?”

“Candy,” Penny Sue snarled with a crazed
look in her eye. “We’re out, and who knows how long it will be
until we can get some more!” She went to the cooler for another
piece of ice that she rubbed on her neck.

Geez, this hormone thing had hit her hard.
“We have chips and dip,” I offered.

She put her hand up her shirt and the ice
cube between her boobs. She sighed with relief. “That might
work.”

Magawd! A menopausal woman with no AC, fans,
or anything. What were we going to do tonight? The condo was one
floor. Should we leave the windows open for air, or close them for
security? Looting was not a joke, and I had no doubt our condos
were good targets for crooks who knew that alarm system batteries
were dead by now and most of the units were unoccupied to boot.

“How about a glass of Chardonnay with ice?”
I suggested. “We can go out on the deck—there’s probably a
breeze.”

She mopped her brow. “Wine. That would be
nice.” She snatched the bag with the two remaining candy bars and
headed outside.

I popped a bottle of Chardonnay and found
the Styrofoam cups. “Want some wine, Ruthie?”

Her ear was to the speaker of the boom box.
“No, I’m fine for now. I think the batteries are low.”

“Extras are in the closet.”

I dropped three cubes of ice into each cup,
poured the wine, and stashed the bottle in the cooler. I debated
whether that was a good idea. Would the wine defrost the ice? Or
was it better to chill the wine so we’d use less ice? I sighed.
Lordy, these were decisions I’d never faced before.

In Atlanta we had only lost power a few
times because of ice storms. Keeping things cool was never an
issue. Our house had a fireplace in the den, lots of blankets, and
we cooked with propane. I sat on the cooler, still holding the two
glasses of wine. When I thought about it, storms in Atlanta were
actually kind of fun. We ate off paper plates and snuggled around
the fireplace wrapped in sleeping bags and quilts. Zack told ghost
stories to pass the time—at least when the kids were young and fell
for his outrageous tales. It changed when they grew up. Zack, Jr.
was into soccer and girls. Ann was into the dance team and boys.
Storms weren’t frequent, and we still huddled around the fireplace,
yet it wasn’t the same.

I wiped a tear from my eye.
They grow up
too fast.

“Anyone home?” a male voice said. In the
interest of ventilation, we’d left the front door open with the
screen door latched.

Still misty-eyed, I sat for a minute, hoping
Ruthie would answer the door. She did. It was Timothy, who’d come
to pick up Guthrie’s things. Penny Sue shuffled in from the deck to
see what was going on. I handed her the cup of wine.

Penny Sue raised her Styrofoam cup. “Can we
get you something to drink? Wine, a soda?”

Timothy held up his hands. “No thanks, I
don’t drink. Gotta stay in shape.” He patted his washboard
abdomen.

Interesting. Guthrie wasn’t shy about
alcohol and might even enjoy herbs and other pharmaceuticals, on
occasion.

“How is Guthrie?” I asked.

“Nothing’s broken, thank God, but he does
have a very bad bruise. He’ll have to stay off his leg and will be
on crutches for at least a couple of weeks.”

“Do you think he can manage alone?”

“I’ll stay with him for a few days. I have a
new house built to hurricane codes, so I didn’t get any damage.
Others in my neighborhood weren’t so lucky. Trees are down, power’s
out, and lots of roofs are ripped up.” He spied Guthrie’s knapsack,
bedroll, and brownie pan stacked on the loveseat. “I see he brought
his famous brownies. I won’t touch them myself.” He patted his
nonexistent stomach again.

“Are you a personal trainer?” Penny Sue
asked, sauntering up to him and brazenly giving him the once
over.

Honestly, she all but drooled on his biceps.
She used to be more discreet. It seemed the demure Georgia Peach I
used to know had evaporated with her estrogen. Between Penny Sue
and Timothy, there was a palpable testosterone overload in the
room. He definitely felt it and sidestepped toward the
loveseat.

“No, a chemist. I work at the Cape.”

“Chemist?” I said too loudly.

He quickly grabbed Guthrie’s things.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.” I smiled
sheepishly. “We were just saying how we needed a chemist, weren’t
we?”

Penny Sue and Ruthie nodded.

Timothy smiled and started backing down the
hall, clearly thinking he was about to be rushed by crazed, horny
women.

“Something strange is going on,” I said,
following him.

“Yes, the murder and all,” Timothy replied
quickly.

“It’s more than that. Guthrie’s hurricane
shutters didn’t blow off. We think they were sabotaged.”

“Oh, my.” He opened the screen door with his
butt and let it slam in my face. Safely on the other side, he
seemed to calm down. “I’ll be sure to look at that and help Guthrie
make arrangements for repairs.”

“We’d like your opinion on his shutters.
There’s rust on the edge where they broke away, and they’re made of
aluminum.”

He flashed a movie star smile—his teeth were
blinding white. “I’ll look at it and get back to you. I’m sure
Guthrie has your phone number, so I’ll give you a call. Thanks
again for taking care of my buddy.” Timothy turned and hotfooted up
the hill.

I whirled around, hands on hips, my elbow
accidentally brushing Penny Sue’s belly. She drew back,
squinty-eyed.