Murder is the Pits (14 page)

Woody shook his head. “You girls—” we all
cringed, including Heather—“make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Me? Us?” Penny Sue growled. “I’ve had it
with you. I’m filing a sexual harassment suit tomorrow.”

Woody scowled. “Sexual? Get serious. I’ve
made no advances whatsoever.”

Penny Sue set her jaw. “Don’t worry—Daddy
will think of something.”

Penny Sue went straight to the shower when
we arrived at the condo, then ate four Snickers and drank a big
glass of Jack Daniels on the rocks. Another time, I might have
criticized her drinking. Today, by golly, she deserved it! I poured
myself a small drink, too. Clyde was the second dead body I’d seen
in two days time, and that unnerved me. I picked up my glass, the
ice in it tingling from my trembling hand.

We were sitting around the kitchen counter,
the Weather Channel playing in the background. At that moment
hurricanes were the least of my worries, but Ruthie had to be
informed. Besides, Jim Cantore was reporting.

“What about Mrs. Holden?” I asked Ruthie.
“What did she say while we were upstairs?”

Ruthie took a sip of her sweet tea. “She was
barely coherent. She said some mean things. I don’t know her, but
she surprised the hell out of me.”

“She was like that on the telephone
earlier—said it was a shame Mrs. King didn’t die. Called her a
bitch.”

Ruthie downed her tea. “Honey, ‘bitch’ was
the least of what she said to me. Seems she hated the dog, too.
Scooter was Mr. Holden’s pet. Honestly, it was like she was
possessed by a demon.”

Penny Sue mixed herself a Jack and Coke.
Good, she was diluting the liquor. “You’re intuitive,” she said to
Ruthie. “Was she really possessed in your opinion?”

She thought for a moment. “No, I didn’t
sense another entity. She was under the influence of something,
though.”

“Like what?” Penny Sue spread her hands
wide. “Glitter?”

Ruthie shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe she has
senile dementia. The paramedics said they’d get her in the psych
ward, so maybe someone there will figure it out.”

“Psych ward?” I almost shouted. “She needs
to have her blood checked. Some sort of toxin affected them all.
Mattie acts like a nut, then Clyde and Scooter bite the dust. Come
on, it must have something to do with the glitter. Think about it.
Aluminum rusting that shouldn’t rust. Glitter on the floor, then a
dog and a man die. There has to be a connection!

“We should call Fran’s son, Carl,” I said.
“I know he’s throwing a big party, but he has the contacts to solve
this. For goshsakes, people are dropping dead all around us. If we
don’t do something, we may be next!”

“I wish we still had that liquid taser, we
could use it now.” Penny Sue eyed Ruthie. “Do you think your dad
can get us another one? It’s better than my shooting people with
the .38. I wouldn’t try to kill them, if I could avoid it. Still
…”

Ruthie picked up the phone. “I’ll try.”

Ruthie’s father was J.T. Edwards, a retired
railroad executive who lived in a restored mansion in Buckhead, a
very classy suburb of Atlanta. J.T. had inherited money and made a
lot on his own, giving him the means to invest in a number of
start-up companies. Taser Technologies was one of his
investments.

Whereas normal tasers had to touch a person
or shoot darts attached to wires in order to deliver an electric
shock, Taser Technologies’ liquid taser shot an electrified stream
of saline solution. That was a huge breakthrough, because it mean
one could shoot multiple people with the same weapon. It was still
in the development phase, awaiting approvals and licenses, but J.T.
had obtained a prototype for Ruthie that proved invaluable in our
previous scrapes.

After a short conversation with Mr. Wong,
J.T.’s valet who’d been with the family so long he was considered
part of the fold, Ruthie spoke with her dad. Sadly, J.T. had lost
his mental edge, but not his nerve. He promised to have a new taser
to us by Tuesday.

Teary-eyed, Ruthie hung up the phone.
“Poppa’s fading. I can’t bear the thought of losing him.”

“It’s hard, honey, I know.” Penny Sue patted
her hand. “I didn’t think I’d ever get over losing Mama. Of course,
your mother went younger than mine. It’s stinking, but I know we’re
not really losing them; they’re going to a better place. I feel
Mama’s presence a lot. In fact, she was with me when I was pumping
Clyde’s chest.” Penny Sue sighed deeply.

I knew she was holding something back. “Did
your mother tell you anything?”

Penny Sue’s expression was grim. “Mama said
it was hopeless. He’d already passed over. Still, I had to try.”
Tears started to flow.

Next thing I knew, we were hugging each
other and bawling like babies. Death was a rough thing to face,
even when you hardly knew the person. We were still moaning and
whimpering when there was a knock on the damned door. Honestly, I
felt like we lived in Grand Central Station.

“Man, are you all right? We heard the
news.”

Guthrie—not what we needed. I wiped my eyes
and headed for the door.

“Wow, Leigh, you look awful. We heard about
the Holdens. Man, that was really brave.”

Looking contrite, Timothy stood behind
Guthrie. “You’re wonderful people. Guthrie’s fortunate to have
neighbors like you.” He stared at Penny Sue. “We heard what you
did. May I?” he asked, extending his arms. Penny Sue stepped out on
the stoop and fell against his chest. She was in hog heaven and
would have wet her pants if she’d seen Timothy’s biceps during the
clinch.

“Come in.” I smiled at Timothy. “We need
your help.”

Penny Sue poured miniature Snickers into a
bowl (I noticed she hid most of them in the pantry) and placed the
candy on the coffee table. Big concession on her part! Then
drinks—Penny Sue tried to show off Lu Nee 2 for Timothy, but the
robot’s charge had run down. So, I gave Timothy mineral water while
Guthrie took a scotch.

We sat in the living room. Noticing Guthrie
was stuffing down Snickers and Timothy only sipped water, Ruthie
piped in, “Timothy, can we offer you some vitamins or
something?”

He chuckled. “No. How can I help you?”
Timothy was a man of action and few words.

I folded my hands in my lap and didn’t mince
words. “You’re a chemist. Something weird is happening in this
complex. Two units in our cluster have aluminum rusting, which
isn’t supposed to happen. Now, a neighbor in the next cluster—and
his dog—drop dead after ‘glitter’ is found on the floor.”

“Glitter?” Timothy repeated skeptically.

I filled him in on the details, including
Mattie Holden’s personality change. I told him I couldn’t believe
that aluminum would rust and a person would die from glitter in the
span of three days. He agreed that mathematical probabilities said
the incidents were related, and considering Guthrie’s shutters were
targeted, Guthrie might be in danger himself. None of us had
thought of that—a chill ran up my spine. Timothy had the day off
Monday, since NASA, and almost everything else, was closed because
of Charley. He promised to look into the problem.

“Man, I’m not afraid,” Guthrie bragged,
chewing a Snickers. “Anyone throws glitter my way will get a .45
bullet up their butt.”

Timothy rolled his eyes, and I smiled. It
was the look of a parent who’d tried, but had no success with his
wayward offspring.

* * *

August 16, New Smyrna Beach, FL

The next morning
we all rose early. A
first. The condo was cool, but despite that, none of us had slept a
wink. Penny Sue and I remained haunted by images of Clyde and
Scooter. Ruthie was so sensitive, our bad vibes kept her awake. We
congregated at the kitchen counter and sipped coffee—as if we
needed the caffeine.

“I can’t stand staying here another minute,”
Penny Sue said suddenly. “I’m stir-crazy. Let’s go to Orlando.”

“Orlando, isn’t the place to go,” Ruthie
said, glancing at the TV. “Damage there is worse than it is
here.”

Penny Sue waved her arms. “Well, we have to
go somewhere. I can’t stand this condo anymore.”

I crossed my arms on the counter and laid my
head down. “I’ve had it, too. But, we have a dozen things to do
today. Sonny’s supposed to find out about Mrs. King’s contractor.
We need to call that federal assistant about the depositions, and I
should check on the center.”

The Marine Conservation Center was a
nonprofit organization dedicated to education and the preservation
of the Indian River Lagoon, North America’s most diverse estuary. I
didn’t have a clue what estuary meant when I started work there,
but soon learned the term referred to the part of a river where it
met the ocean, which in New Smyrna’s case, was the inland waterway.
I loved my job as part-time bookkeeper and all of my coworkers—a
great group who cared as much about each other as they did the
environment.

I checked the clock, eight-thirty. Sandra,
the center’s office manager, would be up. I snatched the portable
phone at the end of the counter and dialed her home number.

“No telling when we’ll open again,” Sandra
said wearily. “Our pontoon boat was badly damaged. Bobby”—the
boat’s captain and a character in his own right—“says it could take
as long as a month to get it repaired.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Fortunately, the building didn’t get much
damage, so there’s nothing to do there. Your friends are visiting,
aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Then enjoy your time together—as much as
you can in this heat. I’ll call if I need you.”

“You don’t have electricity?” I asked,
remembering Sandra lived on a picturesque street lined with huge
live oaks.

“No. Trees are down everywhere. One squashed
my carport. Thank goodness it missed the house.”

“Would you like to stay with us? Our power’s
back on.”

“Thanks, dear, I’ll be okay. My sister owns
a farm in Samsula. She lent me a generator that will power the
refrigerator, fan, and a few lights. Electric crews are working the
street now, so I hope I’ll have electricity by tomorrow.”

I hung up thinking that I had a month’s
vacation. Initially elated, I soon realized it also meant a month
of no income. A month with nothing to do. I glanced at Penny Sue
whose mouth was screwed up like a prune. Uh oh, I hope it didn’t
mean a month with my Leo friend. As much as I loved her, a little
Penny Sue went a long way. After all, she’d been here less than a
week, and there’d been a hurricane and three deaths, counting
Scooter.

“We should check on Mrs. Holden. Would you
hand me the telephone book?” I asked Penny Sue.

She pulled the directory from the junk
drawer. “Here it is, Bert Fish, patient information.”

I dialed the number and was connected to her
room. Mattie’s daughter, Priscilla, answered. We’d never met, but
I’d heard Mattie mention her many times. I led off with condolences
for her father, and then asked about her mother’s condition.

“Sleeping now,” Priscilla said tearfully.
“They’ve run blood tests, and I’m waiting for the results. The
doctors have ruled out a stroke. They think my parents may have
been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?!” I knew there was something
strange about that ‘glitter,’ but poison? My friends stared at me,
wide eyes demanding details. “Do they know what kind?”

Priscilla sniffled. “Not yet. They’re doing
an autopsy on Daddy—” She broke down, sobbing. It took her a moment
to compose herself. “I heard what you and your friends did, and I’m
very grateful.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’d do if
I’d lost Mom, too.”

“The doctors think she’ll be all right?” I
pressed.

“Yes, they’re planning to do some sort of
cleansing procedure as soon as they can find the right physician.
They suspect the poison was airborne.”

“Airborne,” I repeated.

Ruthie’s face twisted with horror as she
mouthed, “Anthrax.”

I waved her off. “Priscilla, I don’t mean to
intrude, but we need to know the cause of your parents’ illness.
There have been a number of strange incidents in the neighborhood,
which may be connected to your parents. Would you call me as soon
as you find out the cause? It could be very important to a number
of other people.”

Priscilla choked out, “Certainly, let me
find a pen. What’s your phone number?”

I gave her my cell number in case we decided
to go out. This was one call I did not want to miss. I expressed
our condolences again and offered help if she needed anything.

“My brother’s coming from Houston.” She
sniffled.

“Take care of yourself,” I said softly.

“Airborne? We need to buy some masks.”
Ruthie started to pace nervously. “Maybe it’s anthrax. Do we have
any rubber gloves? We should buy gloves, like the ones doctors
wear, in case something else happens.” Suddenly, Ruthie stiffened
as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. “Did you breathe
while you were in their condo?”

Penny Sue and I both gave her the
you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

“Breathe?” Penny Sue belted. “I didn’t
breathe, I heaved my brains out!” She turned to me. “An airborne
poison— they don’t know what it is?”

I nodded.

“We should all go to the hospital for
tests,” Ruthie exclaimed.

“Us and everyone else in the room. All the
paramedics, firemen, police … and Woody,” I added.

Penny Sue lowered her eyes. “Let’s not tell
Woody.”

“You’re awful, you know that? Just awful,”
Ruthie said.

“I was kidding. Ruthie, you’ve got to loosen
up.” Penny Sue poured a dollop of Bailey’s in her coffee.

Ruthie pointed at the liquor bottle. “Loosen
up like that? Drinking before noon?”

Penny Sue rolled her eyes and took a sip of
her spiked coffee. “Sugar, it’s this or a tranquilizer. After all,
I’m the one who was puffing and blowing in that poisoned bedroom,
inches from Clyde’s face.”