Murder is the Pits (25 page)

“You think we’d all fit in it?” Penny Sue
asked sincerely.

“Maybe, if you tighten your corset.” Ruthie
grinned impishly.

Chambermaid? Corset? Ruthie
was
possessed. Whoever thought of it, the plan would work. I held up my
hand to Penny Sue, whose face had gone beet red at the corset
comment. “Don’t take it personally, Ruthie’s channeling the other
lady, who’s trying to help. I think the plan will work.”

Penny Sue drained her glass. “I do,
too.”

* * *

September 4, New Smyrna Beach, FL

Chris answered the
phone at her shop
on the second ring. “I was wondering what happened to you guys.
I’ve called the condo a dozen times. Where are we staying, your
place or mine?”

“Yours.” I filled her in on the wreck, the
guys following us, and our plan. She thought it was a good one.
Business was nonexistent because an outer band of Frances had come
ashore, and it was raining hard, so she was planning to close
early, anyway. Her car was small, but the shopkeeper next door
owned a van she could probably borrow. Chris would check.

She called back in five minutes. “I can use
the van, but we have to do this right away. He plans to close
early, too.”

I checked my watch. Almost two o’clock. “Be
here at two-thirty—that should give us time to tip everyone.”

While Ruthie called for a bellman, Penny Sue
rushed to the lobby for cash. She returned before the bellman
arrived for the dress, which was seriously wrinkled, considering
Penny Sue sat on it for a long time. Ruthie tipped the bellman $20
and gave him $75 for the valet. We would call downstairs with
instructions about the person who needed to get into our cars.
Penny Sue phoned the valet, told him to expect a $75 tip, and
instructed him to give Chris access to our cars so she could
retrieve her belongings. Penny Sue read him the number from her
valet stub, then put me on the phone to give him mine.

Amazing what money will do! The plan came
off without a hitch. The valet escorted Chris to our cars, unlocked
them, and even helped her unload the prodigious contents. The only
downside was that Chris had to single-handedly lug the stuff into
her store in the pouring rain. It was almost four o’clock when she
finally called back.

“Phase one accomplished, but you owe me big
time. I’m drenched. Ready for phase two? I had to give back the
van, so I’m coming in my car.”

“We’ll phone when we’re leaving for the back
door,” I replied.

Ruthie called housekeeping and requested
Carmen, our usual maid. Carmen did a favor for Ruthie, and she’d
forgotten to give her a tip. Carmen was at the door in a matter of
minutes.

Ruthie gave the performance of her
life—honestly, she had to be channeling the spirit of Millie—saying
a jealous boyfriend had shown up and threatened us. Ruthie broke-up
with him when she learned he’d served time for assault. We were
scheduled to have dinner with her new boyfriend and his sister, but
were afraid her ex-lover was spying on us and might become violent.
Could Carmen take us down to the loading dock in a laundry cart,
where the sister would pick us up?” Ruthie waved a hundred dollar
bill.

Carmen, a full-figured woman who made Penny
Sue look small, smiled and tucked the C-note into her bra. “No
problem. My old boyfriend was mean like that. I finally had to
swear out a constraining order. I keep a copy in my car’s glove
department.” She shook her finger. “That guy keeps bothering you,
call the cops. Men like that are loco.”

While Carmen went for the cart, I called
Chris and told her to meet us at the delivery entrance in ten
minutes.

Carmen was a trooper. Figuring all of us
would never fit in one cart, she returned with two plus a bunch of
sheets. She wheeled the carts into the room and had us at the back
door before Chris arrived. Luckily, there were stairs next to the
exit, so we could step up and out of the cart with Carmen’s
assistance. By the time we’d all climbed out, Chris pulled in.
Ruthie hugged Carmen and thanked her, pressing an extra twenty into
her palm.

Off we went in the Toyota Hybrid that Penny
Sue vowed she’d never ride in. Funny how things turn out. It was
almost six, and the historic district, usually full of tourists,
was a ghost town. The only thing missing was tumbleweed blowing
down the street. We parked behind The Rising Moon. Angel, the
psychic house cat, met us at the door and immediately rubbed
against Ruthie’s leg.

“She likes you,” Chris marveled.

“That’s because Millie came with us,” Ruthie
said.

“Millie?”

“A spirit Ruthie picked up at the Casa
Monica,” I replied. “Millie helped us come up with the plan.”

“Good for Millie,” Chris said nonchalantly.
“The more the merrier.”

Ruthie was transfixed by the shop—it was her
kind of place. A colorful display of wind chimes hung in the center
of the main room. Stars, moons, fish, and geometric shapes of all
sizes tinkled to the air conditioner. There was a large selection
of New Age merchandise mixed with handcrafted wares from around the
world. The far wall displayed an array of African masks and wooden
bowls as well as a poster about Fair Trade. “New Age and Fair Trade
in the same store. How perfect,” Ruthie enthused.

Chris grinned playfully and patted herself
on the back. “A natural fit, if I do say so myself, because they
both raise human consciousness.”

Ruthie spread her arms wide, Angel still
rubbing her leg. “That’s why we’re supposed to be here. These are
good vibes.”

Penny Sue covered her mouth and whispered to
me, “What the heck is free trade?”

Chris—still dripping wet, and how should we
say, a little out of sorts?—overheard Penny Sue’s comment. “It’s
fair trade, not free trade. It means the craftsmen and artisans are
paid a fair, living wage for their work. The middlemen are
eliminated and the workers are paid directly—no sweatshops or child
labor.

“Did you know that of the $5 you pay for a
cup of designer cappuccino, less than fifteen cents goes to the
farmers? Fair Trade attempts to level the playing field so the
producers get a square deal.”

The mention of child labor got to us all. I
thought Ruthie and Penny Sue might whip out their American Express
cards and buy the entire inventory as they oohed and awed up one
aisle and down another. The thought of children being exploited
bothered me, too, but I couldn’t afford to buy out the store. I’d
wait to see what was left over. Hopefully, stuff that wasn’t too
expensive.

Angel, the cat, started to growl—a low,
guttural sound only a cat can make that has the same effect as
fingernails scratched across a blackboard. Was the cat annoyed that
I wasn’t going to spend enough? Was she reading my mind and
thinking in terms of Fancy Feast gourmet food? “What’s with Angel?”
I asked.

Ruthie put her hand to her throat and
thought. “There is a lot of energy here. Millie says old spirits,
much older than she is.”

“I hope they’re positive, like Casper the
Friendly Ghost,” Penny Sue quipped.

“They are, for the most part,” Ruthie
replied. “Millie’s talking to Angel. Millie said you,” Ruthie
pointed at me, “must call the authorities immediately.”

Authorities? The cat must mean Woody who’d
told me to contact him if we had any trouble. I glanced at my
watch. “It’s after five.”

“Call him,” Ruthie said forcefully as Angel
yowled. Boy, talk about being hounded, or was that catted?

Wonder of wonders, Woody answered his cell
phone. I related the story of the cars following me, the black
Taurus’ wreck, and the two men at the Casa Monica whom I’d seen
before. For once, Woody listened without making a smart aleck
remark.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“St. Augustine. The Rising Moon on Spanish
Street.”

“I’ll make some calls.” He clicked off.

I stared at the phone. Even when Woody tried
to be nice, he was still offensive. Abrupt, some would say. Rude by
Southern standards.

Penny Sue, Ruthie, and Chris stared at me. I
threw up my hands. “Woody said he’d phone some people, then hung
up.”

“Common,” Penny Sue said. “That man is plain
common. No good-bye, or fare-thee-well?”

“Nothing.” He was common!

“Hell with him,” Chris said. “We can take
care of ourselves.” She went to a cabinet in the backroom and
pulled out large black squares of material outlined with grommets.
Chris nodded at Penny Sue. “You’re the tallest, help me.”

“With what?”

“Cover the windows, so the bad guys can’t
see us. Then, we can hang out and party. I couldn’t help but notice
how much candy and wine you brought.”

Penny Sue grinned ear-to-ear. “Well, there’s
no telling how long this hurricane will last. It’s a slow
mover.”

“Yes, and we should check its status,”
Ruthie said as she rummaged through a box of our supplies. She
pulled out the tiny TV we’d purchased at Wal-Mart, unwrapped the
cord, and plugged the set in. “Thank God, the electricity’s
on.”

“And the AC,” Penny Sue remarked as she
helped Chris cover the windows.

“Even so, we should light a couple of
candles,” Chris said. “It’s going to be real dark in here when we
cover the big window. If the lights go out, we won’t be able to see
our hand in front of our face.”

I lit a half-burned candle by the cash
register and put our flashlights beside it. If the power failed,
we’d be ready. Meanwhile, Ruthie found a local television station
broadcasting hurricane news. She stood back from the tiny screen
and watched.

“Gracious, Frances is drifting eastward at
five mph. It’s not expected to make landfall until late tonight or
early tomorrow morning. Look! Tony Perkins from
Good Morning
America
is in New Smyrna Beach.”

“Jim Cantore was in Daytona Beach earlier in
the week,” I piped in.

“I missed Jim Cantore?” For a moment I
thought Ruthie might cry. “Did you tape him for me?”

Tape him? It was a weather report. “It never
occurred to me.”

She sat on the edge of a display dejectedly.
Angel jumped in her lap and started licking her arm. “My big
chance, and I missed it for some snotty people from the
Hamptons.”

“Snotty, but fun,” Penny Sue said, wiggling
her hips as she fastened the last grommet. “Now it’s time to
party!”

We all gave her a sour look. “Doing what?” I
finally asked.

Penny Sue pulled a deck of cards out of her
purse. “Poker!”

The wicker chairs and table from the front
porch had been brought inside earlier and Chris quickly found
another chair and stool in the backroom. Weather forecast blaring
in the background, we settled down to an evening of poker, popcorn,
candy, and wine. By ten thirty that night, torrential downpours
pelted St. Augustine, and Tony Perkins of
Good Morning
America
could hardly stand up in New Smyrna Beach. He reported
that the bridges had closed, meaning if anyone beachside hadn’t
evacuated, they were stuck.

“Aren’t you glad you’re not there?” Ruthie
said to me, laying down four kings. She was beating us like a
drum.

“Is that cat helping you?” Penny Sue
demanded as Ruthie raked the penny pot toward her substantial
pile.

Ruthie grinned. “Millie is.”

Penny Sue raised her face to the ceiling.
“No fair, Millie. Can’t you help me for a while?”

Chris stretched. “I think I’ve had enough
fun for one evening. Between lugging in your stuff and everything
on the front porch, I’m beat. Besides, the Vienna sausage sandwich
gave me heartburn. Remind me never to eat another one of those vile
things.”

Penny Sue took a bottle of Tums from her
pocketbook. “They did taste nasty, didn’t they? It’s probably
because we bought the chicken kind and not real Viennas.” She
popped a Tums and handed the bottle to Chris.

Chris downed three. “Might not have been so
bad if we’d had some kraut. Let’s try to get some sleep.”

We all staked out an area on the floor, then
laid out our comforters and pillows. No sleeping bags and air
mattresses like we’d planned—the stores sold out as soon as a new
shipment came in.

Ruthie spread her blanket by the front door
and cuddled up with Angel. We turned off the lights except for a
battery-operated lantern, in case of a power outage, which Penny
Sue assured us was akin to carrying an umbrella to ensure it didn’t
rain. I, for one, hoped she was right. The air conditioning felt
deliciously cool, and it didn’t take long for us to drift into an
uneasy sleep.

All was well until about three o’clock, the
witching hour according to Ruthie. All of a sudden, the wind chimes
clanged violently, and Angel catapulted from Ruthie’s arms to the
center of the room, her back arched and tail standing straight
up.

Chris propped up on her elbow. “It’s just a
blast from the AC. Nothing to worry about.” She plopped back
down.

“No, it’s not,” Ruthie whispered as she sat
up. “Someone just tried the door handle, and there’s a shuffling
noise on the porch.”

Penny Sue crawled across the floor to her
purse and found her .38. I scooted to the box by the front wall and
snatched the liquid taser. There was a tap on the window, and Angel
let out a loud screech.

Chris snatched the keys to her car and
turned off the lantern. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Millie agrees!” Crouched low, Ruthie
scrambled to the back door.

“What about Angel?” I asked.

“She’ll be fine. She has hiding places
inside of hiding places,” Chris assured me.

As Chris fumbled with the deadbolt, we heard
the unmistakable sound of a gunshot on the front porch. Adrenaline
surged. We nearly ripped the door off its hinges, ran across the
back porch, and piled into Chris’ car. The hybrid started like a
normal vehicle, but quickly switched to the virtually silent
electric mode. Lights off, Chris crept down the driveway to Spanish
Street. To our horror, a man lay sprawled across the sidewalk a few
feet away from us. Chris made a right on Spanish Street and floored
it, causing the gas engine to kick in. The sound of the engine got
the attention of two men on the porch, who hopped the railing and
raced to a big sedan parked across the street. Before they had a
chance to start their car, a black Cadillac sped by and more shots
rang out.