Murder is the Pits (7 page)

I opened the sliding glass doors. The water
rushed to the deck, leaving us big toe versus ankle deep.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “There
were torrential rains all night—which would have drained down
here—and the hall was dry as an old bone when we went to bed.”

Penny Sue squinted at me. I could tell she
was flipping into Jessica Fletcher or Sherlock Holmes. “You’re
right. With all the rain, we’d have flooded hours ago if that’s the
source.” She glanced at her watch, six
AM
.
“When the sun comes up, we should go out and investigate. This
flood doesn’t make sense.” Penny Sue poured spring water into a
teakettle, and put it on the gas stovetop. “What we need is a cup
of strong coffee.”

“Coffee? The electricity’s off.”

Penny Sue smiled smugly, holding up a red
box. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. These are coffee
bags, like tea bags. Let them steep in hot water, and voilà, fresh
brewed coffee.”

Guthrie, who’d made his way to the sofa,
raised his hand like a first-grader. “Far out. I’ll like some.
Sugar, if you have it.”

“How much?” Penny Sue asked, pulling mugs
from the cabinet.

“Three tablespoons.”

We all did a double take. “Tablespoons?”
Ruthie asked.

“I’ve already eaten all the brownies.”

O-okay, I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was
he addicted to sugar or something else? One thing I did know, the
tile floor was wet and slippery. If we didn’t mop it up fast, one
of us was going to break her neck—and with my luck it would be me.
Or worse, Guthrie. I had a momentary image of the three of us
waiting on him for life. Unh uh!

I headed to the utility room for a broom,
bucket, and mop. I held up the broom and mop to Ruthie. “Would you
rather sweep water out the back door, or mop up afterward?”

She took the broom. The floor wasn’t level,
and the water pooled in the back corner of the dining area. I
pushed the water out of the corner with the sponge mop, and Ruthie
swept it out the door. By the time our coffee was ready, we’d made
a good dent in the mess. While we rested and sipped our java, Penny
Sue took over with the mop.

“Like another cup?” Penny Sue asked, an
obvious cue for Ruthie and me to get back to work.

I took back the mop. “How about a bagel with
jelly?”

Penny Sue shook her head. “The oven’s
electric. Momma didn’t like cooking with gas, said it made sponge
cakes taste like chemicals.”

“Do it the old-fashioned way. Use the iron
skillet,” I said. “Grammy Martin made toast like that on the
stovetop. Like Ruth Gordon said in
Harold and Maude
, ‘Try
something new every day.’”

By now, we’d disposed of most of the water,
yet the floor remained slick. I was also tired of squeezing the
sponge mop. ‘Try something new every day.’ Old Maude was right. I
went to the utility room and returned with a stack of my half sets
of sheets. I dropped one on the floor and shuffled around.

“What are you doing?” Ruthie asked, in
shock.

“Drying the floor.” I tossed her a folded
sheet.

“These are the linens you’re saving.”

“Yeah, well, times change.”

We finished about the same time as the
bagels. Considering the electricity was out, we had a pretty good
breakfast. Hot coffee, toasted bagels with jelly, and oatmeal.
Sure, it was a tad heavy in the carb department, but after a dinner
of caviar and Vienna sausages, what difference did it make? We’d
clean up our diet next week, when the dust settled, or rather, the
floor dried.

Penny Sue drained her mug, clicked it down
on the counter, and stood. “We have to stop the water.”

Right. We were running out of sopping
material for the front door and I’d already donated my remaining
sheets to the cause. The sun was up, so it was time to go into
action, even if we had to dig a moat around the front stoop.

Ruthie wrapped her arms around her body as
if she had a sudden chill. “I don’t have a good feeling about
this.”

“This what?” I asked.

“The water.”

“Not good, how?” Penny Sue waved at Ruthie
as if trying to draw out more information.

“Not good, like evil.”

Penny Sue, Ruthie, and I went to find the
source of the water. Guthrie’s knee was still swollen and horribly
bruised. It was painful to even look at. I thought we should take
him to the hospital, but he refused, saying he hated doctors. Geez.
I brought out the battery-powered radio for his amusement and
wrapped a bag of Ore-Ida frozen fries around his leg. Before we
left, he insisted I give him the Glock and ammo in case there were
looters. I wasn’t in the mood to argue, but asked him to call out
to us before he pulled the trigger.

Ruthie and Penny Sue, with gun drawn, waited
for me at the front door.

“I wish you’d put that thing away,” I said,
nodding at Penny Sue’s gun.

“Heck no. You heard about the looting in
Orlando last night.”

“Those were stores. Who would loot
condos?”

She put her hands on her hips; thankfully
the .38’s barrel was aimed at the wall and not me. “Crooks know
most of these condos were evacuated. TVs, computers, DVDs—that’s
what they want. Smash and grab. It takes an experienced crook ten
seconds to break in. Even with an alarm, they’re long gone before
the police arrive, especially after a storm. Ted would tell you
that.”

“Thanks, Penny Sue, that makes me feel real
good. I felt secure with the alarm system until now.”

“You should get a gun, Leigh, and take some
lessons. A lone female on the beach—you’re a sitting duck.”

Boy, she was on a roll, that made me feel
even worse. “For crissakes, Penny Sue, I’ve got enough stress
already. Let’s deal with the present situation, and I’ll deal with
my future another time—like in the future. Maybe I’ll go into a
convent, ashram, or something. Then, I won’t need a gun.”

Penny Sue opened the door and stalked out.
“That would never work—all they’d give you is gruel and sacramental
wine. No ice cream, for sure.”

She was hitting below the belt. Mint
chocolate chip ice cream was my one—okay, one of
several—indulgences. No mint chocolate chip? I’d have to re-think
the religious commune angle.

Penny Sue led the way with her gun at ready.
I followed close behind, while Ruthie trailed by a good three
yards. I hoped Ruthie was lagging because she was getting info from
her spirit guides—like we should turn back. Guess not, because she
didn’t say anything.

“Look!” Penny Sue pointed at the roll-down
hurricane shutters on the ocean side of Guthrie’s condo. They had
been sheered off at the top and were lying on the ground. One of
the unprotected windows had blown in. She stopped to examine the
closest shutter. “This is really strange. It broke off in a
straight line. It’s like someone sliced it off.”

“Don’t look now, but I see where the water’s
coming from.” I pointed at the small door to the crawl space of
Mrs. King’s condo that we’d inspected the previous day.

“She must have a water main break,” Penny
Sue said. “We need to find the master switch for the water to her
house. Do you think Guthrie knows?”

I gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding
expression. After all, this was the guy who’d spent the previous
evening eating brownies laced with who-knew-what and trying to
teach a toy parrot to count. “Remember the parrot?”

She got my drift. “I’d better call a
plumber. I know one that Daddy helped with a legal crisis. If he’s
still in business, I’m sure he’ll come. ”

I glanced over my shoulder at Ruthie. She
was staring straight ahead with her arms wrapped around her body.
“What do you make of this?” I asked.

“Evil. Evil all around us.”

* * *

August 14, New Smyrna Beach, FL

“
I’ve never seen
anything like this.”
Sonny Mallard was a prince of a guy who had left his own damaged
house to help us with Mrs. King’s plumbing. He quickly found the
main cut-off, solving our water problem, and had moved on to fixing
the busted pipe.

Penny Sue knelt in the doorway to the
underbelly of Mrs. King’s house and watched. I peered over her
shoulder.

“This is a new plastic/aluminum composite
pipe. I’ve heard about these, but never seen one before,” Sonny
said. “Basically, it’s three layers. The inner and outer parts are
plastic, while the middle is aluminum. Somebody stripped the
outside plastic layer. Best I can tell, the aluminum disintegrated.
The plastic tube in the middle couldn’t take the water pressure and
popped like a balloon.”

“The aluminum disintegrated?” Penny Sue
asked.

He peeled back an inch of the outer plastic
and peered inside. “Damnest thing I’ve ever seen. I guess this was
once aluminum, now it looks like rust.”

“I didn’t think aluminum rusted,” I
said.

“It doesn’t.”

“Can you fix it? I’ll pay,” Penny Sue
offered. “Mrs. King’s in the hospital with a heart attack—she
doesn’t need to be bothered with this.”

“No time soon. I wouldn’t know where to buy
this stuff. Best I can do is leave the water main turned off and
make a few phone calls. A permit should have been filed with the
city and that will give me the contractor’s name. I can’t find out
anything until Monday, at the earliest, though.”

Penny Sue turned to me. “Good thing Mrs.
King’s still at Bert Fish. We should check on her. If we find her
contractor, maybe we can have it fixed before she gets home.”

Good ole Penny Sue. She didn’t even know
Mrs. King. ’Course, Penny Sue also had money to burn.

“I’ll call you on Monday,” Sonny said,
gathering his tools. He stood, tugged up his pants, and headed for
his truck. “Right now I need to deal with a big, old live oak that
smashed my garage.”

Penny Sue followed him to the truck and
slipped him a couple of hundred dollar bills. “I can’t tell you how
much I appreciate your coming.”

He tried to give the cash back, but she
stepped away. “You’ll need that for your garage.”

He nodded his thanks and left.

Penny Sue was such a generous—and
complicated—person, the exchange brought a tear to my eye.
Thankfully, Ruthie came from the side of our condo before I
tuned-up
, as Grammy Martin called crying. “I guess we’d
better check on the rest of the damage,” I said.

“The judge lost some shingles on the roof
facing the beach, and the metal chimney blew off,” Ruthie reported.
“The condo’s coated in sand, otherwise in good shape. Your
neighbors didn’t fare as well. He lost all the outside light
fixtures and most of the shingles facing the ocean. The tarpaper
even ripped off, exposing a lot of wood. I’ll bet the wallboard
inside is soaked.”

“Did you check on Guthrie?”

“Sound asleep on the sofa.”

“We’d better take a look at his place.”
Penny Sue pointed to the broken window. “Ruthie, would you get his
key? I want to know what’s what before we drag him up this
hill.”

I stooped to examine Guthrie’s hurricane
shutters that had fallen. Roll down shutters, they were constructed
of horizontal aluminum slats. Aside from a few chips in the paint,
the window covers seemed sturdy, yet both had sheared off in
approximately the same place. I studied the sheared edge. It was
wavy, but smooth. No jagged edges or creases for that matter.
“Penny Sue, take at look at this.”

She dropped to her knees beside me.

“Do you notice anything unusual about this
shutter?”

She ran her finger along the torn edge. “The
side is slick. And look.” She held up her finger, covered in a
rust-colored powder, just like Mrs. King’s wire. “Like you said,
aluminum doesn’t rust. Something very fishy is going on here.” Her
forehead creased with thought. “Guthrie heard a scraping sound.
Metal on metal, he said.”

“Yeah.”

“The windows are only about six feet off the
ground. Suppose a person took something sharp, like a rake, and
scratched off the paint on the shutters.”

“Okay …?”

She cocked her head. “The paint protects the
aluminum, and now the metal’s exposed to salt air.”

I shook my head. “No cigar. It’s impossible
for aluminum to corrode that fast.”

“Maybe the corrosion started, weakening the
slat, and then Charley—”

I gave her a thumb-down. “The edge would be
ripped, not smooth.”

Penny Sue’s lips tightened. “Well, maybe
someone threw acid on it and that ate through the exposed
metal.”

“Too dangerous. It might splash on the
saboteur.”

“He wore a raincoat and hat. And he didn’t
throw it on, he swabbed the scratch with an acid-soaked
sponge.”

That might work. Besides, it was obvious she
wasn’t going to give up. “I’ll allow that theory.”

She grinned sanctimoniously.

“What acid eats aluminum?”

Penny Sue tilted her chin regally. “I’m not
an encyclopedia. You can’t expect me to know everything.”

I closed my eyes and thought of my dear,
departed Grandma Martin.
Grab patience and might,
she used
to say in situations like this. “Help me, Grammy,” I pleaded
silently. “I need a passel of patience for Penny Sue.”

Just then, Ruthie returned with the key and
we headed up the stairs to Guthrie’s condo.

“How’s he doing?”

“Happy as a clam. He’s stretched out on the
sofa listening to the local stations. He’s a veritable font of
knowledge on all the damage, looting, you name it. Of course, I had
to tend to his knee. We were pretty much out of his frozen foods,
and I couldn’t tell which was ours and which was his. So, I took
some ice from the cooler.”

Penny Sue frowned. “We have no idea how long
the power will be off. We may need that ice for drinks.”

“His knee really looks bad. When we finish
here, we should insist on taking him to the emergency room. His leg
should be X-rayed—he may have broken something.”