Perplexity on P1/2 (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (10 page)

     “I mean, why would they have the ½ ?”

     “No idea. Maybe it’s to confuse everybody.” I shoveled in another mouthful.

     “What’s on that street that you want to see anyway?”

     “Hobbs.”

     Her eyebrows went up and disappeared under her bangs. “That’s where your friend Grace lives?”

     “Lived, Flori.
Lived
. Past tense.”

     “Well, I know that, for Pete’s sake. It just came out, that’s all.”

     “I know. It hasn’t really hit me yet either. Hard to believe I was with her, laughing and having a good time, a week ago.”

     “You were laughing and having a good time with her?”

     I buttered and salted my grits. “In a manner of speaking.”

     “Oh.” Flori concentrated on her food. “This bacon is not cooked enough,” she muttered to herself.

     After breakfast, we took a leisurely walk along the beach. The morning mist had lifted and the sun shone. The sandy beach was quickly filling up with some of the locals. Already, girls with very little on were sunbathing and boys in skintight rubbery suits were heading into the water with their surfboards. We went back up to the street and caught a bus to the downtown area. The driver was talkative and as he pointed to different houses, he told us some of Yellow Rose’s history and some of the latest gossip.

     “Did you hear about the murder of Grace Hobbs?” I asked. Flori poked me and gave me a dirty look.

     “Can’t say I did,” he said. “Was that before or after the big hurricane in 1900?”

     “No,” I said. “That was during the warm spell about a week ago.”

     “Oh,” he said. “Nope, didn’t hear about it. Strange, too. There’s not too many murders here in Yellow Rose. By the way, if you want a good cup of coffee, I’ll drop you off right in front of the coffee shop,” he said. “Tell him Tom sent you and you’ll get it cheaper.”

     I’ll do anything for a good cup of coffee so that’s what we did. There wasn’t much point in explaining the murder to him. If he knew Grace, he would’ve expressed some surprise. He did seem to be a storehouse of knowledge though so he might prove useful to me at some point.

    The coffee shop was at the corner of 23
^rd
street and some letter of the alphabet, but I forget which one. It was long and narrow with hardly any customers and the few who were there, were nursing a cup of coffee and reading. How long did this fellow expect to stay in business? Paintings from local artists covered the walls and Flori gushed over all of them.

     Flori and I wandered round through the shops on J Avenue. Although I wasn’t interested in buying anything, it did give me some ideas as to what I might like to stock on my shelves. Flori had a long list of things to buy for her husband, kids, and grandkids.

     “You better wait, Flori,” I said, as she started grabbing everything in sight in one of the souvenir shops. “Don’t forget we have to do some walking. You still have a few days to buy things. Why don’t you just look for now and then you can compare prices?”

     “Oh, you’re so right,” she said, and started putting the t-shirts back. The young sales girl curled her lips at me. I’m sure we were the first tourists of the season.

     We caught the bus back to the hotel. It was getting hot and humid and the cool room was refreshing. Flori flung her hat on the chair, flopped on the bed and was soon asleep. I left a note for her and slipped out the door. How far away could Avenue P½ be anyway?

Mabel’s Strawberry Muffins

1 ½ cup chopped fresh strawberries

½ cup white sugar

¼ cup white sugar

¼ cup butter, softened

2 eggs

1 tsp. vanilla

1 ¾ cup flour

½ tsp. baking soda

¼ tsp. salt

¼ tsp. ground nutmeg

Oven: 425*

In a small bowl combine strawberries and ½ cup of sugar. Set aside for 1 hour. Drain, reserving liquid and berries separately.

In medium bowl, cream butter and ¼ cup of sugar until light and fluffy.

Beat in eggs, one at a time. Add vanilla.

Combine flour, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg; stir into creamed mixture, alternating with berry juice. Stir in berries.

Bake: 18 to 20 minutes.  Makes 12 muffins.

Chapter Thirteen

     P ½  was farther away than I’d expected. Well, I don’t know what I expected. The street was in an older section; the houses, probably built in the 20’s. I’m not sure why I picked this address to investigate first. Perhaps, it sounded more ominous. P ½. Murder on P½. Hmmm. Of course, the murder couldn’t have taken place here, unless the body was transported in a refrigerated truck or something back to Parson’s Cove. Did that mean that Grace never returned home after her vacation in Las Vegas or did return and then, for some reason, went to Parson’s Cove? Was she coming to see me? No, why would she do that?

     I kept walking until I stood right across from the house. It was a small square box painted light green. The paint was peeling, the steps going up to the porch had definitely seen better days, and almost every other shingle on the roof was missing or flapping in the breeze. In comparison, the house next door looked freshly painted, not a shingle was out of place, and the yard with its shrubs and flowers was immaculate. I realized as I glanced down the street that seemed to be the trend. One lovely house could have something resembling a chicken coop on either side.

     I stood and waited for a few minutes. There was no sign of life. The whole street was silent. A couple of dogs barked back and forth from somewhere. There were two or three cars parked further down. I waited a bit longer.

     I checked the street once again before I crossed. The wrought iron gate was sagging and permanently held open by the weeds that wound their way around and through the railing. Cracked cement blocks with weeds sprouting through made up the walkway that ended up at the wooden steps. The wooden steps took you up to the lopsided veranda where a faded garden gnome greeted you, wearing an evil grin. There wasn’t one home in Parson’s Cove to compare with this.

     My heart pounded as I banged on the door. If there was anyone inside, they were being extremely quiet. Before knocking again, I walked to the side of the house and looked towards the backyard. The house was longer than I thought. Did I dare walk back and knock on the back door? Before I could decide, I heard someone yell, “Can I help you with somethin?’”

     I looked around but couldn’t see anyone. “Where are you?” I yelled back.

     “Never mind. I’ll be right down, darlin’.”

     The mysterious voice came from next door, behind an upstairs window covered with hurricane shutters. No wonder I couldn’t see anyone. I felt a sudden relief that it wasn’t coming from the house that I was standing beside.

     In less than two minutes, a large black woman was standing at the fence facing me. The first thing I noticed, besides her size, were her clothes. She was a black version of Flori.

     “You lookin’ for somebody?” she said.

     I couldn’t say ‘Grace’ - Grace was dead so I just nodded.

     She shook her head. “Haven’t seen anyone round here for a few days now. You some relative or somethin?”

     “No,” I said. “I knew Grace Hobbs from a trip we took together. I wondered if this was where she lived. Did you know she was in Vegas?”

     “Lord, no. I hardly see anything of that woman. If she were away for a month, I probably wouldn’t notice.” She sighed. “Now, if the yard were cleaned up, you can bet I’d notice that!” She laughed and showed off the whitest teeth I’d ever seen in my life. “What’d you say you wanted with her, honey?”

     “Well,” I said. “I really didn’t want her for anything. In fact, the truth be told, no one will be wanting her for anything ever again, I’m sorry to say.”

     “What on earth are you sayin’? Grace might not be the most Christian person in this world but there’s no need to be talkin’ bout her like that. We being neighbors and all, you know.”

     There’s no nice way to put some things. How do those cops do it anyway? You know, walking up to a house and telling someone their loved one is dead. Or, worse yet, what if they have to say, ‘murdered?’

     “What did you say your name was?” I asked.

     “I didn’t.” She glared at me.

     “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, you didn’t.” I held out my hand and smiled. “My name is Mabel Wickles. I’m from a little town called Parson’s Cove - a long ways away from here. It’s much smaller than Yellow Rose, if you can imagine. I came down with my friend, Flori Flanders. Actually, Flori is sleeping right now at the hotel. I left a note saying I was going for a walk on the beach to collect shells and not to expect me back for at least an hour or more.” I looked at my watch. “My time is almost up and I seem to be babbling a bit, so I guess I’d better tell you.”

     She frowned so hard, there was a wrinkle from the middle of her forehead right down to her chin.

     “Tell me what? You
are
babbling and you ain’t makin’ much sense.”

     “Grace was murdered. Maybe a week ago. I don’t know for sure when, because her body was dumped in the woods behind our nursing home.” My legs started feeling rubbery so I inhaled deeply and exhaled before continuing. “We only have one nursing home because as I said, Parson’s Cove is small.” My tongue seemed to keep moving without any help from me. “Anyway, someone found her body there. I won’t go into detail as to
who
found the body. Well, I’m the one who identified her. It was really a fluke because when I snuck into the morgue I had no idea I’d be looking at someone that I knew. Can you imagine the shock when I lifted the cloth and saw it was Grace? Well, I guess you can’t. Not many people go out of their way to look at dead bodies. I’m sort of weird that way.” I tried to attach a smile to my face. “As I mentioned, we were on a vacation in Las Vegas together. We both won it. I’d never met Grace or her friend, Andrea, before. ”

     The wrinkle disappeared, as her eyes got bigger.

     “Grace was murdered?” Her voice softened and her eyes watered. She swallowed. “How? How was she kilt?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Did her good for nothing husband murder her?” Now her watery eyes blazed with anger. Again, she didn’t wait for an answer. “I knew it. I knew someday, he’d get into some kinda trouble. There was always somethin’ not right goin’ on in that house. Sinister lookin’ men and women, comin’ and goin’. More than once, I had to call the cops. Lotta good that did. Them two was plain no good. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead, you know.”

     She sniffed a couple of times and shook her head before turning her attention back to me. “My goodness, darlin’, this has got to be awful for you. Imagine lookin’ at a dead body like that. Here,” she grabbed my arm and started pulling me along the fence beside her. When we reached the end, she said, “Can you come round to me all by yourself now, sweetheart?”

     I almost said, “I think so, Flori.” Instead, I nodded. I walked out the gate on my own steam and she met me on the sidewalk.

     She put her arm around me and half-carried me to her house. We walked up wooden steps with a wooden railing to the second floor. This time, I followed behind because this lady pretty much filled the space between the railings. There was a garage on the ground floor and perhaps some other rooms.

     Her kitchen was dark and cool. She walked over to the sink and poured a glass of water.

     “Here,” she said. “This will make you feel better.” It did help.

     “Now,” she said, “what’s all this about Grace? Was it Cecile who kilt her?”

     “Is Cecile her husband?”

     She nodded. “He’s one of those cagey guys, you know. Always looks out the corner of his eyes at you. Wouldn’t trust him for a minute. Not that fellow. All he does is fix cars on the side. When I say, ‘on the side,’ you know what I’m sayin’?” She cocked her head to one side.

     I shook my head. “No, what are you saying?”

     “I’m sayin’ that’s a front. He’s been dealin’ drugs or maybe somethin’ worse for years. I don’t know if Grace ever got involved but then again, like I say, I never saw much of her lately. By the way, honey, I never did tell you my name, did I? Guess I got so caught up in this murder thing.” She held out her hand. “My name’s Stella. Stella Townley.”

     This handshake was much firmer than the first one.

     I looked up at the clock. I’d been gone almost two hours.

     “Stella, would you mind if I called my friend at the hotel? She might be starting to worry about me.”

     ‘Might’ was putting it mildly. It took almost ten minutes to calm Flori down and convince her that I was okay. Finally, I handed the phone over to Stella. I slipped out the door and hurried back to the hotel.

Chapter Fourteen

     I walked, gasping and puffing, into the room. Flori was still on the phone with Stella.

     I showered, dressed, and blow-dried what little hair I have, and Flori was still on the phone.

     It wasn’t until I stood in front of her doing charades and wanting her to guess, ‘let us eat supper,’ that she finally said, “Oh Stella, I think Mabel is here now so I’d better go. We’ll see you bright and early in the morning then.”

     “You
think
I’m here now?” I said when she finally put the phone down.

     “Yes, I think you are, Mabel.”

     “We’ll see her bright and early in the morning?” 

     Flori looked flushed with excitement.

     “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? Stella is going to help us solve the mystery.”

     “Stella is going to help us solve the mystery?”

     “That’s what I said. Aren’t you happy about that? We’ll have someone right here from Yellow Rose to help us. She’ll know all the hideouts and everything.”

     “Hideouts?”

     Flori stood up and scowled. “Mabel, why are you repeating everything that I say?”