The Traveling Corpse (8 page)

“Who did you say has the flu?” Verna
asked.

“Edna Evans.”

“I can't place her.”

“She's short, a little over-weight, gray hair
and wears glasses,” Annie said.

Barb shook her head, “Annie, you just
described most of the women in BradLee!”

“I did, didn't I?” Annie laughed. “All except
you, Barb, my elegant five-foot ten-inch friend.” She turned to the
men and said, “We need your help too, please.”

Art shrugged, “Count me in.”

Doc begged off, “I'll be cooking all day for
our park dinner tonight.”

Brad reminded them that he always had a Board
workshop after Coffee on the last Wednesday of the month.

Von started to excuse himself, saying, “I've
got to help Tom-Tom.” Tom-Tom was the chairman of the crew of
volunteers who set up the tables and chairs or took them down in
Old Main, depending on the activity—a dinner, a meeting, or a
dance. He was nicknamed Tom-Tom because his Welsh parents had him
Christened, Thomas Thomas.

“Well, it shouldn't take you much time this
morning,” Verna reminded him. “You won't have to take the tables
down since they'll need them up for the dinnah tonight.”

“True,” Von said. “I'll straighten up the
room, sweep it out; then I'll come help you.”

“Such a busy bunch of friends I have!” Annie
said. “Besides hanging the Valentine decorations, I'd like to take
everything out of that tenth drawer to see what's what. Somehow, I
was rudely interrupted when I tried to do it last night at
Bingo!”

They all laughed nervous little laughs at
Annie's joke on herself.

“Now that we have that settled, I have
another question. Have any of you heard any scuttlebutt about a
missing person, a missing woman?”

Barb answered, “People were talking about the
deputies coming to Bingo and looking in the trolley drawers, but
nobody seems to know what it was all about, but I didn't hear any
talk about a missing person.”

“Nothing?”

“Not a word.”

“That's good, and that's bad,” Annie said.
“It's good that they don't know why the law showed up at Bingo, but
it's not so good for our mystery if nobody is reported missing.”
She turned to Brad, “Will you let me know if anything comes up at
your meeting that might help us with our secret problem?”

“Will do. You'd think there would be a
missing person alert by now. Wouldn't you?”

Von asked, “Don't you have to wait
twenty-four hours before reporting a missing person? It hasn't been
quite that long yet, has it?”

“No, a whole day hasn't passed yet. I found
the body just before six o'clock last evening,” Annie said. “Of
course, we don't know just what time the—let's call it an accident—
happened. After all the excitement yesterday, I had a very hard
time getting to sleep last night. At two a.m., for no particular
reason, I started wondering if the missing woman was a WASP or a
WEC?

The four men looked at each other, wondering
what she was talking about. Brad questioned Art, “What do those
initials stand for?”

Art shrugged his shoulders, “Annie, what in
the world are you asking a question like that for?

“Oh,” she explained, “Last week after we gals
finished playing bridge, we started philosophizing about what kind
of people choose to retire in BradLee. You know, demographics. And
Verna said that most people describe those of us who live in
BradLee as WASPs—White Anglo Saxon Protestants. Do you want to
explain your idea, Verna?”

“I'll try. The majority of people who live in
BradLee are Protestants, but there are a lot of us who aren't.
We're Roman Catholic; so WASP doesn't describe us. I think we need
a new set of initials that fits our demographics; so I made one
up.”

Von teased his wife, “You do like that big
word, demographics, don't you?”

Verna pushed her glasses up on her nose and
ignored her husband's teasing.

Barb continued the story, “I asked Verna for
her suggestion, and she said she thought WECs would do.”

DeeDee joined in, “An' I asked, ‘Jest exactly
what does WEC stand fer?'”

Verna answered, “It stands for: White
European Christians. Or, even bettah, we could put a “Mc” in front
of that.”

DeeDee asked, “An' jest what would that make
it?”

With a smile, Verna said, “McWECs stands for
Middle-class White European Christians.”

DeeDee was enjoying the word play. Her eyes
twinkled as she said, “I can make that even better. If ya add an
‘O' in front of those letters, you'll have a perfect description of
all of us here in BradLee.”

“Okay, I'll bite,” Brad said. “What do all
those letters stand for?”

“O'McWEC stands for Old Middle-Class White
European Christians!”

The eight friends burst out laughing. O'McWEC
was a fit description for their homogenous adult retirement
community.

Then Annie became more serious, “I'm still
thinking about our disappearing victim. Do you think that our
unknown corpse is a WASP or a WEC?”

Barb answered, “I wish we could answer that,
then we might be able to give her a name.”

Annie replied, “We're not sure, but we may
know it. Earlier this morning, DeeDee and I were talking about a
new resident we met the other day at Hobby Club. We think her name
is Twila, not sure about her last name.”

Verna broke in, “It might be Thompson. I've
nevah met the woman, but there's a Twila Thompson on my golf
scramble team this month. I'll meet her later this week.”

Surprised, Brad asked, “Did you say Twila
Thompson? That's the name of the retired CPA that the Board wants
to appoint as Karl's Bingo assistant. It hasn't been announced yet.
We'll meet her at the workshop today.”

“I hope she shows,” Annie muttered.

Brad was stunned. “You don't have any reason
to think she won't be there, do you?”

“Nothing definite,” Annie answered. “It was
just that after DeeDee mentioned her this morning, I couldn't get
her out of my mind. I don't know why, but like earlier this
morning, I wondered if she were a WASP or a WEC.”

“Well, she moved to BradLee after her husband
died because her brother lives here.”

“We heard that. Who's her brother?”

“Tony Tuckman,” Brad answered. “You might
know his wife, Tilley; she's in Hobby Club. He used to be very
active in the park—was treasurer of the Board for several years.
His health isn't good now, but his mind is alert as ever.” Brad
also told his friends that Paul, the president of their park, went
to Tony to ask his advice. Paul wanted him to suggest someone
qualified to work with Karl and to organize the Bingo books. Tony
immediately recommended his sister, Twila Thompson. She's a new
resident in the park; so she isn't too busy yet. He also gave her
credentials, a Master's in Business and a Certified Public
Accountant, a CPA. When her husband was diagnosed with pancreatic
cancer, she retired early from a large insurance corporation in New
England to take care of him. After his death, she decided to move
to Florida and came to BradLee since her brother and wife live
here.

“That's good to know,” Annie said.

“But,” DeeDee said, “although it doesn't seem
important, but we still don't know if this Twila is a WASP or a
WEC?”

“I don't know for sure either,” Brad
answered, “but her brother goes to the Congregational Church; so
I'd guess that she's a WASP.”

“Does that information help any in solving
your murder?” Barb asked.

“Probably not,” Annie replied with a sigh. “I
wish I'd learn something that would. I, I mean, we—we just have to
keep working on this—all of us. I can't do it alone, and I can't
quit. Something bad has taken place. It needs to be resolved.”

“I think the word we need here is
perseverance,” Barb said. “You know I'm teaching the Senior High
kids in Sunday School this year at First Methodist. Our lesson for
next Sunday is based on James 1:2-3 ‘Consider it pure joy, my
brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know
that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.'”

“That's a wonderful verse,” DeeDee said.
“Let's don't give up. Let's all persevere an' help Annie solve tha
case of Tha Travelin' Corpse!” She raised her empty coffee cup in a
mock toast.

The rest of the gang joined her, raising
their mugs, and saying, “Here. Here.”

 

* * *

 

At nine o'clock, Nelly, the Activities Chair,
moved to the podium and rapped for quiet. She introduced one of the
retired ministers living in the park. He asked all to stand for a
short blessing. Then all of the U.S. citizens put their hands over
their hearts, faced the American flag, and recited the Pledge of
Allegiance while the many Canadian snowbirds who were present stood
respectfully.

Nelly pulled a number at random out of a
small wooden bottle and called out, “Table Number 5.” All those
seated in Row 5 got up, cheering because they were lucky enough to
be called first to go through the food line. Like Annie, most of
the seniors brought a coffee mug with them. It was their way of
helping the environment by not using plastic cups.

The line snaked along the east wall and into
the Annex, the room behind the stage, where you picked up a
doughnut or opted for an order of toast. There was always a variety
of doughnuts to choose from—plain cake doughnuts, glazed, lemon or
jelly-filled, buttermilk puffs, blueberry ones, some gooey with
icing dripping off or with candy sprinkles. The jelly ones were
usually chosen first and were long gone before those seniors
sitting at the last table got their turn to go through the line.
After picking up a doughnut, you followed the line back into the
big clubroom, passing between the stage and the kitchen on the west
side of the room. At the kitchen snack window, volunteers filled
your mug with steaming coffee. You had your choice of ‘leaded' or
‘unleaded'—regular or decaf. Packets of creamers and sugars along
with plastic stirrers were on each table.

“Art really hopes we're not the last table
called this morning. I got him up so early, he's starved,” said
Annie. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

“When you're tha last table called, all
that's left is jest plain ole doughnuts. My favorites are tha ones
frosted with lots of chocolate icin'!” DeeDee said, licking her
lips.

“I suppose you like lots of sprinkles, too,”
teased Verna.

“Naw, they are jest too fattin'!” retorted
DeeDee with an impish grin.

They were delighted when Nelly called number
seven next—their table's number. As Verna was waiting in line for
her coffee, she overheard two women that she knew talking about
Kitty Kreeger. “Excuse me,” Verna interrupted. “Did I hear you say
that the Kreegah's are moving out of the park? Leaving
BradLee?”

Verna and the two women moved to one side to
visit. Then Verna hurried back to her table to pass on this bit of
surprising information. “Listen to this gang,” she said excitedly.
“I just heard some friends of mine talking about Kitty Kreegah, and
they say the Kreegahs definitely are moving out of BradLee. We were
just talking about them at bridge on Monday; remembah I told you I
saw a ‘For Sale' sign on their house? We were just hoping that they
were going to put up a new, bigger mobile home right here in the
park, not move away!”

“That's a s'prise,” said DeeDee in amazement.
“Whatal happen ta Bingo?”

“Barb turned and looked at her husband and
quietly asked, “Did you know about this?”

“Just heard about it now from Paul as I was
getting my coffee. He thinks the sooner he gets the word out that
we need a new leader for Bingo, the better. When Nelly calls for
announcements, Paul plans to speak.

DeeDee asked, “Do ya suppose that havin' an
assistant shoved on Karl made him mad? Mad enough that he's
quittin' an' movin' away?”

“He seemed all right at Bingo last night. I
didn't think he acted any different than anytime before—nosey, as
usual. Did you, Barb?” Annie asked her friend. Barb shrugged.

“Sure does seem awful sudden,” Doc added.

“If they ha' time to make arrangements with a
realtor, it can't be ah' that sudden,” DeeDee said.

Verna leaned forward so she could see around
Art. “It wasn't a realtor sign, just a plain ole' For Sale sign
that you can buy at any hardware or Wal-mart for selling your car
or your boat or whatever.”

The discussion ended when Nelly rapped on the
podium and asked for quiet. Then she said, “Before I make my
announcements, our park president has a special message.”

Paul Potter, a tall, distinguished man with a
narrow mustache walked on the stage. He was wearing a golf shirt
with the BradLee logo of a triple palm tree stitched in green and
white on his chest pocket, plaid knee-length shorts, and running
shoes. Even wearing casual clothes, he had a certain dignity about
him. His audience listened carefully as he spoke into the
microphone. “I have an announcement to make. I don't want to make
this announcement, but I must. The Board has tried, but we can't
talk him out of it.” Paul paused for dramatic effect before saying,
“Our faithful Director of Bingo, Karl Kreeger, has resigned.”

Loud murmurs filled the hall. Paul waited a
few seconds for the room to quiet before continuing, “He and his
wife, Kitty, are moving back to Ohio to be near their family. They
have put their house up for sale. As you know, Bingo is an
important part of the finances of our park. We do want to make sure
we keep it up and playing every Tuesday night. We need someone to
take over this task. I know there will be big shoes to fill after
the terrific job Karl has done for us for five years, but there is
so much talent in our park, the Board is confident we can fill this
vacancy soon. If you are interested in taking over Bingo, will you
please speak to me or to one of the Board members? Thank you. Now,
will you join me in showing Karl our deep appreciation by giving
him a standing ovation? Thank-you.”