Calamity @ the Carwash (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (2 page)

“How do you know that, Flori?”

“Because he warned me not to call you
but I knew he couldn’t arrest me for doing it so I disobeyed the Law. I hope
you’re pleased with that. Now you can just leave it alone and let the police do
their job. I’ll come by the shop with some cinnamon buns tomorrow. I’ll see you
then and I don’t want to talk about Bernie Bernstein anymore. Good night,
Mabel.” With that, my best friend hung up.

And with that, I dug out my hidden
bottle of gin, poured a generous portion and hightailed it upstairs to bed to
make a list of suspects.

Chapter
Three

I woke up early the next morning for
several reasons. Firstly, although the air conditioner in my bedroom window was
purring away like a kitten and sounding as if it was working its little heart
out, it was all a farce. The only thing that it was pouring into my bedroom was
hot air from outside. Secondly, smelly sweat covered my entire body. There
isn’t a pleasant way to describe it. Thirdly, there were seven cats sitting on
my bed. None of them looked very happy. I could almost put up with the first
two but having seven over heated cats in the house is too much for any human
body to endure.

The moment I opened my eyes, they all
started complaining.

“What are you nattering about?” I said,
without lifting my head off the pillow. “Bernie Bernstein got clipped on the
head and is dead. So, don’t start telling me what a hard life you have.”

I’m not sure if they understood or not
but as soon as I said the word ‘dead’ they all jumped off the bed and headed
for downstairs and their food dishes.

I glanced over at the clock and sighed.
It wasn’t even six yet. I lifted the wet sheet off and lay spread-eagle. The
hot air from the air conditioner didn’t even ruffle my cotton nightgown; it
clung to me like paste. If I went out to pick up the newspaper wearing this
garment, Reg would arrest me for indecent exposure.

I had no energy to move but from the
bowels of my kitchen came the cries of my ravenous felines so I knew I’d have
to get up. There would be no peace until I did. I rolled out of bed, almost
taking the wet sheets with me, and went over to shut off the air conditioner.
There was no way this old thing would be fixable so I knew what that meant -
I’d have to either put out for a new unit or start sleeping in my cellar.

My cellar was a hole in the ground until
I had some cement walls and a floor poured about thirty years ago. Everyone in
the neighborhood did the same thing. We had old houses but we wanted to have
nice dry sweet smelling basements with laundry rooms and recreation rooms.
Perhaps, even a spare bedroom for guests. Well, now we have cellars with cement
walls and floors but that’s all. They are still dark, damp and moldy. I had
Jake and one of his boys lug my washer and dryer down there as soon as the
cement dried. Now, I use the Laundromat because, even though I haven’t checked
in several years, I’m sure my appliances have literally disintegrated into a
pile of rust bunnies.

Even in the heat, my cats still kept up
their appetites. Me? I could barely wash down an apple muffin with my cup of
coffee. After gorging themselves for several minutes, they rushed to the
backdoor in one accord and stood there with their tails in the air, waiting for
me to let them out. As soon as I walked toward them, there was a chorus of
cheers. I opened the door, they felt the blast of hot air, looked at me as if I
was to blame for the heat and then they scattered through the house in all
directions.

“Okay,” I yelled at them. “You want to
stay in and use your litter box all day, that’s up to you, but one of these
days I’m going to train you to clean it out yourselves and then you’ll be
sorry.”

You would think that after all this time
I’d learn but I never do. Cats don’t care how much you threaten; they’re going
to do whatever they want anyway. Sometimes it just feels good to get if off
your chest.

I managed to peel my nightclothes off,
have a cool shower, and get to the shop before seven thirty. My store doesn’t
open until 9:00 but the air conditioner works.

It was exactly 9:02 when Flori rushed in
telling me that Melanie Bernstein was in jail, arrested for murdering her
husband.

Chapter
Four

“But I don’t understand,” I said for
about the fourth time. “What proof do they have that Melanie killed Bernie?”

Flori, with her tear-stained face and
swollen red eyes, said, “Well, you’re the one who thought she was guilty in the
beginning so why are you surprised?”

“I know I said that, Flori, but I don’t
think I really believed it to be true. They have to have a motive and proof.”

“I told you; Bernie took out a life insurance
policy just a few weeks ago. Apparently, they were in big trouble financially.
There’s your proof and motive.” She buried her nose back into the soppy blob of
wet tissues.

“I don’t care how much financial trouble
they were in, Flori, no woman is stupid enough to go out almost immediately
after getting the insurance, kill her husband, and think she can get away with
it. Melanie might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but even she has more
sense than that. They must have something else on her.”

Flori didn’t answer - she simply reached
over, pulled out about six more tissues and proceeded to drown her sorrow in
them. When it comes to crying, or laughing for that matter, Flori overflows.
I’ve found that it’s better to be patient and wait; eventually, she dries up.

While waiting, I poured another cup of
coffee and thought about Bernie and Melanie Bernstein. I remembered when
Melanie was born. She was probably in her early forties now. Flori used to
babysit her once in awhile when her parents went out for supper or to a wedding
or something like that. Not much ever goes on in Parson’s Cove and back then,
there was less. Flori babysat for quite a few people when we were teenagers. No
one ever asked me but Flori always said that was because I was an only child
and parents didn’t think I’d be good at it. I’m glad they thought that because
I wasn’t very keen on children. Even now, I prefer watching them from afar.

Bernie arrived in Parson’s Cove when
Melanie was finishing high school. He was like a small town beach bum – happy
to work just enough to eat and pay his rent. He was in his twenties then and
Melanie used to follow him everywhere. Except when she was in classes, of
course, but she apparently missed a few of those too. On one such occasion, her
father caught the two of them skinny-dipping in a lonely spot on the lake.
Daddy made sure they were standing at the altar almost before she got her
clothes back on.

They never had any children but Melanie
seemed content to have Bernie as her pet. They went everywhere together.
Probably about twenty years ago, they started up their own cleaning business. B
& M Cleaners. It caused a few snickers but they didn’t seem to catch on so
the jokes dwindled down to nothing. Once in awhile, even now, some kid will paint
over the ‘&’ on their truck. Personally, I thought they were doing very
well. At least, they charged enough for their services. Once, I thought I’d
splurge and get my shop professionally cleaned. They gave me a quote and I
almost fainted. I told Bernie I didn’t want them building me a completely new
store; I just wanted my little space cleaned. Neither one of them talked to me
for about a year after that.

After snorting her last snort, Flori
said, “What about fingerprints? Maybe her prints were on whatever she used to
hit him. I’m sure she didn’t mean to kill the man. I mean, I’d love to hit Jake
over the head sometimes but I wouldn’t hit him hard enough to do any real
damage.”

“Flori, it will take days to check
something for fingerprints. We’re out in the boonies here and no lab in the
city is going to do a rush job for Sheriff Smee, you can be sure of that. No,
Reg wouldn’t arrest her unless he had some real proof. Maybe I should give Reg
a call.”

“Are you crazy? That’s the last thing
you should do. If you intend to find out the details, which I’m sure you are,
you’d better do it very discreetly. And, when you do, Mabel, you make sure that
I am not involved in any way.” She glanced up at the Coca-Cola clock I have
above the door. “Oh my, I’d better get back home before Jake comes back for
breakfast.”

“What do you mean, before Jake gets
home? And, by the way, I noticed you forgot the cinnamon buns.”

Flori’s face turned from chalk to
crimson.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I completely
forgot about those buns. I was rushing to get over here so I could get back
real quick and I left them on the counter. I am so sorry, Mabel. After I feed
Jake, I’ll come back with the buns.”

She jumped off the chair as daintily as
a woman her size can and almost ran to the door.

Flori comes by her weight honestly; she
cooks and bakes with real butter, real cream, and real sugar. Of course, I do
too but somehow even with all my trying, I can’t ever reach my goal of a
hundred and ten. It’s a good thing I’m barely over five feet tall.

Before she lit out, I called, “Why is
Jake so late for his breakfast?”

“Because he’s trying to get more
information about the murder.” Then, realizing what she’d said, she had the
decency to blush and say, “Not that he’ll find much out. You know the men at
Main Street Café don’t gossip like we do, Mabel.”

She closed the door before I could tell
her that she’d better pass that information on if she knew what was good for
her. Also, if she thought those old fellows didn’t gossip more than we women
did, Flori didn’t know beans. Delores, who’s worked there for years, says some
of the things they say about their so-called friends behind their back would
curl your hair. She told me once never to confide in any man in Parson’s Cove
who was over fifty. Unless, of course, I wanted everyone in town to find out
the next day.

However, knowing Flori, she would feel
so guilty about forgetting to bring the cinnamon buns over that it would be
much easier to pry information out of her. That is, if Jake had any.

Chapter
Five

A few customers popped in that morning –
if you can call two, a few. For the most part, both of them came not to buy but
to find out if I knew anything about Melanie’s arrest. It was probably a good
thing at that point in time that I didn’t know anything so I didn’t have to
lie. I guess the word spread that I was out of the loop so no one else bothered
coming in.

I had no idea what happened to Flori and
her cinnamon buns. She didn’t even phone which is very unlike her.

By ten o’clock, I gave Reg a call because
I’d thought of a good ruse. Scully answered and told me to ‘hold.’

“Reg,” I said, after waiting eleven
minutes for him to come to the phone, “I’ll make this clear right off the bat -
I don’t want any information about the murder. But someone told me that Melanie
Bernstein was in a cell. Since I happen to know how terrifying that can be, I
was wondering if I should bring over some fresh apple muffins and coffee for
her.”

I’d spent a night in the hoosegow myself
(it was a case of mistaken identity) and I’m well known for my muffins and
coffee so I thought this would come across as a natural request.

Apparently, not.

“Well, Mabel, since you obviously know I
have Melanie Bernstein incarcerated and I’m sure you know that I’m conducting
an investigation, am I correct in assuming you know that I’m very busy?”

“Oh I do know that, Sheriff Smee. I was
thinking that if this is Melanie’s first arrest though, she might need someone
to talk to. And, as you know, everyone loves my coffee and muffins. In fact, I
could bring some over for you and the boys too. Would you like that?”

It has to be a freezing day in hell when
Reg refuses one of my muffins.

Apparently, not.

“No, I would not like that. I don’t want
you within a hundred yards of this place. You got that, Mabel? If I so much as
see you hiding behind a bush across the street, I’ll lock you up with Melanie
myself.”

I guess he realized then that he was
making an opening for me so he changed his tactics and said, “I’ll put you in
with her and plaster duct tape over both your mouths.”

Before I could make a rebuttal, he hung
up. Obviously, I was not going to get any info from him. At least, not for the
time being.

Five minutes later Flori burst through
the door. The heat and humidity were doing their number on her again. Perspiration
dripped from her hairline, down her cheeks, her neck and made a narrow river,
ending up somewhere between her ample bosoms. Even her flowery lime green and
turquoise sundress which usually billows out like a golden aspen tree, hung
straight down like a weeping willow. She did not carry any cinnamon buns in her
hands either.

Before saying a word, she rushed up to
the air conditioner, closed her eyes, and spread her hands up to the sky. I
hope it’s a sight I never witness again.