Bingoed (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

“So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls; why don’t somebody wake up to the beauty of old women?

—Harriet Beecher Stowe

Essie shoved open the rickety old metal door of the women’s side of the public restroom building with the front of her walker. The door rubbed and scraped over the linoleum floor and finally slammed against the tile wall. The noise reverberated with a loud echo but Essie ignored it and everything else as she hurriedly rushed her walker down the line of five enclosed toilets to the compartment at the far end, labeled “handicapped.” She quickly drove her walker through the door of the special toilet stall. Then, grabbing an old wadded up tissue from her pocket, she gingerly shoved the rusted lock on the toilet door—or attempted to shove the rusted lock into its holder.

“Stupid lock!” she yelled at the fixture as the door to the restroom opened.

“Essie!” called out a voice she recognized as Marjorie’s.

“Guard this door, Marjorie!” shouted Essie. “I can’t get the lock to work!”

“Okay, but hurry up!” said Marjorie. “I have to go too!”

“Me too!” added Opal, right behind her.

“Lord’s gourds!” mumbled Essie, ignoring the door and positioning her walker in front of the toilet. As she looked down at the toilet, she gasped. A film of muck covered the seat and rust encrusted the handle. “Wonderful,” she commented.

“What?” called out Marjorie. “Are you hurrying? Opal and I both have to go and we can’t get our walkers into any of these other stalls.”

“Just stay where you are and guard my door!”

Essie looked for the toilet paper dispenser so she could clean the toilet, but unfortunately there was no roll of paper in the dispenser and no spare roll to be found anywhere in the stall.

“Marjorie, go into another stall and get me some toilet paper,” demanded Essie.

“Are you done already?” asked Marjorie scooting into the neighboring stall. “I can’t get in this stall, Essie. Wait, I’ll walk in but I’ll have to hold onto the walls.”

“Here, Marjorie,” suggested Opal, “let me do it. I’m taller.” She grabbed the handles of Marjorie’s walker and leaned sideways into the stall where a roll of paper was balanced somewhat precariously on top of the dispenser.

“Did you get it?” called Essie. She hobbled from one foot to another trying to contain the urge to urinate.

“Just a minute!” responded Opal. “Yes, I’ve got it! Now, what should I do with it?”

“Just roll it under the door.”

“Really? Okay, Essie, if you say so!” said Opal, as she bent low and gave the cylinder of paper a gentle shove under the handicapped stall.

“Opal, are you a bowler?” asked Marjorie in admiration. “That was smooth!”

“I was on a company league once,” replied a smiling Opal.

Meanwhile, Essie, inside the roomy handicapped stall, had grabbed the roll of paper and peeled it open and was using large handfuls to wipe the seat dry.

“This paper is hard as sandpaper,” she complained. “I don’t like the thought of rubbing it on my tush.”

“Quit complaining, Essie,” yelled Opal, “and hurry up!”

When the toilet seat was appropriately dry, Essie pulled down her trousers and lowered herself in place.

“This seat is too low!” she yelled.

“It’s higher than the floor, Goldilocks!” responded Marjorie, “Just hurry up!”

The two women outside the stall heard a sudden flow of liquid and a relieved “ah” emanate from inside.

“Ouch!” called Essie.

“What’s wrong?” yelled Opal.

“This paper is ripping my skin!”

“Hurry up, Essie!” said Marjorie, doing a little dance in front of her walker.

At long last, the sound of flushing noted the end of their vigil. Essie pulled back the stall door and rolled her walker out. Marjorie immediately started to push her walker into the stall.

“I need to go more!” said Opal.

“I got here first!” argued Marjorie, zipping in front of Opal and slamming the door in her face. Essie rolled over to the row of sinks across from the toilets.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “No toilet paper! Now no paper towels!”

“Do they have a hand blower?” asked Marjorie, now efficiently at work inside the stall.

“I don’t see one,” said Essie. “How am I going to wash my hands?”

“Hurry up, Marjorie!” called Opal with urgency, still standing guard in front of the handicapped stall.

Essie poked at a soap dispenser only partially filled with a liquid the color of flamingos.

“Eeek,” she grimaced. “Look at this creepy looking soap.” She tentatively pushed the dispenser knob and a glob of the material squirted into her palm. “Yuck, it’s disgusting.”

“It’s soap!” said Opal, behind her. “How disgusting can it be?”

“I’m done!” announced Marjorie, opening the stall door with a satisfied look. Opal rushed past her friend and into the stall.

“You stay there, Marjorie,” ordered Opal. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Opal,” said Marjorie, “there’s no one else in here. So what if the door’s unlocked? Essie and I aren’t going to break in while you’re using the bathroom.”

“I just want the same protection that the two of you had,” said Opal with a whine.

Marjorie wheeled over to the sinks and reached out to wash her hands. Essie was still rubbing her hands together with the pink goop.

“Look at this stuff, Marjorie,” she said as she nudged her sprightly friend.

Marjorie glanced at the soap on Essie’s hands and turned on the faucet.

Yikes!” she screamed. “It’s all cold water!”

“You have to let it warm up before you just go and stick your hands under the flow,” suggested Essie.

“I don’t have to do that in my bathroom,” said Marjorie.

“This isn’t your bathroom, Marjorie!” said Essie. The sound of another flush announced the completion of Opal’s bathroom visit and soon the tallest member of the group had joined the two shorter women at the sinks. As all three ladies stood in line behind their walkers staring into the mirrors and washing their hands, Essie couldn’t help thinking how much the three of them looked like some bizarre elderly vocal group—maybe “The Walkers”!

“Finally,” said Marjorie, looking at her friends in the mirrors.

“We are rather cute, aren’t we?” noted Essie as she smiled into the mirror.

“Speak for yourself,” scowled Opal. “Cute is not an appropriate adjective for women our age.”

“I can’t help it,” continued Essie, “when my bladder is empty I feel like I can conquer the world!”

“Essie,” said Marjorie, shaking her finger at her friend’s image in the mirror, “let’s don’t conquer the world—let’s just figure out what happened to Bob. Remember! That’s our project.”

“Project!” scoffed Opal. “You make it sound like we’re a bunch of Girl Scouts, Marjorie.”

The women continued to stand before the mirrors, leaning on their walkers, and talking--even though they all had finished washing their hands quite thoroughly.

“Essie,” said Marjorie, “just what was all that in the bus? When you opened Sue Barber’s purse?”

“I was looking for clues,” Essie said cryptically.

“And you found some sort of plastic bag with some money in it,” added Opal. “What kind of clue is that? It shows that Sue is very protective of her money?”

“Or she’s very frugal and likes to keep her money stashed away for special purchases,” suggested Marjorie.

“Or,” noted Essie, “she’s saving the dollar bill that she offered to Bob Weiderley as a Bingo prize the night he collapsed.”

“Why would she do that?” asked Marjorie.

“Indeed,” answered Essie. “Why?”

“There could be all sorts of reasons, Essie,” suggested Opal. “I mean, maybe she sets aside a certain number of dollar bills to use on Bingo night and keeps them in a plastic bag in her purse. You know, so she doesn’t mix up her own money with the Bingo money.”

“That’s probably it,” agreed Marjorie.

“Or,” suggested Essie, “she needs to prevent anyone from getting a hold of that dollar bill that she gave to Bob right before he collapsed.”

“Why?” asked Marjorie.

“Because she poisoned it!” said Essie.

“What?” cried Opal. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Sue Barber didn’t poison Bob!” added Marjorie.

“How do we know she didn’t?” asked Essie, leaning back from the mirrors and speaking now to her friends face-to-face.

“Why?” asked Opal.

“Yes, Essie,” agreed Marjorie, “Why would Sue do such a thing? She has no reason to hurt Bob.”

“Not that we know,” answered Essie. She pushed her walker away from the sink and started to turn it toward the restroom door.

“You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Essie,” said Opal, now following her friend onto the grounds of the botanical gardens.

“I agree,” said Marjorie, following the other two women as they gathered their front wheels together immediately in front of the public restroom, the bright blue signs indicating ‘male’ and ‘female’ standing guard over their discussion.

“Marjorie, Opal,” said Essie, looking directly at her friends, “there’s no reason for Sue Barber to save that dollar bill—to keep it protected in a sealed plastic bag in her purse—if it were merely part of funds that were used for Bingo prizes. Something else is going on. She saved that one dollar for a reason.”

“If it were poisoned, surely she’d get rid of it,” offered Marjorie.

“Not necessarily,” added Essie. “Maybe she intends to use it again. I mean, Bob is still alive.”

“How gruesome, Essie,” said Opal. “And if that dollar bill was poisoned, how did she hand it to Bob without getting poisoned herself?

“And how do you poison someone with a dollar bill? Just by touching it?” asked Marjorie. “That must be a really potent poison.”

“Which would explain why she’s keeping it in a plastic bag,” answered Essie.

“I just don’t see what motive Sue would have to hurt Bob,” mused Opal, grinding her teeth over her bottom lip. “He’s such a nice man.”

“Such a nice rich man,” added Essie. “Maybe she had some scheme to get his millions.”

“His five millions,” added Marjorie, caught up in the excitement of their discussion.

“So,” said Opal calmly, “we now have three suspects.”

“Three?” asked Marjorie.

“Sue, Violet, and this Ben Jericho,” listed Opal.

“Yes,” agreed Essie, smiling. “I’m not certain that all three have a motive or that all three had the opportunity or that all three have the means, but I truly believe that one of them did or does.”

“Jericho may have a motive, I guess, to get Bob’s money, but I don’t see that he had any opportunity or means,” said Marjorie.

“That we know of yet,” cautioned Essie.

“And Violet may have a motive, but we’re not sure. She had the opportunity and possibly the means, but again we’re not sure,” added Opal.

“Now Sue,” said Essie, completing their list. “As far as we know, she has no motive, but she had the best opportunity and possibly the means—if this dollar bill proves to be poisoned.”

“Now, Essie,” said Marjorie as the three women stood head to head behind their walkers outside the public restrooms at the botanical gardens. “The question is how to find out if the dollar bill in Sue’s purse is poisoned or not.”

Essie also added a fourth possible suspect in her mind—Evelyn Cudahy. As Bob’s new wife, she stood to inherit all of Bob’s millions—if Bob died. Even so, Essie had promised not to reveal Bob and Evelyn’s marital status and she intended to keep her word—even going so far as keeping it from her two best friends. However, if facts developed that indicated that Evelyn was somehow implicated in Bob’s recent collapse—then all promises were cancelled and all bets were off.

As Essie glanced over her shoulder and down the incline back to where the Happy Haven bus was parked, she noticed that Sue Barber was standing before the bus’s door. Sue was staring up the hill at the three elderly residents who were chatting in an animated fashion about possible attempted murder. Did Sue realize what they suspected? Did she notice that someone had rifled through her purse? Essie didn’t know but she had no intention of giving one of their suspects something to worry about.

“Ladies,” said Essie, “We’d better go enjoy the beautiful Reardon Botanical Gardens before Sue Barber comes up this monster hill and starts asking questions.” She glanced over and smiled benignly at their Social Director. Opal and Marjorie followed suit and soon the three women had rolled their walkers onto a path that took them into the depths of the gardens.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“Though an old man I am but a young gardener.”

—Thomas Jefferson

It was like a safari. Essie led Marjorie and Opal up and down the narrow paths that wound around throughout what appeared—to Essie’s eyes—like some tropical jungle, not botanical gardens. As they wheeled their walkers deeper and deeper into the gardens, the branches hanging down brushed against their faces as they walked. As it was spring, many of the trees were in full bloom and sweet-smelling petals fluttered from above, landing on their hair and their walkers like confetti.

“Isn’t this beautiful, Essie?” asked Marjorie, grabbing at some of the blooms and sniffing them deeply.

“Like magnolias,” noted Essie, “but larger blossoms.”

“All these petals are sticking to my glasses,” whined Opal. “I can barely see because the branches are so thick, the sun can’t even shine through.”

“I know,” agreed Marjorie, “it’s like some tropical jungle.”

“And right here in the center of our little town,” added Essie. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“You were so worried about finding a restroom,” noted Marjorie.

“We did find one,” said Opal.

“If you can call it that,” sneered Essie. “Oh well, it was worth it. My sweet barleycorn, look over there!” She pointed to her left. In the distance, a small waterfall could be seen crashing into a flower-covered pool.

“What kind of plants are those, flower expert?” Opal asked.

“I wish I knew,” answered Essie. “Most of them seem tropical. Look at the pinks and oranges.”

“As much as I enjoy it here,” said Marjorie, “I’m getting kind of worried about this path.”

“Yes,” agreed Opal, “it’s really narrow and it’s getting bumpy. My walker is getting stuck on all these little rocks.”

“Oh my begonias,” sputtered Essie, looking at her watch, “look at the time. It’s almost three o’clock. We were supposed to be back at the bus at three. We’d better turn around and go back.”

“Wouldn’t that be the long way?” asked Marjorie. “Wouldn’t we be better off going straight ahead? Surely we’ll find a different path that will take us to the entrance.”

“I don’t know, Marjorie,” said Opal, shaking her head. “The signs here all just point one direction. I think Essie is right. I think we’d better turn around and go back.”

“What time is it?” asked Marjorie.

“Ten till three,” said Essie, starting to turn her walker around on the bumpy gravel pathway.

“We’ll never get there in time!” cried Marjorie.

“They’re not going to leave without us!” noted Opal.

“Come on, you two,” said Essie, charging back the way they came with a huge shove to her walker. She stormed down the rocky winding path as fast as her spindly legs would move. Opal and Marjorie rotated their walkers and then headed after her in hot pursuit—at least as hot a pursuit as two little old ladies with walkers could do.

Essie bounded ahead with Opal and Marjorie pulling up the rear almost out of sight. As she scurried over the little road, all of a sudden a large branch fell from high up in the tops of the trees and landed immediately behind her on the pathway.

“Oh jumping Juniper tree!” she yelled as she turned to see the giant tree limb directly behind her on the ground. If I hadn’t been quite as fast as I am, it would have landed right on my head, she thought to herself. Almost immediately, Opal and Marjorie arrived and stopped their walkers short.

“Essie!” shrieked Marjorie. “That big branch almost landed on top of you!”

“It just missed you by a few inches!” added Opal.

“You are so lucky!” said Marjorie.

“So I am,” agreed Essie, breathing deeply as she surveyed the branch that had just narrowly missed smashing her to smithereens. She looked up into the trees trying to determine the source of the fallen branch. Nothing moved. How did that happen? she wondered. She thought that if a branch that large fell off of a tree, its source would surely be noticeable. But all the trees looked normal; none of them showed any signs of recent breakage.

“Are you okay, Essie?” asked Opal.

“Fine,” responded Essie, “just a bit mystified.”

“What?” asked Marjorie. “It was a fluke accident. You were lucky you were moving so fast.”

“Was it a fluke?” wondered Essie out loud, staring upwards and then off into the bushes on either side of the pathway. Just where had that branch come from? Did it really fall from the trees above? Or did someone throw it onto the trail directly into Essie’s pathway? She had been concentrating so hard on moving forward and getting back to the bus that she really hadn’t been paying much attention to her surroundings. Not a very wise thing to do, when she was smack in the middle of investigating a possible attempted murder.

“If you’re not hurt, Essie,” said Opal, “maybe we should get moving. Are you able to walk?”

“Oh, I’m more than able to walk,” said Essie, “No tree branch is going to get in my way.”

“That’s the Essie I know,” said Marjorie. She and Opal moved into formation behind their leader. Essie set forth on the winding trail leading out of the botanical gardens’ interior back to the entrance. After a few minutes of heavy wheeling, the three women arrived on the scene of the bus. Sue Barber was standing in front of the bus, tapping her finger on her clipboard, looking down at the sign-up sheet. As the three friends climbed aboard the bus—relegating their walkers again to the luggage compartment where the driver and Sue stored them—they were greeted by the catcalls of their fellow residents.

“Hey, Essie,” said one woman, “you get lost out in the little garden?” She laughed and nudged her seatmate in the ribs.

“Essie,” said a pleasant gentleman in the second row, “you’re just an explorer like me. Here, have a seat.” He patted the place next to him.

Essie smiled at her friends but continued to the back with Opal and Marjorie in tow.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

“Nah,” said one rather plump man near the rear. “Sue finally got tired of waiting for you a little after three so she went looking for you. But she came back—just shortly before the three of you showed up just now.”

“Really?” asked Essie.

“Yeah,” he replied. “She said she couldn’t find you. She was really getting worried. I think she was about ready to contact the head of the gardens or the police or someone—then all of a sudden the three of you show up! Great timing!” He laughed and Essie and her two friends laughed too.

The three women returned to their seats at the very back of the bus.

“So,” whispered Essie to her pals as the bus took off with a jerk, “Sue Barber came looking for us. Probably about the time that big branch almost splattered me into a zillion pieces.”

“Essie,” responded Marjorie in a hushed voice. “You don’t think Sue had anything to do with that branch falling near you.”

“You mean, nearly on me!” retorted Essie.

“Surely you don’t think Sue tried to kill you, Essie,” whispered Opal into Essie’s other ear.

“I think somebody did,” said Essie between her teeth, “and I intend to find out who.”