Murder is the Pits (12 page)

Timothy put his hand on Guthrie’s knee and
squeezed. “
If
there’s another hurricane, you’ll come home
with me.”

“What about your mother?” Guthrie asked
tersely.

Timothy flexed his biceps and set his jaw.
“Mother will have to get used to it.”

* * *

August 14, New Smyrna Beach, FL

As soon as
Guthrie and Timothy left, I
called Chris, our friend in St. Augustine. A wonderful lady about
our age, we met when she owned a New Age shop in New Smyrna Beach.
Since then, she’d moved on to bigger and better things, opening The
Rising Moon on Spanish Street in St. Augustine. I explained
Ruthie’s guidance about the Old City. Chris said we were welcome to
stay in her shop if another hurricane came and the hotels were
booked. She’d had no problems there with Charley, except for a
brief loss of power. Considering Ruthie’s revelation, she would
probably stay at the shop herself.

“Sleeping bags and air mattresses. We want
to be prepared if we have to stay in the shop,” Penny Sue said
after I hung up the phone. Penny Sue fished a sliver of ice from
her now empty wine and rubbed it on her forehead. “As soon as the
power’s back on and the stores re-open, we should lay in our
supplies.” She scanned the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

“We could warm up some soup,” Ruthie
suggested.

“You have to be kidding. Warm is the last
thing I need.” Penny Sue popped the remainder of the ice into her
mouth and swallowed. “What became of the chips and dip?”

Oh, that. I found them in the closet and put
them out on the counter, next to Guthrie’s
Alice’s
Restaurant
tape that he’d left behind.

We started with the chips, moved on to
Vienna sausages, and finished with Oreo cookies. Not exactly
gourmet, but filling nonetheless.

I was still munching a cookie when my cell
phone rang. It was Fran, calling from Boston.

“Are you all right? Did you get any damage?
I’ve been trying to call for hours. I finally reached Carl. He said
the cell circuits were overloaded.”

“We were lucky,” I replied, “only lost a few
shingles and some other minor damage. How about your house?”

Fran snorted. “That big, expensive behemoth
took on water. Carl said rain poured down the kitchen wall and
soaked the wallboard. It will all have to be ripped out.”

“I’m sorry. Anything I can do? How’s your
sister?”

“Carl will take care of the house, and my
sister’s doing well. She should be up and about in a few days.
Considering the mess down there, I’m going to stay in Boston until
the house is fixed. Allergies. No way I could stand that wallboard
dust. Heaven help us if Carl can’t get a contractor soon. Mold. He
said the power was out, our expensive generator wouldn’t work, and
the heat index was over a hundred.”

Mold. One complication I hadn’t thought
of.

“I guess I should make this short and free
up the circuit. If you need help, call Carl. He’ll be around.”

No sooner had I pressed the off button than
there was another knock on the door, and a quivering woman’s voice
called, “Leigh? Are you home?”

I recognized the voice. It was Mrs. Holden,
a neighbor in the next cluster. “Yes ma’am. Please come in.” I
rushed to escort her down the hall. A frail, tiny woman who was
probably over a hundred and still drove—like a maniac!—she was a
definite candidate for slip and fall. I wasn’t worried she’d sue
me, I worried she’d break something. I took her arm and ushered her
to the rattan chair that was higher than the sofa, making it easier
for her to get up when the time came.

I introduced Penny Sue and Ruthie, who
offered her food, drink— everything but a foot massage. Judging
from the way Mattie Holden walked, she might have taken Ruthie up
on the foot thing.

“Where’s your husband?” I asked.

“Clyde’s at home. We stayed in Orlando with
my daughter during the storm. She wanted us to stay a few days, but
Clyde wouldn’t hear of it. He had to get back to check on our
house. Did you stay, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky—only minor
damage.”

“No trouble with crooks?”

“None.” I thought of Mrs. King. “Did you
have any trouble?”

Mrs. Holden said, “Our front door was
unlocked when we got home.”

“Were you robbed?” Penny Sue asked
breathlessly.

“We don’t see that anything’s missing,
except there’s glitter on the floor of our bedroom. Glitter!”

“Glitter?”

“Yes, it’s smeared on the carpet. Clyde
stepped on it and slid—would have broken his neck if he hadn’t
fallen onto the bed. Doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would someone
break into our house and sprinkle glitter on the floor? Clyde’s all
upset. He’s worried someone has a passkey and is playing practical
jokes.”

The more likely scenario was that they
forgot to lock the door, with all the hubbub of the storm and quick
evacuation. The glitter could have spilled from a keepsake they
took along. Birthday cards, even wedding invitations, are often
covered with glitter. The thing I hate the most is when people
stuff a letter with glitter or tiny hearts and stars that fly all
over the room when you open the envelope. Not cute in my book,
since it means I’ll have to haul out the Hoover. “Maybe the latch
didn’t catch when you turned the key. I’ve done that before.”
Bald-faced lie. “To be safe, maybe you should have your locks
changed.”

“That’s what Clyde thinks.”

“Would you like to stay with us tonight?”
Ruthie offered.

Penny Sue glared at Ruthie.

Mrs. Holden leaned forward to stand. Ruthie
rushed to help. “We’ll be fine. Clyde has a Colt .38 Super he keeps
by the bed. You know, in Florida you can shoot anyone who enters
your house and threatens you.” She took a few steps with Ruthie
cradling her elbow. “Should be like that everywhere, don’t you
think?”

Penny Sue arched a brow smugly. “Yes, ma’am.
I agree completely.”

I scribbled our phone number on a Post-It
note and gave it to Mrs. Holden. “If you have any trouble, don’t
hesitate to call.”

She patted my cheek. “Thank you, darling. It
warms my heart to have nice neighbors like you.”

We walked her to the parking lot and her new
Cadillac Deville.

“I saw an area roped off by yellow tape when
I drove in. Does that mean a sinkhole? Lord, I hope our houses
don’t slide into a big hole.”

“No, ma’am. A man fell from a balcony this
morning. The police roped the area off,” I said. No need to worry
her with the details.

She turned the key to her Caddy and gunned
the V-8. “Don’t want to compromise the crime scene, huh? I watch
that
CSI
show, I know what’s what.” She slammed her door and
peeled out of the driveway.

Ruthie went into hysterics. “What a
character! I’m not sneaking into her house, that’s for sure. Does
everyone watch this
CSI
? I guess I’ll have to catch it when
the power comes back on.”

Penny Sue took another ice cube from her
drink and rubbed it between her boobs. “I hope it comes on soon,
we’re getting low on ice. I’d hate to have to put a bag of green
beans in my bra.”

Ruthie sniggered. “Well, you’d definitely be
stacked and it would be a lot cheaper than an operation.”

“You know, that would be a good invention,”
Penny Sue said as she went back inside.

“A bean bra?”

“A frozen bra. They could make it out of
that gel stuff they use for ice packs.”

“Never work, it would soak your shirt as it
defrosted.”

Penny Sue tossed her hair. “So what? You’d
be soaked with perspiration anyway. At least the bra wouldn’t leave
a salt stain. Better yet, you could wear it like a bathing suit
top.”

I thought a moment. The idea had
possibilities.

Praise be, the electricity came on at about
eleven
PM
so we didn’t have to resort to
cooling off with soggy vegetables.

“Turn off everything but a few lights,
quick! We don’t want to overload the circuit,” Penny Sue
barked.

Ruthie and I scurried to do her bidding.
Everything off except lights in the kitchen and living room, Penny
Sue and I each stood under an AC vent. Ruthie made for the
television and tuned to the local news.

Though Volusia County sustained considerable
damage, Orlando fared much worse. Power was out for over a million
customers, sewers were backed up, and an untold number of homes and
businesses were severely damaged by uprooted trees and flying
debris. As bad as that was, electricity could be out for weeks in
some places, meaning many buildings would be further damaged by
mold.

“Your bra idea may not be so bad,” Ruthie
said to Penny Sue.

“Yeah, I wonder what it takes to get a
patent?”

The next few days were chaotic. We had to
deal with the police, insurance company, an endless stream of
prospective roofers, and Guthrie.

Although price gouging is illegal in Florida
during disasters, many contractors didn’t seem to care or were
simply willing to take a chance on making a quick buck. A team of
contractors went door-to-door offering free inspections and repair
estimates. The man who showed up at our door was an attractive,
muscular blond named Wayne. Naturally, Penny Sue took him up on the
offer. It was amazing how many times she went outside to check his
progress and offer refreshments. Ruthie and I shook our heads—we’d
seen this drill a thousand times. Penny Sue’s acrylic nails had
curved into hooks and she was going for the catch. That is, until
Wayne walked in with a form that detailed his estimate. The condo
needed a whole new roof, there was water in the walls, termite
damage, and the old windows really should be replaced. The total
price tag was a whopping $80,000, and might go higher if he found
more damage when he started work.

I think it was the old window part that
riled Penny Sue. In the blink of an eye, Ms. Sweetness and Light
morphed into Cruella DeVil.

“Old windows? What kind of a quack are you?”
Penny Sue took the estimate and ripped it in half. “These windows
are three years old and hurricane-rated.” She stood and pointed
stiff-armed at the front door. “Get out of here.”

Wayne tried to snatch the torn form, but
Cruella was faster. She held the pieces behind her back.

“Get out,” I said, “now!”

“If you’re not interested, I need the
estimate back.”

“No way.” She glanced at me. “I’m feeling
threatened, aren’t you Leigh? Get my gun.”

Gun got his attention. Wayne high-tailed it
out of the house.

Still boiling mad, Cruella shoved the papers
at me, unholstered her .38, and ran to the front door.

“You can’t shoot him if he isn’t in the
house,” I yelled, chasing after her.

She flung the door open. “I just want him to
know I’m serious.”

He knew. Not only was his truck peeling out
of the parking lot, but so were his buddies.

“I’m going to report him to the Attorney
General first thing tomorrow morning. Where’s the estimate? What
was the name of his company?”

I handed her the top half of the form.
Standard office supply stock, no company name or phone number. She
waved the paper angrily. “I have nothing to report.”

“Maybe the police can lift a fingerprint
like they do on
CSI
,” I suggested.

“Think so?” Penny Sue carefully placed the
estimate pieces in a large baggie. “Worth a try.”

We fixed deviled ham sandwiches and sweet
tea for lunch and were working up to a nap when the telephone
started. The first caller was Guthrie.

“Mrs. King came home today. I thought you’d
like to know.”

“Did you explain to her about the busted
water pipe?” I asked. “Last thing we need is for her to turn on the
water and flood us again.”

“Yeah, man, I explained all of that to her.
She’s going to stay with her granddaughter for a while. Also, there
are some contractors working the neighborhood, offering to do
repairs. Timothy’s sure they’re unlicensed. If they show up at your
place, don’t listen to them.”

I chuckled. “They’ve already been here.
Penny Sue scared them away with her .38.”

“Cool, man. Why didn’t I think of that? If
Penny Sue’s little gun scared them, think what my Glock would have
done. Of course, I didn’t go to the door because I’m still on
crutches, and Timothy doesn’t like guns. He got rid of them,
anyway.”

Yep, I wouldn’t argue with Timothy if he
took to flexing his biceps.

“By the way, you left your Alice tape here.
I’ll bring it back if you’d like.”

“I don’t need it right now. Keep it, man,
and watch it. It’s a great show.”

“Sure, when we get the VCR fixed.”

“You can borrow mine. I’ll ask Timothy to
drop it by this week.”

Oh, goody! I thanked him, trying hard to
hide my lack of enthusiasm.

The next call was from dainty, little Mattie
Holden. “Clyde’s beside himself. The estimate to fix our house is
over $100,000. We don’t have that kind of money—we’re on a fixed
income.”

“You didn’t sign anything, did you? We’re
sure those contractors are fakes.”

“Clyde thought the same thing. He wanted to
shoot them.”

Great, another Penny Sue. I sighed.

“Now he’s not feeling well. I think he has
the flu.”

“Do you have enough to eat? Do you need
anything?”

“No, there’s enough food. We have a lot of
soup.”

“Good. In case you haven’t heard, Mrs. King
is out of the hospital. Her heart attack was mild.”

“Too bad the old bitch didn’t die.”

My mouth fell open. “Pardon?”

“I said it’s too bad the old bitch didn’t
die.”

This was sweet, polite Mattie Holden? “I
thought you were friends.”

“Nana gets on my nerves. Always bragging
about her wonderful kids. She’s a pain in the ass.”