Murder is the Pits (15 page)

Ruthie’s face softened. “You’re right. All I
did was sit outside with Mattie Holden. You did the real work. I’m
sorry—”

Ruthie didn’t get to finish; the telephone
rang. It was the legal assistant with the Federal Court. Due to the
hurricane, our depositions had been put off for at least a week.
The assistant would call when the court reopened. I relayed the
message, yet before anyone could say a single word—I could tell
Ruthie was thinking of flying home—the phone jangled again.

It was Chris from St. Augustine. “How’s it
going?” she asked cheerily.

Penny Sue shrugged a “who is that?”

I mouthed, “Chris.”

She mouthed back, “sleeping bags and air
mattresses.”

I nodded, remembering Penny Sue’s idea about
what we needed to buy if we went to Chris’ store for another
hurricane. Penny Sue pointed at the speaker button on the
phone.

“We’re all here,” I said. “You’re on
speakerphone. As to your question, we’re not doing so good.”

“What?” Chris asked with concern.

“Two more deaths. A man and a dog,” Penny
Sue blurted.

“What’s going on over there? You need to
sage the whole neighborhood,” Chris said.

“Heck no, the way our luck’s running, we’d
be arrested for air pollution,” I responded.

“What happened?”

“Too long a story. Don’t worry, we didn’t
kill anyone,” Penny Sue shouted.

Chris gave us a big hmph. “I assumed
that.”

“Let’s skip the gruesome details. Are we
still invited to your place if there’s another hurricane?” Ruthie
asked.

“Of course, I’m counting on it. By the way,
no one’s allergic to cats, are they? I have a store cat,
Angel.”

“No problem with that. Why are you calling,
besides the fact that you think we’re wonderful?” Penny Sue
asked.

Chris chuckled. “Wonderful? Get a grip!” A
New York to Florida transplant, Chris still had the sharp, Northern
humor. “Under the circumstances, this may not be the right time to
discuss it.”

“After the last seventy-two hours, nothing
would surprise us. Shoot,” I said.

“Well,” Chris started, “so many people were
hurt by the hurricane—many uninsured—a group of us thought it would
be fun to have a marathon race to benefit needy victims.”

Penny Sue put her hands on her hips. “Race?
Are you crazy? I’m not running around a dumb track.”

“Not a running race, silly. You think I’d do
that? An auto race. Only, not a boring old stock car competition—a
marathon race with lots of different events.”

“What kind of events?” Penny Sue asked
skeptically.

“I spoke with the owner of the New Smyrna
Speedway, and he’s willing to host it. He suggested a three-part
marathon for Labor Day Weekend. Mini-cup cars, school buses, and a
bag race. It’s all for fun. You know, like the cancer walks where
teams get pledges from people for each mile they walk. In this
case, teams get pledges for their overall placement. All proceeds
go to uninsured and unemployed victims. A few neighborhood
associations and a group of NASA retirees have expressed interest
so far.

“An-nyway, I thought of a DAFFODILS team,
since there are four of us and we’re all in that category. What do
you think?”

Ruthie’s brow furrowed. I thought it would
be a hoot. Penny Sue grabbed the bottle of Bailey’s and took a
gulp. “Hell, yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what we need,
something to take our minds off of all of this trauma.”

“But, but—” Ruthie started.

Penny Sue waved off her objection. “Don’t
worry, Ruthie, you can do the bag race. What you can’t see won’t
hurt you.”

“What’s a bag race?” she asked.

Chris replied from the speakerphone. “The
person driving the car wears a bag over her head and the person in
the passenger seat directs ’em. With Ruthie’s intuition, she’s
perfect for the job.”

“You mean a bunch of blindfolded people
speed around a race track?” Ruthie snapped.

“Well,” Chris started, “since they all have
bags, no one’s going very fast. If you hit something, it won’t
cause much damage.”

Ruthie wasn’t comforted. “Much? You’re sure
about that?”

“Yes, I’ve been to the track a dozen times.
No one gets hurt. For many years, the winner was a real blind
man.”

Ruthie’s expression said she didn’t know if
that was good or bad. I didn’t either.

“Count the DAFFODILS in. We’ll kick butt,”
Penny Sue said.

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?
Against NASA retirees?” Ruthie argued.

“You’re the one who harps on how our
thoughts determine our reality. Hell yeah, we’re going to kick
their butts; there’s no other way to think. Think otherwise and
we’re doomed.”

There was nothing Ruthie could say to that.
She was in the bag race, and I had to admit this was a terrific
diversion from the rotten stuff going on around us. Besides, we had
Carl and his brilliant MIT buddies in the wings. I knew they’d help
if we needed them.

“We’ll have to practice. You’re sure you
have the time? You can’t do a bag race or drive a school bus
cold.”

“We’ll make the time,” Penny Sue said
grandly.

We said our goodbyes and I hit the speaker
button to end the call. The phone immediately rang, so fast I
thought it was a mistake. It wasn’t. It was Guthrie.

“Man, have you heard anything about
anything?”

“We’ve heard a lot, more than we want to
know. Do you have something specific in mind?”

“Yeah, like, what about Mrs. Holden or Mrs.
King? Any news there? And what about the Holden’s little dog,
Scooter? That was a cute dog. I kept treats just for him. Is there
going to be a memorial service?”

I rubbed my forehead. I liked Guthrie, but
felt like I was talking to a three year old most of the time. I
wanted to scream, “No service has been scheduled for Scooter! For
godsakes, Clyde Holden’s funeral hasn’t been scheduled yet.” Of
course, I didn’t say it.

“I have no information on Scooter. They’re
doing an autopsy on Clyde, and Mattie’s still being diagnosed. They
may have been poisoned. Airborne. Is Timothy there? I think he
could help us with this.”

Guthrie yelled, “Timothy, an airborne poison
killed the Holdens. Leigh needs your help, now!”

I heard some mumbled conversation, and
Timothy took the phone. “What’s this about poison?”

“Have you had a chance to check your
chemistry books?” I asked.

“I did an Internet search this morning and
found a
Popular Science
article on aluminum rusting. It’s a
fairly recent piece and the culprit is mercury. Mercury turns
aluminum to rusty mush—and fast. According to the article, a
substantial aluminum I-beam turned to dust in a matter of hours. I
checked Guthrie’s shutters, and they’re still deteriorating. I
didn’t go under Mrs. King’s house, but I’ll bet her new-fangled
water pipe is dissolving, too. No telling how far it’s gone. She’ll
probably have to replace it all.”

“Is mercury poisonous?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? It’s deadly. Haven’t you
heard all the press about mercury contaminated fish?”

“Mercury forms little balls, doesn’t it? Is
it possible to inhale it?”

I could almost see Timothy shake his head.
“Mercury vapor is deadly. Anyone working with mercury—stirring it,
pouring it, whatever—better take precautions. It’ll kill ya. At
first you become crazy, then nauseous, and it progresses from
there. Not a pretty picture. Don’t fool with mercury, whatever you
do.”

Crazy: Mattie Holden. Nauseous and, maybe,
crazy: Clyde Holden. Scooter, who knew? Animals can’t tell you
what’s wrong. Bummer, as Guthrie would say.

“Timothy, that scenario describes the
Holdens perfectly. I can call the hospital and tell them we think
Mattie may have mercury poisoning, but I think it would carry more
weight if it came from you. The docs aren’t sure how to treat
Mattie—your information could be valuable.”

“Who do I call?” Timothy asked. I gave him
the number and Priscilla’s name.

An hour later Timothy called back. “Positive
for mercury on all counts.”

“Lord, that’s the glitter. Someone must have
dropped mercury on the floor and spread it around.”

“Every droplet lets off vapor. It would have
been a lot better if it had been left in a big lump,” Timothy
said.

“Clyde vacuumed up the glitter,” I said,
remembering Mattie’s comment.

“Vacuumed?”

I could hear trepidation in Timothy’s voice.
“Yes, vacuumed.”

“That’s how it became airborne. Scooter was
so short his nose was in the vapor. The little pooch didn’t have a
chance. The vacuuming is why Clyde died and Mattie didn’t. Mattie
was affected, for sure, but the vacuum probably blew the fumes
right into Clyde’s face. I need to call a HAZMAT team. Don’t go
over there, whatever you do.” Timothy paused. “Leigh, you and Penny
Sue should probably go to the hospital to get checked. Is anyone
showing symptoms?”

If the first symptom was confusion or acting
crazy, who could tell with Penny Sue? When I thought about it, she
could have had mercury poisoning her whole life. Considering our
bizarre circumstances, I felt fairly normal. “Anyone feel funny?” I
asked. “Timothy thinks we should go to the hospital for a blood
test.”

“Yes! I have a headache, and I didn’t sleep
a wink all night,” Ruthie shot back. “We should go now.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll go.
Give me a few minutes to put on my face,” Penny Sue said.

“Slap on some lipstick and wear your big
Chanel sunglasses. We don’t have time for you to primp. We could be
in mortal danger!” The veins on Ruthie’s neck were sticking out.
That was a first, even though she was skinny. She was wound up
tighter than a tick, and I doubted that all the chanting in the
world could soothe her.

“Ruthie’s right,” I said. “With the
hurricane, no one’s out and about. We won’t see anyone we know
except other sick people.” I winked at Penny Sue. “Let’s go now and
get it over with.”

“You drive, Leigh,” Ruthie demanded. “She’s
been drinking.”

Penny Sue folded her arms defiantly. “Aren’t
we the stickler for detail? I’ve had about as much alcohol as you’d
get from a slice of rum cake. If it will make you happy,” she
virtually sneered, “Leigh can drive
my
car. Hers isn’t big
enough for normal people.”

My VW bug was so big enough for normal
people! It was abnormal humans like Penny Sue—I bit my tongue and
picked up my purse. “Fine, let’s go.” I snatched Penny Sue’s keys
from the counter and headed for the front door. I started the
Mercedes as Ruthie and I waited for Penny Sue. A moment later, a
white Taurus with government tags pulled in behind us. Woody got
out. I slapped my forehead at the bum luck. If Penny Sue had been a
little faster, we’d have avoided his obnoxious presence.

Woody tapped on my window. I opened it
reluctantly.

“I heard your depositions were postponed
indefinitely,” he said.

“Indefinitely? The lady who called this
morning said it was only for a week.”

“A week, two weeks, no one knows. I spoke
with one of the Fed’s attorneys. He said it was doubtful you’d be
called.”

“That’s great news,” Ruthie said from the
backseat. “Can we go home?”

“Not yet, nothing’s been finalized.”

Woody drove out here to tell us that? He
wasn’t that nice. Besides, we’d already heard as much from the
judge. There was no doubt in my mind that he knew we knew the judge
had talked to everyone who was anyone. So why was he here? “Is
there anything else?” I asked at the moment Penny Sue dropped into
the front passenger seat, her face noticeably turned away from
Woody. I knew she was embarrassed that she didn’t have on her full
face. Woody took it as an insult.

His eyes bore holes into the back of Penny
Sue’s head. “I wanted to tell you that the man who fell from the
balcony was Antonio Accardo, a known underling for the New Jersey
mafia. You know, the guys you may have to testify against. His
wound wasn’t an accident. It came from a 9 mm Takarov, a Russian
weapon. Old Tony was carrying a Glock.”

Penny Sue lowered her head and stared at
Woody across the top of her sunglasses. “Get to the point. What
does that mean to us?”

Woody shuffled and flashed his smarmy grin.
“We’re not sure what it means, but I reported it to the Feds. They
may take steps.”

“Like what?” Penny Sue demanded.

Woody shrugged. “It’s up to them.”

“You mean, you were told to butt out?” Penny
Sue said.

“Absolutely not.” His body language said
otherwise.

“If you have some free time, you may want to
go to the hospital,” I started.

Penny Sue poked my leg, a shut-up
maneuver.

I ignored her. “There’s a good chance Clyde
Holden died from airborne mercury poisoning. Anyone in that room
could have been contaminated.”

“Are you sure?” he said, for once sounding
sincere.

“Do you think I’d be going somewhere without
make-up otherwise?” Penny Sue piped in.

“I guess not.” Woody hurried to his car and
backed out of our way. Wonder of wonders, he had some manners.
Wrong. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw him on his cell
phone. No doubt notifying his troops. Good, it saved us the trouble
and the time—we needed to get going now!

* * *

August 16-17, New Smyrna Beach, FL

We all had
elevated mercury levels,
though none of ours were critical. Penny Sue’s level was highest,
bordering on dangerous—not surprising since she’d been closest to
the floor when she tried to revive Clyde. The hospital said they
could do a chelation treatment to remove the mercury, but Ruthie
was skeptical. “We’ll call Chris first,” she whispered as the
doctor outlined our options.

“Mud. You need magnetized mud. Works much
faster than chelation. Not that there’s anything wrong with
chelation, it’s just slower,” Chris told us as we huddled around
the speakerphone in the kitchen