Murder is the Pits (21 page)

“Honey, evil and greed are the state of the
world.” Penny Sue bounced into the room wearing her red,
embroidered kimono. “If a storm’s coming, we’re buying a
battery-operated TV today. We can’t wait or they’ll all be sold.
When’s Frances supposed to hit?” she asked, pouring a cup of
coffee.

“They’re not sure … probably about a week,”
Ruthie said.

“Next week? Labor Day weekend? That’ll mess
up our race. We’ve spent a fortune on this thing—a hurricane cannot
hit,” Penny Sue declared.

“Anything can happen in a week. It will
probably blow out or turn north,” I said.

“Right,” Penny Sue agreed. “We should still
buy the TV and put a rush on all our race preparations.”

There was no need to rush the helmets. Our
helmet specialist called at nine and said they were finished,
except for the daffodil decals, which should arrive first of the
week. If we were going to be home, he’d drop them by our condo
because he had another delivery in our area.

“Sure, come on,” Penny Sue said.

Apparently he’d called from the parking lot.
Five minutes later we had our newspaper and four sparkly, yellow
racing helmets, along with two headsets for the spotter and crew
chief.

“This is cool,” Penny Sue said, pulling on
the helmet marked with a
P
. “I’m going to kick butt in that
bus race.” She flipped the visor down and strutted around the condo
barefoot. She was still wearing her red kimono, which really “set
off” her ensemble, as Cujo, the TV fashion expert, might say.

Set off? Blast off was more like it, I
thought wryly.

“Come on, put yours on,” which, with her
visor down, came out as a muffled, “Con en, poo youse eh.”

Ruthie and I got her point and complied, but
left our visors open.

“Boy, it’s heavy,” I commented, feeling like
a fool in the helmet and my pink chenille robe.

“Youse ge ute ta it. Ah fee ta saa waw
…”

I reached over and opened Penny Sue’s visor.
“We can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

She screwed her mouth. “I said, ‘you’ll get
used to it. I felt the same way when I first wore my Harley
helmet.’ Flip your visors down. The yellow tint really brightens
the room.”

I lowered my visor, careful to leave an
opening at the bottom. Although I wasn’t as claustrophobic as
Ruthie, I wasn’t ready to be locked down, either.

Ruthie pushed her visor a couple of inches
and tilted her head forward to see through the plastic. “It does
make things brighter.” She immediately pushed the visor back
up.

“Y’all are chickens. Lock down your visors.
You can breathe fine. Really.”

“I’ll do it in my own time,” Ruthie said
forcefully. “The weight of this thing is bad enough for now.”

“We don’t have time to waste. It’s only a
week and a half until the race.” Penny Sue took her helmet off.
“You should wear yours as much as possible so you get used to it.”
She wagged her finger at Ruthie.

Ruthie snatched the paper and huffed to the
kitchen counter. “Watch it. If you’re not careful, you may be
short-circuited by a stream of saline, if you get my drift.” Jaws
locked, Ruthie hunched over the paper and started to read.

Still wearing the helmet with her sea blue,
silk pajamas, Ruthie was a veritable sight. If only I’d had a
camera handy, her pose was worth a fortune. Of course, the taser
belonged to her, too. Best I didn’t have a camera, on second
thought.

Penny Sue started for her bedroom to get
dressed, and I had my coffee midway to my lips when Ruthie
squealed.

“Oh, my God! Listen to this: ‘Key Witness In
Mob Trial Found Dead!’”

Penny Sue and I were peering over her
shoulder in a millisecond. “Jack Simpson, a twenty-year-veteran of
the FBI and DEA, was found dead in his room at a plush Orlando
hotel this morning. The cause of death has not been disclosed.
Authorities will only say his death appears suspicious.

“Mr. Simpson was in Orlando for the trial of
a New Jersey Mob boss who faces a long list of charges including
drug smuggling, murder, and money-laundering.”

Ruthie and I turned toward each other,
knocking our helmets together hard. I stumbled backward; her head
ricocheted into Penny Sue’s boobs.

“Ouch,” Penny Sue cried. “Be careful. Y’all
have protection, I don’t.”

“This is where the frozen bra might come in
handy.” I tapped Ruthie’s shoulder. “Good news, I didn’t feel
anything, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I guess these expensive
helmets actually work.” Ruthie slapped the newspaper. “What about
this article? The agent must have been in town for Al’s case, don’t
you think? And if Al’s buddies succeeded in killing a DEA agent,
we’re sitting ducks.”

“I’ll bet the guy who fell from the balcony
was trying to kill us,” I said weakly.

Penny Sue rolled her eyes. “Well, we weren’t
sitting ducks in that case. He was.”

“Probably killed by the Russian mafia—the
guy found in the dumpster.” Ruthie was getting shrill.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Penny Sue said.
“There are lots of Federal drug cases heard in Orlando, and New
Jersey is the connection for a slew of criminal activity.”

“How can we find out if this agent was on
Al’s case?” Ruthie asked. “Do we have the number of the judicial
assistant who keeps postponing our depositions?”

“Calm down. I’ve got it, and I’ll give her a
call now. If she won’t tell me, I’ll telephone Daddy,” Penny Sue
said, heading for her bedroom to make the calls.

No sooner had her door closed than the
doorbell rang. Ruthie and I stared at each other. “I can’t go,” she
said. “My nipples show through these pajamas. You have on a
robe.”

She had a good point. No proper woman would
answer the front door with protruding nipples. “We could ignore
it,” I suggested.

“What if it’s the Feds here to protect us or
something?”

“All right.” I had the door half open before
I realized I was still wearing my helmet. Too late to get the
darned thing off. Fortunately, it was Guthrie. Unfortunately, Woody
had pulled into the parking lot and was getting out of his car.

“Oh, cool! That’s for the race, right? Turn
around. You look sharp, girl.” He clapped his hands. “I was on the
deck having coffee when the man delivered them and couldn’t wait to
see your outfits.”

I pulled the helmet off and cradled it under
my arm. Woody now stood behind Guthrie. I nodded hello, very
conscious of my faded chenille robe. “We only have the helmets,” I
told Guthrie. “Our suits won’t be ready until Monday. Come back
then, and we’ll give you a fashion show.” I noticed Larry, the
fisherman, stop in the background, watching.

Clean underwear and your best
nightgown
, Grammy always said. Wish I’d listened. This place
was like Grand Central Station. Here I was in my rattiest
robe—cradling a yellow racing helmet—and all of New Smyrna Beach
was at my front door. At least Guthrie didn’t notice anything but
the helmet.

“I’ve planned the menu for the pit crew,” he
said excitedly. “Naturally, brownies—my signature dish. Then, I
thought peanut butter cookies. Peanut butter has protein, so the
energy lasts. Of course, lots of oxygenated-water—that was
Timothy’s idea.” Guthrie gave me a big smile. “He drinks it all the
time. Works wonders. On the peanut butter cookies, I could throw in
some chocolate chips if you want a little punch. Timothy suggested
I mix in some lecithin and B vitamins. The cookies are kind of
heavy, but taste okay.”

I glanced at Woody, who was shifting from
foot to foot impatiently. “You’re the pro; whatever you want is
fine with us.” I gave Guthrie a thumbs-up.

He winked then peered over his shoulder at
Woody. “I thought I smelled garlic. I’ll get back to you about the
menu, Leigh. I think Mr. Sour Puss is in a hurry.”

“Thanks, Guthrie,” I called as he walked
away and Woody stepped up to the screen door.

“I’d invite you in, but as you can see,
we’re not dressed.”

“No need.” He focused on the helmet.
“Getting ready for the race, huh?”

Flatter your enemies, then go for the
groin
, Grandpa Martin used to say. Maybe it would work with
Woody. “Yes, we thought we should have helmets that fit properly.
We’re novices, you know.”

“Good move. No sense getting a head injury
for charity. The Driving Experience helmets probably
are
too
big for you ladies.”

What do you know? Grandpa’s axiom worked! Of
course, Woody’s comment assumed we’d have a wreck. “I heard you
entered a team. I think it’s wonderful that so many people are
willing to help the hurricane victims. Let’s hope there isn’t any
more damage, like from Frances.”

“It’ll probably turn north. Anyway, I’m here
to warn you that a witness for Al’s case was murdered. Y’all need
to be very careful. Penny Sue should carry her gun.”

Penny Sue should carry her gun? This from
Woody? Things were serious. “What about our liquid taser—can we
carry that?”

“I wouldn’t take it shopping, but in the
car, yes. Be careful. If you see anything suspicious, contact me or
the police.” He put his nose to the screen door. “This is serious;
otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

I believed that. I was certain Woody wasn’t
so cold-hearted he wanted to see us killed, even though a little
hassle—from someone other than himself—would make his day. “Thanks
for the warning. We just read about the murder in the newspaper and
wondered if it was related to Al. Any information about the murders
over here? Do you think they’re connected?”

He stared at his shoes, a bad sign. “It’s
under investigation.” He backed up and smiled. “I look forward to
racing you at the speedway. A good cause.”

“Of course, we’re only amateurs hoping to
get some donations from wealthy friends.”

Woody nodded good-bye, a sincere good-bye
for once.
Thank you, Grandpa.
Lull them with humility and
kindness then kick their butts. We’d have to do a lot of
practicing, though.

Woody left, and Larry stepped up to the
screen door. I felt like a woman at the supermarket deli counter.
Next
. Dressed in my worst robe—I resolved to throw it away
as soon as everyone left—I now had to face Larry.

“I couldn’t help but notice your helmet. May
I see it?”

I looked over my shoulder and saw that
Ruthie, with her nipple ripples, had scurried away to dress. I
pushed open the screen door. “Sure, they just arrived, along with
headsets for the spotter and crew chief.”

Larry propped his fishing machine against
the wall and followed me down the hall. Ruthie appeared in a sweat
suit (with bra) and Penny Sue emerged from her bedroom (still in
her kimono) as he sat at the counter and examined my helmet.

“Damn!” Penny Sue bellowed. “The murdered
agent was working on Al’s case, and the judicial assistant—little
twerp—advised us to be careful. A lot of good that does.” She saw
Larry sitting at the counter with my helmet and smiled sheepishly.
“Sorry, Larry, I didn’t know you were here. I don’t usually use
profanity,” she drawled.

“No problem,” Larry said without looking up.
“I’ve heard that word before and a lot worse. These are good
helmets. I’m happy to see you didn’t scrimp. This is the most
important part of your gear. Nice earpieces.” He glanced around.
“Where are the headsets?”

I fetched them from the credenza.

We hovered over his shoulder as he examined
them. “These are first rate,” he finally said. “I was afraid you’d
go cheap, which is why I offered to help. I can still boost the
performance of these babies. Give me the helmets and headsets, and
I’ll make the modifications today. It’s a simple process; I only
need to add a piece or two. And, it won’t cost you a cent. I think
I have the parts in my shop. I can have the helmets back to you
this afternoon.”

“We’d like to pay you for your trouble,”
Ruthie said.

Larry waved her off. “The parts cost
pennies, and I wasn’t in the mood to fish today, anyway. I enjoy
doing the old stuff now and then. Makes me feel useful and
younger.”

“We appreciate it,” I said.

“Forget it. What’s this stuff about a
murdered agent and you should be careful?”

Penny Sue filled him in (with full drama) of
our encounter with the Italian Mob and the possibility we may have
to give depositions for the mob boss’ trial, which had been
postponed repeatedly. She explained that the agent murdered in
Orlando had worked on the case.

“Worse than that,” I interrupted, “Woody
suggested that you carry your gun, and that we keep the liquid
taser in the car.”

“You’re kidding,” Penny Sue said. “Woody
wants
me to carry my gun?”

“Yes, and he was actually polite. Although,
Woody did mention he had a team in the race,” I added.

“He’s trying to spook us, so we won’t win,”
Penny Sue said.

“He seemed sincere,” I replied.

Larry broke in. “Where’s the box for this
stuff? I’ll take it home and give you the edge you need to kick
Woody’s skinny behind.”

Penny Sue flashed a big smile. “Right on.
There’s nothing I’d like better.”

Ruthie boiled eggs, toasted bagels, and cut
up fruit while Penny Sue and I showered and dressed. Ruthie had
already announced that she needed some alone time and was going to
spend the morning in meditation. I scarfed down a boiled egg and
bagel as Penny Sue made arrangements with the paint shop for the
Corolla and the mini-cup car.

Ruthie positioned herself on the sofa in the
Lotus position, the taser within reach.

“Happy meditating,” Penny Sue said, waving a
swatch of cloth from our suits. She started down the hall, then
stopped abruptly. She hustled into the utility room and returned
with a brown grocery bag. “If you’re going to meditate, you might
as well put a bag over your head, so you’ll get used to it.” She
made a move toward Ruthie.