Calamity @ the Carwash (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (3 page)

“Flori,” I said. “Put your arms down.” I
ran into the back room and proceeded to spray air freshener into the room.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, I don’t smell.”

“No one can smell their own smell,” I
said. “How come you’re so late? And, the cinnamon buns? I don’t see them
anywhere either.”

“Mabel,” she said. “I can’t think of
everything. There are so many things happening. I told Jake today that I want
to move away - anywhere to get away from Parson’s Cove.”

“I think that’s a bit drastic,
especially for you. You know you’d never leave your kids or me for anything.”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“About Murray?”

“What about Murray?”

“Well, you know that Murray McFerguson
is … or, I should say,
was
Bernie’s fishing buddy, right?”

“Right. An unlikely pair but it’s true.
Aren’t Erma and Melanie friends too?”

“Sort of.” A trace of sadness crossed
her face. “I think it’s so wonderful when two couples can be friends.” She
looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you were married
and the four of us could do things together?”

“That, Flori, is never going to happen.”
There is no way I would even consider marrying anyone who chummed with Jake
Flanders. Of course, I would never tell my best friend that. I got up and went
into the back room to fetch two bottles of water out of the small fridge.

“Here.” I handed one to her. “It’s too
hot for coffee. Maybe if we had cinnamon buns…”

We both took a slug of water.

“So, what’s all the excitement about?
What about Murray and Erma?” I asked.

Flori’s eyes started to water. “Oh Mabel,
I was sure you’d heard. I thought some of your customers would’ve told you.”

“Told me what? Were Murray and Erma
murdered too?”

Flori’s eyes bulged. “Oh my lord, no.
It’s nothing like that. But it’s bad, Mabel; it’s very sad.” She shook her
head. “To think that Murray would lose one friend and then another, on the same
day. It’s just too sad.”

“Flori.” Sometimes I want to strangle
that woman. “Who else died? What other friend of his, died? Quit talking in
circles.”

At that, Flori burst into tears but in
between the sobs, I could make out a name. Biscuit. 

“Biscuit? What kind of name is that? He
had a friend named Biscuit?” It sounded more like a racehorse to me.

Flori nodded while wiping her nose.
She’d already worn out the tissues she’d stuffed down the front of her bra so I
handed her about ten more from a box I have on the counter. I should write her
name on it.

She stopped sniffling long enough to
say, “Biscuit was the name of his old basset hound. Remember him, Mabel? That
old dog went everywhere with him.”

“So, Flori, are you telling me that
we’re sitting here, sobbing our hearts out because Murray’s old basset hound
died or are we weeping because his fishing buddy was murdered?”

Flori’s bloodshot eyes stared at me.
“We’re crying for both. It’s not right for a human to be hit over the head and
killed with a brick anymore than it’s right for an old basset hound to be hit
over the head and killed with a brick.”

It was my turn to stare at her. “The
same brick?”

She nodded. I handed her the tissue box.

Chapter
Six

It was time for me to start doing some
serious investigating. I knew that Reg wouldn’t come for my help until he was
forced to call in cops from the city. When they descend on Parson’s Cove, he
and his two deputies skedaddle out of the way. Meanwhile, where would I start?

I had to find out why Reg arrested
Melanie. Was she in such a murdering mood that she would kill Murray’s dog and
then, Bernie? Or, was it the other way round? Did she kill Bernie and then take
her anger out on that dog? If I remembered correctly, that old hound was too
lazy to chase a cat so why would anyone get riled up enough to kill it? Reg,
even though I sometimes belittle his detective skills, I do it in a very loving
way. He does pretty well for an aging ex-traffic cop. Besides, I honestly think
we work quite well together.

I was home now and sweltering in my
kitchen. The cats were out carrying on their own adventures. I filled them up
with nutritious dry cat food before I let them out so hopefully, they weren’t
digging into the garbage bin behind Main Street Café again. It isn’t that I
mind them eating garbage. It’s just that it gives our family a very bad
reputation. People think I don’t feed them.

Well, if Reg wasn’t going to fill me in
and it didn’t seem like Flori had much to share from Jake’s empty repertoire,
I’d have to move on my own. I knew my first stop.

Let me tell you about my friend, Charlie
Thompson. To most people in Parson’s Cove, Charlie is slightly on the odd side.
Some think of him as being ‘slow.’ You know – retarded, although no one ever
comes right out and says that word. To the most open-minded residents, he’s
‘different.’ To me, Charlie is smarter than most of them put together are. He
sits in front of the town library, day in and day out. Winter, spring, summer
and fall. He wears the same denim overalls with the same plaid shirts all year
round. In winter, I’m sure he must have layers and layers on. I’m always afraid
that he’ll freeze to death on that bench and we’ll have to look at him all
winter until the spring thaw. Somehow, he manages to survive. That, of course,
isn’t what makes him smart – although he obviously saves tons of money on
clothing. The smart thing is that he minds his own business and doesn’t talk to
anyone, except me – occasionally. Charlie is very selective in choosing his
friends.

Charlie came to Parson’s Cove as a child
with his parents. Well, we called them his parents but gossip had it that they
were his grandparents, raising their daughter’s illegitimate child. You know
what small town gossip is like. They were older and when they died, they left
Charlie for the town of Parson’s Cove to look after. Several families took him
in but he never stayed long. I guess the silence got to them. Finally, he was
old enough to manage on his own so some of the townsmen fixed up an old house
towards the end of Main Street and that’s been his home ever since. Main Street
dwindles down from stores, to a gas station, to several houses including
Charlie’s shack, to two empty lots; and then, to a narrow two-lane highway
surrounded by forest that leads to more exciting places.

It was close to eight and there was a
slight breeze so it was quite a pleasant walk to the library. Down from the
library on the other side of Main Street, I can see my own little shop. Main
Street Café is next to the library. It’s actually quite a boring street. The
only thing that’s really going for Parson’s Cove and probably the only reason
some people stay here is the lake. In summer, it’s wonderful for swimming,
camping and fishing and in the winter when the ice freezes over, hoards of city
dwellers come in with their chain saws and go ice fishing. By the time they
leave, they’re mostly half-frozen and half-drunk. Jake, included.

“Charlie,” I said, as I plunked down
beside him. I have to watch my approach. Sometimes I must admit, he doesn’t
talk even to me, his best friend. “Charlie,” I repeated, “how are you today?”

Charlie just stared out at the open sky.

“It’s a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

I was drawing a blank.

“So, what were you up to today? Did you
hear that Bernie Bernstein died?”

Nothing.

“Did you hear that Bernie Bernstein was
murdered and Melanie is in prison, accused of murdering him?”

Finally, there was a twitch in his right
cheek. Charlie’s cheeks, by the way, are plump. He’s a big man and I don’t know
what he eats but I have a feeling it isn’t always fruits and vegetables. If he
didn’t wander the streets at night, he’d never get any exercise. I have no idea
when he sleeps. Well, sometimes he dozes on the bench but that’s all I’ve ever
seen. I was inside his little shack once. They say I’m the only woman ever to
get inside. It was so clean and tidy that it put my place to shame - and
probably most of the houses in town. This shows there are sides to Charlie that
people never see.

“Do you know anything about it, Charlie?
Did you happen to see anything?”

Charlie started rocking back and forth.
This means he’s getting nervous but it also means that he knows something.

“You can tell me. You know that I can
keep a secret.”

“I know, Mabel. It’s a mystery though.”

“What’s a mystery? You mean Melanie
killing Bernie?”

He continued his rocking. “No. Other
things.”

“What other things, Charlie?”

“I don’t know. They are a mystery.
That’s what I said.”

He shook his head and started to hum.
Drats! That means he’s finished talking. I always make sure that I never put
any pressure on him. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me. It tests my patience. This
is probably a good thing because I don’t have much of it.

I walked across the street and past my
shop. Sometimes I like to do this and pretend that I’m visiting Parson’s Cove
for the first time. If I were a stranger in town, would I be inclined to shop
at
Mabel’s Fables and Things
?

Probably not. I really don’t go in for
knickknacks myself.

Well, I didn’t get any info from Charlie
but he did tell me something. Charlie has a sixth sense when it comes to
mysteries. Obviously, something else was going on in our town and it was
happening in secret in the dead of the night. Let’s hope that only the night
was ‘dead.’

Chapter
Seven

A north wind crept into Parson’s Cove
and by morning the temperature in my house went from eighty-three to sixty-nine
by seven-thirty. I thought I would freeze to death. I wrapped my chenille
housecoat tight around me and pulled on a pair of ugly wool socks. Dottie, over
at the nursing home knitted the socks for me. She started out one year
crocheting a pair of slippers made from leftover yarn. They looked so awful
that it took me two years before I could bear to put them on my feet. Then, I
discovered how comfortable they were. I passed that information on to Dottie,
who wondered why it took me two years to tell her, and she’s been supplying me
with slippers and socks ever since. They are still ugly. Which reminded me that
she had another pair ready so I should pop in sometime today and pick them up.
Dottie loves reading those mystery/romance novels so it’s sort of an exchange:
she gets rid of all her leftover yarn and I get rid of old second hand books
that no one will buy.

As I descended the stairs, I yelled,
“All right, every cat in this house must assemble at the back door. You have
thirty minutes to do your business and explore the back yard before I leave for
work.”

I’m sure they understand because all
seven of them race for the door. I open it and they scatter in seven different
directions. Out of them all, Phyl is the only one that will return on time.
Usually, I let the others run wild all morning. So far, I’ve had only about a
dozen complaints, which isn’t bad, considering. They seem to have an inner
clock system though and as soon as I open the back door at noon, they all
gather there, rush in, and head straight for the food dishes. After that, they
sleep until I return home from work. And, they talk about a dog’s life - dogs
have nothing on those cats of mine.

I was actually busy all morning. Flori
came in for coffee and this time, I’m happy to announce, she remembered her
cinnamon buns.

“I’m sorry that they’re not fresh,
Mabel.” She apologized for the umpteenth time. To Flori, if they’re out of the
oven for more than two hours, they are bordering on stale.

“They’re wonderful. I think I like them
better the next day. The brown sugar maple syrup has more time to soak through
the dough.” I explained as the syrup rolled down my chin. Flori makes the best
cinnamon buns in the world. And, that’s no exaggeration.

It was after eleven and the store was
empty now. Beth Smee, Reg’s wife, was in shortly after nine. I really like Beth
and she reads more books than anyone else in Parson’s Cove so I didn’t want to
put her on the spot. She did supply, voluntarily and unknowingly, some
information on her own. Apparently, Reg was very hesitant about arresting
Melanie but felt that with the evidence that he had, he had no choice.

“Really?” I said. “I knew Reg would
never arrest anyone without sufficient evidence. What do you think, Beth? Do
you think it was sufficient?”

Whether she thought I was trying to pry
information or not, she never let on. She just said, “I have no idea, Mabel.
You know I never get involved in his cases.” With that, she started shuffling
through a box of books.

 However, before she went out the door,
she said, “I think Reg said that the whole case is resting on the testimony of
one person. Or, something like that.”