Mummified Meringues (18 page)

Lexy did a mental accounting of her bank accounts to try to find some money she’d be able to send them, if need be.

“Lexy, I called you earlier!” Vera’s chipper voice blared out of the phone.

“I know. I’m calling you back. I hope everything is okay.

“Yes, dear. We’re having a grand old time in the desert.”

“You’re still in the desert of Maine? Is something wrong with the RV?”

“No … well, yes, but that’s not why we’re here. We ran into the Schlumbergers—you remember them, don’t you? Anyway, we’re hanging around with them until Daddy fixes the RV … which is actually why I called.”

Lexy’s heart pinched. “Do you need money? I have a little bit in savings, but I can sell some investments if—”

“No. No. It’s nothing like that,” Vera yelled, even louder than usual. “Daddy just needs a part and he says he stored it in Nans’ garage. We were hoping you could dig it up and ship it out to us.”

Lexy’s breath rushed out in relief. “Oh, sure. Whatever you need.”

“Okay, it’s behind some old boxes in the far right just under the electrical panel. There’s a little door there to a small storage section and the doohickey is inside the storage section.”

Lexy frowned as she took a U-turn to head back to her house. “Doohickey? Could you be a little more descriptive?”

“Daddy says it’s in a blue box with white lettering—Beehive Motors.”

“Okay, that sounds easy to find.” Lexy hoped.

“Great, then can you Fed-Ex it up to us in care of Desert of Maine Campground, ninety-five Desert Road Freeport Maine, 04032.”

“Okay, will do.”

“Wait a minute.” Lexy heard her mother yelling something in the background, then she came back on. “Gotta go, dear. The horseshoe tournament is starting!”

Vera clicked off just as Lexy pulled into her driveway. She glanced at the time on the phone, then tossed it into the passenger seat.
 

Just enough time to run in, grab the part, and run to the post office to ship it out before I head off to the Dessert Contest registration
, Lexy thought jumping out of her car.

She bent down in front of the detached garage and grabbed the handle for the lift-up door. She yanked and pulled, pushing the door up until it rolled into the ceiling with a squeal of protest. She stood in front of the fully packed space with her hands on her hips, wishing she’d actually made good on the promise to clean it out last spring. As it was, the garage held a variety of things from all three generations. No car, not even one as small as her VW beetle, had fit inside as long as Lexy could remember.

Picking her way through the boxes, old bicycles and paint cans, she headed toward the back corner, scanning the wall for the storage area. She found it behind a stack of boxes. The storage area was only a crawl space. The door was about three feet off the ground. Lexy pushed the boxes off to one side and crouched down in front of the door, which was a thin slab of wood, secured with a metal hook-and-eye latch. She opened it, brushing cobwebs out of the opening. The smell of old, dry wood tickled her nose as she peered into the darkness.

Lexy felt a chill run up her spine as she got a feeling of deja-vu. The scene reminded her of just a few days earlier when she had knelt in front of the hole in Jack’s basement and peered into the secret room at the mummy. Hopefully, she wouldn’t find a dead body in here today.

Lexy blinked into the dark space. Just inside the door were an old helmet, a basketball, and what was left of a croquet set. She shoved them out into the narrow aisle she’d made on her way in, then got on her hands and knees and pushed her upper body inside. She could see a little better now, and thought she spotted a light blue box with white writing over on the right. She twisted her torso, reaching out her right hand to grab it.

She grabbed the edge of the box, but it was stuck. She tugged. It didn’t budge. She hoisted herself in a little further. The box appeared to be wedged between some two-by-fours that made up the framing of the storage space—something else was keeping it wedged in. She shoved her hand into the space beside the box and pulled.

The box popped out and along with it, a red flip-flop.
 

Something niggled at Lexy’s memory. Where had she seen a red flip-flop before?

Then it hit her, turning the blood in her veins to ice. She knew where she’d seen one … Earl’s mummy had been wearing a red flip-flop and she hadn’t seen another one in the secret room. She thought back … what foot had it been on? Picturing the mummy lying there, she remembered—it was the right foot. She looked down at the flip-flop in front of her and a jolt of panic shot through her—the flip-flop was for a left foot.

Was this the other flip-flip that Earl had been wearing when he died? And, if so, what in the world was it doing hidden in Nans’ garage?

***

Lexy stared at the red flip-flop lying on floor in front of her, just inside the small storage room. It was probably a coincidence. Surely, Earl wasn’t the only one to wear red flip-flops, and just because he appeared to have lost one and there was only one here in Nans’ garage didn’t really mean anything. It was circumstantial.

Lexy wondered if the FBI had advanced tests they could do to prove this flip-flop was the mate to Earls, and if so—

“Are you trying to hide from me?”

Lexy whirled around to see Watson Davies standing just inside the garage door.

“What? No!” Lexy sprang up from her position on the ground, kicking the small storage room door shut as she did. “What are you doing here?”

Davies surveyed her, an amused look on her face. “I was driving by and saw your car. I thought I’d swing in so we could catch up.”

“Driving by?”

“Yeah, on my way to Jack’s to give it one last go-through before we clear the crime scene.”

“Oh.” Lexy relaxed and blew a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “I was just in here looking for a part for my parent’s’ RV.”
 

It wasn’t a lie … just not the whole truth.

Davies looked around. “You have a lot of stuff in here.”

“Yep.” Lexy glanced behind her at the door to make sure it was closed. “Some of it is left over from when Nans moved to the retirement home and my parents sold their house and decided to travel the country.”

“It’s like a time capsule.” Davies leaned over and looked in one of the boxes, causing Lexy’s heart to leap. The last thing she needed was for Davies to start rummaging around and find the flip-flop … or something else Nans might have stored in here.

Lexy picked her way back toward the front of the garage. “It’s hot in here and there are spiders. Let’s talk outside.”
 

“I wanted to ask if you guys got anything out of Nesbaum.” Davies glanced backward over her shoulder as Lexy pushed her out into the driveway.

Lexy brushed the dirt and cobwebs from her shirt. She considered holding back about Ron Witt, mostly out of habit. She wasn’t used to sharing information with Davies, but they were on the same team now and she might need Davies help in the future.

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Lexy said.

“Well, those sneaky old ladies.” Davies face lit in an appreciative smile. “What did you find out?”

Lexy told her how Nesbaum had heard Ron Witt fighting with Earl and their subsequent trip to talk to Ron and Esther.

Davies chewed on a sparkly blue fingernail. “Do you think this Ron guy could have done it?”
 

“I don’t know. He admitted being mad and embarrassed about it, but people don’t just go around killing someone because they are mad.” Lexy twisted her mouth in thought. “I really don’t think he did it. It would be out of character.”

“What about the other neighbors? They had motives, too,” Davies pointed out.

Lexy pictured the red flip-flop in the storage room and her stomach sank. “They did, but not strong enough motives to justify murder. Besides, I can’t imagine anyone in the neighborhood doing it.”

“But it’s got to be tied to the neighborhood. He was found in the McDonalds’ basement and there’s no way a stranger would have known to put him in there.”

She had a point. Only the neighbors would have known about the basement remodel, unless the stranger had noticed Nesbaum coming and going, or had found out some other way.

“What about
The Elms Pub
?” Lexy suggested. “We know Earl hung around there and the receipt I found from Sprinkles might have been from him. Maybe it was someone he had a run-in with there and they also knew about the McDonalds’ basement renovation, because Nesbaum hung there and he might have mentioned it.”

“We don’t know if that receipt was in the sealed-off room with Earl,” Davies cautioned, “though your dog
did
run in there, so it’s possible. Or she could have gotten it from the mess in that basement which would be another clue tying the McDonalds to Earl.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem like much of a clue. I mean, lots of people went to the bar and we already have proof the McDonalds were in Europe.”

“True. But I talked to Sam down at the bar, and he didn’t know of anyone who might have wanted to kill Earl. And anyway, it doesn’t make sense, because if it was someone from the bar, then how did they get the McDonalds to call off Nesbaum?”

“Maybe they didn’t. Nesbaum could have been in on it and doctored his receipts, just in case someone came asking.”
 

“Maybe Nesbaum and this stranger were in on it together.”

“That’s another thing that bugs me. Everyone is describing the stranger differently. I was wondering if there could be more than one.”

“Maybe.” Davies shook her head. “But what was their motive? And why were they hanging around the neighborhood? It doesn’t make much sense. If some murdering strangers wanted Earl, they’d just go get him, not skulk around people’s backyards, like the neighbors are describing.”

“I know. Nothing makes sense.” Lexy sighed. “And what’s the deal with his toe being cut off?”

Davies worried her bottom lip. “I don’t know, but it points to something deeper than neighborly feuds.”

“Right.” Lexy’s hopes soared. Of course, Davies must be right. There was something else going on they hadn’t yet uncovered, and it had nothing to do with her neighbors—or Nans—being killers.

“Too bad the Feds don’t seem to think so.”

Lexy’s hopes took a nosedive. “Oh, no?”

“No. Near as I can tell, they haven’t looked into much else other than the neighbors, and it seems like they are close to coming to a conclusion.”

“A conclusion? You mean they think they know who the killer is?”

“It seems that way. And I don’t have a warm-fuzzy feeling they are on the right track. Unfortunately, I fear we’re racing the clock here, now, and we need to step up our game and come up with some concrete evidence, fast.” Davies expression turned grim. “Otherwise, I’m afraid the Feds are getting ready to put the cuffs on an innocent person just to stamp the case closed.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Lexy felt a tightness in her chest as she watched Davies drive off. Would the Feds really make a hasty arrest just because they wanted to close the case and clear out? And who would it be—one of her neighbors? Or worse—her own grandmother?

Glancing uneasily at the storage area in the back of the garage, she wondered if Nans had been involved in Earl’s death. If not, why did she have his shoe?

Nans was going to have some explaining to do.

But first, Lexy needed to get that RV part. She crouched down and opened the door to the small storage space again, her gaze falling on the red flip-flop. Guilt lapped at her stomach—she probably should have told Davies about it, but couldn’t bring herself to incriminate her own grandmother.
 

She quickly shoved the flip-flop back into the hiding place behind the two-by-four, pulled the RV part out and closed the door. Then she shoved the boxes back in front of it, just in case. It wouldn’t do to have someone else go snooping around in there and find it.

After addressing the box to her parents at the Desert of Maine, she hopped into the car. The phone she’d tossed onto the passenger seat earlier caught her eye. It was time to call Nans.

Lexy dialed and waited for Nans to answer. And waited. And waited.
 

“Dang it!” Nans wasn’t answering. Lexy had a good mind to hunt her down and find out about the shoe in person, but she didn’t have time. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to get the RV part to the post office and make it to the town hall in time to fill out the final registration forms for the Brook Ridge Dessert contest.
 

She’d already neglected her business too much this week and she couldn’t miss out on the contest. Which reminded her, there were quite a few things at the bakery that needed her attention, not the least of which was finalizing the meringue recipe. She couldn’t let investigating Earl’s death cause her business to fall by the wayside.

She raced to the post office, mailed the part and then headed to the town hall two streets over. As she pulled in, a familiar red Mustang sat in the lot—Violet Switzer.

Lexy got out of her car and marched into the town hall. She wasn’t about to let a little old lady in a hot rod intimidate her. She pulled the heavy oak and brass doors open and peered inside, expecting to see the tiny, white-haired tornado lying in wait for her. But, to her surprise, Violet was nowhere to be seen.