Murder is the Pits (13 page)

Better change the subject. “Were you able to
get up the glitter?”

“Yeah, Clyde vacuumed.”

“If there’s anything you need, let us know.
Good-bye.” She hung up in my ear.

“What’s wrong?” Ruthie asked, noticing my
expression.

“That was the most bizarre conversation.
Mrs. Holden, who’s always been prim and proper, called Nana King a
bitch. She said it was a shame Nana didn’t die.”

“You’re joking,” Penny Sue said.

“No. I’ve never heard Mrs. Holden talk like
that.”

“Maybe she had a stroke,” Ruthie suggested.
“Maybe it’s a reaction to all of this stress.”

“Or Alzheimer’s. At her age the old arteries
might have hardened.”

I shook my head. “I’m stunned. That’s
completely out of character for her.”

So much for our nap, we were all bummed out
after the phone calls.

“I’m not sleepy any more. Let’s go for a
ride,” Penny Sue said after a while. “I’m stir crazy. Besides,
maybe there’s a store open that sells candy.”

We piled into her Mercedes and took a right
on A1A. Palm fronds and assorted debris, primarily shingles,
littered the road, yet it was passable. Utility trucks with bucket
lifts were everywhere.

“Utility crews have come from all over the
country, some as far away as New York. The news said crews are
working twelve hour days.” Ruthie opened her backseat window and
peered out. “Think how hot they must be, and they probably don’t
have AC to go home to, either.”

“Yes, it’s awful. We owe them a huge debt of
gratitude, but please put your window up,” Penny Sue said over her
shoulder. “I’m roasting.”

Our first stop was Publix Supermarket. “They
must be open, look at all the cars in the lot,” Penny Sue
exclaimed. She drove to the front and found a spot close to the
door. “The spirits are with us, Ruthie. Snickers must be in our
future. Maybe some ice cream. Wouldn’t that be good?”

Lord, yes. Edy’s Mint Chocolate Chip with a
little whipped cream—pure heaven. We headed into the store and
stopped, dumbfounded. The reason for all the cars was immediately
evident. Every aisle that contained frozen or refrigerated food was
roped off by yellow tape. Dozens of Publix personnel worked each
section—one group stripping the shelves of compromised merchandise,
another restocking the shelves.

“Wow!” Penny Sue shook her head. “Sorry, no
ice cream, but the candy aisle’s open.” She literally ran to that
section. The stock was low. Almost everything had been sold before
the hurricane, and refrigerated food obviously took precedence.
Penny Sue dropped to her knees, reached to the back of the shelf,
and pulled out a lone bag of Snickers. She cradled it her arms like
a baby. “That darned Guthrie. I knew I should have bought more.”
She gave us a crazed look. “Help me. Who knows when they’ll get
another shipment?”

Ruthie and I grabbed mints, candy bars,
virtually anything containing chocolate. As I was loading my arms,
it suddenly hit me that chocolate was an aphrodisiac. Could that
explain Penny Sue’s attraction to men? Her sweet tooth was to
blame? Naw, her sweet tooth had to be a hormonal phase. She’d
always been attracted to men and only recently developed an
addiction to chocolate.

We paid our bill and dumped the candy in the
car. The first thing Penny Sue did was open the bag of Snickers.
She chomped one of the snack-sized bars with a sigh of
satisfaction. Honestly, her reaction was almost obscene. She took
another and had the courtesy to offer one to us. I ate mine in
small bites, knowing I’d probably not get another.

Fortified with chocolate, Penny Sue was
ready to explore. She took a left out of the parking lot and headed
for Peninsula Avenue. The main beachside street paralleling the
Intracoastal Waterway, Peninsula was lined with very large houses
and stately live oaks. It was also the street that Fran lived on.
We hadn’t gone far when we realized our mistake. The stately oaks
did not get along with Charley. Huge branches blocked the road and
had fallen on houses. Workers wielding chainsaws struggled to carve
a path for utility crews. We were definitely in the way and turned
around and went home.

“That’s why the police asked everyone to
stay off the roads. Tree limbs and downed lines—it’s very
dangerous,” Ruthie said sternly.

“Please, no lectures,” Penny Sue said as she
ripped open another Snickers. “You’re right. It also shows how
lucky we are—only palm trees on the beach. Those poor people may
not get power for weeks.”

“Carl,” I blurted. “I wonder if he’s without
electricity?” I took the car phone from its cradle and dialed. He
answered on the third ring. There was a lot of commotion in the
background, like a party. “Carl, it’s Leigh Stratton. Do you have
electricity? If not, you’re welcome to stay with us. Our power came
on last night.”

I could almost see him waving frantically at
his friends. The background noise suddenly stopped. “I’m fine. We
have a natural gas, whole house generator, so I have lights and air
conditioning. There was a slight problem at first, but it’s fixed
now. Mom called. Is there anything you need?”

“We’re okay.” I thought I detected a sigh of
relief on the other end. Ten bucks said there was a big keg party
going on around Fran’s pool.

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need
anything.”

“You, too.” I replaced the receiver. “I
think we’re missing one heck of a party. I’ll bet all the area
Trekkies are staying with Carl.”

“I feel sorry for the neighbors,” Ruthie
said. “I hope Carl and his buddies don’t start all those Klingon
battle cries. They’re liable to get arrested.”

“I suspect Klingons are low on the list of
police priorities today,” Penny Sue said. She wheeled into our
driveway then hit the brakes hard. Mattie Holden jumped from the
scrub under the public boardwalk and waved frantically. Her hair
wild, her eyes crazed, she looked like she’d been through hell.

“Help! Help! Scooter and Clyde are
dead!”

* * *

August 15, New Smyrna Beach, FL

I leapt from
the car and grasped
Mattie by her shoulders. “Did you call an ambulance?”

Her head bobbled like a toy dog in the back
window of a ’57 Chevy. “No.”

“Where is he?” Penny Sue shouted.

Mattie’s eyes were glazed. I shook her,
trying to jog a response.

“On the floor of our bedroom, next to
Scooter.” Mattie started to cry. Scooter was their Pekinese. “I
thought Clyde had the flu. I didn’t know anything was wrong with
Scooter. He curled up under the bed and went to sleep. He does that
all the time. But when Scooter didn’t come down for his dinner,
Clyde went to check. Next thing I know, Clyde threw up and keeled
over.”

Penny Sue snatched her phone, dialed 9-1-1,
and explained the situation. “They’re on their way. Come on, I can
give him CPR. Hurry!”

I pushed Mattie into the front passenger
side of the car and dove in the backseat. Penny Sue was moving
before I had my door closed. The front door to Mattie’s condo was
open when we arrived.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Penny Sue cried,
jamming the car into park.

Mattie stared blankly.

“Probably on the second floor at the top of
the stairs,” I answered, already out of the Mercedes and chasing
Penny Sue. Ruthie stayed behind with Mrs. Holden.

We found Mr. Holden face down beside his bed
in a pool of vomit. Scooter was sprawled beside him, obviously gone
to the great dog heaven in the sky. Without missing a beat, Penny
Sue slid her left arm under Clyde’s chest, raised his face off the
floor, and pounded him hard between his shoulder blades. Next, she
rolled him on his back, cleared his mouth with her fingers, and
began pumping his chest.

I stood beside her, immobilized and awed.
Penny Sue could be a hormonal flake, but she was amazing in an
emergency.

Penny Sue compressed his chest quickly like
a jackhammer. “One, two, three, …” she counted. “Twenty, one, two,
three …” and kept going. She didn’t breathe into his mouth, which
surprised me. That’s what they did on television. I almost said
something, but had the good sense to keep my mouth shut. I was a
wreck. Penny Sue had the moxie to kneel in puke and attempt to save
the life of an old man she’d never met.

“Fifty, one, two, three …”

I heard a siren. Sweat dripped off Penny Sue
onto Clyde’s face.

“Seventy, one, two, three …”

The sound of people running up the stairs
and voices calling to us.

I dashed to the doorway. “In here!”

“Eighty, one, two, three …”

A slender paramedic nudged Penny Sue aside
and took over.

Panting from the effort, she crawled over to
me. I helped her to her feet and hugged her for all I was worth.
“Penny Sue, you’re the best in my book,” I whispered.

By now the paramedics had produced paddles
and given Clyde a couple of electric shocks to his chest. Two were
enough. He was gone. The medic who’d taken over for Penny Sue shook
his head and sighed. “Probably a massive heart attack,” he
said.

A policeman and fireman ran through the
doorway carrying a stretcher. The paramedic stood, an indication
there wasn’t any hurry. He motioned us toward the corner of the
room. I noticed his nametag—Anthony.

“How was he when you arrived?” Anthony
asked.

“Face down in vomit,” I answered, since
Penny Sue was still panting and not in any condition to talk.
“Penny Sue did everything possible to save him. She cleared his
mouth and pumped her heart out.”

Anthony regarded Penny Sue with admiration.
“I heard you say ‘eighty’ when I arrived. You used that new
technique, didn’t you?”

She blew out a long breath. “Learned it in
an anti-terrorist training course I took in New Mexico.”

“Anti-terrorist? Are you Federal?” he asked,
looking surprised.

Penny Sue still panted, perspiration
streaming down her cheeks. “Her father’s a judge, so she’s in
constant danger from criminals he’s locked up,” I answered for her.
“She’s taken some defense courses as precautions.”

Anthony was obviously impressed. “Any idea
how long he’d been out?”

“It had to be at least ten minutes,” I said.
“His wife, Mattie, waved us down in the driveway. By the time we
arrived, it was that long or longer. Mattie’s not acting right. I
have no idea how long it took her to seek help.”

“They’re old. Like I said, he probably had a
massive heart attack, and his wife’s in shock.”

I raised my hands. “Mattie was acting funny
before this occurred. She wasn’t herself, something’s definitely
wrong. I, we, thought maybe she’d had a stroke.”

Penny Sue locked eyes with Anthony. “Don’t
write them off because they’re elderly. You should do an autopsy.
Promise me you’ll insist on one.”

He winked.

Penny Sue nodded a “thanks,” then heaved,
“Oh, crap.”

I followed her line of sight. Woody and
Officer Heather Brooks stood in the doorway. Heather caught our
eyes and shrugged.

“Amazing how you turn up whenever there’s a
dead person in New Smyrna Beach,” Woody mouthed off as he strode
our way. When he got within a couple of feet, Woody stopped
abruptly and squinched his nose.

Penny Sue set her jaw and wagged her finger
in Woody’s face. “Say one more word, and I’ll file a harassment
complaint. I’m covered in puke, because I tried to save a man’s
life.”

Anthony gave Woody the up and down, clearly
concluding Woody was scum. “She did,” the young man said
forcefully. “There aren’t many people who have her knowledge of CPR
and are willing to use it on a stranger.”

Woody took a step back, surprised by the
vehemence of Anthony’s tone. Woody, Mr. Big Stuff, was used to
being in charge and having everyone kowtow to him. Paramedics, like
Anthony, didn’t know or care about local prosecutors. Praise be,
someone had perspective, I thought.

“Have you ever given CPR?” Anthony continued
close to Woody’s face. “For that matter, did you ever sit in vomit
to do it?”

Instantly the room went still. Firemen,
paramedics, and police stopped whatever they were doing and focused
on Woody. Their abhorrence was palpable and Woody felt it.

“I was fooling,” Woody said to the crowd.
“Penny Sue and I are old friends.”

I was happy to see that no one thought it
was funny. Woody had about as much credibility as Saddam Hussein,
judging from the expressions on everyone’s faces. Woody started to
back toward the door.

“Stop,” I said loudly. Woody, and everyone
else—even Penny Sue—froze. “This may be a crime scene. Mattie
Holden told us her front door was unlocked when they arrived home
after the hurricane, and their bedroom floor was covered in
glitter. Right after that, she started acting funny, and her
husband got the flu. Then, her dog croaked and Clyde died close on
Scooter’s heels.

“You need to go through this room with a
fine-toothed comb to see if you can find this glitter.”

“Glitter?” Woody all but spat the word.
“Leigh, you can’t be serious. You think they were killed by
glitter?”

I steepled my hands in front of my chest, a
defensive move according to my therapist in Atlanta. She was
probably right, but who cared? I found out later she was screwed up
herself. “Woody, these are old people whose eyesight was not good.
What looked like glitter to them, might not be glitter at all.
Check it, that’s all I ask.”

Woody rolled his eyes. “You’re a fan of that
stupid forensic show, aren’t you? Conspiracies are everywhere. Get
a grip, Leigh, the man was old.”

“What about the dog?” Penny Sue snapped. “He
wasn’t old.”

Anthony glanced at Penny Sue. “I’ll do what
I can to get an autopsy on Mr. Holden.”

“And, take Mattie, Mrs. Holden, to the
hospital for observation. She’s not herself,” I added.