Murder is the Pits (17 page)

“Well, it wasn’t easy—” Penny Sue
started.

I held up my hand to silence her. I could
feel the story of the mud and being stuck in the bathroom bubbling
up. I also had a fleeting fear Penny Sue might ask the doctor to
examine her boobs, in case there were injuries from being dragged
over the tub. “We used an old home remedy—green tea and a mud
bath.” Lord knew, I wasn’t going to mention the magnetized part of
the remedy or give Ruthie a chance to start on the new moon and
solar flares.

Dr. Samuelson smiled skeptically and stood.
“Whatever you did seems to have worked.” He nodded at Penny Sue.
“You should have another test next week. Do you have a local
doctor?”

“No, I’m visiting,” she said in her buttery,
Georgia drawl. “I’ll have to come here. When are you in?”

Good grief. The emphasis on
you
was
embarrassing.

“I work days, but anyone can do the test.”
He took a step back. “In any event, all of you should go light on
fish for a couple of weeks.”

“Why fish?” Ruthie piped in.

“You’ve heard about mercury polluted waters
and fish, haven’t you? Actually, you’re probably safe if your fish
is fresh and purchased from a local market like Ocean’s Seafood.
Most of their stock comes from this area, so there shouldn’t be a
problem. It’s the canned stuff you have to be careful with—no one
knows where it came from. It’s not a problem for the average
person. But, someone like you, who’s inhaled mercury, should avoid
anything with even a remote chance of contamination.”

“I understand.” Penny Sue offered her hand.
“Thank you, doctor, for all your help. It’s so nice to meet a
physician who takes time with patients. I know you’re under the HMO
gun, ruled by a massive bureaucracy of manuals, and accountants,
and—”

His beeper sounded. “Sorry, I have to
go.”

Dr. Samuelson all but ran away, thrilled—I’m
sure—for an excuse to ditch Penny Sue.

As soon as the doctor was out of sight,
Penny Sue grinned. “No wedding band.”

I held my tongue until we got in her car. “I
thought you were in love with Rich.”

She scowled. “Yes, and as you know, he’s
tied up indefinitely in the witness protection program. A date or
two and a little flirting doesn’t hurt. I’m merely passing time
until Rich returns.” She started the car and headed toward Canal
Street.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“North Causeway, what do you think? I want
to check out Yuri’s office.”

The North Causeway Drawbridge was up and
traffic at a standstill, so we turned off onto a feeder road lined
by a strip of glass-front stores. Yuri’s office was in the middle,
closest to an upscale beauty salon. Penny Sue backed up and parked
a few doors away so as not to be obvious.

“Not too classy for a realtor,” she
said.

“The salon down the street is well known.
Maybe Yuri hopes to draw in their rich customers.”

“Could be,” Ruthie observed. “He has a lot
of flyers with sold signs taped to the window.”

“Go take a peek.” Penny Sue glanced at
Ruthie through the rearview mirror. “He doesn’t know you.”

“Me?”

“For goshsakes, it’s broad daylight, and his
Jaguar isn’t in sight. See if any of the sold units are for Sea
Dunes.”

Ruthie grumbled, but unlatched her seatbelt.
In the distance I saw the drawbridge drop into place and a black
Jaguar headed our way, leading the line of traffic.

“Here he comes across the bridge,” I
exclaimed.

Penny Sue made a U-turn and headed the other
way before Ruthie opened her door. Doubtlessly a maneuver Penny Sue
learned in the anti-terrorist driving course, I thought as I
clutched the door handle. I watched for the Jag as she turned left
onto the main road.

“Are we out of the woods?” Penny Sue
asked.

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“There’s no sign of the Jag, but I think
we’re being followed by a black Taurus.”

* * *

August 17-24, New Smyrna Beach, FL

“
A black Taurus?
What makes you think
it’s following us?” Penny Sue asked.

“I noticed one behind us at the light when
we turned into the hospital. I saw a black Taurus parked on the
opposite side of the lot when we left the emergency room. Now, a
black Taurus is a few cars behind us.”

“We’ll see about that.” Penny Sue drove
straight across Riverside Drive, hung a left on Sams, a right on
Canal, then a left on Live Oak. We missed the light at the
intersection to Route 44 and pulsed to a stop in the left turn
lane.

Ruthie and I scanned the streets behind us.
No black car of any make was in sight. “We lost ’em.”

“Maybe we weren’t being followed after all,”
I allowed.

“The Taurus is a common rental car,” Ruthie
said. “With all the tension of the last few days, our nerves are on
edge. I’m sure it was merely a coincidence.”

The light went green, and we headed over the
South Causeway Bridge, back toward the condo. I peeked over my
shoulder several times, but didn’t find a Taurus. Logic said Ruthie
was right, and my imagination was running wild. My gut told me
otherwise.

Our development was filled with cars and
yellow crime tape when we pulled in the driveway. While one person
worked the Italian site in our cluster, most of the interest had
shifted to the Russian in the dumpster next door. At least five
cars, marked and unmarked, surrounded the green receptacle. A large
group of sightseers had congregated on the elevated public
boardwalk, giving it an almost festive feel. We drove past the
commotion and parked in front of our unit.

“Let’s see what’s going on,” Penny Sue
said.

“Give me the key. I’m not interested,”
Ruthie replied. “Besides, I have to go to the bathroom.”

It had been over an hour since she’d checked
out a toilet facility. Ruthie was one of those people who simply
could not pass a bathroom without going in. We’d counseled her to
look into the pee urgency medication. She always blew us off. We
finally took the hint and stopped trying to convince her.

Penny Sue handed over the key ring. “You’ll
come, won’t you, Leigh?”

I hated to admit being a gawker, yet I was
curious. “Sure.”

Since the beach entrance was damaged by the
storm, we walked up the driveway to A1A. Guthrie, leaning on his
crutches, spotted us coming. “Where have you been? A body was found
in the dumpster.”

We stepped up on the walkway, an elderly
woman close on our heels. Penny Sue and I made our way slowly
through the crowd. Many were residents of the development, the rest
curious passersby. We wove through the throng, single file,
uttering a litany of
excuse me, sorry, excuse me’s
. We
received a lot of dirty looks, especially from short women who
thought we were trying to butt in front of them and block their
view. Even as we continued past, I could feel angry eyes boring
into my back. The angry looks I could take, it was the amazing
number of pistols and revolvers on belts and in hands that made me
nervous. I thought Guthrie was being hysterical when he compared
Florida to the Wild West, but now I was inclined to agree. Sheesh,
I had no idea so many of my neighbors packed weapons. I decided I’d
better watch my step in the future.

“Can you believe it?” Guthrie said when we
arrived at his side. “Another murder! Rumor has it there’s a mob
war. A lot of people are talking about selling out. I mean, the
hurricane damage was bad enough, this mob war is the last
straw.”

Selling? My initial reaction was “hurray!”
Then, a mental head slap for being selfish. I wanted to buy a place
for sure, but I wanted to get it fair and square—not steal it from
a frightened retiree. “I’m sure the mob rumor is false,” I said
loud enough for the people around us to hear. “I’ll put my money on
a hurricane party, too many beers, and a drunken brawl.”

A substantially built woman with shocking
white hair nudged me in the back. I did a double take. It was the
elderly woman who’d followed us up the walkway.

“Aren’t you the lady who drives the little
yeller car?” she asked me.

I started to offer my hand and introduce
myself, when I noticed she clutched a handgun with a long—real
long—ornately, etched barrel. I dropped my arm quickly. “Yes,
ma’am. I’m Leigh Stratton. I’m staying at Judge Parker’s place down
on the beach.”

The lady snorted, unimpressed. “You know,
things were real quiet around here until you showed up.”

Penny Sue whipped around and was about to
speak when Guthrie spied the lady’s gun. “Man, is that a real 1860
Colt 45? Wow, I never thought I’d see one in person.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously. “You the
guy staying in Harriet’s place, next to Nana King’s?”

Guthrie stood up straight on his crutches.
“One and the same. Harriet’s my aunt.”

“Harriet,” she grunted.

Penny Sue stepped forward and shoved her
right hand at the lady. “I’m Penny Sue Parker, Judge Parker’s
daughter. With whom do I have the pleasure?” Her lips were
stretched in a tight smile.

The lady shifted the pistol to her left hand
and took Penny Sue’s. “Pearl. Pearl Woodhead.”

I gasped so hard, I nearly swallowed my
tongue. Was this Woody’s mother? Penny Sue didn’t flinch.

“You’ve grown a lot,” Pearl continued. “I
knew your Momma. I was sorry to hear she’d passed. If she was
around, I’m sure we wouldn’t be havin’ all this trouble.”

Where had Pearl been? Penny Sue’s mother
died over ten years ago.

Penny Sue’s smile stayed fixed, but her eyes
went slitty and her voice stern. “You’re right, Mrs. Woodhead,
Momma would have been appalled by this commotion. I assure you that
neither Leigh, I, or my friends have anything to do with it. As
Daddy says, there’s a lawless element that affects even the best
people. There’s no explaining it.”

“Well, my son’s been run up the flagpole by
the bigwigs a lot since you started coming around. Hard enough to
get the respect that’s due without having to deal with
troublemakers like you.”

“Your son is Robert?”

“Yeah, Bobby. Y’all caused him a lot of
trouble.”

Penny Sue’s smile went south. “Mrs.
Woodhead, I know you love your son like my father loves me. Your
son is paid to do a job, and he’s doing it. Let’s leave it at
that.”

Pearl gave Penny Sue a steely-eyed once
over. “You’re a lot like your mother,” Pearl said, dropping her
gaze to the pistol.

“Ma’am, is that a real 1860 Colt?” Guthrie
asked, oblivious to anything but the gun.

Pearl turned away. “A replica cap pistol.
Don’t you worry; I’ve got a real arsenal at home. Guns, bows and
arrows, knives—I’ve got it all.” Nudging people to the left and
right with the barrel of the cap gun, she cleared a path though the
crowd.

“Wait,” I said on impulse. “What kind of car
do you drive?”

“A Ford. A Ford Taurus,” she said without
looking back.

The gods smiled on us for the next seven
days. No one in the neighborhood was murdered or died. We continued
our mud baths, sending our mercury levels into the normal range.
Our depositions were delayed for another week. Best of all, the
weather was terrific. We pulled out our bathing suits and headed to
the beach to soak up some rays. It was deserted except for the
eccentric fisherman with the fishing machine. Back to the water, he
lounged in a chair perusing a newspaper, his fishing pole held by a
white tube within reach.

“Don’t most fishermen stand and watch the
water?” Penny Sue asked, juggling the boom box and a sand
chair.

“Maybe the sun was in his eyes,” I answered.
“I suppose watching the waves gets boring after a while.”

“Does he always wear that silly hat?”

The hat in question was covered with hooks
and sinkers and other fishing gear. “Yep. Looks like something his
kid probably gave him for Christmas a long time ago.” I deposited
the small cooler next to Penny Sue. “This close enough to the
water?”

“Fine with me,” Ruthie replied.

The condition of the shore was the only
downer to an otherwise idyllic day. Thanks to Charley, the beach
was covered with debris and a couple of feet lower than the
previous week. Most of the sea turtle nests that had been so
carefully roped off by the turtle patrol were gone, swept out to
sea.

“This turtle season will be a bust,” I said
morosely as we shoved trash aside for our chairs. “Cars and night
lights are hard on turtles, but there are ordinances to control
them. There’s no way to legislate Mother Nature.”

“All the nests were washed away?” Ruthie
asked.

“At least the stakes were. It’s possible
some nests survived—we just don’t know where they are. There were
three nests roped off in this area before the storm.” I swept my
arm in a wide arc. “With all of this rubbish, baby turtles would
have a tough time getting to the water if they happened to survive
the hurricane.”

“Remember that cute little hatchling that
became confused and walked in circles on our first visit?” Ruthie
mused.

“Yes. The little booger would have died if
it hadn’t been for me,” Penny Sue bragged.

“We helped,” Ruthie protested.

“It was my idea. That old lady from the
turtle patrol wouldn’t let us pick him up and take him to the sea.
Hmph, more than one way to skin a cat. If you can’t take the turtle
to the sea, you bring the sea to the turtle,” Penny Sue said,
smiling.

I took a diet soda from the cooler and
settled into my chair. “Digging that trench from the water to the
turtle was a stroke of genius.”

Penny Sue grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I
ruined my manicure, but it was worth it. Remember how that seagull
kept circling, trying to swoop in and eat the little turtle?”

“I remember you shouting and shaking your
fist at him,” Ruthie said to Penny Sue. “I think you scared the
turtle patrol to death. The old lady, what was her name?”