Murder is the Pits (29 page)

“Youth,” Gary said, starting the truck. “You
can take vitamins, Viagra, anything you want, but there’s no
substitute for youth.”

“Gospel truth,” Penny Sue said with a
devilish grin.

Uh oh, I knew her all too well … there was a
story behind that grin, but I wasn’t going to probe in front of
Gary. A young Atlanta Brave, perhaps, back home in Roswell?
Anything was possible with Penny Sue.

We found Ruthie waiting with a big pitcher
of lemonade when we arrived home. “I thought you could use some
good old Southern vitamin C after your ordeal.” She gave us the
once over. “You look like you’ve hardly broken a sweat.”

Penny Sue flexed her bicep. “Piece of cake!
We’re in good shape.”

“I’d love some lemonade,” Gary said, taking
a seat at the kitchen counter.

“Coming up.” Ruthie filled large glasses
packed with ice.

“Umm-m, this is good. Just what the doctor
ordered. And, to set the record straight, it was Penny Sue’s wallet
that was in good shape. She found two strapping young men who had
some time to spare,” Gary said.

“I found out some interesting poop while you
were gone.” Ruthie took a long drink of her lemonade.

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Penny Sue
snapped. “Speak up!”

“Well, in case Pearl saw me yesterday, I
figured I needed a disguise. So I took an old pair of jeans and cut
the legs off to make shorts.”

“Not the Moschinos?” Penny Sue blurted.

“Yeah, they were getting shiny in the
seat.”

I shook my head. Two hundred dollar jeans
and she cut off the legs for a disguise!
More money than
sense
, Grammy Martin would say.

“Next, I sheared off the sleeves of one of
my tee-shirts.”

“Don’t tell me which one,” I said.

“Anyway, I tucked my hair up in a baseball
cap, wore your flip flops,” she pointed at me, “and Penny Sue’s big
sunglasses.”

“Those are expensive Porsches. They’ve come
back in style. Didn’t you notice that some of the guys from the
Hamptons wore them?”

“They look fake with the gold frame and
all,” Ruthie said.

“Fake?” Penny Sue nearly shouted. “The
frame’s eighteen-karat!”

Ruthie snorted. “Do you want to hear my
story or not? Besides, I was confident Pearl wouldn’t recognize
Porsche sunglasses and would think they were fakes. I couldn’t go
back today dressed like I was the last time.”

Penny Sue sighed. “Go on.”

“When I got there, Pearl was coming out of
her garage with a bag of garbage. I hid behind the building to
watch. You won’t believe this.”

“What?”

“Pearl stopped at her neighbor’s stairway,
reached in the garbage bag, pulled out a milk carton and a chicken
bone, and put them on the bottom step.”

“That’s sick,” Penny Sue muttered.

“That’s not all. Next she took a rotten head
of lettuce and put it on top of the mailboxes. By then she was at
the dumpster, tied the bag and slung it in.”

Gary held his glass out for a refill.
“Sounds like the old lady’s lost a few marbles.”

“Was that it?” I was disappointed. Pearl’s
strange behavior merely confirmed what I already thought—that she
was seriously nuts.

“There’s more. As Pearl was walking back to
her condo, a big black limo pulled in. It stopped, picked her up,
and drove to her house. I ran around the back of the building to
spy on them. Three men got out with Pearl. Two men had dark brown
hair, well-tailored suits, and were very tan. They’d either just
come from the tanning salon or were Mediterranean, you know Greek,
Italian, Spanish, or something. The third man was unmistakably
American Indian. His hair was shoulder length and pulled back in a
braid. He wore slacks and a print shirt with one of those string
ties that guys out West wear. He also had on a lot of turquoise and
silver jewelry.”

“Did you go to Pearl’s door and listen?”
Penny Sue asked.

“Heck, no. The driver in the limo would have
seen me. I strolled around pretending to inspect hurricane damage.
After about a half hour, Larry came by with his fishing machine,
and I figured I’d better skedaddle. Even with the big sunglasses,
he might recognize me and get suspicious.”

Thinking, Penny Sue stroked her chin. “Larry
was probably trying to find a way to get to the beach. All the
walkways are gone, and there’s a five-foot drop in most places.”
Penny Sue folded her arms across her chest and chewed a fingernail.
“What does all of this mean? Pearl thinks she’s an Indian princess,
is trying to buy up the complex, and an Indian and two apparently
well-heeled men come to visit. What’s the connection? She’s
obviously crazy, so why would they fool with her?”

Gary drained his lemonade. “Ladies, it’s
getting late, and the truck has to be back by tomorrow afternoon. I
think we should get started on the sandbags. It’s going to take us
a lot longer than it took Darin and Lee.”

“A shame we couldn’t have brought them back
with us,” Penny Sue said.

Gary stood. “Not a chance, this is Friday
night. I’m sure those young men have plans.”

* * *

September 11-22, New Smyrna Beach, FL

Timothy was spending
the weekend with
Guthrie (Yeah, we got our sofa back!) and offered to help us with
the sandbags. We mapped out a plan of attack the night before. Gary
determined that our sidewalk was secure all the way to the end
where it had been sheered off by the storm. Our job was to load the
sandbags into the wheelbarrow, roll it to the end of the sidewalk,
tip it forward, and dump the load. Meanwhile, Gary used a ladder to
climb down the sheer sand cliff to the beach. Once we dumped the
sandbags, he’d place them around the deck supports. Simple, right?
Simple in theory, hard to execute. The sandbags weighed at least a
million pounds when loaded in the wheelbarrow.

If it hadn’t been for Timothy with all of
his bulging ’ceps, we’d never have finished. Guthrie couldn’t help
because of his bum knee, but lent another wheelbarrow to the cause
and played oxygenated-water boy. Timothy loaded the wheelbarrows;
we pushed them down the sidewalk and tipped them over. Either we
were completely out of shape or the darned handcarts actually
weighted a ton, because it took two of us—one on each handle—to
push and dump. Being there were three of us, we devised a rotation
plan so that one could rest after two trips.

With two carts and Atlas unloading the
truck, we finished before poor Gary. A huge pile of sandbags had
stacked up on the beach. With the heat index hoveringly around a
hundred, the three of us were sprawled against the truck, every
pore spouting oxygenated-water. Timothy, aka Atlas, merely
glistened and went to Gary’s aid. If Penny Sue hadn’t been so
tired, she’d probably have licked Timothy’s ankle as he passed by.
The fact she didn’t give him a second glance showed her utter
exhaustion.

Guthrie offered to drive the pickup truck
back to the dealership, while I followed in my car. Penny Sue
proposed to call in orders for pizzas and antipasto salads that
we’d pick up on the way home. I ran to the bedroom for a quick
shower when I returned and emerged as Timothy and Gary arrived.
Exhausted, famished, but clean, we all twisted the cap off a
beer—even Timothy!—and quickly found places at the table.
Conversation was scarce until everyone had consumed several slices
of pizza and hefty helpings of salad. As Gary and Guthrie continued
to munch, the rest of us settled back and twisted the cap off a
second beer.

“Man, I’m sorry I don’t have any brownies
for dessert. I’ve been so busy cleaning the condo, I couldn’t get
in the mood to bake, ya know what I mean?” Guthrie pointed his beer
at me. “I meant to tell you, Pearl called Uncle Dan wanting to buy
his condo. She told him there was a six-month wait for repairs and
other storms were coming. If he was smart, he’d sell the unit while
it was still worth something.”

Other storms? We all gazed at Ruthie.

“Ivan’s out there, but it seems headed for
the Gulf,” our resident weatherwoman replied.

“Did Pearl make an offer?” I asked.

“Yeah, she offered $299,000. With all the
repairs the place would need, that was generous, she said.”

“Your uncle didn’t take it, did he?” Penny
Sue asked.

“Heck no. First of all, he doesn’t like
Pearl. Second, he’s holding the place as his nest egg for when
Harriet dies. Uncle Dan hopes he’ll get enough money for one of
those retirement homes where all the nurses are young with big
tits.”

Gary, who’d just taken a bite of pizza,
almost choked. Ruthie pounded his back. He took a sip of beer.
“Sorry,” he sputtered.

“What is Pearl up to?” Penny Sue asked no
one in particular.

Ruthie clunked her beer on the table. “She’s
trying to scare people into selling cheap, then she’ll turn around
and sell them for a big profit.”

“Anastasia said she’s not rich. How could
Pearl afford to do that?” I asked.

“The men in the limo are backing her,” Penny
Sue said emphatically. “I’ll bet they’re trying to buy the place to
put in big, high-rise condos. Pearl is the front man. She’s
probably earning a commission.” Penny Sue’s eyes lit up. “A
commission Pearl needs because she’s a compulsive spender, which is
why her condo’s mortgaged to the hilt.” Penny Sue leaned back and
wagged her finger. “And Woody’s told her she has to change her
ways, because he’s not making her mortgage payments anymore. What
do you think?” Penny Sue took a satisfied sip of water.

“You’ve lost me,” Gary said. “But this is
prime real estate, and I’d hate to see a high rise go in here.” He
swiveled toward me. “Don’t worry—if we decide to sell, you’ll get
the first call.” He folded his napkin and placed it on the table.
“Sorry to eat and run, but I have to fly home tomorrow. My realtor
will send someone to rip out the carpet and will coordinate with
the insurance company, if they ever send an inspector.” Disgusted,
he shook his head. “Pat and I appreciate your help. It’s hard to
live so far away and nice to know you have friends.” Gary stood and
patted Timothy on the shoulder. “Thanks, big guy. I wouldn’t be
standing without your help.” They shook hands, and we said our
goodbyes.

While Penny Sue walked Gary to the door,
Ruthie told Guthrie and Timothy about Pearl, her strange behavior,
and the limo.

“Chicken bones?” Guthrie said. “Like, maybe,
that’s some kind of Indian hex. Whoa, I find chicken bones on my
steps, and I’m gonna sage the place.”

Penny Sue returned and plopped an ice bucket
of beer in the center of the table. “Ya know, I’ll bet Pearl’s in
on the mercury sabotage.”

“Pearl couldn’t have done that,” I said.
“She’s old. Pearl wouldn’t have the strength to hold up the tool
that scratched Guthrie’s storm shutters. Besides, she’s stiff as a
board—no way could she have crawled under Nana King’s house.”

“The guys in the limo have lackeys who did
it.” Penny Sue stood. “Would anyone like a scotch?”

Guthrie raised his hand like a child. “I
would.”

Penny Sue departed for the kitchen. “We need
more information,” she said. “Someone’s trying to frighten people
away from this complex.” Penny Sue handed a glass to Guthrie.
“Ruthie, can you use your computer to get a list of all the owners
in this development?”

“Probably—the Volusia Appraiser’s database
is online.”

Penny Sue pointed at me. Good grief, she’d
flipped into the schoolteacher mode. “Leigh, you want to buy a
condo in this complex, right?”

My brows furrowed, wondering where she was
headed. “Of course.”

“Does anyone have a printer?” Penny Sue
asked.

Ruthie and I gave her a dumb look. “Not
here,” we said in unison.

“I have a portable in the trunk of my car.
It’s inkjet, but you’re welcome to use it,” Timothy said, clearly
intrigued.

“Thank you, Timothy.” Penny Sue started to
pace. “There’s something sneaky going on, and we’re going to find
out what it is. Ruthie, your mission is to get the names and
addresses of all the owners in this development. Leigh, you’re
going to send them letters saying you want to buy a condo, and
would they please contact you if they decide to sell.”

“What about Yuri, who’s going door-to-door?”
I asked.

“Screw Yuri,” Penny Sue said.

Geez! The heat, work, beer, and scotch had
gotten to her. Never in my life had I heard Penny Sue use that
term. Could the spirit of Millie move around, I wondered? I thought
Millie was attached to Ruthie, because of her psychic abilities.
Maybe not. “Do you think Yuri’s involved?”

“No way. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be going
door-to-door. Pearl and her guys are undercutting him, which is why
he had to resort to personal contact,” Penny Sue said.

Made sense. For once, Penny Sue might be
right.

“Okay, let’s do it.” We all did a clumsy
high five.

Hurricanes are the pits, but that’s the cost
of living in Florida. It could be worse; you could live in
California where the earth moves. That has to be the scariest
experience of all, I think. In a hurricane, at least the ground’s
solid and you’re blown around. In an earthquake, nothing’s
solid.

The next week and a half passed in a blur of
tedium. Ruthie obtained the addresses for the development, and I
sent out the letters. Gary’s carpet was ripped up and dumped in our
driveway. Guthrie got his insurance appraisal, which nearly sent
Uncle Dan into cardiac arrest. Timothy was his hunky self—always
good looking, eager to help, but never revealing much.

Ruthie kept doing reconnaissance on Pearl’s
place. So Ruthie wouldn’t continue cutting up her expensive,
designer clothes, I took her to Gone Bonkers for local attire. She
purchased several cotton outfits that she really liked. “I can’t
believe I bought this much stuff for this amount of money,” Ruthie
said, thumping the receipt with her finger.