Perplexity on P1/2 (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (9 page)

     Reg wasn’t much help but he did put a thought in my head. Why couldn’t I go down and do some snooping? No one would be concerned about an older woman hanging around and asking questions, would they? The biggest problem to that would be how could I do it without raising suspicions? Not there but here in Parson’s Cove.

     Who knew the answer would drop right into my lap?

     Flori entered the shop the next morning looking about as haggard and drained as I’d ever seen her. She usually bursts in like this tall, larger than life, sparkling sunbeam. Most days, she radiates warmth, love and joy. One look at her orange-red hair, her artificially arched auburn eyebrows, glossy pink lips and flamboyant orange and pink sundress and you can’t help but smile. There are just not enough adjectives to describe her.

     “My goodness, Flori, what’s wrong? Why do you look so forlorn? Where are the cinnamon buns? Please, don’t tell me that Jake ate all of them. If he did, I’ll never forgive him.”

     Just the hint that in some other world, I would even consider for one moment forgiving Jake anything, usually makes Flori burst into laughter. Not today.

     Instead, she burst into tears.

     “What’s the matter?” We met half way and I put my arms around her. Flori is the most wonderful person to hug because there’s so much of her and all of it is soft.

     “It’s Jake,” she managed to sputter before letting out a loud wail.

     I steered her to the chair. She sat looking up at me, a torrent of tears streaming down her face, mixed in with mascara that eventually joined her very runny nose. I grabbed a handful of tissues.

     “Here,” I said. “Wipe your face and keep your mouth closed until you’re finished.”

     She nodded and complied.

     When she finished using up about ten tissues, I asked, “Now, what’s this about Jake? And don’t start crying again. That’s my last box of tissues.”

     “Oh Mabel, I can’t believe he would do this to me.” With that, she did exactly as I’d told her not to do - she started to wail and blubber again. I went into my back room and brought out an old hand towel, something I should’ve done in the first place.

     “Here,” I said. “Let it all out. When you’re finished, we’ll throw this in the trash.” I did not intend to keep that towel. Or, ever use it again even if it were washed in straight bleach.

     I grabbed her hand. “Are you trying to tell me that Jake is having an affair, Flori?”

     That was the only thing I could think of that would make a woman carry on so. Suddenly, Charlie’s words came back to me. Esther Flynn was meeting someone in the woods at night. Surely, it couldn’t be Jake!

     “Is Jake having an affair with Esther?” I gasped.

     Flori stared at me as if I were out of my mind.

     “What?” she whispered. “What are you talking about, Mabel?”

     “Oh, never mind. What are you talking about? Why, on earth, are you crying like this? What has Jake done?”

     “He’s going on a fishing trip with Mike Brown and Henry Brewster.” She sniffed. “For a whole week. They’ve made the plans already and he never even told me. He didn’t consult me. I always consult him no matter what I do.” She covered her face with the towel and blew her nose. I shut my eyes and cringed. “I can’t believe it,” she said when her face finally surfaced. “He’s never done this before. What’s happening to our marriage? Do you really think he’s going to meet another woman?” She looked at me, her eyes blank and confused. “Why did you say Esther? Do you know something I don’t, Mabel?” The blank confused look turned to panic.

     “Flori, he’s not going to meet another woman. Forget I even mentioned Esther’s name. I’ll tell you about that later when you can handle it and we need a good laugh.” I got up and poured a cup of coffee. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better afterwards. By the way, when are they leaving for this fishing trip?”

     She blew on her coffee and cautiously took a sip.

     “They’re leaving next Monday.”

     “That’s plenty of notice, Flori. He’s obviously giving you time to give your ‘okay’ and to adjust your schedule. You don’t want to smother Jake. He’s retired now so you can’t keep him home all the time, tied to your apron strings, you know.”

     “Oh, Mabel, do you think I do that?” Her eyes once again filled with tears. I have no idea where this woman gets all her moisture. If I cried as much as she does, I’d be on intravenous.

     I patted her hand. “You have a tendency to smother, my dear.”

     She smiled through her tears. “Thanks. You are such a friend.” She hiccoughed. “Thank you for being so honest.”

     I grinned. “So, do you know what we’re going to do while he’s on his vacation?”

     “Do?”

     “We’re going to go on our own vacation. You didn’t get to go to Vegas with me as you planned so we’ll go somewhere else. I’ll make sure you don’t think or worry about Jake Flanders for one second.”

     The tears of sadness had hardly been mopped up when out poured the tears of gladness.

     “Where will we go? To the city to shop? I would love to do that. We could stay at a fancy hotel for a few days. That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? Is that what you had planned?”

     I shook my head. “Do you still have your money from the trip you never took?”

     “Of course, I do. What are you saying? You want to go back to Las Vegas?”

     “No, I’d like to go somewhere different this time. I have some money saved and I’ll get Delores to watch the shop and the cats. I know she’d like a break from the restaurant anyway.”

     “Mabel, don’t keep me in suspense. Where will we go?”

     “Let’s go to Yellow Rose, Texas.”

     Flori screamed as the hot coffee splashed onto her lap. The coffee mug hit the floor, bursting into a few dozen pieces.

     I’d say that was a good sign. She was obviously overcome with excitement.

Chapter Twelve

     Flori sat on a bench at the William P. Hobby airport in Houston, Texas, surrounded by two suitcases, a purse and a plastic bag, containing three pairs of shoes. Personally, I had taken one small carry-on case. As usual, she was weeping. It didn’t bother her that people stopped to stare or walk over and ask if she was all right. It didn’t bother her that I was the one who was mortified. Crying is such a private thing.

     It was the last straw when a tall man with a cowboy hat and droopy mustache went over to her and said, “Is there anything I can do, darlin’?” and she looked up at him with those big watery eyes and said, “No, there’s nothing you can do. I left my husband to go to Yellow Rose with Mabel. I don’t know what I was thinking. He should’ve stopped me but he didn’t.” She sniffed. “Now, we’re stuck here at this horrible airport and I don’t think we’ll ever get home again.”

     I ignored the hateful look he threw at me. “Flori, we are not stuck here,” I said. “I told you that there’s a taxi waiting outside to drive us to Yellow Rose. Now, pick up your suitcases and let’s go.”

     “Now, just one minute here,” the cowboy said. He turned to Flori. “You can make up your own mind; do you really want to go with this woman or go back to your husband?”

     Flori sniffed and wiped away a tear. “There’s a taxi waiting for us?”

     “Yes. I told you I was going to get one.”

     The cowboy put his hand on her arm and said in the gentlest voice, “You sure you want to do this, honey? Remember, you have a faithful husband waitin’ back home.”

     “Oh yes,” Flori said, with a most enchanting smile. “I have never been anywhere besides Parson’s Cove and Mabel says Yellow Rose sounds wonderful. Besides, she’s the one who is going to try to find Grace’s murderer.” She stood up. “I’m just going to relax in the sun. Right, Mabel?”

     The last I saw of the Texan was his back as he walked outside, shaking his head. I didn’t have the energy to explain anything.

     After an hour of speeding along a country highway, barely slowing down as we whipped through dull forlorn looking little towns, we were in our hotel room, unpacking. Well, Flori was. All I had was clean underwear, a shirt and another pair of jeans. It took all of three minutes to take care of that. Flori would put something away and then rush to the window for another look at the Gulf of Mexico, which slapped up against the abandoned beach, several feet away. There was no traffic on the street that ran in front of the hotel and stretched out along the coastline. Our hotel matched all the other stores and restaurants - old, weather-beaten but somehow, managing to look quaint and welcoming. This was a quiet place, too out of the way for most tourists.

     “Isn’t this wonderful, Mabel? I’m so glad Jake thought this was a good idea. I can’t believe he really encouraged me to go, can you? And, with such short notice. Did you know, I didn’t even have time to tell the kids. Jake said he would. He’s so good to me sometimes.” She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes.

     I didn’t want her ever to find out that I’d had a private talk with Jake and had succeeded in giving him a mighty huge guilty conscience. I mean, if he could traipse off with the boys for a week, drinking and carrying on at some secluded lodge, so could she. Not the drinking and carrying-on part but definitely, the traipsing off part. I really had no idea what men do at those places but Jake seemed to think I did so he agreed to let Flori go. On one condition, I told him, no one in Parson’s Cove must know where we were going - especially the Sheriff.

     “What’ll I say to someone who asks? And, what about the kids?” he said. “They’re going to think something’s weird if I don’t even know where their mother is.”

     “Tell them I still had some free time left from my Las Vegas trip and we were using it up in Florida.”

     I knew Jake had no problem lying.

     Flori pulled out some brochures she’d picked up in the lobby and studied them.

     “I’ve circled all the places we should tour, Mabel.” She looked over at me. I was on the other bed, studying a map of the city and surrounding area. “You are going to come with me, aren’t you?”

     “Of course, I am. I have to look like a normal tourist. I’ll just have to keep my eyes and ears open. You can too. I showed you all the pictures of the people on that trip so if you see any of them, let me know.”

     “I’m sure I wouldn’t recognize any of them in person. Surely, the police are checking out where this Grace lived. Wouldn’t they have to contact her family to send the body back?” Flori shivered as she always does when she says the word ‘body.’

     “I have no idea. Reg knows about as much as I do. Obviously, I’m not about to ask Captain Maxymowich.”

     “So, where are you going to start?”

     “I have started. I’m looking up Hobbs in the phone book.” I flipped through the phone book, which wasn’t much bigger than the
Parson’s Cove and Surrounding Communities White and Yellow Pages.

     “There’s only three. One must be Grace’s husband. Of course, they could all be related. We’ll sort of wander past each house tomorrow while we’re sightseeing.”

     “What if there’s nothing to see on that street?”

     “Flori, everything in Yellow Rose is something to see. Everything is old and historic. We could go to almost any house and ask to look inside.”

     Her eyes widened. “They let you do that?”

     “Of course, it’s an honor. Especially if it survived a hurricane.”

     She looked doubtful.

     “When was there a hurricane?”

     I shrugged. “There are always hurricanes on this coast. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go to eat and then we’ll start out tomorrow. We can walk along the beach to a restaurant and back.”

     That cheered her up. We walked to a small Mexican restaurant that advertised cheap margaritas. By the time we’d downed two drinks each, emptied two bowls of homemade salsa with their own made-on-the-premises chips, it was hard to look at the large platter of food that was plunked down in front of us. Especially the generous plop of runny beans. The helpful server suggested that we have another drink so that’s what we did. After that, we cleaned our plates.

     I’m not sure who was up the most that night but I do know we went through a half bottle of anti-acid pills. We both vowed never to eat beans and drink margaritas again. Actually, Flori would never have even smelled a margarita except I told her it was an authentic Mexican drink and the folks in the restaurant would’ve been very hurt if we hadn’t had some of their national drink.

     In between trips to the bathroom, I slept but somehow in the background of every dream I could hear Esther Flynn’s voice on the answering machine, threatening my life.

     The next morning, the fog was so thick we could hardly see the water from our window. Even with the morning traffic, however, we could still hear the constant soft rumble of the ocean. We made coffee in our little coffee maker, added the powdered creamer and sat on our balcony. I drank half a cup and threw the rest down the sink.

     By the time we’d showered and dressed it was almost nine. Flori looked exceptionally colorful in her flowered sea blue and lime green tent dress. Of course, she wore her wide brimmed straw hat with the matching blue and green band. No one would even notice me in my jeans and white cotton shirt. I did put on some light pink lipstick so I wouldn’t be too outshone.

     All the way to the restaurant, Flori  ‘ooooed’ and ‘aaaawed’ over every wave that hit the shore. I was thankful that I was the one who had the camera. I’d learned from all the pictures of the Hoover Dam - every water picture would look the same.

     This time we tried the Yellow Rose Family Restaurant. Over eggs, bacon and grits, we discussed our plans. Well, they were Flori’s plans and they were my strategies.

     “What street did you say you wanted to visit, Mabel?”

     “Avenue P½.”

     “Avenue P½ ?”

     I nodded. My mouth was full of egg.

     “What kind of street is that?”

     “It isn’t. It’s an avenue.”