Calamity @ the Carwash (Parson's Cove Mysteries) Read online

  Flori didn’t answer - she simply reached over, pulled out about six more tissues and proceeded to drown her sorrow in them. When it comes to crying, or laughing for that matter, Flori overflows. I’ve found that it’s better to be patient and wait; eventually, she dries up.

  While waiting, I poured another cup of coffee and thought about Bernie and Melanie Bernstein. I remembered when Melanie was born. She was probably in her early forties now. Flori used to babysit her once in awhile when her parents went out for supper or to a wedding or something like that. Not much ever goes on in Parson’s Cove and back then, there was less. Flori babysat for quite a few people when we were teenagers. No one ever asked me but Flori always said that was because I was an only child and parents didn’t think I’d be good at it. I’m glad they thought that because I wasn’t very keen on children. Even now, I prefer watching them from afar.

  Bernie arrived in Parson’s Cove when Melanie was finishing high school. He was like a small town beach bum – happy to work just enough to eat and pay his rent. He was in his twenties then and Melanie used to follow him everywhere. Except when she was in classes, of course, but she apparently missed a few of those too. On one such occasion, her father caught the two of them skinny-dipping in a lonely spot on the lake. Daddy made sure they were standing at the altar almost before she got her clothes back on.

  They never had any children but Melanie seemed content to have Bernie as her pet. They went everywhere together. Probably about twenty years ago, they started up their own cleaning business. B & M Cleaners. It caused a few snickers but they didn’t seem to catch on so the jokes dwindled down to nothing. Once in awhile, even now, some kid will paint over the ‘&’ on their truck. Personally, I thought they were doing very well. At least, they charged enough for their services. Once, I thought I’d splurge and get my shop professionally cleaned. They gave me a quote and I almost fainted. I told Bernie I didn’t want them building me a completely new store; I just wanted my little space cleaned. Neither one of them talked to me for about a year after that.

  After snorting her last snort, Flori said, “What about fingerprints? Maybe her prints were on whatever she used to hit him. I’m sure she didn’t mean to kill the man. I mean, I’d love to hit Jake over the head sometimes but I wouldn’t hit him hard enough to do any real damage.”

  “Flori, it will take days to check something for fingerprints. We’re out in the boonies here and no lab in the city is going to do a rush job for Sheriff Smee, you can be sure of that. No, Reg wouldn’t arrest her unless he had some real proof. Maybe I should give Reg a call.”

  “Are you crazy? That’s the last thing you should do. If you intend to find out the details, which I’m sure you are, you’d better do it very discreetly. And, when you do, Mabel, you make sure that I am not involved in any way.” She glanced up at the Coca-Cola clock I have above the door. “Oh my, I’d better get back home before Jake comes back for breakfast.”

  “What do you mean, before Jake gets home? And, by the way, I noticed you forgot the cinnamon buns.”

  Flori’s face turned from chalk to crimson.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, I completely forgot about those buns. I was rushing to get over here so I could get back real quick and I left them on the counter. I am so sorry, Mabel. After I feed Jake, I’ll come back with the buns.”

  She jumped off the chair as daintily as a woman her size can and almost ran to the door.

  Flori comes by her weight honestly; she cooks and bakes with real butter, real cream, and real sugar. Of course, I do too but somehow even with all my trying, I can’t ever reach my goal of a hundred and ten. It’s a good thing I’m barely over five feet tall.

  Before she lit out, I called, “Why is Jake so late for his breakfast?”

  “Because he’s trying to get more information about the murder.” Then, realizing what she’d said, she had the decency to blush and say, “Not that he’ll find much out. You know the men at Main Street Café don’t gossip like we do, Mabel.”

  She closed the door before I could tell her that she’d better pass that information on if she knew what was good for her. Also, if she thought those old fellows didn’t gossip more than we women did, Flori didn’t know beans. Delores, who’s worked there for years, says some of the things they say about their so-called friends behind their back would curl your hair. She told me once never to confide in any man in Parson’s Cove who was over fifty. Unless, of course, I wanted everyone in town to find out the next day.

  However, knowing Flori, she would feel so guilty about forgetting to bring the cinnamon buns over that it would be much easier to pry information out of her. That is, if Jake had any.

  Chapter Five

  A few customers popped in that morning – if you can call two, a few. For the most part, both of them came not to buy but to find out if I knew anything about Melanie’s arrest. It was probably a good thing at that point in time that I didn’t know anything so I didn’t have to lie. I guess the word spread that I was out of the loop so no one else bothered coming in.

  I had no idea what happened to Flori and her cinnamon buns. She didn’t even phone which is very unlike her.

  By ten o’clock, I gave Reg a call because I’d thought of a good ruse. Scully answered and told me to ‘hold.’

  “Reg,” I said, after waiting eleven minutes for him to come to the phone, “I’ll make this clear right off the bat - I don’t want any information about the murder. But someone told me that Melanie Bernstein was in a cell. Since I happen to know how terrifying that can be, I was wondering if I should bring over some fresh apple muffins and coffee for her.”

  I’d spent a night in the hoosegow myself (it was a case of mistaken identity) and I’m well known for my muffins and coffee so I thought this would come across as a natural request.

  Apparently, not.

  “Well, Mabel, since you obviously know I have Melanie Bernstein incarcerated and I’m sure you know that I’m conducting an investigation, am I correct in assuming you know that I’m very busy?”

  “Oh I do know that, Sheriff Smee. I was thinking that if this is Melanie’s first arrest though, she might need someone to talk to. And, as you know, everyone loves my coffee and muffins. In fact, I could bring some over for you and the boys too. Would you like that?”

  It has to be a freezing day in hell when Reg refuses one of my muffins.

  Apparently, not.

  “No, I would not like that. I don’t want you within a hundred yards of this place. You got that, Mabel? If I so much as see you hiding behind a bush across the street, I’ll lock you up with Melanie myself.”

  I guess he realized then that he was making an opening for me so he changed his tactics and said, “I’ll put you in with her and plaster duct tape over both your mouths.”

  Before I could make a rebuttal, he hung up. Obviously, I was not going to get any info from him. At least, not for the time being.

  Five minutes later Flori burst through the door. The heat and humidity were doing their number on her again. Perspiration dripped from her hairline, down her cheeks, her neck and made a narrow river, ending up somewhere between her ample bosoms. Even her flowery lime green and turquoise sundress which usually billows out like a golden aspen tree, hung straight down like a weeping willow. She did not carry any cinnamon buns in her hands either.

  Before saying a word, she rushed up to the air conditioner, closed her eyes, and spread her hands up to the sky. I hope it’s a sight I never witness again.

  “Flori,” I said. “Put your arms down.” I ran into the back room and proceeded to spray air freshener into the room.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, I don’t smell.”

  “No one can smell their own smell,” I said. “How come you’re so late? And, the cinnamon buns? I don’t see them anywhere either.”

  “Mabel,” she said. “I can’t think of everything. There are so many things happening. I told Jake today that I want to move away - anywhere to get away from Pars
on’s Cove.”

  “I think that’s a bit drastic, especially for you. You know you’d never leave your kids or me for anything.”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “About Murray?”

  “What about Murray?”

  “Well, you know that Murray McFerguson is … or, I should say, was Bernie’s fishing buddy, right?”

  “Right. An unlikely pair but it’s true. Aren’t Erma and Melanie friends too?”

  “Sort of.” A trace of sadness crossed her face. “I think it’s so wonderful when two couples can be friends.” She looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you were married and the four of us could do things together?”

  “That, Flori, is never going to happen.” There is no way I would even consider marrying anyone who chummed with Jake Flanders. Of course, I would never tell my best friend that. I got up and went into the back room to fetch two bottles of water out of the small fridge.

  “Here.” I handed one to her. “It’s too hot for coffee. Maybe if we had cinnamon buns…”

  We both took a slug of water.

  “So, what’s all the excitement about? What about Murray and Erma?” I asked.

  Flori’s eyes started to water. “Oh Mabel, I was sure you’d heard. I thought some of your customers would’ve told you.”

  “Told me what? Were Murray and Erma murdered too?”

  Flori’s eyes bulged. “Oh my lord, no. It’s nothing like that. But it’s bad, Mabel; it’s very sad.” She shook her head. “To think that Murray would lose one friend and then another, on the same day. It’s just too sad.”

  “Flori.” Sometimes I want to strangle that woman. “Who else died? What other friend of his, died? Quit talking in circles.”

  At that, Flori burst into tears but in between the sobs, I could make out a name. Biscuit.

  “Biscuit? What kind of name is that? He had a friend named Biscuit?” It sounded more like a racehorse to me.

  Flori nodded while wiping her nose. She’d already worn out the tissues she’d stuffed down the front of her bra so I handed her about ten more from a box I have on the counter. I should write her name on it.

  She stopped sniffling long enough to say, “Biscuit was the name of his old basset hound. Remember him, Mabel? That old dog went everywhere with him.”

  “So, Flori, are you telling me that we’re sitting here, sobbing our hearts out because Murray’s old basset hound died or are we weeping because his fishing buddy was murdered?”

  Flori’s bloodshot eyes stared at me. “We’re crying for both. It’s not right for a human to be hit over the head and killed with a brick anymore than it’s right for an old basset hound to be hit over the head and killed with a brick.”

  It was my turn to stare at her. “The same brick?”

  She nodded. I handed her the tissue box.

  Chapter Six

  It was time for me to start doing some serious investigating. I knew that Reg wouldn’t come for my help until he was forced to call in cops from the city. When they descend on Parson’s Cove, he and his two deputies skedaddle out of the way. Meanwhile, where would I start?

  I had to find out why Reg arrested Melanie. Was she in such a murdering mood that she would kill Murray’s dog and then, Bernie? Or, was it the other way round? Did she kill Bernie and then take her anger out on that dog? If I remembered correctly, that old hound was too lazy to chase a cat so why would anyone get riled up enough to kill it? Reg, even though I sometimes belittle his detective skills, I do it in a very loving way. He does pretty well for an aging ex-traffic cop. Besides, I honestly think we work quite well together.

  I was home now and sweltering in my kitchen. The cats were out carrying on their own adventures. I filled them up with nutritious dry cat food before I let them out so hopefully, they weren’t digging into the garbage bin behind Main Street Café again. It isn’t that I mind them eating garbage. It’s just that it gives our family a very bad reputation. People think I don’t feed them.

  Well, if Reg wasn’t going to fill me in and it didn’t seem like Flori had much to share from Jake’s empty repertoire, I’d have to move on my own. I knew my first stop.

  Let me tell you about my friend, Charlie Thompson. To most people in Parson’s Cove, Charlie is slightly on the odd side. Some think of him as being ‘slow.’ You know – retarded, although no one ever comes right out and says that word. To the most open-minded residents, he’s ‘different.’ To me, Charlie is smarter than most of them put together are. He sits in front of the town library, day in and day out. Winter, spring, summer and fall. He wears the same denim overalls with the same plaid shirts all year round. In winter, I’m sure he must have layers and layers on. I’m always afraid that he’ll freeze to death on that bench and we’ll have to look at him all winter until the spring thaw. Somehow, he manages to survive. That, of course, isn’t what makes him smart – although he obviously saves tons of money on clothing. The smart thing is that he minds his own business and doesn’t talk to anyone, except me – occasionally. Charlie is very selective in choosing his friends.

  Charlie came to Parson’s Cove as a child with his parents. Well, we called them his parents but gossip had it that they were his grandparents, raising their daughter’s illegitimate child. You know what small town gossip is like. They were older and when they died, they left Charlie for the town of Parson’s Cove to look after. Several families took him in but he never stayed long. I guess the silence got to them. Finally, he was old enough to manage on his own so some of the townsmen fixed up an old house towards the end of Main Street and that’s been his home ever since. Main Street dwindles down from stores, to a gas station, to several houses including Charlie’s shack, to two empty lots; and then, to a narrow two-lane highway surrounded by forest that leads to more exciting places.

  It was close to eight and there was a slight breeze so it was quite a pleasant walk to the library. Down from the library on the other side of Main Street, I can see my own little shop. Main Street Café is next to the library. It’s actually quite a boring street. The only thing that’s really going for Parson’s Cove and probably the only reason some people stay here is the lake. In summer, it’s wonderful for swimming, camping and fishing and in the winter when the ice freezes over, hoards of city dwellers come in with their chain saws and go ice fishing. By the time they leave, they’re mostly half-frozen and half-drunk. Jake, included.

  “Charlie,” I said, as I plunked down beside him. I have to watch my approach. Sometimes I must admit, he doesn’t talk even to me, his best friend. “Charlie,” I repeated, “how are you today?”

  Charlie just stared out at the open sky.

  “It’s a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

  I was drawing a blank.

  “So, what were you up to today? Did you hear that Bernie Bernstein died?”

  Nothing.

  “Did you hear that Bernie Bernstein was murdered and Melanie is in prison, accused of murdering him?”

  Finally, there was a twitch in his right cheek. Charlie’s cheeks, by the way, are plump. He’s a big man and I don’t know what he eats but I have a feeling it isn’t always fruits and vegetables. If he didn’t wander the streets at night, he’d never get any exercise. I have no idea when he sleeps. Well, sometimes he dozes on the bench but that’s all I’ve ever seen. I was inside his little shack once. They say I’m the only woman ever to get inside. It was so clean and tidy that it put my place to shame - and probably most of the houses in town. This shows there are sides to Charlie that people never see.

  “Do you know anything about it, Charlie? Did you happen to see anything?”

  Charlie started rocking back and forth. This means he’s getting nervous but it also means that he knows something.

  “You can tell me. You know that I can keep a secret.”

  “I know, Mabel. It’s a mystery though.”

  “What’s a mystery? You mean Melanie kil
ling Bernie?”

  He continued his rocking. “No. Other things.”

  “What other things, Charlie?”

  “I don’t know. They are a mystery. That’s what I said.”

  He shook his head and started to hum. Drats! That means he’s finished talking. I always make sure that I never put any pressure on him. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me. It tests my patience. This is probably a good thing because I don’t have much of it.

  I walked across the street and past my shop. Sometimes I like to do this and pretend that I’m visiting Parson’s Cove for the first time. If I were a stranger in town, would I be inclined to shop at Mabel’s Fables and Things?

  Probably not. I really don’t go in for knickknacks myself.

  Well, I didn’t get any info from Charlie but he did tell me something. Charlie has a sixth sense when it comes to mysteries. Obviously, something else was going on in our town and it was happening in secret in the dead of the night. Let’s hope that only the night was ‘dead.’

  Chapter Seven

  A north wind crept into Parson’s Cove and by morning the temperature in my house went from eighty-three to sixty-nine by seven-thirty. I thought I would freeze to death. I wrapped my chenille housecoat tight around me and pulled on a pair of ugly wool socks. Dottie, over at the nursing home knitted the socks for me. She started out one year crocheting a pair of slippers made from leftover yarn. They looked so awful that it took me two years before I could bear to put them on my feet. Then, I discovered how comfortable they were. I passed that information on to Dottie, who wondered why it took me two years to tell her, and she’s been supplying me with slippers and socks ever since. They are still ugly. Which reminded me that she had another pair ready so I should pop in sometime today and pick them up. Dottie loves reading those mystery/romance novels so it’s sort of an exchange: she gets rid of all her leftover yarn and I get rid of old second hand books that no one will buy.