Leaving Sinful Page 2

  “Welcome to Desert Acres!” they both said together.

  “You must be Olive’s niece, Delilah,” Bucky said.

  “Yes I am, though most of my friends call me Fortune.”

  “Fortune?” Bucky looked taken aback. “Well, isn’t that an interesting nickname. You’ll have to tell us all about that.”

  Rosa nudged her way inside the trailer and into the living room. “We heard you were coming to take care of your aunt’s things in the fall. If we knew you were coming early, we’d have brought food.”

  Bucky followed then looked back at the door. “Well, don’t waste your cool air on the desert, close the door.”

  I did and joined the two women as they stood in the middle of the living room.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but Bucky, our friend Shelby and I came over and straightened up after your aunt passed,” Rosa said. “Not that she was a messy lady. Of course, not that she was Martha Stewart, either. But who is, except Martha? I’m sure if Olive had an inkling she’d be gone the next day, she would have straightened up herself.” Rosa sighed and wiped at some tears spilling from her eyes. “We’re going to miss the old broad.”

  “She was the life of the trailer park,” Bucky said, choking back emotion.

  I felt awkward as I touched Rosa’s shoulder. “Well, thanks for straightening up. I’m sure Aunt Olive would have appreciated it.”

  “We cleaned out stuff from the fridge that would spoil,” Bucky said, “but did leave items that would last, and kept a lot of stuff in the freezer. Just in case a family member came early to tend to Olive’s trailer.” Bucky swept her gaze around the living room and sighed. “It’s been a month since I’ve been inside her place. Such a shame. She was only sixty-five.”

  Bucky touched my shoulder. “She spoke so highly of you.”

  Rosa nodded. “Always bragging about your Hollywood career. When you played that dead prostitute on CSI, a bunch of us came over the night it was on. You were very lifelike.” Rosa stopped and thought a moment. “I mean, deathlike.” She laughed and then stopped. “I’m sorry. That was crass, considering...” She looked at Bucky. “Remember when we came over and watched Delilah on the morgue table?”

  Bucky nodded. “If you ask me, the actor playing the medical examiner put his hand a little too close to your crotch.”

  “He was pointing out the bullet hole near her bellybutton,” Rosa said. “His hand needed to be there.”

  “Still. I think I would have smacked him.”

  “You also imitate crying babies, don’t you?” Rosa asked. “You did the voice of that crying baby in an episode of Modern Family. We all came over for that, too.”

  Before I could answer, she asked me if I could cry once for her.

  Bucky waved her hand at Rosa. “For heaven’s sake, Rosa, let the girl catch her breath. Besides, she’s a professional. She gets paid to cry like that. You wouldn’t ask a heart surgeon to cut you open and demonstrate, would you? They probably have union rules against that sort of thing.”

  “You know,” I said, faking a yawn, “I’m a little tired.”

  Bucky patted my arm. “Of course you are. We just wanted to welcome you to the ’hood.” She laughed, then sobered. “And to tell you we were so sorry about your aunt. She was one of my best friends here and I’m still feeling the loss. We all are.”

  Rosa nodded. “I knew her for ten years. Shame. Just a shame.”

  Neither made a movement to leave.

  “Thank you,” I said, walking toward the door to give them the hint.

  “Oh... well...” Bucky said, following me before suddenly stopping. “Oh, I just remembered. We’re having a potluck tonight in Clubhouse B. Why don’t you stop by? Everyone would love to meet you.”

  “I thought I’d just go out and pick something up at this restaurant I saw not far from here.”

  Bucky ignored me. “Nonsense. I’ll pick you up at 6:30. I hope you don’t mind sitting through a little debate beforehand.”

  “Debate?” I asked.

  “For the resident association elections,” Bucky said. “Your aunt was running for association president. She would have been a shoo-in. Now it’s between Martha Bodkin and George Boze.” Bucky rolled her eyes. “What George lacks in brain power he makes up for in absolutely nothing. And Martha is a control freak. Head of the security patrol. Always leaves nasty notes when you break any of the rules.”

  “She was always telling your aunt to turn down her TV, the bitch,” Rosa said. “Excuse my language, but you work in Hollywood, so I bet you’ve heard worse.”

  “Yes, I have. Well, it was nice meeting you two.” I opened the door and Bucky stepped outside.

  Rosa followed her. Before leaving the trailer, though, she stopped, turned and faced me. “Will you be staying nearby?”

  “I’ll be staying here for a while.”

  Rosa’s face blanched. “Here? In the trailer?”

  “Anything wrong with that?” I asked.

  “Well, maybe it’s just us, dear,” Bucky said. “Your aunt died in this trailer. In her bed.”

  Rosa’s eyes widened. “Died? Olive didn’t just die in her bed. She was murdered there.”

  “Rosa!” Bucky said. “She wasn’t murdered. She died in her sleep.”

  “Yeah. Helped by a mysterious killer,” Rosa blurted out. “Remember, Shelby said she saw Olive’s light on around two that morning. And a shadow on the curtains. Shelby told the police, but they thought she was mistaken about the time. They didn’t believe her because she’s a senior. They never believe us. They said there was no evidence Olive was murdered. But she was. And I bet it was someone from our metal detecting club.”

  “Honestly,” Bucky said to me. “Rosa has a very active imagination.”

  “You’ve thought of it too and you know it,” Rosa said. She looked at me. “It was all because of the map she found. The one to the Lost Dutchman Mine.”

  “Let the girl get her bearings before we bombard her with all of this.” Bucky gently ushered Rosa out the door and turned to me. “Just forget about the murder part and have a pleasant stay.”

  “It was murder,” Rosa called out.

  Bucky rolled her eyes. “Let Olive rest in peace.”

  Rosa stuck her head inside. “That map was bad news. No one who ever found it had a peaceful life afterward. And Olive’s not resting in peace, because she was murdered.” Rosa turned and stormed off.

  Bucky smiled. “Rosa can go a little mental at times. Personally, I think she’s stuck in menopause.”

  “What’s this about a map?”

  “We’ll tell you all about it later. No sense getting you all worried.” Her brows pushed together. “Although if Olive did hold onto the map and it’s here in the trailer, you might be in danger.” She brightened. “Well, enough of this doom and gloom. Enjoy your stay at Desert Acres. If you need anything, my trailer is just across the street, the one with the little gnome family out front.”

  She closed the door.

  Murdered?

  Harrison hadn’t told me anything about his mother’s cousin being murdered. However, if the police did discount the word of a senior witness, which I’d learned over the past seven weeks is more common than I’d ever thought, the police probably wouldn’t have informed the family.

  I heard a ping from my laptop I had left open on the kitchen table. I rushed back and sat down. Ida Belle had answered.

  So glad to hear you made it to Arizona safely, Smitty. You tell Cleo all is peaceful and calm here. No hurricane. The only news from here is that Ally has a new cat. He’s doing fine. How is it at your new trailer park?

  I placed my hands on the keys. I could just imagine Gertie standing over Ida Belle’s shoulder, crying.

  Fine, I typed in the message box. They have a pickleball court, so I’m thrilled.

  I shook my head. I had no idea what pickleball even was. My gaze fell upon a photo of Rosa and Bucky on the refrigerator, their arms around a white-haired woman
whom I assumed was Olive. A group selfie. I tried to imagine someone murdering her in her sleep.

  Don’t do it, Fortune. Don’t get involved.

  But who would want to murder her? And doesn’t she deserve someone to stick up for her? If this were Sinful, Ida Belle, Gertie and I certainly would try to find out the truth.

  I stared at the message I had typed. If Olive really were my aunt, I’d leave no stone unturned if I thought she’d been murdered.

  I erased my message and retyped: Looks like we stepped into something mysterious here. We found out the lady who is renting the trailer to us was murdered. The police have discounted the word of a senior who saw someone’s shadow in her room. A travesty, I tell you. In your words, dear friend, Ida Belle, a real shitstorm.

  I didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

  You’re in luck, Smitty, she wrote. Shitstorms are our specialty. We need a vacation and have lots of miles. We’re on our way.

  Chapter Four

  Bucky

  BUCKY ENTERED THE CONFESSIONAL at Our Lady of the Desert Catholic Church and knelt, grateful she had watched that video on YouTube about how to go to confession. Seconds later, Father Carson opened the little window, revealing a mesh screen.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “How long since your last confession?” he asked.

  She cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ve never been to confession. I’m not Catholic.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m Methodist. However, I do drop a boatload of cash each week at your church playing Bingo, so I think that entitles me to a little of your time.”

  He was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “You’re here for confession?”

  “Well, yes, I need to talk to someone, and my Catholic friends say this confession business helps them. So I figured I’d give you a shot. You don’t discriminate against Methodists, do you?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “I should hope not.”

  “However,” the priest said, “I cannot give you absolution. I can only do that for Catholics.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea what that means, so I’m good with that.”

  He sighed. “Isn’t there a minister you could talk to?”

  “Well, yes, but Preacher Bill is gone on vacation and that irritating youth minister is substituting. Between the iPhone he has glued to his ear and that annoying phrase he uses—‘no worries’—it’s enough to make me want to become a Baptist.”

  Silence.

  “Please, Father. My friends speak very highly of you.”

  He sighed again. “You’re here to confess your sins, then?”

  “Well, not all of them, of course, that would take a few hours.” She laughed. “I lived through the hippie years. Free love and all that. Though, to be honest, on occasion I did charge. But that’s for another time. I’m here to confess a particular sin. Well, okay, two if you count the one I’m going to commit. And maybe three, I’m not sure if I’ll confess that one yet.” She pulled in a breath and exhaled. “My name is Bucky and I live at the senior trailer park outside of town.”

  “This is anonymous,” he said. “You don’t need to give me your name.”

  She sighed. “Oh. Well.” A sign outside would have helped, she thought. “I’ll remember that for next time. I guess I should just plow ahead. About a month ago my friend, Olive, passed in her sleep. After her body was removed, my friends Rosa and Shelby, who go to this church...” She stopped. “Oops, I guess I shouldn’t have said their names.” She winced. “And Rosa is the volunteer who cleans your office, so you’d know her very well. Oh for heaven’s sake, I’m just messing up all over the place, aren’t I? Anyway, we went inside Olive’s trailer to tidy up the place. Now, that’s the Good Samaritan part of what we did, so I hope we all get some credit for that.”

  She coughed, hoping to give the Father an opening to agree. None was forthcoming, so she plowed ahead. “While there, my friends and I might have helped ourselves to a few things. Things, I might add, that I know Olive would want us to have. Better us than that horrible family of hers that she never said one good word about.”

  She shifted on the kneeler, her knees cursing her. If this were a Methodist confessional, she’d be relaxing on a recliner. No wonder every Catholic woman she knew had bad knees.

  She continued. “Anyway, there was something specific we were looking for, and that’s why I’m here. You see, a couple weeks before Olive died, several of us in our metal detecting club bought a lapsed storage unit and we divvied up the contents. Most of us just got junk, but Olive scored with a book hidden inside an old picnic basket. The book was a journal and included a hand-drawn map.

  “Just FYI, I was the first to call dibs on the picnic basket, but I let Olive have it because I saw the way she looked at it, like it was Robert Redford or something. Anyway, some of us believe that the map is to the Lost Dutchman Mine.”

  She waited for Father Carson to gasp. According to legend, that mine held hundreds of millions of dollars in gold. But Father Carson didn’t gasp.

  “Well, you must be new to the area,” Bucky said. “Needless to say, that’s a big deal and caused quite a stir in our club, so Olive made up some story about finding out it wasn’t authentic and then burned a fake map at our club’s wiener roast to get all the vultures off her tail.”

  Bucky leaned into the screen separating her from the priest. “You aren’t yawning in there, are you?”

  “No,” he said, though it sounded as though he had. “Please continue.”

  She nodded. “Anyway, Olive’s real plan was for Rosa, Shelby and me to help her try to find the mine when the summer heat was over. But she was taking so long making copies of the map for the three of us that I went over to see what was going on. I think I may have said something stupid, like, ‘you’re trying to stiff us, you old b-word.’ Not my proudest moment. I apologized, and our conversation became civil again. She then told me she would finish up within the next few days.

  “But then it came out that she still hadn’t changed her will. Her horrible sister and insipid little niece were still listed as beneficiaries of everything since she had no other heirs. She couldn’t stand her sister and she absolutely hated that little tramp niece. I had no idea why she would leave anything to them at all. I told her, ‘Olive, you need to take those bimbos out of your will.’”

  Bucky wiped a tear from her eye, remembering that night. “She got mad at me and said I could just come back the next day when I calmed down. So I left. And that was the last time I saw her. She was supposed to go out with us for dinner and darts the next night but cancelled. She said she couldn’t go because she was busy finishing our maps, which she would give us the next day at breakfast. Well, she died in her sleep not more than a few hours after that. And as hard as the three of us looked while we were cleaning her place, we never found any copies of the map.”

  Bucky reached into her purse and grabbed a Kleenex. Blew her nose and stuffed the used tissue back into her purse.

  “Now, here’s the thing, Preacher.”

  “Father,” he said, correcting her.

  She nodded. “That snotty little bitch niece of hers is here now, and if she finds the map, she’s going to take our treasure away from us. And without a will, Rosa, Shelby and I are S.O.L. If you ask me, the niece already found it because, get this, Delilah’s nickname is, ‘Fortune.’ Can you believe it? She’s just rubbing our noses in it. And what a waste of a human being she is. Some wannabe actress whose only role was a dead body on a TV show. Oh, and she’s a voice actress. Does baby cries. Have you ever heard anything so stupid in your life? Some people cure cancer. She cries like a baby and gets paid for it. That’s injustice for you.”

  She unscrewed the cap from her water bottle and took a swig. “You’re not saying much, Father. Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “So here’s where I’m confessing to an ongoing an
d future sin. My friends and I are trying to convince this little bimbo from Hollywood that the map caused her aunt’s death. That she will die too unless she gets rid of it. Now, I don’t think that’s a major sin, do you? Olive would have given us each a copy of the map and taken little Miss Fortune out of her will if she’d just had a little more time on Earth. If anything, the three of us are just righting a wrong. That makes this sin minuscule in my book.”

  She could hear the priest shifting in his chair on the other side of the screen. “Are you sure you want to go down this road?” he asked.

  “Very sure. Hundreds of millions of dollars sure,” she said. “Well, thank you, Father. I feel much better making this confession.”

  She pulled herself up from the kneeler, grunting with the pain in her arthritic knee. “Oh, I forgot to mention one other sin. I’m afraid it’s a doozy. I did leave something out.”

  Bucky leaned into the screen and whispered, “I don’t think Olive died in her sleep. I think I may have killed her.”

  “Excuse me?” the priest asked.

  Bucky didn’t answer, focused instead on what she remembered. And, worse, what was a blank. She remembered waking up in her recliner the morning Olive was found. She’d slept there all night, not waking even to go to the bathroom. She’d been drinking heavily the night before—tequila shots—so must have passed out when she got back from a night out with her friends. But that wasn’t the oddest thing about the morning after.

  When she had gotten up from her recliner she noticed a pillowcase lying at her feet.

  An engraved pillowcase. OT in bold green thread.

  One of Olive’s engraved pillowcases.

  Her friend Shelby had told police she had seen shadows in Olive’s house. Bucky had prayed to God the shadows weren’t hers. Prayed that she hadn’t gone over to Olive’s in a drunken state, kill Olive with her pillow and then blank it all out. But later that day Bucky had received an anonymous note saying, We will carry what we did to our graves. She never spoke about it to anyone, and it was the only note she had received on the matter.

  “Would you care to repeat that?” the priest asked softly.