Murder on the Sinful Express Page 3

  “That’s what I said.” Madigan’s neck turned bright red. “Cody.”

  Bea shook her head. “No, you said Carter. That’s the name of our deputy. Fortune’s boyfriend.”

  “Whose boyfriend?” Cookie shouted.

  “Sandy-Sue’s boyfriend,” Delphine answered into her mother’s ear. “They’re dating now.”

  “Sandy-Sue? The Yankee skank?”

  “She’s not a skank, Mama!”

  “That’s debatable,” Celia sniffed.

  Delphine looked at me and mouthed, Sorry.

  “Well, if I said Carter, I stand corrected,” Madigan said. “I meant Cody. Anyway, Mona’s in love with him, even though he’s in love with Jenna, who’s totally not right for him, he just can’t see it.” There was an awkward pause. Madigan cleared her throat. “Can we move on to something else?”

  Bea held up her hand. “I want to talk about the end of chapter three, when the Widow Jenkins’s niece, Sandra, gets poisoned. It turns out the poison is slow acting. It took a few days to kill her. Is that even possible? What would do that?”

  Madigan, Trixi and Mindy looked at Bea and said simultaneously, “Antifreeze,” then looked at one another and giggled. “I see we read the same books,” Trixi said.

  “Oh yes, I’m a murderholic, addicted to murder mysteries,” Madigan said, chuckling. “I know a million ways to kill someone.”

  For the next hour we discussed the book and tossed out possible clues, which I wrote on the whiteboard. I stood back and gazed at all the clues written in red marker, noticing a lull in the discussion. A lull that grew into an uncomfortable silence. And stares. Lots of stares from the women around the table. Except for Celia, who added a smirk. Madigan cleared her throat. “When no one has anything left to add, Claire usually leads us in a discussion of classical mysteries and how this book compares.”

  I glanced up at the clock. An hour left in the group, the last half hour of which would be writing in their notebooks. The next thirty minutes were mine.

  “But, then,” Celia said, “Claire is a real librarian. She actually knows all things books. Now it’s your turn, Miss Fortune. Show us what you know.” She smirked and folded her arms. Anna and the other two God’s Wives did the same. I remembered a topic from Gertie’s dissertation and opened my mouth to speak when Gertie interrupted.

  “Not so fast. I haven’t given my thoughts about Fickle Finger of Death.”

  “No, you have been unusually quiet,” Celia said. “It’s been quite pleasant, actually.”

  Ida Belle folded her arms. “And I haven’t given mine.”

  “Nobody’s stopping you. By all means, let the grande dames of the Geritol Mafia have a say.”

  Gertie cleared her throat. “I’d like to discuss how the Widow Jenkins met her death at the bottom of her basement stairs and how that relates to a possible perp.” She reached down and picked up her small suitcase by the handle, hauling it up and onto the table in front of her.

  “What in God’s name is that?” Anna asked.

  “A Plot Recreation Kit,” Gertie said. “It’s being tested in all the top libraries in their mystery book clubs. Isn’t that right, Fortune?”

  Remembering the command to go along with whatever she said, I nodded. “Yes. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it.”

  Madigan cocked her head and stared as Gertie opened the suitcase and started taking out Barbie and Ken dolls and laying them on the table. What the crap? She then took out a pink Barbie convertible, as well as pieces of plastic furniture, including a lone pink, plastic staircase about a foot long.

  “Dolls?” Anna said. “That’s what you Yankees do up North in your libraries? Play with dolls?”

  “Plot Recreators,” Ida Belle said. “Fortune showed us how to use them last night. The purpose is to use the recreators to work out parts of the plot.”

  “I believe it’s called the Gruber Method, isn’t that right, Fortune?”

  I shifted in my seat, tossing a death stare at Gertie. I wished those two would give me a little more warning about their plans than just, go along with it. “Yes,” I said. “Milo Gruber. One of a new breed of library innovators.”

  I noticed Madigan looking it up on her phone.

  “Only it’s being kept under wraps,” I quickly added. “Just a few libraries are involved in testing. And Dr. Gruber has kept his name out of the spotlight.”

  Gertie held up a Barbie wearing yoga pants and tank top. “Let’s just suppose this gal here is the Widow Jenkins.”

  Madigan shook her head. “That’s the Made to Move™ Barbie. I know because I have one.” She glanced at the women staring at her. “I collect Barbies. As an investment. It’s not weird. And that little doll there has twenty-two joints on her. Incredible range of motion.”

  “For now she’s the Widow Jenkins,” Gertie said. “Okay, in the book, Officer Cody speculates that the Widow Jenkins was thrown down her basement stairs, like this.” Gertie held up the staircase and shoved the Barbie down the steps and then picked the Barbie up and bent her leg at the knee. “Her leg was bent up in a ninety degree angle, like this, and her arm was described as sticking out like this.” Gertie bent one of the doll’s arms back.

  “See what I mean,” Madigan said. “A marvel of doll engineering.”

  “Comes in handy with the bendable Ken, I bet,” Trixi said, chuckling.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Madigan said defensively. It was my guess she did.

  Gertie yanked off the Barbie’s head, producing a yelp from Madigan. “And she was decapitated.” Gertie dropped the head at the bottom of the stairs. “It seems to me the widow’s injuries seem a bit extreme for being pushed down the stairs. What if she was killed elsewhere and tossed down her stairs later?”

  “Let’s test that theory,” Ida Belle said.

  For the next fifteen minutes the poor Widow Jenkins Barbie was run over by a pink convertible, thrown off a pink horse, knocked in the head with Ken’s surfboard and thrown over the side of a pink Barbie speedboat. Gertie looked up at the clock. One minute before the group was to begin writing in their notebooks. Celia sat with her arms folded, shooting eye daggers at us.

  Gertie sighed. “After taking all the various scenarios into consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that Officer Cody was correct. The Widow Jenkins was pushed down the stairs and that’s what killed her.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “I concur.”

  Anna tapped a pen on the table, scowling. “I believe we all came to that conclusion a half hour ago.” She glared at me. “I’d like to hear Miss Fortune give her analysis of the writing style of this author as compared to some of the mysteries written during the Golden Age of Crime.”

  The timer dinged.

  “Dang,” Gertie said. “We ran out of time for the analysis.”

  “We’ll have to shelve that until tomorrow, I’m afraid,” I said. I asked them to open their notebooks and write down all the clues from the board, and include any early predictions of who might have pushed the Widow Jenkins down the stairs.

  “I believe I have it figured out,” Anna said smugly.

  Mindy glared at her. “You’re bluffing.”

  Anna smirked. “We’ll see. I already have my five Agatha Christie’s picked out.”

  “You can write this however you like,” I added. “The character in the book wrote her thoughts down as though she were writing in a diary, so do that if you’d like.”

  Chapter Four

  DEAR DIARY,

  I’m not going to waste time hashing out my clues and theories for the book, but I do have to look like I’m participating. Besides, I’m eager to spill my guts to someone about this, it might as well be you, Diary. Just don’t be offended when I burn this page when I get home.

  As we both know, I cheated and read ahead. But I think I played along pretty well, don’t you? It was Mona who threw the Widow Jenkins down the stairs, causing her decapitation, and it was Mona who killed Sandra. Why? To frame Jenna, of
course. She wants Jenna out of the way so she can pursue Cody. But Mona made a few mistakes, mistakes I don’t intend to make.

  You see, Diary, I was thrown for a loop two days ago. The love of my life. Touching HER. She doesn’t deserve him. I do. I deserve to be the one he wants. But as long as she’s around, I have no chance with him. So I’ve made up my mind, Diary. Yes, there are indeed a million ways to kill someone. And before this week is out, I’ll use one of those ways to finally get the man I want. I think I’ll call it, “Murder on the Sinful Express.” Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

  Chapter Five

  WHILE THEY WROTE, I went to the staff lounge for a refill of coffee. Several minutes passed before I heard someone enter the room. I turned to find Anna standing in the doorway.

  “I hope you enjoyed the book club today,” I said, taking a sip of coffee and fighting the urge to wash the scowl off her face with it.

  She sniffed. “It was most illuminating. You seemed a little out of your element. Especially when we discussed the character of Jenna, the woman with a secret past. You fidgeted a lot during that discussion.”

  I tried not to react to her astute observation. I did indeed have a reaction during the discussion of that character. I’d been living a lie in Sinful for two months now and it was weighing heavily on me, especially when I had to continue to lie to people I’d become friends with, such as Ally. And my lie forced me to do things I didn’t like. One of them being civil to people like Anna.

  “Look, lady, you seem to have a bug up your butt about me.” Okay, maybe not so civil. “I don’t know what Celia told you, but I’m Marge Boudreaux’s great-niece, just here to coordinate the closing of her estate.” I took another sip of coffee.

  She nodded. “The women of the God’s Wives keep waiting for your estate sale. Any idea when that will be?”

  “Eager, are you?” I took another sip of coffee. “Glad my aunt’s death will provide you with some bargains.”

  Anna gasped. “I didn’t mean that. You’re twisting my words.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that there have been many odd occurrences in our little town since the day you set foot in it. And from what I heard you’re nothing like Marge described you. You certainly don’t act like any former beauty queen I’ve met, and I spent years traveling the circuits with my daughters.”

  I shrugged. “People change.”

  She stepped toward me to intimidate me. Realizing how I towered over her, she thought twice and took two steps back. “While I have found a blurry photo of you online from a beauty pageant held ten years ago and you do look similar, I have yet to find any online presence of you since you became an adult.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was stalked by male admirers due to my pageant work, so I made the decision to stay off social media.”

  I didn’t expect her to believe me, but the real Sandy-Sue had indeed been stalked and had no online presence, which benefited me greatly, otherwise she’d be online posting photos of the European vacation she was enjoying courtesy of my boss and her uncle, Director Morrow, who was keeping her in Europe so I could continue to assume her identity here in Sinful.

  “Nice try, but I’m not buying it,” she said. “For all we know you could be in Sinful under witness protection. I’ve read horror stories about those types of people. Most of them not the innocents we think they are, but rather criminals themselves testifying against the bigger fish. Some just bring their problems with them and upset life for the townspeople. And if there’s one thing Sinful has had since you arrived, it’s problems. Some day you’ll trip yourself up, Miss Fortune, and when you do, one of us will be there to witness it. And just so you know, I happen to be the best amateur sleuth in our little book club, so it will probably be me who exposes you for the fraud you are.”

  She turned to storm out and ran into Trixi, who was entering the staff break room holding a tray containing several used coffee mugs and a plate with half a two-tier chocolate cake remaining.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Anna said gruffly.

  Trixi screwed her face. I could tell she was about to sneeze. I put my coffee down on the counter and rushed over and took the cake from her. She sneezed as soon as I rushed the cake to the counter. Her sneeze sounded as though it was delivered by a mouse in a cartoon.

  Anna’s eyes widened. “That’s right. You’re the one with the odd sneeze. The comfrey. From Shelley Gaudet’s salve. She used to use it all the time before she passed.”

  “Fascinating,” Trixi said, sneezing again as she took the tray of cups to the sink.

  Anna’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Odd thing to be allergic to.” She glanced over at the cake. “Make sure I get a slice to take home.”

  “I believe young Madigan is coming back to divvy up slices,” Trixi called back to her.

  Anna pointed to one of the coffee mugs, a souvenir mug from Disney World. “That one’s mine. The staff knows and keeps it on the top shelf so no one else will use it. On second thought, just leave it on the counter. I don’t mean to be rude, but with your track record, I’ll wash it myself later.”

  Anna turned to leave the room, stopped, then turned back to me. “I’ll find out the truth about you, Miss Fortune. But you may get a reprieve. I might have bigger fish to fry.”

  She stormed out.

  “Her cake? Her mug? Bigger fish? What a bitch!” Trixi snorted and whispered, “Sorry, I shouldn’t shout like that in a library. I should say it softly.” She repeated her appraisal of Anna in hushed tones. “Did I hear her threatening you?”

  “I’m not popular with a certain segment of Sinful. Celia and her crew think there’s a mystery surrounding me and are trying to intimidate me into leaving town.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake. People like her are why I left Sinful. But then I just traded one small town for another, so what was the point? Anna must think she’s some hot-shot sleuth. Do you think she’s as good as she says?”

  “She’s taking PI classes online, so I would guess she’s better than most. She probably has a case file on everything that’s ever happened in Sinful. I know she snoops for Celia.”

  Trixi shuddered. “Another woman who makes my hair stand on end.” She placed the cake on a table and took the tray of mugs over to the sink. “Just thought I’d help with cleanup. Of course, I won’t wash her special mug.” She shuddered again. “My track record. The nerve of her. Well, you have a good day.”

  I could see the accident before it happened. Trixi turned back toward the sink and her elbow knocked into the tray, sending several mugs, including the souvenir mug of Anna’s crashing to the floor. She held her hands to her mouth in horror. “I’m hopeless.”

  “I won’t say anything,” I said.

  She sighed. “I have a ton of mugs packed up. It’s necessary the way I break things. I’ll bring them in. At least Ida Belle wasn’t near when it happened. Poor thing has gotten maimed more than once due to my clumsiness. You go. I’ll clean up.”

  I thanked her and then left the employee’s lounge. I couldn’t help noticing Anna and Madigan as they stood by the copier, engaged in what appeared to be a heated whispered exchange. Celia stood at the magazine racks several yards away, leafing through a magazine. Anna noticed me watching and said to Madigan in a normal volume, “That’s the third time this week the shelving cart was blocking the aisle. I almost broke a hip trying to move it.”

  Madigan shot me a quick glance. “You’re right, ma’am, and I will tend to that now and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “I hope so. You have a bright future here. I’d hate to have to complain to Lucy about it.”

  Anna turned and walked to Celia, who put down the magazine as Anna whispered in her ear. She smiled and nodded, and the two women slithered toward the fiction section.

  Madigan stared after them and mouthed a word I doubted she said often, grabbed the shelving cart and pushed a
way angrily in the direction of the children’s section.

  “What was that all about?” Ida Belle asked as she and Gertie joined me.

  “Anna threatening to get Madigan fired over a reshelving cart left in the aisle. But they had whispered exchanges before that, so I think there’s something more going on. Anna also threatened to use her sleuthing skills to learn the dirt on me.”

  Gertie shook her head. “And people call the SLS the Geritol Mafia. It’s Celia and her God’s Wives that are the problem. And that Anna’s one of the worst of the bunch.”

  “Don’t worry. Director Morrow and Harrison have made my cover impenetrable,” I whispered to them. “There’s no way an amateur like her or anyone else in the group could find anything.”

  “Still, we need to keep her in our sights,” Ida Belle said. She gestured toward the suitcase at Gertie’s side. “We’d better get those Barbies back to Myrtle before her granddaughter finds out they’re missing.”

  I folded my arms. “You didn’t have to go on and on with the dolls. I actually did retain some of your dissertation, you know.”

  “We couldn’t risk it,” Gertie said. “These God’s Wives are out for blood. Come over tonight for dinner and we’ll go over a few more things.”

  I noticed Mindy Swenson, the woman trailing Anna by one point, turn from the computer terminal at which she’d been sitting. She watched with interest as Anna and Celia huddled in one of the aisles. I flicked my head her way. “Looks like we’re not the only ones keeping an eye on Anna.”

  AFTER A NIGHT AT GERTIE’S, my head was spinning with all things murder. Those Queens of Crime sure knew how to kill people. Not that I didn’t know a million ways to commit murder. I’d spent the better part of my adult years as a CIA assassin. We were trained to be creative. After all, I killed Ahmad’s brother with a stiletto.

  I climbed the steps to my porch and froze. Perhaps it was just the residual effects of discussing murder, clues and suspects all night, but it felt like something was off. I glanced around the porch. Nothing seemed out of order. I opened the door and noticed an envelope sitting on the floor in front of the mail slot, which was strange because the mail had already been delivered for the day. Someone other than a postal worker must have slipped the envelope inside.