Found Dead in the Red Head Page 12

  Muriel sniggered. “And more reliable than any man.” Painted a canary yellow with a colorful peace symbol on the gas tank, the bike was eye-catching.

  The couple admiring the bike peered into the display window, and the woman turned toward the door. Her man rolled his eyes, but followed her.

  Cheerfully, the doorbell tinkled, and she poked her head into the shop. “I can smell the wonderful scents through the window.”

  “Come in. Come in.” I grinned big, enjoying the women’s excitement. Muriel grinned too, murmuring see you later and went out the open door.

  The shopping woman squealed. “Oh, look at those bath bombs! Smells like heaven in here.”

  Outside, Muriel kicked over the motorcycle and its exhaust pipes grumbled. She settled Sadie between her legs and the pup hunkered down like she was holding on. Before she drove away, Muriel lifted a finger in her hand holding the handlebars, and I bent my fingers waving goodbye.

  After she left, I waited on a steady stream of customers.

  Coming back from her errands, Sandy hollered, “Help me with the supplies.”

  Before I could go help Sandy, a shadowy figure filled the whole entrance. My heart skipped a beat because I recognized the giant man who stepped into the Row.

  “Oh, my word! If it isn’t my first love, Bubba Smith! You, old coot!”

  For the second time that day, I spread my arms welcoming a friend… no not just an ordinary friend… he was a dearly beloved friend. Of all the men I’ve known, I admired Bubba Smith more than any including my father. Time after time, he proved himself an honest and forthright sheriff and a good citizen.

  “Pattianna. My you look fit as a fiddle.” We hugged, and I patted his huge shoulder. Retirement put a few pounds on his already stout frame.

  “I’m surprised you came in off the lake.” After he retired from the sheriff’s department, he bought a luxury houseboat on Lake Ouachita.

  “Heck. That snow did Lorena in. I took her to the airport this morning. She’s staying with her sister in Florida until it warms up.”

  “Coffee? I don’t blame her. It can get cold on the lake.”

  “What she needs is some fat.” He rubbed his pot belly. “She’s as thin as a two-year-old corn stalk. The wind goes right through her.”

  “She’s a tiny thing.” Lorena Smith aged better than most her age. They never had children, so her svelte figure stayed intact.

  “Yeah. Get her outta my hair for a while. I can smoke cigars inside while she’s gone.” Bubba rubbed his nose. “Stinks to high heaven in here. What’s that awful smell?”

  I shrugged. “Glad tidings?” Most men don’t have the nose for the wickedly combined scents the soaps and bath bombs put off.

  “Smells like you’re dredging the bottom of a cesspool.”

  “Heck, your smeller is broken.”

  Sandy huffed, leaving the room. “Oh, hey!” Halting, she smiled and took a step back. “Didn’t know we had a cuss… too… mer? Don’t I know you?”

  “What in the world? You had your hair done?” Her stylish new hairdo took me aback.

  Normally, she cuts her own hair into a frumpy hairdo, but her new bob looked stylish with golden pinkish streaks highlighting her brown hair.

  She glanced at Bubba, running her fingers through her new coiffure. “I splurged and got it done. Doesn’t it look fabulous?”

  A sprig of jealousy sprouted. “You… you don’t look like you.”

  “I was watching an interview with Merle Streep the other night and loved her hair.”

  Bubba scuffed his shoe against the floor. “You don’t remember me, I’m Bubba, the former cop.”

  “Oh Bubba, I hardly recognized you. I’m so glad to see you. We have a new coffeemaker. Want one?”

  “Oh, sorry. I already asked. C’mere into the workroom. Sit a spell.”

  Fanny danced around Sandy, flickering taking a long look at her gorgeous new style. “Bloke! I want a haircut like that.” Snaky tendrils of hair furled from her chignon.Going into the other room, I hissed, “Hush. You can’t get a haircut, you’re dead.”

  She followed me.“You have scissors. We can give it a try.”

  I loaded a pod into the coffeemaker, put a cup under the drip and remembered how to turn it on. “I won’t cut your hair with the shop scissors. Get that cockamamie idea out of your empty head.”

  Fanny stomped her nearly invisible foot. “Oh, you!”

  She shot an extra bolt of whatever energy source—electricity or voodoo—into her green eyes which turned into glowing white-hot red coals, then she snapped off disappearing.

  “Just disappear then—”

  Sandy stood beside Bubba, tapping her toe and tsking. “Did you know Patti fell off the stepladder and bonked her head on the sidewalk?”

  Bubba shuffled. “You don’t say?”

  “Yeah. She’s got brain damage. Says the most off-the-wall stuff I’ve ever heard.” Sandy pursed her lips, wrinkling her judgmental chin. Even with a modern new hairdo, she was still a grumpy old woman.

  “Bubba, won’t you have a seat? Let’s visit. Catch up.” I waved my hand at the loveseat.

  The doorbell tinkled, and Sandy winced. “You better be honest with him. Tell ‘em how crazy you are.”

  She whirled, going back into the showroom chirping. “Welcome to the Row.”

  Bubba eased onto the loveseat and it creaked under his weight. He didn’t say anything about my odd behavior, but settled and put his hat on his knee.

  “Cream.” I asked, but knew how to make his coffee, more cream than coffee. Sandy had resupplied our meager kitchen with cookies, cheese sticks and fresh cream. The coffeemaker sip the last drops of coffee in a cup, and fixed it for him.

  “Thank you kindly.” He took the cup, blew off the top of the coffee and took a sip, the same way he always had.

  I leaned against the workbench, not trusting the sofa’s frame with him and me in it. Fanny slowly appeared and sat beside him in the arm of the loveseat.

  Bubba wouldn’t just casually dropped by after dropping Lorena at the airport, he was here to talk.

  He clucked, shaking his head. “To tell the truth, I’ve read about your troubles in the paper. Bloody bad stuff. Poisoned bath bombs.”

  Sighing I relaxed, glad he was keeping up with the news. “We were lucky.”

  He nodded. “Yep. Now this Belly Walker case irks me to no end. Dick doesn’t have a clue. Don’t know what he’s doing, does he?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Belly was a good guy.”

  Together, he and Belly sponsored the Boys and Girls Clubs picnic every year and donated their time and money to other philanthropic associations. They were good friends. “He’ll be missed. But I need to tell you…”

  Once I started telling him what I knew, I couldn’t stop until I got to the end. He nodded, soaking in the information, adding grunts of acknowledgement.

  “What do you think?” Asking him for his opinion, soothed me on many levels, because he knew so much about our community.

  “I agree Gretchen might be as old as the hills, but she rules them Floyd boys with an iron fist.”

  I eased over to the swinging doors and made sure Sandy wasn’t eavesdropping since she uses bat radar to listen. She hunched over the tablet ignoring us, so turning back, I wrung my hands and said, “I turned in Bangor Floyd this morning.”

  It had been hours since I made that phone call. “A friend told me he was shacking up next door to her. He wanted to ride her Indian.”

  Bubba rubbed his stubble. “You don’t say? Only woman I recall who rides an Indian is Muriel what’s her name. She waits tables at… at… Benson’s. Breakfast only.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Open since Al Capone lived in Hot Springs, Benson’s was a dirty hole-in-the-wall joint near the police station. Bubba and his cop cronies frequent the place, but I’ve only been there a time or two. It’s a favorite for the old timers, and unless the old timer who inhe
rited the place didn’t make upgrades, soon the new old timers won’t eat there.

  Although, it’s location on the heart of Central Avenue, once they tear down the old building, would be competition for the other restaurants on the Row. I can’t believe Muriel makes a decent living there.

  “Her daddy left her that motorcycle. It’s her pride and joy.”

  “I’ll say. You think of anything, let me know. I’m out of clues.”

  He waved his empty coffee cup, and I took it like old times. “There’s one thing I know for sure.” He struggled up from the loveseat, and I wanted to offer him a helping hand, but didn’t since he might’ve pulled me over.

  “What’s that?”

  “Bet Belly was assassinated and the Floyds are messy. If Gretchen hadn’t had him killed, a Floyd didn’t kill him.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it. He was right about the Floyds; more family members were prison now than there were out.

  “Why on earth would Gretchen want Belly dead?”

  He headed for the swinging door. “Cause, he knew her secrets.”

  Forcing myself, I didn’t react to his comment. Everyone keeps secrets, but most people don’t kill over them.

  Avoiding asking Bubba what secret, instead, “Let me make Lorena a goodie bag. She’ll love it when she gets home.”

  “Phew. Too smelly.”

  “Keep it in your truck toolbox until she returns home”

  “Heck no. That’d stink up my tools. Or I can take a girly bath.” He grinned, holding his nose and took the bag. “She’s gonna love this junk.”

  I walked him to the door, squeezing his arm. “Drop by anytime. You know you’re welcome.”

  Chapter 24

  Sweet Girl

  Etta arrived in time to save me from mixing Sandy into a batch of poisonous bath bombs.

  “Wow! Old woman. You look fabulous.” Etta circled, playfully flipping a lock of Sandy’s hair.

  Sandy did a fancy pirouette, almost tripping. “Do you think so?”

  I grinned even though she was getting on my last nerve. “We have five gift boxes to create. I would’ve loaded Myra’s stuff into my car, but I’ve had too many distractions.”

  Sandy sashayed and curtsied even more. “I’m not a distraction, I’m your partner.”

  Rolling her eyes, Etta took off her coat and went into the workroom. “I’ll load the gifts first, then do the boxes.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Your mom stopped by.”

  “She did? She’s been upset about Mr. Belly. She really liked him.”

  Digging in my purse, I handed her the key fob and hipped open the door holding it open for her. She fetched Myra’s gift boxes, seemingly unperturbed by talking about murder. This time, she recovered faster from the news about Belly.

  Etta worked, but shrugged. “She’ll get over it. It’s not like she saw a dead body.”

  “That’s true.”

  After she loaded the boxes, I called Myra to make sure she was home and told her I would deliver them.

  Myra survived the bathtub bomb snafu with Morris but since then, she installed a new security system on the gate in her driveway. She gave me the gate’s passcode, so I wouldn’t need to buzz her to let me into the newly secured compound.

  Sandy fluffed her new bob. “Don’t get sidetracked. I know how lackadaisical you get when you’re wondering aimlessly around town.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m leaving. Miss Sassy can’t stop admiring herself.”

  Halfway to Myra’s house, I made an illegal U-turn, pulling over in a parking lot and sent Myra a text.

  — Going to visit a friend. Be there later this afternoon.

  I knew she’d be miffed, but my curiosity was getting the better of me.

  “Where are we going?” Fanny popped up, wearing her happy firefly green.

  I slammed on the brakes, glancing into the rearview mirror hoping a car didn’t rear end us. “Ho! You scared me. Why didn’t you say you were here?”

  She huffed. “You slipped out while I wasn’t paying attention. I just now caught up with you.”

  “We aren’t going anywhere. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “How can I stay by myself with Sandy? I might stab her with my sewing needle.” The needle appeared between her nearly invisible fingers and she stabbed with it.

  “You better not cause any trouble.”

  “I won’t. Where are we going?”

  “Nun ‘ya.” With Fanny along, no telling what would happen.

  “What does nun ‘ya mean?”

  “None of your business.” I glanced at her and she nodded, her eyes sparked emerald green. “Don’t get excited. Everything I do is boring; don’t you know that.”

  “It’s better than being dead. Before you came along—before we became friends—I was dying of boredom.”

  “Pfft. You can’t die of anything.”

  “I didn’t know how lonely I was. You know what?”

  “No, what?” I put my blinker on, checked the rearview mirror and changed lanes to make a left turn.

  “I love pestering Sandy. She’s more fun than you.”

  “Oh, really?” That wasn’t a surprise.

  The neon open sign hanging in Belly’s front window wasn’t lit, but I didn’t want to go into his showroom, so I drove around back.

  Belly employed many men from the area, mechanics, body men, painters and flunkies to do the dirty work, and Walker wouldn’t let his employees down by temporarily shutting down their livelihoods.

  On this sunny day, six bays were open and country music played to the sounds of sanders, electric wrenches, clangs and bangs and murmurs. I parked next to a row of employees’ cars.

  “You stay here.” I was too late, because Fanny passed through the car door. Worse than a new puppy exploring the world, she charged forward curious about every person, gadget and cranny.

  As we approached an open bay, a kid walked toward us, drying his greasy hands on a shop rag.

  Fanny faded and if that was a good thing, I’d have to wait and see.

  The kid offered his hand. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

  Inside the bays, the shop fell silent. Although I couldn’t see the men, I felt them watching me. In the last few days, I don’t doubt these men were put through the wringer. They’ve been thoroughly interrogated. Another stranger approaching would raise red flags, and they waited in the shadows.

  “I’m… I’m Pattianna Fuqua. I’m an old friend of Belly’s.” Standing in the sun, I shaded my eyes looking at the man. “I… I was wondering.”

  I shouldn’t be here poking my nose into their business, muddling around like a nosy old woman.

  Fanny’s joyful, firefly green glimmer circled one mechanic. Besides pestering Sandy, parade goers and even horse-drawn carriages, she’s fascinated with good-looking men. During all those years alone in the shop, she wasn’t just bored, she was also lonely.

  “Is there something…”

  “Is Walker around? I wanted to offer him my help… with…” I shrugged. “Anything he needs. Walker used to date my daughter.”

  The fellow winced and relaxed a bit. “You’re Ally’s mom? Sweet girl. Naw, he’s in town. They picked up that ass… pardon me. The sheriff’s department picked up Bangor Floyd. He went down there to...”

  I held my breath, happy to hear my efforts paid off, but I’d never tell anyone I turned him in. Word might get back to Gretchen.

  “Right. I used to work for the department. I was wondering? Did Belly buy a new old car recently? From the 30s or 40s?”

  The image of the missing car in the Floyd’s junkyard bothered me, and it must be linked to Belly’s death. What else could it be? Belly wanted access to the junkyard and admitted he scouted the place on Google Maps.

  “Yeah. He buys... bought an’ sold every day. Us guys don’t know what’s coming next until we get the work order. We do the work and Belly turns the deals.”

  He puffed up looking uncomfortable. “
Only Walker knows now.”

  He scuffled back a few inches which meant he was ending our conversation. Asking a loyal employee about their livelihood was like asking how much money they had in the bank. I should’ve known better, but I couldn’t stop blurting the first thing which pops into my head.

  Squinting, I looked for Fanny, but didn’t see her circling any of the workers. “I hate to ask, but could I use the ladies’ room. Too much coffee today.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Guess so. Go over yonder. It’s across the showroom. Keys hanging behind Belly’s—Walker’s desk behind the counter."

  Weaving my way through the crowded shop, the men came from the shadows, pretending to work while they watched me thread between them. Turning the doorknob, I opened the grease-stained door and went into a dark hall.

  “Fanny!” I whisper hissed. “Where are you?”

  As I walked toward Belly’s showroom, a sharp pang hit as I realized Belly would not greet me. His uncommon infectious spirit had filled many hearts and our community will miss his input and contributions.

  Walker has a big pair of shoes to fill.

  The dark showroom held three remodeled vintage cars, a Mustang, a Ford Fairlane and a MG Spider.

  My footfalls echoed in the quiet room and I felt like an intruder, but I knew where the key hung behind Belly’s desk. Over the years, Ally and I visited this showroom many times, and I knew how to find the bathroom.

  Going into the dungeon dark bathroom, I flipped on the lights and the old fluorescent bulbs hummed.

  Belly bought his super-sized shop from Walmart for a bargain when they built the super-store out on the loop. The bathrooms were built in the ‘80s and Belly hadn’t changed a thing.

  The stall door wouldn’t close properly, and the toilet seat felt like an iceberg, but I wouldn’t be long.

  “Hey!” Fanny popped up, grinning.

  “Oh, my word! I’m in the bathroom. Get out.”

  She didn’t budge, but dimmed her colors. “Hurry up. I found someone you need to talk to.”

  “Get out. Let me finish in peace.”

  “Bloke.” She passed through the stall door.

  Coming out, I prepared a smart retort about invading my privacy, but she was gone.