Chapter 6
The steering wheel still burned my fingers in spite of the sweater I’d tossed over the wheel. I made a note to pick up one of those windshield screens at the gas station after I checked out Edna Mae Langford’s place. She lived a few blocks from the library, near one of the newer recreation centers. I figured I could scope out her property and make it back in time to grab lunch with my mother.
For some reason, my mother had become fixated about eating at a certain time. Our conversation about it still played out in my mind.
“I like to eat lunch between eleven forty-five and one so I can eat dinner at five. Five-thirty the latest.”
“That seems so early for dinner, Mom.”
“I don’t like to go to sleep with heavy food in my stomach.”
When I was growing up, dinners were flexible. Now I had to abide by my mother’s new military schedule. That meant having me finish up my so-called sleuthing before noon.
I found Edna Mae’s street without any trouble. Pristine gravel lawns. Cookie-cutter stucco houses. I half expected Rod Serling to pop up and announce, “A quiet street in the middle of a senior living community. . .” He’d be the only one popping up.
A mail delivery truck approached slowly from the opposite side of the street. The driver waved as he slowed down in front of a mailbox with a large metal roadrunner affixed to the top. I waved back as I got out of the car. Other than the mail delivery truck, mine was the only vehicle on the block. Edna Mae’s house was the second one from the corner and distinguished from the rest by the large mesquite tree, whose limbs overtook the front yard and sidewalk. I took advantage of whatever shade the tree offered and parked close to the curb. Like most of the yards in Sun City West, hers was covered with crushed granite. I looked at it carefully as the mail truck moved farther down the block.
I remembered how thrilled my father was when they first moved here and he didn’t have to mow a lawn. Their only decision was the color and size of the granite. Apparently homeowners could select rock sizes ranging from four inches to fine particles like pea gravel. My mother’s yard was somewhere between a half inch and dust. Now I was about to check out the suspicion I had about Edna’s yard.
The mailbox paralleled the edge of the driveway and was just a few feet from the set-in garbage container. Only the container’s lid was visible. The can itself was underground, a concept designed by the developers so that Sun City West would look aesthetically pleasing without unsightly garbage cans. Large pinkish rocks covered the area, only to be contained by a brick border that separated Edna’s house from her neighbor’s. I bent down and picked up one of the rocks. Heavy little sucker. I set it in the palm of my hand and used my fingertips from my free hand to move it. The rock wasn’t going anywhere. My mother said Edna had slipped on some of the rocks scattered near the mailbox. Well, unless it was a vulture or an eagle, those chunks of rock weren’t scattered there by any bird. Or a rabbit, for that matter.
It wasn’t likely the stones were disturbed by a coyote either. I’d seen those animals on the move, and they didn’t kick up rocks like bulls or cattle. Maybe my mother wasn’t so nuts after all. I was beginning to think Edna Mae Langford slipped on those rocks because someone put them there. I stood for a second or two staring at her yard and wondering what kind of person would scatter stones in a driveway so that an elderly woman might fall. Someone interested in her money? Her property? Or worse yet, one of those disturbed individuals who always seem to make the headlines. Naked man smashes pottery against house while listening to Italian opera. I tried to get those images out of my mind as I walked back to the car.
In spite of being set on full blast, the car’s air conditioner didn’t provide me with much relief from the heat. I all but staggered into my mother’s house a few minutes later, only to find she’d invited some friends to join us for lunch. For a would-be detective, I failed to notice the maroon Buick parked a few feet from her mailbox.
“There you are, Phee,” my mother shouted from the kitchen as I stepped inside. “I want you to meet Shirley Johnson and Lucinda Espinoza from the book club. They’re joining us for lunch. Come on. Sit down. And don’t give Streetman any scraps. He’s under the table. He has a delicate stomach, so I only feed him grain-free food.”
And butter cookie crumbs.
I approached the two women, who looked up from the large platter of cold cuts, rolls, and containers of assorted deli salads my mother had placed on the kitchen table.
Shirley was a tall, impeccably dressed black woman who looked as if she’d be more comfortable dining with heads of state rather than with my mother. Lucinda, on the other hand, was short, stout, and haphazardly put together. Her glasses kept sliding off her round face, and her hair looked as if it were stuck in the eighties.
“Help yourselves, ladies,” my mother said. “What can I get you to drink?”
As she poured glasses of juice or soda, I introduced myself and took one of her napkins to wipe off my forehead.
“So,” Shirley said, “your mother was telling us you came to look into the book curse. Thank the good Lord I’m still on the waiting list for that damnable thing. Frankly, I’m not in such a hurry to read it.”
As she reached for a Coke, I couldn’t help but admire her gorgeous manicure. Deep burgundy and red colors showed off her dark skin. Instinctively, I folded my hands so she wouldn’t notice the last manicure I had was weeks ago.
Lucinda jumped in before I could say anything. “That’s a bunch of poppycock. I’m more than halfway through the book, and I’m still here. You know, it’s an interesting story. I’m at the part where the mistress reveals she’s really the governess’s sister and—”
“I knew it!” I blurted out before I realized what I’d done.
“You’re reading that book? That cursed book?” The pitch in my mother’s voice could have broken stemware from a hundred feet. She was furious.
“Sophie Vera Kimball, how could you put yourself in this much danger?”
“For goodness sakes, it’s not as if I’m jumping headfirst from a plane without a parachute, Mom.”
“Bite your tongue. You still have a flight home.”
“Honesty. I couldn’t very well look into something if I didn’t know what it was about. I downloaded the novel on my e-reader.”
“And . . . ?” she asked.
“And what? I haven’t finished it yet. I mean, it’s not as if everyone was given a paper copy and then they all died from some mysterious poison that had been embedded into the ink. The book’s available electronically as well as in print.”
Lucinda gave Shirley a nudge and reached for the macaroni salad. “You see, Shirley, there’s nothing to concern yourself about. Just a bunch of hooey.”
I paused. Too long. They could probably read the expression on my face. No wonder I never played poker. “I wouldn’t exactly say that. I have a hunch, based on what little I’ve found out so far, that, um . . . maybe, just maybe . . . some of these deaths, like Minnie Bendelson’s from eating the chicken salad, might not have been accidental.”
Lucinda’s hands covered her mouth as she gasped.
“So much for ‘hooey,’” Shirley added as she slowly pushed herself away from the table.
“More salad, anyone?” My mother tried to act nonchalant, but there was no turning back from my remark. The ladies glanced at the food and then at my mother before Lucinda spoke.
“My God, Harriet. We have no idea who prepared these salads, do we? And what about the pound cake?”
My mother didn’t say a word but ate two slices, followed by some juice. It must have finally occurred to Lucinda Espinoza that no one was about to die of food poisoning. Not in my mother’s kitchen, anyway. As my mother wiped the crumbs from her face, she muttered something about needing to “work it off” with a Jazzercise tape. Then she brought up the subject of Jeanette Tomilson’s garage incident.
“Someone had to have broken in, taken the key off the wall in the laundry room, and started the car without Jeanette knowing.”
I wasn’t convinced. “How would they know she kept her keys on the wall in the laundry room, and how could they have broken in when there were no signs of anything being disturbed?”
“That’s easy,” Shirley said between sips of coffee. “Jeanette keeps a spare key under that plastic cactus of hers by the side door to the garage. It practically screams, ‘Welcome, Burglars!’ Anyone who knows her, who’s worked for her, or has witnessed her locking herself out of the house knows they can get in.”
Maybe that’s what happened, but I thought it was a long shot. “I don’t know, Shirley. That doesn’t explain how they knew she kept her ring of keys in the laundry room.”
“Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe it was just a lucky break. Whoever snuck inside the garage might have been prepared to go snooping around for her handbag or something.”
For a brief second, I envisioned Whoopi Goldberg in Burglar and stifled a laugh.
“But she would have heard them,” I said as Lucinda looked up from her plate before breaking into the conversation.
“Not Jeanette. You don’t know her, do you? She’s got that stupid BlueRay thing stuck in her ear all the time. She’d never hear a thing until it was too late.”
I tried not to laugh. “You mean Bluetooth?”
Lucinda went on. “BlueRay, Bluetooth, whatever. I swear we’ve all lost the art of conversation with human beings. All everyone does is hook themselves up to devices and gadgets all day long. That’s why I enjoy our book club so much. Gives us the chance to talk face-to-face. But now, with everyone dropping off like flies, there’ll be no book club left. We can all post a message on that Face page!”
I wasn’t sure if Lucinda’s short tirade was for my benefit or if she was really serious. Judging from the expression on Shirley’s face, she wasn’t so sure either.
“What I’d like to know is . . . how Edna Mae tripped over those rocks near the mailbox. She should have seen them.”
My mother started to say something, but Lucinda cut her off. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, ladies. Edna Mae was blind as a bat without her glasses. And she was always misplacing them. That’s why she had all those cheap reading glasses lying around her house. As long as she didn’t drive anywhere, the rest of us in Sun City West were safe. She probably walked out of the house without her driving glasses and didn’t see the rocks. I kept telling her to get bifocals, but she was so stubborn. Said they made her look old.”
It was a no-brainer. Everyone whom Edna Mae came in contact with knew about her vision problems. Heck, even Gertie and Trudy from The Lillian mentioned it. It wouldn’t be too difficult for someone to have swung by Edna Mae’s house unnoticed and uproot some rocks near the mailbox. After all, no one saw me there today. My mind clicked into action while Lucinda continued to speak. Those two book clubbers were a veritable goldmine of information, and I had to make the most of it.
“I don’t know how you stand this heat”—I turned to Shirley—“but this afternoon I plan to take a swim in one of the pools. Do they all have a problem with bees? I don’t want to get stung like that other lady from your group.”
“Oh, you mean Thelmalee Kirkson. Lordy, what an awful thing. So unexpected. You know, she always carried one of those EpiPens with her. Guess she couldn’t get to it fast enough.”
“Do you know which pool that was?”
“I think it was at the large rec center across from the dog park,” Shirley continued. “Isn’t that what you’ve heard, Harriet?”
My mother nodded in agreement as she reached for Lucinda’s cup. Yep, Harriet Plunkett was known to clear a table while people still had food in their mouths. As a kid, I learned to eat with one hand holding on to the plate and the other refusing to part with whatever utensil I happened to be holding.
Concerned the conversation would end too soon, before I had a chance to ask more questions, I stood and grabbed my mother by the elbow.
“Sit down and relax, Mom. I’ll help you with this later.”
Unfortunately, my tactic had the opposite result. Shirley and Lucinda both started to stand. I held out the plate of pound cake so it was eye level with Lucinda.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for another piece?”
I could tell she was tempted, but it appeared as if the Buick belonged to Shirley and Lucinda would lose her ride home.
“Thank you, but Shirley and I have got to get going. Even though she’s a retired milliner, she agreed to design a hat for my neighbor and we’re heading over there now. Well, Shirley is. I don’t need to be there while Irma fusses over colors and materials. Anyway, it was very nice meeting you. Call me if you find out anything about the book. Your mother has my number. I can’t just put the book down and walk away. That would be like leaving my laundry in the washer because I was scared to use the dryer. Curse or no curse.”
“Not a curse,” I said. “More like an opportunity. Do either of you know how that rumor got around about the book being cursed?”
They all shook their heads. What followed would have made Agatha Christie shudder. Everyone spoke at once as if my mother’s kitchen had become the Tower of Babel.
“Louise Munson heard it was cursed from Marianne Grotter.”
“No, it was Marianne who heard it from Jeanette in the first place.”
“Not Jeanette. She was clueless. I think the librarian thought it was cursed.”
“No, it wasn’t the librarian. It was that guy who’s always doing the crossword puzzles.”
“When I found out about Marilyn Scutt, that’s when it was mentioned.”
“No, they thought it was cursed way before that.”
Names, places, and accusations flew around the room like confetti during a New Year’s Eve celebration and lingered by the front door as Shirley and Lucinda headed out. I turned to my mother and shrugged. “Like I said before, not a curse, more like an opportunity.”