Chapter 9

 

Crime scene?

That told me everything I needed to know. I trudged back to the campground accompanied by the merry band of bystanders. My mind raced. Just what had Sherlock managed to find, or, more aptly, managed to dig up? Was the puzzle finally solved?

“Want to hang out?” the woman with the ponytail asked. “Have a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.” I snapped up the opportunity to stick around. The sheriff and his men had to leave the woods sometime. Besides, I wanted to be there when the coroner arrived with his sled—whatever the heck that was. Couldn’t wait to tell the Bunco Babes about my latest adventure.

“Name’s Donna,” said the woman formerly known as the woman with a ponytail. She indicated her chubby companion. “This here’s Betty Lou, my sister-in-law.”

“How do you happen to know the sheriff?” Betty Lou asked.

“It’s a long story,” I replied, accepting the mug of coffee Donna poured from an industrial-size thermos. Except for the two women, the other campers had drifted away. But that was A-okay with me. I’d had enough of being at the center of attention.

Betty Lou plunked herself down in a canvas chair and motioned for me to join her. “Take your time, sweetie. Looks like it’s going to be a long afternoon.”

The women were a good audience—almost, but not quite, as good as the Babes. Both of them listened with rapt attention while I recounted what had happened the other day on the golf course.

“What do you think the guys found back there?”

Donna’s question hung in the air. Neither Betty Lou nor I voiced an opinion. Don’t know about Betty Lou, but I had plenty of opinions, but kept them to myself.

At last, Betty Lou heaved herself out of the chair and marched off in the direction of a spiffy red and silver Winnebago that probably cost more than my house.

“Hey, Betty Lou,” Donna yelled. “Where you goin’?”

“I’m packing up,” she yelled back, not breaking stride. “I’m not gonna spend another night in this place. It ain’t safe.”

“S’cuse me, Kate,” Donna said, dumping out the dregs in her cup. “Wait up, Betty Lou. Eddie and me’ll be right behind you. He caught enough bass for one fishing trip.”

I watched in admiration as the pair disassembled their campsites. Their movements were economical and well rehearsed, but then again they had no tent stakes to pry out of the ground, no air mattresses to deflate. Not like the times Jim and I had taken the kids camping. In no time at all, Betty Lou and Donna had whisked the checkered cloth from the picnic table and folded canvas chairs into matching pouches. Bit by bit the motor homes were ready to roll.

I stood off to the side and tried to stay out of the way. Other campers saw what the sisters-in-law were doing, and one by one began to follow suit. I wasn’t as easily deterred. I sat on a tree stump, prepared to stay as long as necessary.

I didn’t have much longer to wait before a white van drove up and parked behind my Buick. I felt a certain sense of satisfaction at the sight. I was blocked in. No way the sheriff could expect me to leave a “crime scene” with the coroner’s van practically on my rear bumper.

My stump provided a ringside seat for all the action. How the Bunco Babes would love this, Pam especially. Local police, state police, and men from the sheriff’s department filed back and forth talking into cell phones and barking into walkie-talkies. I caught a word here, a phrase there. One word in particular stuck in my head.

Remains.

My earlier suspicion was confirmed. The arm we had found on the golf course was about to be reunited with more of its body.

 

• • •

 

I stayed at the campground until men from the coroner’s office loaded a gurney carrying a black vinyl mound—a mound too small to be an entire body—into the back of their van and pulled away. Soon various law-enforcement officials began to drift back to their vehicles and leave. It was time to make my getaway before Sheriff Wiggins showed up and gave me the evil eye.

By now the campground was nearly empty. Donna waved as she and Eddie, followed by Betty Lou and her husband, pulled out of the park. Betty Lou, her nose buried in a map, didn’t look up. No doubt she was searching for somewhere safe.

My brain buzzed with questions as I got behind the wheel of the Buick. Would the coroner now be able to identify the victim? I said a little prayer that Claudia and Vera were off somewhere having fun. That Rosalie was having a great visit with her grandkids. I crossed my fingers that the small mound zipped inside the vinyl bag belonged to some unfortunate stranger and not a friend.

Who would commit such a heinous crime? I wondered. The consensus was that the perpetrator couldn’t possibly be from Serenity Cove Estates or Brookdale. In this instance, I hoped consensus was right on target. But what if it wasn’t? It worried me no end that Claudia and Vera were unaccounted for. And I’d rest a lot easier when Rosalie returned from Poughkeepsie. I wanted to do something, but what . . . ? It wasn’t my nature to sit back and wait.

I kept to the speed limit on the drive back to Serenity Cove Estates. No need to rush. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A glance at my watch showed me it was later than I had thought. Somehow I wasn’t in the mood to cook. A common occurrence since Jim passed away. My freezer is filled with frozen dinners and, my favorite standby, gourmet pizzas. Neither held any appeal tonight. On the spur of the moment, I decided to get a bite at the Cove Café.

By the time I got there, except for two couples at a table near the window, the café was deserted. Most folks on fixed incomes like to take advantage of the early-bird specials. That time was long past. I parked myself at a corner table and looked around.

No sign of Marcy—good. No sign of Vera either—bad.

Beverly, a waitress I knew slightly, greeted me with a tired smile and handed me a menu.

“A slow night, Beverly?” I like to address people by their given names whenever possible. Gets a bit tricky at times with those darn senior moments popping up when you least expect them. Those memory cells in the brain just don’t cough up information like they used to. It takes awhile, but eventually stuff does float back. I heard as long as that happens, not to worry. It’s when those names and places don’t come back—ever—that you’re in deep doo-doo.

“It was busier than usual early on. Seems all folks want to do is talk about that thing some ladies found out on the golf course.”

“Ah, yes, the thing.” Had thing become the new catchphrase for it?

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Coffee,” I said, then reconsidered. “Better make that decaf.” I didn’t need another sleepless night while waiting for the Sandman to arrive.

Beverly left and returned minutes later with my decaf. “Have you decided what to order?”

“What do you recommend?”

“There’s still some of the meat loaf special left.”

“Sounds good.” Comfort food. Just the ticket.

The occupants of the window table got ready to leave. The men signed their tabs and pocketed their credit cards, and the couples left together amid promises to get together soon.

After placing my order, Beverly returned and began clearing the table. She looked my way. “Your dinner should be out in a jiff.”

“No hurry. I’ve got all night.”

The instant the words were out, I wished them back. The poor woman looked dead on her feet. “Sorry. How insensitive of me. You probably can’t wait to lock up for the night.”

“Take your time. Customers or not, management insists we stay open till nine.” She slowly made her way back toward the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes.

I took a sip of coffee and decided to take advantage of the situation. This would be the perfect opportunity for an impromptu investigation. I’d rest easier tonight knowing Vera was somewhere enjoying herself.

“Looks like it’s been a long day,” I said when Beverly returned with my meat loaf.

“You can say that again. I pulled a double.”

I looked at Beverly more closely. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties with a liberal amount of gray mixed in with the brown strands. The smudges under her eyes were too dark to be hidden by concealer. I’d bet she’d like nothing better than to kick off her shoes and put up her feet. “I assume working a double means you pulled an extra shift?”

“One of the girls who works breakfast and lunch needed time off. Left us short-handed.”

I dipped my fork into the mashed potatoes. “You mean Vera?” I asked with studied innocence.

“Yeah.” Beverly started collecting salt and pepper shakers from the various tables. “Vera didn’t give much notice, but since she’s been here the longest, management decided not to make a stink.”

“My friends and I wondered what happened to her. The new girl, Marcy, kept mixing up our orders.”

Beverly grunted. “Don’t surprise me none. Marcy isn’t cut out to be a waitress.”

I heartily agreed, but didn’t voice my opinion out loud. With the kind of service Marcy provided, she’d starve to death if she had to depend on tips. I sampled a small piece of meat loaf and was pleasantly surprised. Not bad. Not as good as mine, but not bad. Or maybe I was hungrier than I thought.

Beverly took a seat at an adjoining table and proceeded to refill the shakers. “Marcy said she’s looking for another job. Complains folks here are too fussy.”

And I had a pretty good idea who she was calling fussy. “Maybe she’ll be happier in a job where she doesn’t have to deal with people on a regular basis.”

“Now, take Vera, on the other hand,” Beverly went on. “She’s always saying how much she likes everyone. We sure miss her around here.”

I phrased my next question with care. “Did Vera happen to say how long she’d be gone?”

Beverly shrugged. “No one seems to know. Not long, I hope. Can’t take too many of these doubles. My dogs are barking.”

I went back to cutting my meat loaf into small, bite-size pieces. “Well, my friends and I hope Vera’ll be back soon. Where did she go, by the way?”

“Didn’t say.”

My interrogation skills needed honing. But determination has to count for something, doesn’t it? “Did Vera take her family with her?” I had no idea if Vera even had a family, but what the heck. Throw out the question and see what happens, right? Cops do it all the time on TV.

“Family?” Beverly screwed tops back on the saltshakers. “Nah. All Vera’s got is a daughter. Lisa’s pregnant and expecting her third kid next month.”

A red flag went up. Why would a woman whose only daughter is eight months pregnant up and leave with no explanation? I didn’t like where this conversation was leading. “I don’t recall Vera ever mentioning a husband. What’s he like?”

“Him?” Beverly practically spat the word. “That no-good so-and-so?”

“I take it you don’t think much of him.”

“If you ask me, he’s nothing but a lying, cheating scumbag.”

Tell me how you really feel, I wanted to say, but didn’t. “Why is that?”

Beverly glanced around to make sure no one could overhear. “Don’t know why Vera stayed with the rat as long as she did. I’da left him the first time he took a swing at me.”

“He hit her?” I asked, genuinely shocked.

Beverly nodded. “Over the years, she came in many a time with bruises she tried to cover up and make excuses for. She finally kicked the bum out. Smartest thing she ever did.”

“They’re divorced then?”

“Yep. I heard ol’ Mel wasn’t none too happy Vera got to keep the house. Got a small settlement, too. That really got Mel’s goat. Judge told him to pay up or else.”

I sat back to digest this bit of gossip. Seeing as how I had pushed my plate aside, Beverly wandered off to get my check. It was nearing the bewitching hour of closing time, and she was eager to quiet her barking dogs.

Well, I thought to myself as I drained my second cup of decaf, the meat loaf special was worth every penny. I silently congratulated myself. My interrogation techniques weren’t so bad after all. I had learned Vera not only had an abusive husband but an angry one as well.