The Saucy Lucy Murders (23 page)

Lexie wrinkled her nose at the smell of chocolate candy and cheap perfume that floated from Violet’s blue jeans and black embroidered peasant top, both of which were too tight and made her look like a lumpy sack of potatoes. She didn’t know the woman well, but what she’d seen of her, especially today, hadn’t given her a good impression. No wonder
Henry Whitehead hadn’t been thrilled to have her as his wife and his affections had wandered. Harpie was the word that came to Lexie’s mind to describe Violet Whitehead.

“Excuse me?” Lexie blinked.

“Everyone knows how you entice men with your innocent, smarmy looks and teasing. It’s all over town so you can’t fool me. Even my poor, stupid Henry got duped.”

Lexie put her items down on the counter with an emphatic thump. “Last I heard, you and poor Henry were divorced. I don’t make a habit of dating married men. In fact, I rarely date at all.”

Violet snorted and wiped her fingers on her jeans. “Right, and I’m Anna Nicole Smith,” she screeched. “You date enough that men are falling at your feet, literally.
Dead.”

“Look, Violet, I didn’t come here to chit-chat with you about what you think you know. I just needed a few things.”

“I just needed a few things,”
Violet mimicked sarcastically. “Well, I’m so freakin’ glad I got to wait on you I could just croak. If it weren’t for you, my Henry would still be alive and paying his child support. And I wouldn’t have to be working my ass off to wait on sissy-prissies like you.”

Lexie was getting ticked off and couldn’t stop from giving an angry retort. “Hey, I work for a living, too, Violet. Most of us around here do. Get off your high horse about how bad you have it.”

Bertie Creekmore came out from a back room, expression dour. Her face was gaunt and her brownish-gray frizzy hair screamed for conditioner. She wore black from head to toe on her skeletal frame and seemed sad.

Bertie tapped the ancient cash register with a long finger and glared at Violet. “What’s going on? It sounds like a wrestling match out here with all the shouting.”

“Sorry,” Lexie said. “I’m just trying to buy a couple of things and Violet’s unhappy with me.”

“What did I tell you about harassing the customers?” Bertie said to Violet.

Violet, properly chastised, hung her head. “That you’d let me go if I didn’t quit.”

“Shall I give you notice, then? Hmmm?”

Violet’s face turned as purple as the flower she was named for.

Lexie was irritated, but she really didn’t want to be a part of Violet loosing her job, too. “It’s OK, really, Bertie. I think Violet’s just having a bad day. Don’t fire her.”

“Lexie’s right,” Violet said. “I really didn’t mean anything.”

Bertie gave a loud sigh. “I don’t need you chasing off my customers, mind you. I’ll give you one more chance. Otherwise—”

“I know, I know,” Violet said. “I’ll behave myself. I promise.”

Violet rang up Lexie’s items and Bertie said, “I
don’t know why you’re still so defensive about that ex-husband of yours anyway, Violet. He was a no-good and I knew that boy was going to get himself in trouble. I saw all the women he had parading in and out, day and night, night and day. It’s amazing he could lift his head off his pillow, let alone get it up any more.”

Lexie suddenly realized the Loose Goose Emporium was right across the street from Whitehead’s place. Bertie and Fred had downsized from their home and now lived above the store in the small apartment she had once rented. Even with the bird’s-eye view, Bertie needed good eyesight or a pair of binoculars to see much. Lexie placed a bet on the binoculars. “You saw him a lot?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I imagine he was dead on his feet at work with all the nonsense he had going on at his place. Loud music and goings on till all hours of the morning almost every day. He constantly left his curtains wide open and I could see …” she trailed off and cleared her throat, obviously rethinking her choice of words.
“People
told me they saw all manner of wild parties and, well,
sexual
activities going on. Why, he was a regular neighborhood nuisance. It’s funny his landlord didn’t kick him out long before somebody offed him. If you ask me, it’s good riddance to have him out of here.” She colored brightly. “Of course, it’s not nice to speak of the dead that way, but Henry Whitehead was not a pleasant person. I bet it was one of the neighbors hereabouts
who did him in.”

“Did you see anything unusual the night of the murder?” Lexie asked anxiously. She paid for the items Violet rang up on the ancient cash register, picked up the brown bag. Had Bertie attacked Whitehead with a butcher knife? Or had one of her neighbors?

Lexie mulled it over a moment. That theory was pretty far fetched, although still a possibility. Whoever killed Whitehead probably killed Hugh Glenwood and hurt Elton. Bertie had no reason to do that.

Violet was right about one thing—she did have a penchant for getting the men around her hurt or killed. It wouldn’t exactly win her the sweetheart award.

“Nothing more unusual than the usual.” Bertie tapped her sallow cheek. “Except for that dark, foreign-looking car. That was definitely not usual. I’d never seen it before and I haven’t seen it since. Of course, I told the police all about that. And then them reporters called like crazy askin’ questions. ’Bout ripped the phone off the wall, I did.”

Lexie’s radar flicked on. Could it be the dark car that followed her home from Whitehead’s house the night he was killed? “Did you get a license plate number?”

“Good gracious, no. It was too far away and my eyes are getting pretty dim, you know.” She shook her head. “A shame about that Elton fella,” Bertie said. “I hope he gets better soon. The Briarhursts are none too happy he’s laid up in the hospital. I hear
he’s not good.”

Lexie didn’t comment because she didn’t know what to say. She still felt the sting of guilt over Elton’s accident. “You ladies have a good afternoon,” she said, trying hard not to let Elton’s condition get her down. Surely he’d get better. He just had to.

Carma was entering the store as Lexie left, sleek, smooth, and cosmopolitan as ever. Her black designer jeans, green silk blouse, and snakeskin boots definitely did not fit in with the flowered house-dresses and red, windblown complexions of most of the women in this town. Carma looked even thinner than before and her make-up and dark hair were flawless, giving her a New York model sort of look. She gave a brief, “Hullo,” and narrowed her exotically lined eyes at Lexie.

“Nice seeing you,” Lexie returned, feeling a blast of ice come from Carma. Her long purple nails gripping the door caught Lexie’s attention and she wondered how the woman could even use the phone with those evil lances. They were ridiculous, but then Lexie supposed she had to advertise her trade somehow. One of the main things Lexie remembered about Carma from high school was she believed everyone should see things her way.

“You simply must come to the next book club meeting with your sister, Lexie,” Carma purred. “We read the most fabulous books; the next one we’re going to read is that new murder mystery everyone’s talking about.” Her eyes gleamed. “And elections are
coming up soon. If you join, you can vote for Lucy as the new president. She would be fabulous.”

Carma was sure into the word
fabulous.
Lexie guessed her usage of the adjective made her feel superior to the townspeople she no doubt considered hicks. Funny, Carma had been born and raised here. Why she felt she was so far above everyone was beyond Lexie. “I didn’t even know she was running.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know herself. But she will, you can be sure.” She laughed. “There’s no one else who can fill Susannah Averill’s shoes when she resigns this year.”

“Sure, I’ll think about coming sometime,” Lexie responded. In a pig’s eye, she thought silently. Someone would have to literally hog tie her and drag her screaming to the Moose Creek Junction Book Club and sign her up as a member. She would rather swallow rat poison than sit through an hour of that torture.

Carma certainly thought a lot of the club and herself. Another thing Lexie remembered about Carma from high school was that she had been mousy and withdrawn—a true loner with no real friends. These days, she was outspoken, irritating and still believed everyone should see things her way. She remained a loner and from what Lexie knew, had few friends. No doubt people became annoyed when she bossed them around. The book club was probably her only opportunity for social interaction.

Lexie wondered what Lucy would think about being involuntarily elected, by none other than
Carma Leone, to the presidency of the most gossipy group of women in town. Of course, Lucy gossiped with the best of them, and while she hated that trait in others, she couldn’t see it in herself.

“You do that,” Carma said, a smirk on her face.

What was up with her? Lexie said good-bye and hustled back outside, a funny feeling washing over her. Inside the truck, she handed the bag to Aunt Gladys.

“You’ve been gone about a million years,” Aunt Gladys growled.

Lexie buckled up and started the sputtering truck. “I got you a present. Not the toilet paper.”

Aunt Gladys glanced inside the bag and pulled out the bathroom tissue. “What in God’s name did you buy these silly things for?”

Lexie drove down the street, refusing to let Aunt Gladys get to her any more. “To keep you busy and out of trouble while you’re staying with me. You got a better idea?”

Aunt Gladys peered inside the bag again. “Hell’s bells, paint-by-numbers? I can’t even paint my own toenails let alone those little peckers with colored pee pots. These things are for digits and midgets.”

“You’ll learn.” Lexie gripped the steering wheel tighter as she turned a corner. “Here are the rules. You’re not allowed anywhere unless one of the family is with you.”

Aunt Gladys snorted. “I’m under house arrest?”

“Call it what you like. I’m trying to keep you
out of trouble. You’re also not to light candles in your room and I insist you stop smoking in the house.”

“Well, fine, you friggin’ Nazi. You didn’t say anything about smoking in your rattletrap truck, though.” Aunt Gladys promptly produced a cigarette, lit up, and proceeded to pout and puff, pout and puff.

For heaven’s sake, Lexie thought as she rolled down her window for fresh air. The name of the game was survival. Hopefully, Cousin Bruce would soon arrive to collect his mother and life could resume some sense of normalcy. Lexie and Lucy could get back to their investigation, unless Deputy Dog or patootiehead Otis had managed to finger the murderer by then, which she doubted very much.

It was impossible to go sleuthing with Aunt Gladys in tow and Lexie was dying to check out a few things, especially after Elton’s accident. Gabe Stevenson would not appreciate her nosing around, but tough. Once Cousin Bruce came to collect Aunt Gladys, she planned to snoop to her heart’s content.

The week passed uneventfully, except for a dark car that kept cruising by Lexie’s house. On a couple of occasions, Lexie thought she saw it following her. Every time she looked up again to try and get a license plate number, the car vanished. She called Otis to let him know about it, but he was unwilling
to do anything unless she had a license plate number. Lexie maintained a vigilant watch for the vehicle, hoping sometime she could get a good enough glimpse.

Business was slow at the Saucy Lucy. Lexie hoped it was just the time of year and people were busy preparing for the upcoming holidays. No matter how she tried to rationalize the situation, in her heart she knew it was a bunch of hooey, as Aunt Gladys would say. In a small town like this, word got around fast and she was afraid people really were staying away because of Whitehead’s murder.

It was an unsettling and disappointing thought. How could she take care of her family if her business went down the toilet? The money Cousin Bruce had wired would help keep food on the table and bills paid for a while. But that was it: Once it was gone, what would she do?

Lexie was up early Saturday morning, ready to start the workday. She showered and dressed and as she was putting her hair up into its usual ponytail, she noticed the lovely orange and red sunrise that illuminated her room. She crossed to the window and looked outside at the neighborhood, bathed in an ethereal, golden glow. No doubt it’s going to be another warm day, she thought. Lexie was about to move away from the window when she noticed the dark car parked by the curb across the street.

It was back!

It was impossible to determine the make, model
or license plate numbers from this distance so, heart hammering, she hustled downstairs and slipped outside. By the time she reached the curb, her lungs were slamming against her ribs and the car was nowhere to be seen; as if it had never been there. Maybe I’m losing my marbles, she thought.
Maybe the dark, mysterious car is all a figment of my imagination.

She was under so much pressure these days— could be she was cracking. Then again, Bertie Creekmore had mentioned she’d seen a dark car parked at Whitehead’s house the night of his murder. Lexie sensed there was a connection between the strange vehicle and recent weird activities. Without being able to get a good look at the vehicle or license plate numbers, Otis couldn’t help her and she figured Gabe couldn’t either.