The Saucy Lucy Murders (31 page)

Frenchie grinned. “Yes, indeed, or what the peasant folk quaintly call
weed.”

“But … but that’s illegal,” Lexie sputtered.

What kind of a mess was she going to have to clean up for Aunt Gladys now? In her mind, she saw Otis and his doofy deputy Cleve Harris doing a drug raid on the café.
The final nail on the coffin.
Barnard Savage would have a real heyday with this scoop. Another murder and a drug bust on top of it.

“Not at all, my dear,” Frenchie said. “My doctor’s prescribed this for medicinal purposes.”

“And pigs fly,” Lexie said. Still reeling from Jack’s death, she decided this was the last straw— coming home to find her aunt romping in the hay with Prince Valiant and smoking dope to boot. Even her teenage daughter had never even given her so much trouble.

“Why are you two home so early? I thought you had a full day planned.”

“We did.” Aunt Gladys giggled, took another toke and exhaled. “But we ran into a bit of trouble at Dillon’s department store.”

Lexie could only imagine.

“But it was all a ridiculous mistake,” Aunt Gladys continued. “Those silly security people insisted I’d taken a pearl necklace from the jewelry counter.”

“How did that happen?”

“It was utter nonsense,” Aunt Gladys insisted.
“It must have fallen in my pocket somehow and when we were leaving every alarm in the store started to screech. Hell’s bells, there was such a fuss you’d have thought I was escaping from Alcatraz. It was all a terrible misunderstanding.”

“Yes, indeed,” Frenchie joined in. “The very idea that my little poopsie would shoplift is insane. Why, I could buy a hundred pearl necklaces for Gladys if I wanted to.”

“As it was, he just bought that one.” Aunt Gladys lifted the pearls around her neck, leaned over and gave Frenchie a smack on the cheek.

Lexie nodded. “So after you two got the matter settled—”

“We decided to come back here for a little slap and tickle, if you know what I mean.” Aunt Gladys gave Lexie a knowing wink.

Lexie shuffled backward to the door, shaking a warning finger at Aunt Gladys. “No more shopping at Dillon’s. And please put out the
medicinal
cigarettes before you burn my house down.”

“Party pooper.” Aunt Gladys took another puff and waved the smoke away from her face. “By the way, how was your date?”

“It was great. Right up until the point where someone killed him.”

Aunt Gladys and Frenchie’s mouths dropped open and they gave her shocked looks.

Lexie didn’t wait to explain. She left the attic and hurried down to her room. She crawled back into
bed, threw the covers over her head and huddled into a fetal position. Misery shrouded her like a veil.

The café was in the toilet.

There’d been another murder.

Everyone in town hated her.

Aunt Gladys was a loon.

She had no life.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them flow. Crying didn’t accomplish a damn thing. She wanted badly to blame all of this on Dan for his lies and disloyalty. If he’d only been a decent husband she never would have moved home to Moose Creek Junction. But the time for blaming him had passed and she was trying to move forward with her life, not back.

Even if it meant living through this hell.

T
HE DAY OF
J
ACK
S
TURGEON’S FUNERAL TURNED
out as dismal as the weather. It was actually cool and the sky was filled with dark gray clouds everyone hoped would give the parched autumn landscape some much needed moisture. More than likely not, though. Lots of teaser storms had passed over town, sometimes releasing a few drops of rain. Then nothing. The wind would pick up and blow the clouds north to Montana or South Dakota.

Anywhere but Moose Creek Junction.

Which is exactly where Lexie would have preferred to be at the moment. She’d been walking around like a zombie since the ill-fated fishing trip. She and Lucy had agreed to close The Saucy Lucy for the time being, a frightening, but sensible move. There was really no point in making all that food since no one came to eat at the café any more.

Lexie stewed about the situation all week. She simply couldn’t get over the fact that yet another
one of her dates had been eliminated. Lucy tried to offer moral support, but she hadn’t actually been much help—going on about how there were lots of fish in the sea and Lexie would find someone new.
Blah, blah, blah.
Platitudes served up on an unappealing platter.

That wasn’t the point. At all.

Her life had gone topsy-turvy. The café wasn’t providing a living for her anymore. There was a murderer running loose in Moose Creek Junction. Lexie wasn’t simply being blamed for all the mishaps, she was a prime target. As unlikely as it seemed, somebody wanted her dead.

Who?

Reluctantly, she got ready for the funeral by choosing a black dress, dark hose, and heels, strongly suggesting to Aunt Gladys that she also dress accordingly. When she was finally ready, thinking herself stable enough to face the solemn event, she went downstairs. She determined Aunt Gladys must be ready and waiting to go because she was singing, “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg …”

Lexie followed Aunt Gladys’ voice into the kitchen. “Let’s go or else we’re going to be …” she blinked. Aunt Gladys stood in front of the kitchen window wiping a stack of kitchen knives with a towel. That wouldn’t have been quite so bad if she hadn’t been naked. Well, not completely naked. A lacy bra encased her droopy breasts and a garter belt and hose covered most of her saggy hips and legs.

“Aunt Gladys, what are you doing?”

Aunt Gladys turned to Lexie, a knife in her hand, her eyes wide. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that, Leslie! You nearly scared the bejabbers out of me.”

Lexie tensed her jaw. “Aunt Gladys, please. The knife—put it down.”

Aunt Gladys blinked at the knife in her hand, then placed it and the towel on the counter. “Hell’s bells. What on earth am I doing?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.” Lexie grabbed an apron and hurriedly tied it around Aunt Gladys, thankfully covering most of her unmentionables. “Have you taken your medicine yet this morning?”

Aunt Gladys shook her head. “No. I was too busy levitating over my bed. My shoulder’s still a little sore from when I fell. I have to learn to land better.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “Let’s go upstairs and finish getting you ready for the funeral.”

Aunt Gladys snorted. “Funerals suck, Leslie. Who died, anyway?”

“Jack Sturgeon, Aunt Gladys. A friend of mine. Remember I told you?” About a million times, Lexie thought.

Aunt Gladys snapped her fingers. “That’s right. I was nearly ready to go, but that panty thief has gone and snatched all my undies again.”

“The panty thief? Wasn’t it the boy-man?” Lexie asked.

“No, no, no. The boy-man’s gone right now. I’m talking about the panty thief. No one knows his name. But he likes to sniff the crotches and wear the panties on his head and—”

“OK,” Lexie interrupted, not liking where the panty thief talk was going. “Let’s get you dressed. Lexie grabbed Aunt Gladys’ bottle of pills from the windowsill. “But first, you need one of these.”

Later, Lexie and Aunt Gladys, now dressed in a subdued brown dress, serviceable brown shoes, a bright orange scarf, and orange basketball earrings Aunt Gladys had insisted upon, met Lucy outside the First Community Church of the Lamb of God.

Flowers filled the podium area where Jack’s coffin rested and a pianist played somber music on the other side of the riser. People who stood in small groups talking to one another stopped and stared when Lexie and Lucy walked in with Aunt Gladys. She could hear them whispering when they passed by, despite her attempts to ignore them.

Lexie was instantly uncomfortable. Not only because of Jack’s untimely death, but also because she hadn’t been to church in years. Her head started to ache excruciatingly and she winced, knowing she would have to bear the pain until she got home to take aspirin.

She looked around and noticed a man, a woman, and two children seated in the front row. It must be Rick Sturgeon, Jack’s brother, and his family. Lexie was glad they were here.

After paying their respects at the casket, which was closed, Lexie, Lucy, and Aunt Gladys found a spot in one of the back pews. When Reverend Lincolnway got up to speak, Lexie realized several people kept turning in her direction, giving her pointed looks.

A shuddering sigh tore through her and she tried her best to ignore the accusatory stares. Instead, she lowered her head and concentrated on the healing cut on her hand. This wasn’t about her and what people thought of her. It was about Jack Sturgeon, a kind and considerate man who hadn’t deserved to die so young. Sometimes not even a funeral could get people to set aside their judgmental natures.

Lexie caught Carma Leone’s eye. For some reason, she noticed her nails were painted bright blue. She squinted harder. Darned if that polish didn’t look similar to the color of the writing on the grenade thrown through her window. That wasn’t possible though, was it? Could Carma be behind the incident?

Confused, Lexie focused on Reverend Lincoln-way’s memorial as the sounds of weeping and sniffling rose from the assembled mourners. Unable to stop the tears that squeezed from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, she was thankful she’d remembered to bring along a tissue. Lucy kept her arm around Lexie the whole time, offering solace which, although well intended, seemed empty and meaningless.

After the service Lexie managed to shake hands
with the grieving family members and mutter her condolences. Then she helped Aunt Gladys shuffle back to her truck and she drove them home.

At least Aunt Gladys was patient with the truck’s backfiring and chugging. Usually sassy and outspoken about everything, she remained subdued. Finally she turned to Lexie and said, “Tell me again, Leslie. Who was it that died?”

Lexie sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Aunt Gladys. It really doesn’t matter.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur. On Sunday morning, Lexie awakened still sad, but slightly more prepared to deal with the real world. It seemed as though she’d been in a cocoon for days and was slowly forcing her way out, slowly becoming human again. Her sadness still lingered, needling her with the stinging loss of someone who could have become a good friend. The looming questions—mainly why—remained.

Despite the fact that life seemed easier to deal with after a week of retrospection, Lexie was still left with the frustrations of her life: the unsolved murders, the café’s dwindling business, Eva’s unpaid spring tuition and a Loony Toons aunt breathing down her neck day and night. It seemed almost too much to bear.

Better get to work, girl.
According to her late father,
keeping busy was a cure for almost everything.

Getting out of bed, she yawned. Standing in the bright sunlight pouring through the curtains, she did her morning stretches, reaching to the ceiling and then to the floor, twisting her torso, executing shoulder rolls. Then she did a few push ups, pelvic tilts, and yoga positions. It felt good to get back into her routine, something she’d dismissed all week while she wallowed in self pity.

The time for that was over. She was a survivor, and survive she would.

She dressed in a pair of old jeans, a T-shirt, and knotted her hair into a ponytail. Slipping upstairs, she checked on Aunt Gladys who was still in bed, snoring away like a chain saw with a thread of drool running down one side of her chin, her face slathered in a mint green mask. Pink sponge rollers peeked from her scalp where they clipped her wiry white hair into tightly crimped curls. More than happy to let the septaugenarian troublemaker sleep, Lexie went downstairs and out into the back yard where birds twittered endlessly in the golden sun.

Autumn, with its earthy scents and russet landscape had always been Lexie’s favorite time of year. It symbolized a new beginning, not an end. As the earth slowly went dormant, causing brilliantly colored flowers and lush green trees to fade with frost, seeds dropped from petals and leaves, burrowing deep in the soil. There they remained snug and warm, preparing for the moment when they would
burst forth once again in all their glory. Not until the time was right, not until the calendar promised the sun’s warmth would allow them to grow.

Breathing in the crisp fall air, filling her lungs full with the sweetness, Lexie felt a heightened sense of vitality and purpose. Even in this quiet period of her life, when it was best she burrow away until the storms of life blew over, there were things she needed to do. She would make preparations until the time arrived for her to resurface. Nature had many lessons to offer, lessons she would be wise to heed.

Hands on her hips, Lexie surveyed the garden, from which she had harvested fat, juicy tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, peppers, corn, beans, and zucchini. She’d canned and put up enough vegetables for most of the winter, though her gardens the last few years hadn’t been as prolific. It was hard enough trying to coax foliage from the high plains climate soil when they had normal rainfall. The drought turned the garden her mother had tended so lovingly into a shadow of its former self.