Death of the Naked Lady, page 2
Unfortunately, my determination to find nourishment for my tummy in the fridge got cut short by a rap, rap on our door. This isn’t the first time I’ve been interrupted at meal time by such nonsense, and I wondered if this was the big Man’s way of subliminally telling me I should start taking my dieting more seriously. Nah. He’s got bigger fish to fry. I just picked the wrong apartment building to live in. Reluctantly, I released the grip I had on the fridge handle and glanced over at my roomie who had plopped herself at the table. “Were you expecting someone?” I asked.
“No. Were you?”
I shook my head. Since no one had buzzed us beforehand from the main lobby, I assumed whoever knocked lived within the confines of the Foley, probably even on the same floor as us. Oh, no. It better not be Rod Thompson, the FBI agent who lives in 403 one door down. I’ve been avoiding this particular throwback to the Vikings for several weeks. He thinks we have a thing going, but we don’t. The relationship is complicated. There’s another guy I’m more interested in. Whoa. Cool your jets, Mary. Maybe the person isn’t a renter. Visitors have been known to sneak through the building’s double set of doors via the kindness of a resident exiting or entering the premises. Ah, yes, so much for security.
Auntie lowered the newspaper she had brought to the kitchen and studied me. “Do you want me to see who it is?”
I waved my hand like one does to shoo a pesky fly. “No, you stay put. Looks like you’re already glued to the Enquirer.” I spun on my heels, trotted down the narrow hallway leading to the door, and unlatched the safety chain. I hated to keep extra security in place all the time, but a woman can never be too careful, no matter where she lives, and I sure as heck didn’t want friend or family finding one of our fabulous bodies’ laying inside a chalk drawing at some point in time.
When I finally cracked the door open onto the fourth floor hallway, whopping whiffs of curry, broccoli and garlic whizzed past as a female neighbor poked her tiny, friendly face in the available space. Thank you, Lord. Rod Thompson didn’t disturb our lunch after all. I threw the door open. “Margaret, come in.”
The petite Italian native, a longtime Foley resident, stood before me clothed in a navy-blue cotton pant set and a green butcher-style apron with a fall leaf motif edged in rust-colored ruffles. Margaret’s paper thin hands, along with what I presumed to be an apple pie, partially obstructed her mid-section.
I ignored the pie temporarily. I wanted to discover whether the resident of 402 wore the pink Isotoner slippers Foley renters used to identify the nonagenarian when congregating in the lobby, or if she favored a more fashionable pair for this floor. I snuck a glance at her feet. Nope, apparently she wears the same ones.
Margaret shifted her stance a bit. “Oh, dear, what’s the matter, Mary? Did juice from the pie drip on your carpet?”
Shoot. I need to learn to be more discreet. “Ah, no. I thought I spotted the penny Aunt Zoe dropped the other day. It’s hard to tell what you’re seeing with this ugly mishmash of browns.”
“I understand. Last year, the Foley residents banded together and demanded the management change our outdated carpets. Do you know what management did?” Since I didn’t know if she expected me to answer, I kept my mouth shut. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Really? Sounds like what happened to me at my other apartment. When I first moved in, management promised me a new dishwasher. On move out day they examined the dishwasher and asked how long since it stopped working. I told them on day one six years ago.”
I backed up now to allow Margaret entrance into our home. Well, to be more precise my brother’s abode. Matt, who is a PI, is letting my aunt and I sublet his apartment while he’s on assignment in Europe for the Delight Bottling Company. The arrangement has been beneficial for Aunt Zoe and me, but there’s a downside. Matt doesn’t know when he’ll be returning to the States. It could be a couple months from now or next year. As much as I love my brother, I’m hoping it will be the later rather than the former.
“Say,” I said, as I closed the door and stepped closer to Margaret, “weren’t you scheduled for a Senior Fall Color outing today?”
The elderly woman’s thin mouth sagged. “Si, but the bus trip got cancelled.” She shifted the weight of the pie from her right hand to her left so she could perch her wire rim glasses snug against the bridge of her nose.
“What happened?”
“The usual—not enough seniors signed up. If they’d only forget about their aches and pains for a day or two, they would find out how much fun it is to be alive.”
“Sorry the trip got cancelled. I know how much you look forward to them. But, it worked out in the end.”
“How so?”
“Well, if you had taken the trip, Aunt Zoe and I wouldn’t be having the pleasure of your company or the enjoyment of your treat.”
Margaret Grimshaw’s olive green eyes twinkled brightly. “I knew you’d appreciate the pie.”
I gushed. “Oh, Margaret, any dessert you create I love. But how did you know apple pie’s my favorite this time of year?”
“Did someone mention apple pie,” Aunt Zoe asked, stepping into the living room. “Oh, Margaret! What a pleasant surprise. Where have you been hiding? You haven’t been ill, have you?”
“No, just busy as usual— running to painting classes and helping out with funeral luncheons at church.” She tapped the deep wrinkled lines on her forehead with an arthritic finger. “I was about to tell Mary how I knew she’d enjoy fresh apple pie.”
“Sorry I interrupted,” Aunt Zoe said , “Go ahead.”
The elderly woman’s eyes twinkled again. “That’s all right. I guessed. It’s no ordinary apple pie though,” she corrected, “A scrumptious apple pie requires a special sauce drizzled over the top crust.” Her slim hand disappeared into an apron pocket and quickly produced a small jar labeled caramel.
“Ah, yes,” my mouth salivated wildly, “I’m ready to taste it.” I quickly latched on to her arm, “Let’s go have a piece,” and steered her towards the kitchen.
“You two did have lunch already, didn’t you?” Margaret quizzed.
“Of course,” we fibbed, knowing the apple pie would be our lunch.
After our neighbor set the pie on the table, she scanned every inch of the kitchen. Her careful examination of the room made me wonder if she had expected to walk into another one of Aunt Zoe’s cooking fiascoes. Well, she needn’t have worried. I scoured the kitchen from top to bottom yesterday after Auntie had another one of her mishaps. When Margaret’s eyes finally focused on us again, she said, “No, Gracie, I see.”
What? She wasn’t concerned about the condition of the kitchen. So I’m fallible. My hunches don’t always turn out to be 100 percent accurate. “Gracie? Nope, afraid not. My folks haven’t asked us to watch her since they went on vacation this summer.” The dog’s living with my folks, but she actually belongs to my brother who saved her from euthanasia a couple years ago. I pulled a chair away from the small table for our visitor and then I went about retrieving dessert plates, forks, knife, and spatula.
“I think the real reason we haven’t been asked,” Aunt Zoe stated, “has more to do with my brother’s health. Mary’s mother wants him to get his walking in. Caring for a dog makes exercise mandatory.”
Margaret sat and drew her chair closer to the table. “Yes, most of us do tend to put off things until it becomes absolutely necessary, don’t we? Which reminds me, Mary, Gertie Nash wondered where you were this morning.”
I released the hold I had on the silverware drawer and pressed my hand over my heart. “Me? Please tell me you’re joking.” I met Gertie, an extremely heavyset woman with tattoos up the kazoo when I first began working at the Singi Optical store this past summer. The middle-aged woman lives in the Foley, but on a different floor, thank God. Ever since she’s met me, she’s tried to convince me to help her cousin, Butch, who found himself in a jam years ago. Supposedly, he wants to clear the air once and for all and prove he was framed for stealing a well-guarded pickle recipe from Minnesota’s number one pickle factory. I’ve told Gertie over and over again my brother Matt’s the only private eye in our family, but she doesn’t seem to get the message. Probably because this past summer I cracked a tough case at Reed Griffin’s horse boarding ranch, originally meant for my brother, and Aunt Zoe made sure our fellow residents heard all about it.
My neighbor’s washed out eyebrows arched severely. “I’m not joking, dear. Didn’t you get an invite to her cousin’s book launch? It took place in our community room.”
I set the items I’d collected on the table and pulled out a chair. “For Butch the jailbird?”
“That’s the one.”
“I did but I tore it up. Oops!” Somehow I miscalculated the distance between me and the chair and my butt smacked the piece of furniture harder than I’d intended. But guess what? I didn’t feel a thing. Maybe I should rethink dieting and continue to eat whatever I please.
Margaret’s hands reached across the table. “Mary, are you all right?”
I pointed to my tush. “Sure, I’m too padded to get injured,” I joked. “So, what’s the title of the book Butch is pushing?”
Margaret clasped her deeply-veined hands together. Ghosts that Haunt the Hennepin County Slammer.”
I tried to smother a laugh, but it came out rip-roaring instead. “Definitely a must read for everyone on my Christmas list.”
Aunt Zoe shared one of her exasperating glares.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”
Dad’s sister twisted her head slightly from side to side. “It’s what you didn’t do, Mary. You purposely ignored a chance for us to meet a real live author. Why, you know how much I love to read.”
Yes, I certainly do. Any romance novel or National Enquirer placed in your path is fair game. I ground my teeth. I didn’t appreciate being forced to explain my actions. “You won’t be happy until I tell you the reason for not going, will you?”
She shook her head back and forth.
“I didn’t think so. If I had shown up at the book launch, Butch would’ve gotten the wrong idea.”
“How?”
“Butch wants me to help him solve a problem he’s had for a long time, and I’ve been ignoring him.”
Aunt Zoe released a loud sigh, something she does when she’s not happy with me. Her pudgy hands grabbed the knife off the table. Oh, oh. Watch out pie you’re about to be obliterated. As soon as Auntie thrust the knife into the pie, luscious cooked apples gushed over the tin’s sides destroying the delicate crust Margaret had prepared.
Two seconds after the first messy incision had been made, I took charge. My stomach couldn’t handle anymore destruction. I tore the knife from my aunt’s firm grip. “Here, let me finish up. Margaret perhaps you’d like a cup of tea,” I said, hoping my dad’s sister would pick up on the hint. “The cranberry blend Aunt Zoe fixed earlier has a wonderful flavor.”
My Aunt shot out of her chair. “Yes, Margaret, let me get you a cup. You’ll like it.”
“Where did you find the tea?” she asked.
“The new tea shop around the corner.”
“Is that so?” Our ninety-some year old neighbor released a tiny grin. “I haven’t had the opportunity to visit it yet. Are the owners friendly?”
“Very.” Aunt Zoe promptly poured hot water into a teacup, added a teabag, and carried the cup back to the table where our neighbor patiently waited. Once she handed off the tea, Auntie slapped her derrière back on a kitchen chair and returned to our earlier discussion. “I’ve been mulling over what you said, Mary, about Butch.”
Not the book launch again! Can’t she just let it go?
“You made a terrible mistake in not going to his doings.”
I felt my eyebrows twitch nervously and wondered if anyone noticed. “You’re saying you’d have preferred to see me bugged by Butch?”
“Absolutely not. I just thought since you’re working on a novel...”
“A novel?” Margaret quickly set her tea aside. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Auntie shielded her mouth with her hand. “Oops. I guess the cat’s out of the bag so to speak, isn’t it?”
Yup. No thanks to you.
In the rush to clear my mouth of pie, I accidently chomped down on my tongue. I hate when that happens. It takes forever to stop hurting. I squeezed my eyes shut till the pain passed. “Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to keep it under wraps, you know, until further along.”
Margaret gently tucked loose strands of stately white hair behind her ears. They had freed themselves from the bun-style hairdo at the back of her head. “I understand. I’ll wait till you’re ready to share.” She turned to Aunt Zoe. “Were you reading anything interesting before I popped by?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“Hold on. I’ve changed my mind, Margaret.” There’s no way Auntie’s repeating a crazy three-headed cat tale even if it meant opening up about my book. “I know you won’t go blabbing to other people in our building.” At least I hoped not. “I’m writing a preteen novel.”
The nonagenarian folded her petite hands. “How exciting. Where does it take place?”
“Duluth.”
“Such a grand place for a story. Ships coming and going on Lake Superior all hours of the day and night, the Glensheen Mansion built in 1908, Grandma’s Marathon, the zoo, and the railroad museum.”
“Yes,” I interjected, “and my mom mentioned a rose garden and a natural water aquarium too.”
“Ah, yes—the Great Lakes Aquarium,” our neighbor said, “It wasn’t there the last time I visited. So, have you two given any thought to when you might take your road trip? According to WCCO’s meteorologists, fall colors are supposed to peak the next week or so in northern Minnesota.”
“Actually, we were talking about the trip right before you arrived,” I shared, “My second cousin has a place up there, but I need to check with her and see what date works for my visit.”
My roommate shot up from the table with such force her chair almost toppled. “But what about me? You know, so you and I could do some sightseeing. Why did you tell your mother the two of us were going for a drive if you didn’t mean it?”
“Well, at first I thought it would work, but I’ve changed my mind, Auntie. If I’m doing research, there won’t be any time for fun. Besides, if the school needs me to substitute, I’ll have to turn right around and come back. I might only be up there a couple hours.”
Aunt Zoe pouted. “But, Mary.”
I flung my hand out indicating the topic wasn’t on the table any longer, a stupid mistake.
Dad’s sister marched off in a huff, leaving behind a trail of anger as she did so. Embarrassed, I looked at our elderly visitor who remained seated and searched her deep-seated eyes. Did she think I was as rotten as I felt? I tried to cover my mean deed with words, suggesting Aunt Zoe’s mood swings were par for the course. “Sorry about that. She’ll be fine once she cools her jets.”
Margaret Grimshaw studied my face. “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”
I had no answer. Instead, I turned on the radio to soothe my soul and then studied the linoleum floor’s black and white checkered pattern. Perhaps if I stared at the floor long enough, things might revert back to when Margaret first arrived and the atmosphere was pleasanter.
The classical music on the radio faded and the host of the program broke in. “If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of Darcy Hawthorne, a first year college student at the University of Minnesota Duluth, please contact the Duluth police immediately.” Then he quickly passed on the hotline number and the music resumed.
My heart sank. Another missing college student. Five Minnesota students went missing last year. When would it end? I turned the radio off. It hadn’t worked its charm like I’d hoped. Now my mind will be flooded, the rest of the evening, with thoughts of missing undergrads and why no one’s found them.
Margaret shook her head. She appeared to be as bothered as I by what we heard. “Such terrible news!” she said, easing herself off one of our not so comfortable kitchen chairs. Why, the girl’s parents must be devastated. What could have happened to their daughter? Do you think she ran off with her boyfriend, Mary?”
“Possibly. For her parent’s sake I hope that’s the case.”
“Me too.”
“Of course, they’ll be mad at her when she first reappears. That’s to be expected. But years down the road, they’ll laugh about her crazy stunt and be thankful she’s still alive.”
“Well, dear, I’d better run along before an angry tenant tosses my washed clothes in a dirty corner of the laundry room.”
I stood and escorted Margaret to the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks again for bringing over the apple pie. It was scrumptious.”
“Your welcome.”
As soon as I shut the door behind my elderly visitor, the apartment took on the atmosphere of a morgue, dead silence rang out.
If you’ve ever lived in close quarters with someone you’ve quarreled with, you know exactly how I felt. Life sucks. Ill feelings abound. Unfortunately for me, Aunt Zoe’s feelings resonated louder than mine. I felt like I was already six feet under. What little I ate at supper stuck in my throat. Sure I could’ve easily remedied the situation, but I didn’t feel like it. Auntie’s not coming to Duluth and that’s final. This single gal deserves R&R by herself. There’s no law that says I have to vacation with my roommate. We’re not an old married couple.
~2~
Wednesday
Margaret’s last words to me yesterday stung like a bee. I didn’t sleep a wink. I kept weighing the options. Do I let Aunt Zoe ride along to Duluth with me in Fiona, my VW bug I named after my great Irish aunt, or do I leave her to sulk in this apartment? If I left her here, she’d only be able to get around town on foot or by bus, too scary to even think about. With her notoriety for being easily confused, there’s no telling what street corner she’d eventually end up on. It could be along Hennepin Avenue where the strip joints are banded together or on the corner where all the derelicts hung out. Neither painted a pretty picture.
