The Turtle Mound Murder (18 page)

My heart did a swan dive as, for a brief
moment, I wondered if an evil spirit had emerged from the straw and
taken possession of Ruthie. The look on Penny Sue’s face told me
she’d had the same thought.

Thankfully, Ruthie grinned, returned to
normal. “That was nice, wasn’t it?” she said serenely. I mumbled a
banal affirmative as she passed out candles. She lit hers and
called to the ceiling, “Let light replace all darkness.”

Ruthie angled her candle toward mine and
nodded. I ignited my taper from her flame and racked my brain for
an appropriate incantation. I finally whispered, “Let there be
light,” and tilted my candle toward Penny Sue. She didn’t respond.
Her face was screwed up in excruciating thought. My candle started
to drip on the tile floor. I finally reached over and lit Penny
Sue’s candle myself.

She stared at the flame until a twinkle
appeared in her eye. She snapped upright. “This little light of
mine, I’m going to let it shine,” Penny Sue warbled, snapping her
fingers. “This little light of mine ...” she quick-stepped out of
the kitchen.

I fell in behind her and picked up the song.
“I’m going to let it shine.”

Ruthie paused long enough to beseech the
spirits for indulgence, then let out a loud trill, “Let it shine,
let it shine, let it shin-ne.” All that done with a terrific
rendition of a barefooted time-step.

We danced and sang our way through the
condo, lighting candles and shedding light in every crack, corner
and closet—even under the bed. We ended up in the living room,
breathless and giddy, our candles mere nubs getting dangerously
close to skin. We reformed our circle and stood quietly. Ruthie
thanked the spirits and gave a final invocation for world peace. On
cue, we all blew out our flaming stubs ...

... and Penny Sue started singing
Kum Ba
Ya
.

She’d just hit the verse about someone’s
praying Lord, when there was a knock at the front door. Our mouths
dropped open, each of us wondering what to do. The place smelled
like a drug den, the dozen or so scented candles having little
impact on the smudge stench.

“Open the windows,” I whispered. Penny Sue
turned on the exhaust fan in the kitchen as Ruthie and I drew the
blinds and threw open the windows. In the daylight we could see a
thick haze of smoke.

Penny Sue surveyed the scene and realized
the situation was hopeless. The choice was to answer the door and
explain the peculiar odor or ignore it and hope the intruder would
go away. “What kind of a person would drop in, unannounced at,”
Penny Sue consulted the clock over the credenza in the dining area,
“ten in the morning? It’s positively uncivilized.”

Ruthie nodded. “I hate it when people come
over without calling first. They invariably arrive when I’m in the
middle of a terrific meditation. So rude.”

“There’s no excuse for it in this day and
age; everyone has a cell phone.” I jumped on the rationalization
bandwagon.

“You’re right,” Penny Sue said emphatically,
as if she needed encouragement. “I’m not going to answer it.” She
set her lips resolutely.

We were all feeling justified and smug when
the stranger banged on the door again. The whole wall shook.

Penny Sue’s resolve turned to ire. “Who is
that? Can’t they take a hint?” She stomped down the hall and
unlatched the front door, creating the perfect draw for the open
windows. A thick cloud of smudge smoke blew through the screen into
Woody’s face. He coughed and covered his nose.

“Good morning, Penny Sue.” He eyed her robe.
“Did I interrupt something?”

* * *

Woody didn’t know
anything about
American Indian purification ceremonies we found out. Though Ruthie
showed him the charred remains of the smudge stick, he remained
skeptical. In fairness, all the hacking and sneezing made it hard
for him to do much of anything; Woody was clearly allergic to the
smoke. An interaction between the sage and his mean streak, Penny
Sue whispered to me. Whatever the reason, we benefited, since his
visit was short and to the point.

He handed Penny Sue a plastic bag with three
bullets and her tagged .38. “Tests were inconclusive,” he choked
out. “You can have this back-k for now.”

“Inconclusive?” she repeated. “Come on,
Woody, you know I didn’t kill anyone. Admit it.”

He covered his mouth and nose with a
handkerchief. “Inconclusive. In light of your clean record—”

“Clean record? I have no record,” Penny Sue
snapped.

“There’s the matter of disturbing the peace
… but, semantics aside, make sure your record stays clean,” Woody
inclined his head, indicating the hall and the dopey smell.

“Get serious.” Penny Sue reared back
preparing for a sally.

I interrupted. “I assume we can leave town
now.”

“Let me know first,” he mumbled through the
handkerchief.

Ruthie piped in. “What if there’s a
hurricane? There’s a storm in the Caribbean.”

“Let me know before you leave. Good day,
ladies.” Coughing, Woody left the condo and headed to his car.

Al, from next door, appeared a second later,
waving the party invitation. “Thanks—” he started, then paused to
take a deep breath, a knowing grin stretched his lips. “—for the
invite.” His eyes caught the bagged gun in Penny Sue’s hand. He
continued without missing a beat. “I’m looking forward to the
party. Can I bring a bottle of wine or something?”

“Just yourself,” Penny Sue answered
cheerily, starting to shut the door. “It’s a casual get together,
mostly neighbors.”

Al backed away, taking the hint. “I look
forward to it,” he said, eyes riveted on the gun.

“So do we, it should be fun.” Penny Sue shut
the door and threw the deadbolt. “We’ve got to get rid of this
smell.”

Ruthie turned on the exhaust fans in the
bathrooms. Penny Sue found an old fan in the owner’s closet which
she positioned in the middle of the back door, blowing outward. She
even donated her Sensual Nights candles to the cause, but the place
still stunk to high heavens.

It was after eleven by then, and Charlotte
was due at one o’clock to clean. So I threw on some clothes,
smeared on lipstick, and headed to Food Lion for air freshener. It
was on special, two for one, so I bought six cans of the heavy duty
stuff for bathrooms—the kind that supposedly kills odors in
addition to scenting the air. I also purchased two cans of Lysol
spray as a last resort. If all else failed, we’d mask the odor with
a stronger one.

I left the store confident I had the problem
licked and was about to step into the parking lot, when I noticed a
scruffy guy standing beside Penny Sue’s daffodil-colored Mercedes.
It was Stinky. I rushed back into the store and watched from the
cart area.

Stinky circled the car once, then approached
the driver’s side. The car’s proximity alarm went off. He jumped
back out of range and shrugged innocently at a couple walking by.
He scanned the parking lot, looked back at the Mercedes, then
strode to a motorcycle parked a few spaces away and roared off. I
lolled in the store until I was sure he was gone.

I debated calling Deputy Moore, but had only
brought my wallet, so didn’t have his phone number. What good would
that do, anyway? Stinky was long gone. And, even if he’d intended
to burglarize the car, he hadn’t touched it, so no laws had been
broken. Best to let the incident slide, I figured, not wanting to
push my luck with the one person in authority who seemed
sympathetic to our plight. Besides, I sure didn’t want Deputy Moore
coming to our marijuana-reeking digs.

Penny Sue was waiting impatiently when I got
home. “I thought the hogs had gotten you,” she said, taking the bag
from me and putting it on the kitchen counter. She reached in with
both hands and came out with cans of Lysol and air freshener.
“What’s this?”

I explained my deodorization plan.

“Always thinking,” Penny Sue said, giving me
a can of air freshener.

“That’s why she was president of the
sorority,” Ruthie said matter-of-factly.

“That’s why she’s always covered in spots.”
Penny Sue sniggered, pointing to a splotch on my shirt.

I angled my freshener in Penny Sue’s
direction. “Watch it, or I may be forced to use this on your
mouth.”

“Kidding, kidding.” Penny Sue twirled away,
spraying the air as she went. Ruthie and I followed suit, sans
twirling. We expended all six cans and reconvened in the living
room.

“What do you think?” Ruthie asked,
sniffing.

Penny Sue replied, “Smells like a sweaty
French prostitute.”

I saw my opening and jumped in with both
feet. “Gee, Penny Sue, I didn’t know you spoke French.”

Penny Sue puffed up like a blowfish, her
mind searching for a witty response. Finding none, she finally
grinned. “Touché.”

We showered and dressed in record time; at
least Ruthie and I did, and we were sharing a bathroom. Penny Sue
was another story. Alone in the spacious master suite, her clothes
neatly stored, Penny Sue could not manage to get ready in the hour
before Charlotte arrived. At one point we heard some knocking
around and low cursing. Ruthie and I exchanged knowing glances; the
place would be a wreck when she emerged.

Charlotte arrived right on time, and I
answered the door. To my dismay, her scruffy husband was with
her.

Judge not according to appearance
. I
could hear Grandma Martin say as I held the screen door open for
Charlotte and Pete to enter. A staunch Southern Baptist with a
photographic mind, Grammy could, and did, provide Biblical guidance
in virtually every situation.

The appearance quote came up often since
Grammy’s closest neighbor, Mr. Dinks, was the homeliest man we kids
had ever seen. His hair, cut short, grew at bizarre angles—one big
cowlick. His small eyes were set close together, and his chin
didn’t exist. His lips were puffy and twisted like Pete’s, but
worse, and they didn’t move when he talked. Mr. Dinks tried to be
nice, giving us candy and strawberries and wanting us to ride on
his shoulders, but I never trusted him. No matter how hard I tried
to be a good Christian, to walk in the ways of Jesus like Grammy
said, the guy still gave me the creeps. And, I had the same creepy
feeling about Pete. There was something about him that wasn’t
right, something I simply didn’t trust.

“Why don’t you start in the kitchen? Penny
Sue hasn’t finished dressing.” I refrained from saying Her
Highness, my first inclination, since Grandma Martin was fresh on
my mind.

A jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is
a fair woman which is without discretion.
From Proverbs, the
quote was another one of Grammy’s favorites which was applicable to
a wide range of situations like fibbing, staying out past curfew,
smacking my younger brother for beaning me with a baseball, or
making snide remarks about people. Though, snide remarks were a
two-quote infraction which typically earned a
Judge not, that ye
be not judged,
too. Fortunately, Penny Sue fluttered by in her
cotton gauze, squelching the Biblical groundswell building in my
head.

“Hi, Charlotte,” Penny Sue said, plopping
her purse on a bar stool. She turned to Pete who was languidly
dusting the dining room table. “And my bartender. I’m going to the
liquor store now. What should I get?” She took a notepad and went
to confer with Charlotte’s seedy partner.

I nearly fainted. I couldn’t believe Penny
Sue had hired Pete to tend bar. If his liquor knowledge extended
beyond beer and whiskey, I’d be surprised. (Sorry, Grammy.) On the
plus side, his pugnacious puss would surely keep alcohol
consumption in check. I for one would think twice before asking him
for a refill. Perhaps that was Penny Sue’s plan. Or, maybe she
wanted him there to make herself look good. The contrast was
striking.

“Ready girls?” Penny Sue chirped. “We’ve got
a full afternoon of shopping ahead.”

I picked up a bag of garbage from the
kitchen and followed her to the car. “We need to stop by the
Dumpster,” I said, swinging the trash bag into the trunk. The
Dumpster was tucked in the midst of a small clearing in the
palmetto scrub next to the highway. As condo complexes go, it was
one of the best treatments I’d ever seen for the smelly
receptacles, because the green Dumpster blended perfectly with the
green underbrush, making it all but invisible.

Penny Sue backed the car in so the trunk was
next to the bin’s lid. As neither Penny Sue nor Ruthie showed any
inclination to move, I finally got out and heaved the bag into the
container. I was closing the trunk, when a flash of red caught my
eye on the highway. A red pickup truck had stopped on the shoulder
of the road; a moment later, a Volusia County Sheriff’s car pulled
in behind. My heart skipped a beat.

Penny Sue’s window went down. “What are you
doing back there?” she called.

“Shh-h.” I slinked around the car to her
window. “A sheriff’s car just pulled a red truck over,” I
whispered, pointing to a small opening in the brush.

Penny Sue switched off the engine. “Is it
the red pickup?” she asked anxiously.

“Is it Deputy Moore?” Ruthie piped in.

I stood up slowly to get a better view. I
could see two men standing at the back of the truck, but couldn’t
make out their faces through the brush. “I don’t know. I need to
get closer.”

Crouching low, I skulked to the edge of the
clearing and knelt behind a bushy palmetto. Though I couldn’t
distinguish words, I heard the muffled sounds of men talking, and
one had the familiar, deep timbre of Deputy Moore’s voice. Maybe we
were wrong about Deputy Moore, and he was working our case, after
all. I had to see. I shifted from side to side until I found an
opening in the brush with a view of the highway. Both men were
leaning against the truck with their backs toward me. Their slow,
sweeping hand gestures told me it was a casual conversation, the
type one might have with an old friend.