The Turtle Mound Murder Page 10

  “The letter is signed by the company’s president,” I confirmed. “He says all you have to do is fill the reservoir with the enclosed bottle of saline, insert the rechargeable battery pack, and you’re ready to go. No permit is required as long as it’s used to protect one’s home.”

  “How does it work?” Penny Sue asked.

  I consulted the brochure in the bottom of the box. “This says the gun’s low amperage charge is not enough to do permanent damage, but does scramble electrical signals from the brain. An attacker will be partially paralyzed as well as confused and unbalanced.”

  “Neat-o, let’s load it.” Penny Sue reached for the bottle of electrolyte.

  “No,” Ruthie said with uncharacteristic force. “I have bad feelings about this. We’re in enough trouble already.”

  “Come on, Ruthie, it’s a defensive weapon.” Penny Sue slapped the battery pack into its slot and started to unscrew the bottle of electrolyte solution. “Since Woody still has my gun, I’d feel a lot safer with this around. The good thing about this gizmo is that it doesn’t kill. Even Woody can’t find fault with that.”

  “I don’t know …” Ruthie mumbled doubtfully.

  “With all that’s happened, I don’t mind having it,” I said sincerely.

  Ruthie studied me, pulling on her ear, considering. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” she allowed slowly, “as long as we keep it here. We’re not carrying it out with us.”

  “Sure,” Penny Sue agreed, siting the Taser like it was a rifle. “We’d look like fools lugging this big thing around.”

  We put the Taser on the middle shelf of the linen closet in the hall, gathered our purses, and prepared to leave. We had just locked the front door when Deputy Moore arrived.

  “Morning, ladies,” he said with a smile that was movie star quality.

  Penny Sue’s bossy, hurry-up-girls demeanor instantly shifted to demure Georgia Peach.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right. No more problems last night, I hope?” he said casually.

  Penny Sue gushed in the negative.

  “I’m afraid I came up empty handed at JB’s,” Moore said. “Your bikers paid their bill in cash. No one recalled seeing them before, which means they’re not locals. Most likely, they were passing through, and you’ll never see them again.”

  “But the truck,” I objected. “That was definitely not a chance encounter.”

  Deputy Moore smoothed down his thick, wavy hair; a nervous gesture which told me that he wasn’t entirely committed to what he was about to say. “I’ve been giving that some thought. Red pickups with spotlights are very common in this area and the truck actually didn’t do anything. It was the bikers that tried to run you off—”

  Penny Sue’s spine got stiffer and stiffer as he spoke. The Georgia Peach was morphing into a Steel Magnolia.

  “—the road. There’s a good chance the truck was not the same one you saw before and may not have had anything to do with the bikers. The pickup could have been an innocent bystander.”

  “That was riding right on our bumper,” Penny Sue said pointedly.

  Deputy Moore met her eyes. “That was following too close.”

  Penny Sue folded her arms. “So, where does that leave us?” she asked icily.

  The deputy looked away and cleared his throat. Another telltale sign he wasn’t comfortable with the situation, I thought. Though, who wouldn’t be antsy under Penny Sue’s glacial scrutiny. If thoughts were things, as Penny Sue was fond of saying, Deputy Moore had just been hit by a bone-chilling blizzard.

  “You need to be careful,” he said, his voice softening. “Call me immediately if you see the bikers or truck again.” He opened Penny Sue’s car door for her, then closed it firmly. She started the car as we got in the other side. Penny Sue backed away slowly, leaving Deputy Moore standing in the parking lot.

  “What do you make of that?” Ruthie asked as we turned onto the main road.

  “I think our friend Woody got to Moore and convinced him we are a bunch of hysterical women imagining things,” Penny Sue said.

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “If Woody convinced Deputy Moore we were hysterical crackpots, then Woody must not believe we’re dangerous criminals,” Ruthie said.

  “Yeah,” Penny Sue said brightly.

  Now, that was an entry for my diary: On this day, Penny Sue Parker freely acknowledged she was a hysterical crackpot.

  “Which probably means the gun test results have come back negative, proving Penny Sue’s innocence,” Ruthie continued.

  “Right,” Penny Sue said. “And Woody hasn’t had the decency to let me know or return my gun. He is small, you know that, small.”

  An image of Woody in plaid boxer shorts with his pale, knobby knees exposed popped into my mind. I laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Penny Sue asked.

  “I was thinking of Woody with his pants down. That’s the real issue, you know: Woody’s afraid we do think he’s small.” There was a pause as the meaning sunk in, followed by a wave of hysterics. “Our problem is that one or more people are after us for some unknown reason, and the police aren’t going to lift a finger to help.”

  Ruthie objected. “I think Deputy Moore would help. The emphasis on calling him was pretty obvious.”

  “I picked up on that, too,” I said. “The key is that we have to call him with something. He won’t or can’t pursue the matter on his own—that was pretty clear. Which all boils down to one simple truth: If anything’s going to be done, we’ll have to do it ourselves.”

  But then, I thought, wasn’t that the way it always happened?

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  We stopped at Chases for a grouper sandwich, then swung by The Riverview on the way to the incense store so Penny Sue could deliver Lyndon’s invitation. It was amazing how The Riverview seemed to be “on-the-way,” no matter where we were going. Lyndon was not at home, much to Penny Sue’s chagrin and my relief, yet Chef Thomas promised to personally place the calligraphic invite into his boss’ hand.

  We left the marina and took a right on Flagler, heading east toward the ocean. We hadn’t gone far when we met a swarm of dancing soap bubbles. “The store’s over there,” Penny Sue said as she backed the Mercedes into a parking space across the street from the source of the bubbles. We paused at the window of Chris’ Place which featured a variety of New Age paraphernalia, including smudge sticks and candles.

  “Just what we need,” Penny Sue said, starting for the door.

  “Wait,” Ruthie ordered, pointing to the brick sidewalk. Flagler Avenue, like many restored districts, had apparently sold commemorative bricks to help finance the street’s restoration. While most bricks contained family names and proclamations of undying love for people and New Smyrna Beach, two positioned in front of the shop were real standouts. The first proclaimed “Starpeople Landing Zone!” while a second said “Good Vibes.” Ruthie grinned. “This is a sign. I think we’ll find exactly what we need in this shop.”

  We stepped through a cloud of bubbles into a world of sweet smells, lilting music, and a wide array of incense, oils, candles, books, imported coffee and New Age accessories. The shop was empty except for a pleasant blond who identified herself as Chris, and a round-faced, gray-haired woman standing by the window sniffing candles. As Chris helped Ruthie with smudge sticks, Penny Sue and I gravitated to the candle display.

  “Smell this.” Penny Sue thrust a wax cylinder into my face.

  I took a whiff. The sweet scent of gardenias. “Nice,” I responded, consulting the candle’s label. “‘Sensual Nights.’ Who do you plan to share this with?” I asked, handing the candle back.

  Penny Sue tittered. “Lyndon, who else?”

  Who else? I didn’t respond. We’d been in New Smyrna Beach less than a week and already Penny Sue had shown interest in an exterminator (rest his soul), a policeman (briefly), a yachtsman, and a neighbor
on the beach. All the while, she had an Atlanta Brave and a Falcon on the hook back home—although with Penny Sue, it was hard to tell who was the hooker and who was the hookee. However that worked, she had two big jocks in the picture.

  The gray-haired woman smiled. In her mid-sixties, the woman was slightly stooped, yet still cut an imposing figure. Her short gray hair and pixie bangs fringed a full face of porcelain skin. She wore a flowing lavender blouse over black stretch pants; and though her upper body was substantial, her legs looked childlike in the tight-fitting slacks. “That scent fits all of you, you’re like sisters,” she stated in a knowing tone.

  “Sorority sisters,” Penny Sue corrected.

  The lady replied, “You’ve been together before—a harem in the Middle East.” She turned away to study the book display. Penny Sue did a double take.

  There’s a good come on, I thought. Throw out a pithy comment, then look away. Reverse psychology. Make the unsuspecting mark ask for more. From the look on Penny Sue’s face, she was about to do just that. “Are you going to buy any?” I asked Penny Sue to distract her from the strange woman.

  “Sure,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the old lady as she raked the entire stock of Sensual Nights off the shelf.

  Ruthie appeared with an armful of what looked like broom straw bound with blue twine. “These are our smudge sticks,” she announced. “Guaranteed to ward off hexes, evil spirits and other nasty stuff.”

  “Visualize a white light surrounding your condo when you smudge it.”

  It was the strange old lady again. Condo? That remark got our attention. The woman smiled sweetly and went back to perusing the books.

  Ruthie looked to Chris and mouthed the words, “Is she psychic?” Chris winked and nodded in the affirmative. Ruthie wasted no time in introducing herself. “I’m Ruthie Nichols,” she said, juggling the smudge sticks to offer her hand.

  “Pauline Gilbert,” the woman answered, taking Ruthie’s hand in both of hers. She stayed that way for almost a minute before she released Ruthie with a sigh.

  The gesture was not lost on Penny Sue, who rushed to Pauline’s side, almost knocking over a display of Egyptian Pharaohs in the process. “Have you used smudge sticks before?”

  Pauline raised her chin to bring her eyeglasses into focus on us. “From time to time.”

  “Do you think they work?”

  “They do if you believe they will.”

  Penny Sue smiled complacently. “See. Just what I always say: you create your own reality. Right, Ruthie? Thoughts are things. What man can conceive, man can achieve. Shoot, we could probably burn oregano and get the same result.”

  “No, you couldn’t. Oregano wouldn’t have the same vibration,” Pauline stated imperiously, shutting down Penny Sue’s self-congratulatory prattle.

  I was impressed. Anyone who shut down Penny Sue couldn’t be all bad. Ruthie flashed Penny Sue an I-told-you-so smirk.

  Ruthie wasted no time trying to drive home the advantage. “Don’t cedar and sage have a higher vibration which bridges the gap between the Earth plane and the spirit world?”

  Pauline shook her head. “I don’t know about it being higher; cedar and sage are pleasing scents to the kind of spirits who will help you out. With oregano, you’d probably get a bunch of Italians.”

  Penny Sue elbowed Ruthie smugly.

  Pauline went on, “Not that Italians wouldn’t help you, especially if you’re making spaghetti. It’s just not the mind-set for clearing negativity. With the murder and all, you need some powerful spirits …”

  Our jaws dropped as one. None of us had mentioned the murder.

  “… Have any candles with jasmine and sandalwood? That combination stimulates the pineal and pituitary glands, which strengthens intuition and the connection with the angelic realm. That would be good, especially now.”

  Penny Sue dumped her armload of Sensual Nights on the counter and consulted Chris, who led her to a shelf of cream-colored candles. Penny Sue added all of them to her pile.

  While Penny Sue’d focused on the jasmine and sandalwood, Pauline’s last statement struck me. “What did you mean by ‘especially now?’” I asked.

  “There are discordant forces around you. They come from a light-haired man. He’s angry.” Pauline closed her eyes, then nodded and frowned as if talking to a phantom.

  “What do you see?” Ruthie asked anxiously, as a group of chattering tourists entered the shop.

  “Can you get his name?” Penny Sue pressed.

  Pauline’s eyes popped open, and she consulted her watch. “There’s too much commotion here for me to get a clear picture, and I have to get home. I’m teaching a class in less than an hour.” She hooked her purse over her arm. “I have something that will help you with the smudging, if you want to walk over to my place.”

  Penny Sue snatched the smudge sticks from Ruthie and plopped them on the counter. “What do I owe you, Chris?” she asked in a rush. Then to Pauline, “Yes, any help you can give us would be terrific.”

  I was surprised by Penny Sue’s intensity, not to mention her sudden interest in the occult. Though she continuously parroted Ruthie’s sayings, I’d never taken Penny Sue seriously. I figured metaphysics was simply another lark, a colorful eccentricity, a fun role to play. Yet, I began to doubt that judgment as I watched her fumble with her wallet and credit card. Maybe Penny Sue did believe in metaphysics, or perhaps she was more concerned about the murder than she let on.

  Pauline stood by the door, shifting from foot to foot impatiently.

  “Be right there,” Penny Sue called as she gathered up her purse and purchases.

  Pauline walked out the door. We caught up with her on the street.

  “Sorry to hold you up,” Penny Sue said with uncharacteristic humility.

  Pauline waved off the apology. “I figured I’d get a head start.” She shifted her oversized macramé purse to the other arm. “My legs get stiff when I stand too long, start to have spasms. I knew you girls would catch up.”

  We followed her down the street for a couple of blocks. Pauline waved and traded niceties with everyone we met along the way. They all greeted her with a reverent, almost deferential, tone. They also gave us the blatant once-over as if we’d just dropped in from Mars. Little wonder—even I got a surreal feeling from the spectacle. Pauline lead the procession like a pontiff dispensing absolution. I was close on her heels, followed by Penny Sue and Ruthie who bore a striking resemblance to native bearers in an African safari with their colorful clothes and voluminous cargo of purses and packages.

  “Here we are.” Pauline pointed to a blue bungalow in need of a coat of paint. We followed her up splintered steps into the small house and another world. It was then that I knew we weren’t the aliens, she was!

  To our left was the kitchen that was unremarkable except for an old-fashioned chrome and Formica table (it had to date back to the fifties) and the fact that the counter was lined with dozens and dozens of jars: Mason jars, mustard containers, catsup bottles—an incredible hodge-podge of half-filled vessels with hand-lettered labels.

  “Bat wings, eye of newt ...” I whispered. Penny Sue glared: shut-up.

  To our right was the living room and unequivocal alien territory. A faded colonial-style sofa occupied one wall, with a threadbare recliner angled alongside. A coffee table covered with rocks and candles was in the center of the room, while a miniature waterfall gurgled on a table in front of the side window. In the far corner, a four-foot blonde angel stood like a sentry. Probably a remnant of a Christmas long past, the angel held an electric candle which she raised and lowered rhythmically as her head rotated with a swishing sound.

  I cut my eyes at Pauline, half afraid her head might spin around too, like the kid in The Exorcist. I measured my distance to the door. Two steps, three at the most. If the old lady started throwing-up green slime, I was out of there. Penny Sue and Ruthie were the ones who wanted to come here; they could deal with vile vomit, pernicious puke, and Be
lial belch.

  I shook myself out of my musing and looked up ... into Pauline’s steel gray eyes. She was grinning with amusement. My cheeks flushed with the realization she knew what I’d been thinking.

  “That’s Alice,” Pauline said, cocking her thumb toward the angel. “My roommate. Good company. Quite a conversationalist.”

  Alice. So this was Wonderland?

  “Keeps an eye on things when I’m away,” Pauline continued. “Likes to cook; bat wings are her specialty.”

  I smiled sheepishly, certain now the old lady had picked up my rude ruminations. Thankfully, she let it drop. Pauline’s disdain was bad enough. If Penny Sue had read my thoughts, she would have poked my arm so hard, the bruise wouldn’t fade for a month. Pauline probably knew that and was giving me a break. Fairness dictated that I return the favor. I made up my mind at that moment to suspend snide judgments of Pauline and the hereafter.

  Pauline shuffled to a pine sideboard laden with all manner of stuff, and retrieved a pink piece of paper. It was an article entitled “Smudging with Sacred Herbs.” She handed it to Penny Sue. “This should help. Like attracts like, you know. Your condo is negative, it’s drawing bad luck to you. Smudge it with cedar and sage. But be sure to purify yourselves first.”

  Purify ourselves? Prune juice was the first thing that came to my mind. I tried not to make a face.

  “Start by picking up feathers on the beach,” the woman instructed.

  Penny Sue scrunched her brow. “Feathers? Any particular kind?”

  “Feathers take your wishes to heaven. Anything you find around your condo will do.”

  I wanted to interrupt, ask how Pauline knew we were staying in a condo—it was the second time she’d mentioned it—but thought better of it. The grand dame had given me a reprieve; no sense pushing my luck with questions and skepticism. Any of that would have to come from Penny Sue or Ruthie, I wasn’t going to open my mouth. I was definitely having foot karma in a big way.