Calamity @ the Carwash (Parson's Cove Mysteries)

CALAMITY @ THE
CARWASH

by

Sharon Rose

Copyright © 2012 by Sharon Rose

This book is dedicated to every friend and family
member who read my unpublished work and who was brutally honest with me.  And,
thank all of you for telling me it was perfect!

CHAPTER
ONE

Flori and I were enjoying our second cup
of coffee when we heard the sirens whizzing past. Well, it was only one patrol
car but it sounded like five or six. That’s because our two deputies, Jim and
Scully, decided to attach a few extra bells and whistles. At first, Sheriff
Smee was upset but because everyone in town thought it was a real blast, he
left them. I’m quite sure he not only secretly enjoys the loud noise, he
relishes a bit of attention now and again too. Perhaps that’s because he will
retire soon and wants to go out with some sort of bang.

It had started out as another quiet
Thursday afternoon; after all, whatever happens on a Thursday? The temperature
had climbed to unfathomable heights the whole week so Flori and I sat in front
of the small but reliable air conditioner that I have stuck in the corner of
one of my windows with plywood surrounding it. It might not be pretty but the
window is on the west wall and faces the east side of Mildred Norton’s Flower
Shop. Gwen has no windows on that side of her building and the only thing
between us is a narrow well-worn path with tall weeds growing along both sides.

The small flower shop belonged to Gwen’s
mom, Mildred Norton, but she never had the heart to put up a new sign. I’d
suggested
Gwen Friesen’s Fine Flora
, which I thought had a bit of zip to
it and would match nicely with my sign; however, for some reason she felt that
she was being unfaithful to her birthright. I felt that I was still carrying on
the Wickles’ legacy so it didn’t bother me at all to change my store’s name
from
Wickle’s Food Fair
to
Mable’s Fables and Things
.

I was definitely not going to continue
selling groceries so before my father died, I gradually started installing my
own merchandise. For example, I cleared out one section of canned goods and
replaced them with new and used books. Father made one last visit to the store
and when he saw the shelves, he shook his head. I’m sure I saw a tear or two
trickle down his cheeks. He never came back the last month but gave me his
blessing so I ripped out the ancient freezer and the bins where he kept the
sugar and flour. I brought in racks of cards for all occasions, fancy boxes of
notepaper and a wide variety of salt and peppershakers, souvenirs, collectable
cups and saucers and enough knickknacks to make your head swirl.

“Where do you think Reg is off to?”
Flori asked as she drained her cup. Her bright red hair flopped up and down in
time with each blast coming from the a/c. Every few minutes she faced the air
conditioner head-on to free some hair from her mouth and eyes. The heat and
humidity hadn’t been kind to Flori and her hairdo. Two days before she’d come
into the store sporting her new ‘do’ and the sight of it left me speechless and
believe me, not much does that anymore. I was used to the bright red color.
She’d decided to do that when she turned fifty. Now that she was over sixty, it
seemed she was getting even more adventuresome. The usual curly hair was now as
straight as a board with the front sides comin’ down to her chin and the back
cut up high in the nape of her neck. In my opinion, it did nothing for her but
then again, who was I to judge? I’ve had my silver hair cut in the same short
style since 1960. I doubt hairdressers even call it a ‘do’ anymore - more like
a ‘past do.’

“I don’t know but whatever it is, he
seems to think it’s worth sounding off with the sirens. At least, it will wake
the town up. This heat is making everyone miserable and cranky. Can you guess
who came into the store yesterday and was really nice to me?”

“I thought you said everyone was
miserable and cranky?”

“They are, that’s why this is so
phenomenal – so, can you guess?”

Flori picked a strand of hair out of her
eye and tried hooking it behind her ear. “If everyone is cranky, how can I guess
who’s nice?”

“Esther Flynn.”

Flori gasped. “Esther was nice to you?
Why? She’s never nice to you.”

I shook my head. “I know. Go figure.
Everyone else is ready to commit murder in this heat and Esther is not only as
cool as a cucumber, she was actually civilized.”

We both muttered to ourselves for a few
seconds. Flori said something about the Devil liking it hot too but because we
were too exhausted from the heat, we didn’t try to pursue it. Besides, the wind
from the air conditioner kept blowing our words away.

Esther Flynn, by the way, is my nemesis.
This is not something new; this is something that has been in the making for
the past fifty or so years. In other words, my life would be as close to
perfect as you can come if it weren’t for Esther. Why everyone else in Parson’s
Cove was crabby and Esther, for the first time in her life, was almost pleasant
was a mystery I wasn’t about to try to solve. As they say, let sleeping dogs
lie – especially when it’s over a hundred degrees in the shade.  

It wasn’t until several hours later that
I found out the reason for the sirens: Melanie Bernstein found Bernie, her
husband, dead on the beach. His head and shoulders were the only part not
submerged in the water. Perhaps it could’ve passed as a drowning except for the
large bashing he’d received on the back of his head. It happened right behind
the Parson’s Cove Car Wash. Melanie, it seems, was waiting in the car while he
went to make change. She waited for two hours with the car running and the air
conditioner on before deciding there must have been some reason for his not
returning.

Chapter
Two

It was after five when I heard the news.
I’d left the store about four because I knew there wouldn’t be any customers. I
couldn’t imagine a last minute rush for any of my nonessentials. It’s not as if
I had any air conditioners or electric fans in stock. I don’t even have ice
cubes. Not a soul had entered through those doors all day except for Flori.
Who, because she’s my best friend, comes in every day – rain, snow, sleet or
heat – and then there was Merlin Cowel, who walked across the street from the
pharmacy to deliver my prescription. I don’t know why Merlin thought he had to
deliver the little tube of salve that Doc Fritz insisted I needed for a rash on
my arm. I think Merlin was curious and thought I’d tell him where my itch was.
He left, disappointed. 

It was nothing short of a miracle that I
even heard about Bernie as quickly as I did because the last thing I felt like
doing when I got home was answering the phone. I only did because I knew it was
Flori and if I didn’t answer, she’d leave four or five messages on my machine.
If I didn’t call back immediately, she’d be running over to see what had
happened to me. Or, worse yet, she would send Jake over. I can live without
Jake. Flori, who’s been married to him for over forty years, cannot. That woman
has more love in her heart than Mother Theresa. She loves me unconditionally
and at the same time puts up with Jake and all of her kids and her grandkids. I
don’t know how she does it. I have seven cats and they drive me nearly insane.
I’m not even sure of any of their names most of the time.

Not that I planned to have seven cats.
Someone (Flori) coaxed me into taking one kitten. I was hoping that this one
kitten (named Phil after Prince Philip in England) would keep mice out of my
house. Not that it’s a problem but sometimes in the fall, the field mice seem
to think it would be rather pleasant to winter in my house. I suppose it’s to
them like a Mexican vacation is to us humans. Anyway, to make a long story
short, Phil turned out to be Phyllis and she had five kittens. That, I know,
makes only six cats. The old tomcat, however, which was to blame for the sordid
affair started creeping around so I seized him and did the unthinkable - ‘he’
is now an ‘it’- as are the other six.

(I’m sorry but I have to clear this up
at the beginning because I don’t want you thinking that I’m a crazy cat woman.
When they were small, they were too cute to give away and when they got older,
no one wanted them. After that, I couldn’t bear to, you know … put them to
‘sleep.’)

“Mabel,” Flori screamed in my ear. I
hadn’t even had time to say hello. “Bernie Bernstein is dead. Melanie found him
in the lake. Somebody murdered him.”

There was silence because my brain
couldn’t kick into gear.

“Mabel,” she screamed again. “Are you
there? Didn’t you hear me? Bernie Bernstein is dead. Melanie found him in the
lake. Somebody murdered him.” The last three sentences, she spoke slowly and
deliberately - and at full volume.

“Flori, I heard you the first time. What
do you mean - Bernie is dead? Who would want to kill Bernie? There must be some
mistake. If Melanie found him in the lake, he probably drowned. Who told you
this anyway? Was it Jake?”

I asked this because Jake can get
stories mixed up. If I had more time, I could give many examples.

“Mabel.” Flori only uses this voice on
certain occasions. It means, shut up, Mabel. “Yes, Jake did tell me but he got
it from a very reliable source.”

“Who? Amos?” (Amos Grimm is a lovely man
except that he’s usually three sheets to the wind by nine in the morning.)

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, it wasn’t Amos.
I’ll have you know, Miss Smarty Pants, it was from Reg Smee himself.”

Since Reg Smee happens to be a dedicated
Sheriff who never lies about a crime, I guess I could accept it as truth.

“Okay, what else do you know, Flori? Why
does Reg think it’s murder?”

“Because apparently someone hit Bernie
on the head and then tried dumping him in the lake. Poor Melanie, she’s in the
hospital now in shock. I’m thinking I should take her some chicken soup or
something.”

“Flori, I don’t think you take chicken
soup to someone in shock. The thought is very … well, thoughtful, but Melanie
would probably be better off with a strong prescription drug.”

She sighed. “You’re probably right. I
don’t know. It’s so hard to believe, isn’t it? I mean, why would anyone want to
hit Bernie on the head?”

“Maybe nobody did. What if he fell and
hit his head and then slid down into the lake? I’m sure that could easily
happen.”

“Except,” Flori said, speaking as if to
a ten year old. “That is not what happened. Someone definitely hit Bernie on
the back of the head.”

“On the back of the head? With what?”

“I don’t know, Mabel. I don’t think Reg
told Jake everything.” She sighed. “I hate violence. You know how I hate it.”
She gasped and I knew she was off on a crying binge. I waited patiently. After
several minutes of loud weeping, she stopped, blew her nose, hiccoughed three
times, and then resumed talking. “Now who would want to murder Bernie
Bernstein? I can’t think of a single soul who would want to hurt such a sweet
man.”

“What about Melanie? The first suspect
is usually the person’s mate. Maybe she didn’t think he was such a sweet man.
You never know, Flori. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Where
was she when all this murdering was going on?”

I heard Flori gasping. It’s very hard
for her to get her head around anything that’s evil or sometimes even slightly
evil. If there is a murder, in Flori’s mind it has to be an accident or a
demented stranger who did the deed – someone who escaped from the depths of
Hades. It makes her cringe to think she might have walked on the same sidewalk
as a killer - even a shoplifter for that matter.

“That’s the most terrible thing to say,
Mabel. Obviously, it was a stranger who was waiting by the carwash to hit him
on the head and steal his money. No one in Parson’s Cove would do such a thing.
It was someone from the city. It had to be. Maybe an escaped convict.”

“The carwash? What was Bernie doing at
the carwash?”

“They were obviously there to get their
car washed.”

“By ‘they,’ do you mean Bernie and
someone else?”

“Of course, Melanie was with him. Reg
said that Bernie went out get change from that coin machine on the side of the
building and he never came back. Melanie waited and waited. In fact, she waited
for two hours and he never returned so she went to look for him. And, there he
was, Mabel - dead.” With that, she burst into tears again.

I waited for what seemed like two hours
too. Finally, the wailing ceased, along with all the other noises that
accompany her cries.

“Doesn’t it seem strange that Melanie
sat in the car for two hours and never bothered to get out and look for her
husband?” I continued.

“Mabel, we don’t have all the details.
If you are in your ‘detective’ mood, I’m not talking to you. I thought I was
being a good friend by filling you in on what I do know. I did not phone to ask
you to solve a murder case. And trust me, Reg is not asking for your help
either.”