Picture Perfect Murder (Ryli Sinclair 1) (7 page)

“Whaddaya wanna know?” she said as she inhaled on the
contraption.

I was momentarily dumbfounded.

“Um, Aunt Shirley, you don’t smoke.”

“I know. And I never will now that I have this wonderful
invention.”

I tried again. “Is that one of those e-cigs?” I asked.

“Yep. I saw an ad on the Internet, said it was healthier
than smoking cigarettes.”

Sometimes if you say things slower and louder, people
suddenly understand. Okay, I know that’s a lie, but I’m always doing it. “Why
do you think you need it? You don’t smoke.”

“I don’t smoke
now
, but you never know, I may start
taking up the habit someday. This little baby,” she continued, shaking it
around, “takes that worry away. It’s sort of a sneak attack for preventative
measures.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing,” I said.

“You calling me a liar?” Aunt Shirley said while sucking on
the e-cig. The vapor suddenly shot out of her mouth and she started hacking and
coughing. I could see tears forming in her eyes. I rushed over, ready to pound
on her back, but she waved me off. “I’m okay,” she wheezed, trying to take deep
breaths.

“Doesn’t that hurt your throat?” Paige asked, shaking her
head at my aunt’s ridiculous behavior.

“Only in the mornings. By mid-afternoon it subsides.”

I closed my eyes and started counting to ten. I only made it
to three before I blurted, “Maybe that’s your body’s way of saying stop using
it!” I exclaimed.

“Nonsense.”

“Is there nicotine in that?” I asked.

“Hell no! I don’t smoke cigarettes and never will. It’s a
disgusting habit,” Aunt Shirley said as she wheezed and puffed again.

I decided not to push the issue and instead got to the
reason we were there. “Aunt Shirley, there was a murder Thursday night, and I
was thinking—”

“I’m aware Dr. Garver was murdered,” she interrupted.

“You are?” Paige asked.

“Of course! I can still eavesdrop on a good conversation,
you know. There's not an orderly, nurse, or doctor around here that can keep
their mouth shut.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “Paige and I thought maybe we could
help Chief Kimble figure out who the murderer is.”

Aunt Shirley squinted at me. “Why?”

I couldn’t tell her the truth, that I wanted to help solve
this murder to prove to Garrett he wasn’t the only one who could solve a crime.
That would just sound petty. “Journalistic reasons?”

Aunt Shirley made an annoying buzzer sound. “Try again. I
think this has something to do with Barney Fife and how you’ve been sniffing
around him when you think no one’s watching.”

I glowered at her. She and I both knew he was the exact
opposite of Barney Fife. I also knew if Garrett ever heard her, he’d definitely
lock her up and throw away the key.

Trying to stay calm I said, “It has nothing to do—”

“Save it, girlie.” Aunt Shirley said, cutting me off and
inhaling on her vapor again. I could tell she was trying not to cough because
her face turned dangerously red again. I figured it served her right.

“We probably should help that whelp out. If his debacle with
me is any indication of how he runs things, he probably couldn’t solve a murder
if it was handed to him on a silver platter!”

Once again I held my tongue.

“Well, what do you got so far?” she wheezed.

“We were thinking it was someone connected with—”

“I don’t want to know who. I want to know what the crime
scene looked like. All of it. Don’t leave anything out.”

Okay, now I was a little worried. I knew I wasn’t supposed
to reveal anything about the scene, even though some people already knew some
of the facts. There were still only a few people who knew the entire truth. If
I said something now, I knew I’d be risking my job with the police department.

“Ain’t nothing you say gonna leave this room, is it?” Aunt
Shirley gave Paige a hard look.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m now an accessory
in this mess,” Paige said as she put her hands up in the air.

Chewing on my lip, I made a snap decision. “Okay, here’s
what really went down.” I proceeded to tell them about the crime scene, about
her heart being removed and her fingertips being cut off. I didn’t leave a
single gross description out.

“Okay, now I’m hungry,” Aunt Shirley said when I’d finished.

Paige whipped her head around to look at me. “Is she
serious?”

“I never joke about food.” Aunt Shirley said. “It’s getting
late. How about you take me to your house, Ryli, and make your dear great aunt
some pancakes for lunch.”

“Um…no. Besides, pancakes are for breakfast, not lunch.”

“That’s why you’ll never solve this case alone…you don’t
know how to think outside the box.”

Crap!

“Fine, wait here, I’ll bring the car around and pick you up
in front of the doors.” I ignored the glare from Paige as I left her alone with
Aunt Shirley.

A few minutes later I saw Aunt Shirley breeze through the
front door of the retirement center, while Paige looked to be staggering and
limping. God only knows what Aunt Shirley did to her to cause the limping…and I
wasn’t stupid enough to ask.

I heard Aunt Shirley bellow before I even had her side of
the door open.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, crunching her nose up like
she was smelling something rotten.

“My car,” I said.

Aunt Shirley snickered. “I ain’t riding in this ugly-ass
car, girl. I've got a real car we can drive.”

Aunt Shirley’s “real” car was the very car I’d coveted
pretty much my entire life...a turquoise 1965 Falcon that had a glass-like
finish. Dancing across the hood and side panels were purple ghost flames. In
fact, the flames were so deep that a person had to look hard to see them. Under
the hood was a stock 302 with an Edelbrock fuel injection.

The interior was just as sweet. The barely-there dashboard
was done in the same turquoise color, and the bucket seats in the front were a
pristine white with turquoise stitching…as was the bench seat in the back.

Like I said, I’ve secretly coveted this car for as long as I
could remember. Years ago when Aunt Shirley moved back permanently to Missouri
I asked her how she got the car, and she told me it was a story that was so
juicy I had to be older to hear it. I vaguely wondered if I was old enough yet.

I knew Aunt Shirley had to garage the car after her hardware
sign accident and the many parking tickets she’d received prior...and it nearly
killed her. The retirement center had a parking lot in the back where tenants
could park one car for free. It just so happened that Aunt Shirley’s balcony
overlooked the parking lot, so she could keep an eye on her baby.

“Park this heap back where it was…and let’s do this in
style. The Falcon always helped me clear my mind when I was on a case.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I parked my old Civic and
ran over to where Aunt Shirley and Paige were standing. Aunt Shirley dangled
the keys in front of me.

“I never leave home without ‘em. Let’s go pull the tarp off
her and see how she drives.”

Hating the fact I had to be the adult here I asked, “Aunt
Shirley, are the tags current?”

“You bet your sweet ass they are. Now, let’s ride!”

The ride from Oak Grove Manor to my house was
exhilarating…but it was also torture.

“You wanna know who had it bad for me? That Richard Burton. I
gave Elizabeth Taylor a run for her money, ya know.”

I rolled my eyes. Not for one minute did I believe a word of
that story. I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Paige mouth the word
“crazy” to me.

As I pulled the Falcon into my driveway, I noticed a package
sitting on the porch. I didn’t remember ordering anything off Amazon, but I’m
usually forgetful.

Stooping over to pick up the package, I let the girls into
the house. Usually the UPS guy didn't come until after two. Must be my lucky
day!

“I’ll start breakfast while you guys put a list together,” I
said.

Aunt Shirley snorted. “You think that’s a good idea? I
figured Paige here would make the pancakes. Or is she like you and can’t cook?”

“I can cook!” Paige and I shouted together.

Aunt Shirley just laughed. “Y’all are just too gullible.”

Muttering and cursing to myself about not keeping arsenic on
hand, I got out the necessary ingredients for pancakes. I decided to spice
things up a bit and grabbed a bottle of cinnamon from my cabinet of spices.
I’ll show her who can’t cook!

“So what do you two civilians have so far?” Aunt Shirley
grunted as she hoisted her oversize purse onto my dining room table. I figured
it had to weigh ten pounds easy.

“Aunt Shirley, you’re a civilian, too. You were never in the
military.”

Shirley narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t know all the
things I’ve done in my life. The private eye gig was just the tip of the
iceberg.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Well,” Paige smoothly cut in, hoping to stop another
ridiculous fight, “we already made a list of the possible suspects.”

I listened half-heartedly as they discussed the case,
focusing mostly on flipping and preparing pancakes. When I had a plate full of
piping hot cakes, I carried them and some maple syrup to the table.

“Here’s where you’re going wrong,” Aunt Shirley said. “It’s
not someone associated with the school.”

“How can you be so sure?” Paige asked.

“What major event has just taken place at the school?” Aunt
Shirley asked as she took three pancakes from the plate.

“Nothing I can think of,” I said as I went to get milk from
the fridge.

“Exactly my point. One of the first things you do when
profiling a murderer is ask yourself what’s the stressor. Something big has had
to happen to make the murderer want to start murdering.”

Hmmm…that sounded good. Maybe Aunt Shirley was going to be
handy after all.

"Also, now is not the time to kill someone so
influential just for sport. This murder has crippled the school district. No
one that works for the district would do something so drastic to the whole
community. If they were going to kill her, they'd do it right after the end of
school. Gives everyone time to find a replacement."

Disturbing to think about...but I got her meaning.

“And why the fingertips?" she continued. "It’s
saying more than just she didn’t have a heart. It’s more personal.”

I watched her smother her pancakes in butter and maple
syrup, spreading it evenly over the top. She cut a huge chunk off with her fork
and stuffed it in her mouth.

Miss Molly wondered into the living room, winding her body
slowly through my legs, meowing loudly. I knew what that meant.

“Hold on, Miss Molly, I’ll get your food in a second.”

I picked up a knife from the table and started to open the
cardboard box I’d dropped when we all came in. Odd, there was no return address
on the box, just my name. I reached in and moved the packing peanuts aside. I
hated those things…they’re always clinging to my clothes and hands.

I lifted the square, glass container out of the box and
shook off the last of the clinging peanuts. I heard the “tink tink” sound of
the contents hitting against the glass, but it wasn’t until I heard Paige
screaming and saw her bolt from her chair that I realized something was wrong.

As if in slow motion, I brought the container up so I could
easily peer through it. When my mind finally caught up with my eyes, I let out
a blood-curdling scream so loud it hurt my throat. I was staring at a heart and
three fingertips with Cherries in the Snow nail polish on them. I quickly
dropped the glass container on the table, which caused even more tinkling
sounds to fill the air.

Miss Molly jumped onto the table and began batting at the
glass, as if she were trying to catch a mouse. Every time she moved the container
with her paw and it made a tinking sound, I heard myself scream even more.

“For the love of God, could you two sissies stop screaming? You’re
giving me a headache.”

I looked over at Aunt Shirley calmly eating pancakes and
felt myself starting to gag. How in the world could she be eating at a time
like this, didn’t she know what was inside the container…and how weird was it
that I knew the nail polish color. I mean it was my favorite color and all, but
gross
!

By this time Miss Molly had ceased to be entertained by the
glass and had taken up washing herself on the table. Out of habit I batted her
off the table and then sat back down in a chair.

Paige stumbled back over and righted her overturned chair.
Plopping down hard, she asked the question I’d been wondering, “Why would
someone do this to you?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe because—”

“Maybe because you pissed someone off, duh,” Aunt Shirley
said sarcastically as she waived her empty fork at me.

I didn’t say anything…mainly because I was afraid she was right.
Who had I pissed off enough to send me their little trophies as a warning?

Gag!

“Why did it make that weird sound?” Paige asked.

“I think they’re frozen,” Aunt Shirley said as she continued
shoving pancakes into her mouth. “Killer must have put the heart and fingers in
a deep freeze or something.”

I have to admit, I kind of felt bad for Dr. Garver. It’s one
thing to be murdered, but to have your body frozen on top of it was actually
quite sad.

“What should we do now?” Paige asked.

I knew what we had to do, I just didn’t want to do it
because Garrett was gonna be livid. Somehow this was going to be my fault.

“I’ll tell you what you should do now,” Aunt Shirley said as
she pushed her half-eaten plate aside. “You should learn to make pancakes.
These things taste like cow shit.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. I’d just gotten some killer’s
trophies in the mail and she had the nerve to bitch about my pancakes! “What’s
the matter, Auntie, is the cinnamon a little too much for you to handle in your
old age?”

“Ha!" my aunt snorted. "Watch your mouth before I
wash it out with soap. And believe me, that ain’t no cinnamon.”

More because I wanted to get away from the table than
anything, I raced to the counter and grabbed the spice, shoving it in her face.
“See, cinnamon.”

Aunt Shirley started laughing. “Only thing I see is a bottle
of cumin, you nitwit!”

I turned the label toward me and groaned. She was right.

“Truth be told, I think I’d rather eat that heart right
there than another bite of your cooking,” Aunt Shirley hooted.

Paige made a gagging noise.

Aunt Shirley ignored her. “You know who could cook? Sean
Connery. He once made me breakfast. You catching’ my drift here
girls…breakfast!” Aunt Shirley said, wiggling her over-grown bushy eyebrows in
a lewd, suggestive way.

Now I really did gag.