The Traveling Corpse (19 page)

Brad picked up, “I wanted to see what he did
when he got home; so I took a short cut through a couple of back
yards—Von and Verna were right behind us—and got to his cul-de-sac
before he pulled in his driveway. We watched him park in the grass.
He turned on his hose full force and sprayed his cart—gave it a
good going over. Then he drove it under his carport. He kicked his
shoes off before unlocking his side door and went inside. We
noticed that he didn't turn on any lights. Guess he was trying to
sneak in—not wake up Kitty.”

Juarez shook his head in amazement.
“Congratulations. You guys are amazing. You do see the problem
you've solved, don't you?”

Von said, “I guess you mean that we now know
who was digging that grave.”

“Wait!” DeeDee interjected. “There's lots for
y'all ta catch up on. Ya won't believe what happened after ya left:
Jiggs was killed.”

“
Jiggs
was killed?” the Bs and Vs
shrieked simultaneously.

Art looked at his wife, “You tell them,
Honey; it's your story.”

So Annie recounted the horror of seeing Jiggs
digging the grave and of his being kicked to death with only one
powerful kick from the ostrich. Then she rubbed her left
temple.

“Something has bothered me the whole time we
watched the digging going on. I knew something was peculiar, but I
couldn't figure it out until you told us that Karl was in that
field—that Jiggs wasn't alone. You saw Karl leave that field in his
golf cart. Do you know what I think? I think Karl helped dig that
grave—that the two men took turns with the shovel. It wasn't Jiggs
doing all the work. I kept thinking something wasn't right, but I
couldn't put my finger on the problem. Now I know what it was. They
look a lot alike in dim light and from a distance. They're about
the same height. And they were both dressed alike. Don't you think
it odd for them to both be dressed the same?”

“I don't know if it's so odd,” Doc said.
“I've been wearing my blue jeans for three days now during this
cold spell.”

“Everybody wears blue jeans,” Art agreed,
“but with all the bushy hair Karl has, I wouldn't expect him to
wear a knitted cap—a toboggan—tonight. It's not so cold as it's
been, and you get hot shoveling dirt. That's hard work even in
sandy soil.”

DeeDee cut in, “From how Brad described
Karl's clothes, they sound like they had planned to dress the same.
Doesn't it? Do ya suppose Karl wanted ta look like Jiggs?”

Annie continued, “But they didn't move
exactly alike. One kindda rolled when he walked. The other one had
more of a spring in his step, now that I think about it.”

“You're right! They did move differently,”
DeeDee exclaimed. “Good detective work, Annie.”

Sgt. Menendez took notes as she listened to
the seniors. And she asked questions. The night wind began to pick
up. A few large drops of rain fell. She looked up at the sky and
grimaced. “Wish that rain would hold off until morning. I'd like to
get in there to look around before rain comes and washes any
evidence away. But I don't think my wish will be granted. It is
going to rain for sure.”

“Before you leave,” Menendez said to them,
“this will break as a big news story; Ostrich Attacks and Kills
Man. Reporters will want to dig up all they can about it. I'm sure
they'd like to interview all of you.”

Annie gasped, “Do they have to know my name
or any of our names?”

“I can restrict certain information if you
want me to while we continue our investigation, and of course we
won't be sharing that aspect of the story with the reporters. Not
yet, anyways.”

“Please do,” Art said. I don't want Karl to
know any more than he already does. I'd feel a whole lot safer for
Annie and Barb if none of our names are mentioned.” He turned to
the others, “Is that okay with you? Maybe when it's all over, but
not now.”

DeeDee, who was always quick to defend her
friends, said, “I hope I speak fer all of us. We need ta protect
ya. We don't want any nosy reporters ta come prying ‘round any of
us. Right, gang?”

“I'll do my best,” the officer said, “but
Mrs. Andersen, your name is on record, so you may get calls from
the news media. ‘No comment' works, but it doesn't satisfy them,”
the sergeant advised.

Annie sighed as she shook hands with Menendez
and Juarez and thanked them again for coming to their aid.

The four couples were glad to give the
problem of guarding the area to the deputies. They felt sorry to
leave them in the rain, but this was the Sheriff's concern now, not
theirs, they told themselves as they drove back to their
manufactured homes in their now peaceful retirement community.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long evening; but it was only a
little after 11 o'clock as Annie was getting ready for bed. For all
that had happened, it seemed like it should be long after midnight.
Annie thought about what an exciting evening this had turned out to
be—more excitement than she cared for. In fact, the past three days
had been stimulating. She was exhausted and was glad it was over.
But as she pulled her long sleeved nightgown over her white hair,
she stopped to think. There was a nagging at the back of her mind;
something was bothering her.

Art was already asleep on his side of the
bed. He could drop off to sleep the minute his head hit the pillow.
She envied him for that. She wanted to talk, but she didn't know
exactly what it was she wanted to talk about—except she knew it had
to do with ‘Our Mystery'. She thought that if she talked about it
maybe then she could put her finger on what it was that was
bothering her so much—what it was that just wasn't quite right. Art
had been such a good sport about going with her on the stake-out;
she guessed she wouldn't torment him anymore tonight with an
aimless rehashing of all the events.

Usually, she read herself to sleep. The light
from her bedside lamp didn't bother Art. He just turned over, shut
his eyes, and went to sleep. She opened her book. She was
re-reading
Gone with the Wind,
but Scarlett's war-time
troubles were too much for her tonight. She was too tired to read
about the siege of Atlanta. She was besieged by her own worries. It
was late, and she needed to put those worries aside and try to turn
off her brain and go to sleep. After all, the Sheriff's Department
had taken over the case, even complimented them. They shouldn't
have to worry about it anymore. Like Scarlett O'Hara, ‘She'd think
about that tomorrow'. Annie pulled up the covers, snuggled against
her husband, and said her prayers.

 

 

 

 

Art was ready to leave for the Men's Golf
League well before eight o'clock. It had been a short night for
them. With his usual good humor, he made the best of it by quoting
his own father, “Sometimes you have to sleep fast.”

After breakfast, Annie poured coffee into a
plastic travel mug, added a little one percent milk, and snapped on
the lid. She carried it to Art, who was out in their metal shed
unplugging the electric golf cart from its charger. As he climbed
behind the wheel, Annie handed him the mug of hot coffee. He asked
her, “Sure you don't want to check out Blue Number Five this
morning?”

She shook her head, “No. I saw enough of it
last night.”

He waved to her as he drove away, and she
pulled down the overhead door on the shed.

When she went back inside, she climbed on a
high stool in her comfy blue and white kitchen and spread the Tampa
Tribune open on the counter. There was nothing on the front page
about last night's fatal accident. That had happened too late to
make this edition, but the story was on the radio and
television.

Zephyrhill's radio announcer began, “A man
was kicked and killed by an ostrich last night on the BradLee golf
course!”

A Tampa TV station carried a similar story.
However, Annie had been very surprised to hear the new man, Matt
Lauer, who was reading the news on NBC's TODAY SHOW, report the
unusual story. He promised a follow-up on it when more details were
available, while the weatherman quipped about the whirlwind terror
of an ostrich, comparing the attack with bad weather out West. His
remarks were clever, but Annie was concerned about the commotion
this would make in their peaceful community; all this attention
might interfere with their solving ‘Our Mystery'. She bent her head
and prayed, “Good morning, Lord. It's Annie down here. ‘Our
Mystery' is getting national attention. Please don't let that
interfere with our work of helping find the missing body. Somebody
has to keep up with that traveling corpse, and You, Lord, seem to
be pushing me and my friends to persevere like in the Bible verse
you gave Barb, James 1: 2-3. In Jesus name, Amen for now.”

Annie scanned through the paper and then
turned to the word puzzles. Crossword puzzles were fun, but her
favorites were the cryptograms, a code game in which a letter
substitutes for the correct one. Her doctor told her to keep
working the puzzles, that the mental stimulation was a healthy
challenge for seniors. To herself she thought,
I really don't
need any more stimulation; I've got plenty challenges now with ‘Our
Mystery'.

A little before nine o'clock, she hiked up
the long skirt of her navy blue corduroy jumper and got on her
bicycle. She loved riding it through the park. When she was
nine-years old, her parents gave her a blue Schwinn bicycle with
balloon tires and coaster brakes, her very favorite childhood gift.
During the years she was raising her family up North, she seldom
rode. Several times she had tried riding one of her children's
bikes, but she never felt comfortable with a hand brake, gears, and
ten speeds. However, after moving to Florida where the land is
flat, she decided to try it again as lots of seniors were riding
bicycles. She asked Art, “Please find me a plain, old-fashioned
blue bicycle with balloon tires and coaster brakes just like I had
when I was a kid.” He did, and she was delighted. She was pleased
that she could still ride a two-wheeler; those big three-wheeled
tricycles that many seniors rode steered differently from a
two-wheeler. She'd tried riding one and quickly rejected it. As
long as she could keep her balance, she'd ride a regular
two-wheeler. She asked her husband, “Art, when I don't feel
safe—when my balance isn't as good—would you put training wheels on
my bike?”

“Training wheels?” he'd asked in
surprise.

“Yes, training wheels. I've been thinking
about it. They work for little kids; why wouldn't they work for
seniors?”

“When you need them, let me know, and I'll
rig some up for your bike,” Art promised.

 

* * *

 

Before leaving the golf course for home after
their stake-out last night, Verna had said, “Girls, the fellows
will be on the golf course in the morning; so, if you can get up
early aftah being up late, why don't you come ovah to my house for
coffee? Let's try to make sense of what happened last night.” She
turned to DeeDee, “Do you think you'll be feeling up to it?”

“I'll be there if I possibly can. I don't
wantta miss it.”

Now, as Annie pedaled to Verna's under the
gnarled old oaks, she looked at those majestic trees and thought
they were like some of her older friends—bodies and hands twisted
and bent, but still strong enough to face each day and bend with
the winds of change.
What a different world it is today than
when I grew up,
she thought to herself. Her mother used to let
her run and play—be gone away from home for several hours
unsupervised. Today her grandkids were under adult supervision
almost constantly. It wasn't safe for them not to be, she knew, but
she felt sorry for them to be so restricted.
Times do
change,
she thought,
and so does my body.
She looked at
the two big calcium deposits that rose under the skin of her
knuckles. They didn't hurt and didn't restrict the movement of her
joints, but they were ugly. She was thankful that they didn't pain
her, but she was still vain enough not to like having her hands
distorted.

Then her mind replayed the horror of last
night, of seeing that ostrich kick Jiggs to death right in front of
her! She pedaled faster, eager now to get to Verna's and go over
last night's horrible and surprising events again with her friends.
Hopefully, they could put a finger on the problem of what was still
bothering her. She rode into Verna's carport. Barb pulled in behind
her. DeeDee was parking her golf cart on the grass. Annie asked,
“How's the sciatica this morning?”

“Oh, it's so much better. That shot and
adjustment has given me real relief. Praise tha Lord an' a big
thank-you ta my darlin' Dr. Gardner Blackstone!”

They went inside Verna's cheerful mobile home
where the Vigeauxs spent the winter months. When May came, they
packed up and left for the three day drive to northern Maine. They
still kept their big house up there, the one in which they had
raised their six children. They also enjoyed their camp on an inlet
from the ocean. “We need to get rid of one of them,” Verna often
said of the two homes in Maine, “but we can't agree on which one.
Von loves to fish and dig for clams so he likes our camp, but my
choice is being in town with family and the friends I've had for
ovah fifty years. I grew up in that town. So, we compromise and
keep both of them!” She said with a laugh.