Railroaded 4 Murder Read online

  “Yes. Apparently, Cecilia is more talented than any of us imagined. But unless they plan to let her perform in an ankle-length skirt and a long-sleeved blouse, she won’t do it.”

  “Can’t they give the solos back to Roxanne? That would be the easiest solution.”

  My mother was adamant. “They can’t take that chance. Roxanne could be arrested any minute now. That’s the other reason I called you. We need to get into Wilbur’s storage units to see what that old buzzard was hiding. It might point to his real killer and exonerate Roxanne.”

  “Or it might get both of us arrested.”

  “Not really. Roxanne has the keys and all but begged for my help. She called me right before Cecilia did. But first, we’ve got to talk some sense into Cecilia. We need her to remain undercover in the Rhythm Tappers. It’s part of Operation Agatha.”

  I felt like banging the receiver on my desk but stayed calm. “Cecilia’s not in the CIA. She’s snooping around, that’s all. And as for Roxanne . . . that could mean a whole lot of trouble.”

  “Well, Cecilia won’t be able to snoop if they boot her out of the Rhythm Tappers. And Roxanne is convinced we’ll find evidence in those storage units that will point to the real killer. Shirley’s on her way to the social hall right now to talk some sense into Cecilia, but you need to get over there, too.”

  “Why? Give me one good reason.”

  “Cecilia trusts your judgment.”

  Wonderful. I’m not even sure I trust my judgment at this point. “Five fifteen. That’s the earliest I can make it. And it means giving up my afternoon break.” Which I probably spent already on the phone . . .

  “Fine. The rehearsal goes until six thirty. Plenty of time.”

  In whose world?

  CHAPTER 17

  “I didn’t know they added a ventriloquist act to the show,” my mother said as we walked into the social hall. “Look over there. Someone’s practicing with two puppets.”

  “Take a closer look, for heaven’s sake. That’s not someone, it’s Cecilia, and those aren’t puppets, those are her tap shoes.”

  Cecilia was seated by herself while nine or ten ladies practiced a routine from Aladdin in the middle of the room. In the opposite corner of the room, four or five women were painting large poster boards with backdrops of minarets and camels.

  “I thought Shirley was supposed to be here,” I said.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you when I got in your car. Shirley called me. She was here, but then left. It’s Friday night and she’s going to a fish fry with some of her church ladies. Wanted to know if we cared to join her, but I wasn’t sure when we’d finish up with Cecilia, so I said no.”

  Thank God. “Good. I want to get home and kick off my heels. Come on, let’s see if we can convince Cecilia that ankle-length clothing went out with the suffragettes.”

  All things considered, the conversation didn’t go as badly as I thought it would, even though my mother and I could have used a tad more tact. A tad? Who was I kidding? If we were at the UN, we would have set diplomatic relations back at least four decades. Frankly, I blame it on the fact I was tired and hungry. Two things that don’t bring out the best in me. As for my mother, it was anyone’s guess.

  “It’s a harem outfit, Cecilia,” my mother said. “Those balloon pants go all the way down to your ankles.”

  “But the top cuts off at my belly button. My belly button!” she wailed.

  I took a breath and blurted out the first thing that came into my head. “Buy one of those body-shaping tops and paint a belly button on it. From a distance, no one will know the difference.”

  “She’s right,” came a voice from behind us.

  I turned to see a tall blonde with a figure that belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. And the last time I saw her was in our office.

  “Roxanne!” my mother said. “You didn’t mention you were coming here.”

  “I absolutely had to come.” Then she took a step toward Cecilia. “Harriet’s right. We’ll figure out something with the costumes, but you need to take my solos. My life depends on it.”

  Cecilia clasped the tap shoes to her chest and let out a sigh that reminded me of one of those pining women in an old Gothic movie. “I suppose I could talk Shirley into making my costume.”

  The tension in the back of my neck began to dissipate. “Good. Then it’s all settled. Guess I’ll be on my way home.” Then I realized how abrupt I was and immediately turned to face Roxanne. “I’m Phee, Harriet’s daughter. Nice to meet you.”

  Before Roxanne could respond, my mother took her arm. “Phee and I will be happy to help you check out those storage units.”

  For an instant words couldn’t form in my mouth, and I wound up muttering something like I what? but that didn’t stop my mother from continuing.

  “We should do it sooner rather than later. You know, before those detectives get a search warrant for them.”

  Roxanne nodded. “You’re right. We should go tonight. After dark. The place is open twenty-four hours. Wilbur used to go at all hours. It’s a Friday night, and I doubt many people will be checking out their storage units. I’ve never been there, but I’m sure they have lights in and around those units.”

  “They’ll also have surveillance.” I hoped to deter my mother and Roxanne.

  Like a flash, Cecilia put her tap shoes on the floor and sat bolt upright. “You’ll need to go incognito. I’m sure Shirley must have some old wigs floating around somewhere. And doesn’t she handle the costumes for the Stardust Theater?”

  I shot her a look that would freeze a can of nitrogen. “I’m positive she can’t go loaning out costumes from the theater.”

  That didn’t stop Cecilia. “Hmm, good point. But Shirley also handles the costumes for her church plays, and I know for a fact she’s working on a few of them right now. They’re probably piled up in her spare bedroom.”

  “I’m calling her right now,” my mother said. “If we time this right, we can stop by her house when she gets done with that fish fry. That’ll give us enough time to grab a bite somewhere and let Streetman out to do his business.”

  “And then what?” I asked. “We all dress up as if it’s Halloween and sneak into those storage units?” Thank goodness Marshall and Nate are in Tucson.

  Cecilia bent down and picked up her tap shoes again, this time tucking them under an arm. “Not all of us. I can’t go. I mean, I have other obligations tonight. I need to stay here and practice, for one thing.”

  “It’s best you don’t go,” my mother said. “Four of us would be too unwieldy.”

  As opposed to three of us bumbling around?

  I started to respond, but my mother had already placed the call to Shirley and had her on the line.

  “That’s right,” my mother said, “we need to go in disguise. What? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. All you’ve got are wigs from 1776 and some biblical outfits? Yes, I’ll hold on for a minute.”

  “Shirley’s checking with some of her church ladies. They’re still at the fish fry.”

  “Geez, I hope she doesn’t tell them what we’re about to do,” I said.

  A few seconds later Shirley was back on the line with my mother, but all I heard was “Uh-huh, Uh-huh, it’ll have to work. We’ll be at your place in an hour and a half.”

  The next few minutes were spent with my mother giving Roxanne directions to Shirley’s house and me tapping my foot on the floor, a reaction from sheer frustration.

  “Come on, Phee,” she said. “We’ll let Streetman out and grab a quick bite at Starbucks.”

  “Starbucks? What about Bagels ’N More? You always go to Bagels ’N More.”

  “Not tonight. People gossip in there. Someone might overhear us.”

  The sheer irony of her remark didn’t go unnoticed, but I bit my lip and didn’t say a word.

  “So we’re all set. Cecilia, I’ll call you later if it’s not too late.”

  Roxanne thanked Cecilia for being a sport and told my mother
and me we were her last hope before the system moved her “farther down the dungeon.”

  At that point I would have opened the castle gate myself and given her a good shove.

  * * *

  As planned, my mother and I arrived at Shirley’s house ninety minutes later. It was dark, but the solar walkway lighting, coupled with solar dragonflies, bumblebees, and assorted flowers illuminated the area like a runway at Sky Harbor Airport.

  Roxanne was halfway up the walkway and turned when she heard our voices. “Aren’t these LED lights amazing? I always wanted Wilbur to install something like that, but he was too busy to find the time. Actually, if the truth be known, he was too busy with his model trains and, well . . . I don’t need to say it out loud. Frankly, ours was a marriage of convenience.”

  I couldn’t believe Roxanne had chosen that particular moment in time, when we were standing on Shirley’s walkway, to give us the definitive lowdown on her marriage.

  “It’s really none of our business,” I said. “People marry for all sorts of reasons.”

  “In my case it was a matter of being well taken care of. I wanted to live a financially comfortable life. A respectable life. I rationalized I didn’t need passion when there was a roof over my head and a steady income.”

  By now we had reached Shirley’s front door, and I couldn’t ring the bell fast enough.

  Shirley opened the door and ushered us inside. “I’ve got the costumes. This is almost like one of those Hallmark Mysteries on TV. Come on in. Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

  “We’re fine,” my mother said. “We need to get a move on because I don’t want to leave poor Streetman alone for too long after dark.”

  I nabbed her elbow. “You left the big-screen TV on for him in the living room and the small one in the bedroom. And you left most of the lights on.”

  My mother ignored my comment and followed Shirley into the living room.

  “We really appreciate this,” Roxanne said to her. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Don’t go thanking me yet. You haven’t seen the costumes or the wigs. Follow me. I’ve got them piled up in the spare bedroom.”

  Seconds later the three of us stared at the mound of clothing on Shirley’s guest bed. From bright fuchsia and puce linen to material that featured polka dots and stripes, I had no idea what we were looking at.

  “These are some leftover costumes from our tribute to Annie, Carnival!, Fiddler on the Roof, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Of course we didn’t do the full productions, only featured numbers.”

  I bit my lip. “So, um, essentially nineteen-thirties attire, circus costumes, old Russia, and the pioneer west.”

  “Mmm-hmm. The outfits from Annie are your best bet. They’re rather bland and nondescript. Not at all eye-catching. Now then, the wigs are a different story. I’ve got Princess Olga from Carnival! and some striking red and silver wigs.”

  “Striking is the last thing we need,” my mother said. “We’re trying to go incognito, not look like a Las Vegas sideshow. What about babushkas and aprons from Fiddler? That might work.”

  “On what planet?” I moaned. “We’re going to call more attention to ourselves. Someone might think we’re the cleaning crew.”

  Roxanne picked up one of the wigs and studied it. “I doubt anyone will be there. We’re taking a precaution, that’s all. Especially if we do get picked up on any of those security cameras.”

  “Come to think of it,” my mother said, “the only one who really has to worry is you, Roxanne. You need to disguise yourself completely.”

  Shirley handed Roxanne a pair of the ugliest brown pants I’d ever seen and a long, beige cardigan. “Try these on. They’ll cover up that figure of yours and you won’t need a wig. Maybe a cloche, and I’ve got all kinds of them.”

  Roxanne put the clothing over her form-fitting outfit and looked at herself in the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door. “I look like I’m ready to panhandle.”

  “Good,” Shirley said. “Now all we need to do is find you some shoes. You can’t wear heels with that getup.”

  With that, Shirley pulled out a box from the closet and handed Roxanne a pair of saddle shoes. “These were left over from our tribute to Bye-Bye Birdie six years ago. I almost forgot about them. If they’re too loose, we can stuff them with paper.”

  Roxanne tried on the shoes and walked across the room. “I hate to say it, but these are really comfortable. Guess I’ve been wearing heels for too long. I forgot what flats feel like.”

  “Okay, then,” my mother said. “We can get going.”

  “Aren’t you going to make an attempt to conceal your identity?” Shirley asked.

  My mother shook her head. “What? And ruin my hairdo? I’ll keep a low profile. Besides, going incognito was Cecilia’s idea, not mine.” Then she looked at me. “You should probably put on some fake glasses, and maybe a hat, Phee. You don’t want to take a chance they have a security tape running.”

  “I don’t want to take a chance, period!” Yet here I am.

  CHAPTER 18

  Shirley found a pair of dark, oversize glasses that looked as if they belonged to one of those cartoon minions. The glass was missing, but from a distance no one could tell the difference.

  “If you pull your hair into a bun and wear these,” she said, “no one will recognize you.”

  She handed me a rubber band and some bobby pins, and I reluctantly did what she said.

  “Go for contacts if you ever need long-distance glasses, Phee,” my mother said. “At least you can take reading glasses on and off.”

  I glared at her and mentally rolled my eyeballs. “I suppose we should be on our way if we expect to tackle those storage units.”

  We thanked Shirley and walked to our cars. It had been agreed that Mom and I would take my car and Roxanne would drive her own.

  “We should park our cars by Sam’s Club and walk over.” Roxanne clicked her car door unlocked. “In case the storage facility has outdoor surveillance. They’d be able to identify our license plates.”

  I shrugged. “Um, I hate to tell you this, but Sam’s Club has security cameras all over their parking lot.”

  Roxanne didn’t say anything for a second or two. Then, all of a sudden, her face beamed. “We can park in front of that little dessert shop in the strip mall. It’s off to the side and no one will notice. The place closes at five. Same goes for the nail salon next to it. And I doubt they have cameras. We’ll walk across the parking lot and be at the storage facility in minutes.”

  “Works for me.” I adjusted the ridiculous glasses, which wobbled on my nose.

  Just then, Shirley came running out of the house with a satchel the size of a carpetbag. “Take this, Roxanne. In case you need to remove anything. You know, like important papers or something. I stuffed some extra plastic garbage bags in there, too. In case you needed to cart off more stuff.”

  “I’m not even sure what we’ll find,” she said. “But I’m optimistic we’ll find something.”

  Me too. Mice. Spiders. Scorpions. We’ll find something all right.

  We thanked Shirley again and drove directly to Stow and Store on Bell Road, by the 303 interchange. I had a nagging feeling things weren’t about to go as planned. Maybe it was Roxanne’s ridiculous disguise, or my mother’s overly zealous attitude about tonight’s venture. I’d been through enough of these escapades to know better, but, after all, it was my mother, and I couldn’t let her and Roxanne tackle this job without my help. Thank God Marshall and Nate weren’t around to stop me.

  As decided, we parked in front of the little dessert shop and walked across the parking lot to Stow and Store. It was a huge, two-story complex that reminded me of a prison. Tall, windowless, and drab. With the exception of neon signs that indicated the business name and flashing lights that read “Open 24 Hours,” there was nothing inviting about the place. No shrubbery, no palm trees, no bushes, no nothing. The one redeeming feature, however
, was the lighting. Pole lamps seemed to be everywhere, and the main entrance had two enormous coach lights on either side of the door.

  “I’ve got the key to the front door,” Roxanne said. “At least I think it’s the key to the front door. It’s the only one without a number on it.”

  I held my breath and waited while she put it in the lock and gave it a turn.

  “Keep your head down,” my mother whispered. “We might be standing underneath a camera.”

  I didn’t say a word and waited to see if this would be a wasted trip or not. In less than two seconds I got my answer. The door opened without fanfare and the three of us stepped inside the building. At first glance it looked like a labyrinth of narrow corridors with corrugated metal garage doors of all sizes. Next to each door was a large number. Dim fluorescent lighting completed my original impression of a prison, and I half expected to see an arrow pointing to cell blocks.

  “Wilbur’s units must be on the second floor,” Roxanne said. “According to the keys, they all begin with the number two.”

  Terrific. Nothing like a creepy stairwell to make the night complete or, worse yet, a questionable elevator.

  “We’re better off using the stairwell,” my mother said. “No sense taking a chance with the elevator.”

  Roxanne walked a few yards in front of us, where two corridors met. “If we find a stairwell. It’s like a maze in here and the only signs I see say ‘Exit.’ ”

  I shifted the carpetbag from one arm to the other and caught up to Roxanne. “Chances are the stairwells are by the exit signs. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  At that moment my phone vibrated. It was a text from Marshall. Actually, more of a note, because neither of us was conversant with texting lingo. Sorry so late, hon. Crazy day and even crazier night. No time to chat but Nate and I are fine. Hope you’re having a relaxing night. Call you tomorrow. XXs.

  “Excuse me a second,” I said to Roxanne and my mom. “I need to send a quick text.”

  Wonderful evening. Miss you. Stay safe. XX too. Relaxing evening . . . if he only knew.