Railroaded 4 Murder Page 2

  “HomeGoods is less than a quarter mile from here. They must be having their March sundown sale,” Lyndy said. “Maybe we can just keep our heads down. I’m starving.”

  Just then, the waiter returned with our drinks and asked for our orders. I was doomed. It was only a matter of minutes. Minutes? Who was I kidding? Seconds. I detected a slight movement from across the room, and all of a sudden, my mother was standing shoulder to shoulder with the waiter.

  “Phee! I thought you’d be heading right home from work.” Then she nodded to Lyndy. “Nice to see you again.” Then back to me. “I’m with Shirley and Lucinda. HomeGoods is having a late-day sale. We thought we’d eat first.”

  Lyndy kicked my ankle under the table and I tried not to laugh. “Uh, sounds like fun.”

  “You’re welcome to join us, you know. Dinner and shopping. We can move the place settings in no time.”

  I threw my hands over my bread plate as if protecting a government document.

  Meantime, the waiter stepped back. “We’re more than happy to accommodate you.”

  “No,” I all but shouted. “I mean, that’s not necessary. Um, you’ve got our orders, so we’ll stay where we are.”

  He nodded and took off before my mother could call him back or, worse yet, grab him by the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Thanks for asking, Mom. How about we stop by your table for a few minutes after we eat. Coffee maybe?”

  “All right. I’ll tell the girls. And think about HomeGoods. There must be something you need. Especially because we had to return all those stolen goods from that garage sale a few months ago.”

  “You don’t have to remind me. Anyway, Marshall and I are all set. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Good seeing you again, Mrs. Plunkett,” Lyndy said.

  “Same here.” My mother traipsed back to her table, and I waved to Shirley and Lucinda. “Whew! That was a close one. Usually she nags until she gets her way. Of course, we’re not off the hook yet. I had to open my big mouth and tell her we’d join them for coffee.”

  “That’s okay. Your mom’s friends are really quite entertaining.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying ‘loony.’ I’ll give you that much.”

  And while my meal with Lyndy was slow-paced and relaxed, our desserts with my mother and her friends made up for it.

  “I’m telling you, Harriet,” Lucinda said, “one of these days Roxanne Maines is going to wind up murdering her husband. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Lyndy dropped her spoon and it clanked on the small dish under her coffee cup.

  “You’ll get used to this,” I whispered. “Just play along. It’ll make sense eventually.”

  “Are they talking about a soap opera?” she whispered back.

  “No. It’s not one of the Telemundo names I’m familiar with, and believe me, I get a weekly earful from them. Lucinda translates the Spanish, if you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Shirley wiped the sides of her lips with a napkin and sighed. “Lordy, Roxanne must have the patience of a saint. I could never put up with that man’s nonsense.”

  “The pack rat business is one thing,” my mother said, “the philandering is another. I would have given that geezer the boot decades ago. What did he do now?”

  Lucinda leaned into the table, forcing the rest of us to follow suit. “He was seen locking lips with some floozy from the Sun City West Model Railroad Club. One of the Choo-Choo Chicks.”

  Lyndy and I looked at each other and I shrugged.

  “I give up,” I said. “What’s a Choo-Choo Chick?”

  “A female member of the club,” my mother answered. “But if Roxanne gets her way, that woman may find herself face down on the railroad tracks.”

  My mother’s comments weren’t usually prophetic, but in this case, she came awfully close.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was used to the conversations the book club ladies had. It was like dealing with Swiss cheese. One slice per speaker. Holes and all. But if you put another slice behind the first, some of the holes would get filled in. A few slices later, you might know what was going on.

  In our case, it took Lyndy and me two cups of coffee and I lost count of the Swiss cheese slices.

  “You remember Roxanne from my Bunco group, don’t you, Phee?” my mother asked.

  “I, uh, um . . .”

  “Of course you do. She’s in the Rhythm Tappers and the Jazzy Pom Tappers, too. You and I went to one of their shows at the Stardust Theater a few years ago. Tall, blond woman, shapely legs. She was a former Radio City Rockette. Of course, I’m not sure if she’s still blond. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

  Lyndy took a spoonful of her flan and stifled a laugh. “I’m sure I’d recognize her if I saw her,” I lied. I’d never met the woman up close and personal, but what the heck.

  Lucinda stabbed one of the caramelized bananas from her dessert bowl and held it still for a moment. “Her husband is Wilbur Maines. He’s the president of the Sun City West Model Railroad Club. Been president since the discovery of dirt, from what I’ve been told.”

  “Wilbur Maines. Why does that name sound familiar? Is he one of Herb Garrett’s friends?”

  Herb was my mother’s neighbor and for some reason seemed to be involved in everything—theater productions, the broadcast club, and, of course, his own pinochle crew.

  “Nope, not one of Herb’s cronies.” Lucinda faced my mother. “He isn’t, is he, Harriet? I mean, you haven’t seen him going over to Herb’s place, have you?”

  My mother shook her head. “No. Only the usual gang. Every Thursday night. Kevin, Kenny, Bill, and Wayne. Of course, it’s not like I’m keeping tabs on his house, but I have to take Streetman outside after the news at seven.”

  Shirley, who had been relatively quiet up until that point, clasped her hands together and took a breath. “Phee probably recognized the name because there was an article about the railroad club in the Sun City Independent. Something about a ruckus over which size train track to use for the new display across from the little pavilions at Beardsley.”

  “Train-track size?” Lyndy asked. “We’re talking model trains, right? Not a full-size one, like the Santa Fe Railroad exhibit in Wickenburg?”

  “Oh, it’s model trains all right,” Shirley continued. “Those model railroads come in two sizes. At least I think that’s what the article said. Wilbur Maines was adamant the Beardsley display use a G track. Or was it an H track? Wait. I think it was H. I think G is my new health insurance supplement. Of course, G track sounds familiar. Hold on, maybe it was an—”

  “Eight track?” The words slipped out of my mouth, and Lyndy nearly spat out the sip of coffee she’d just taken.

  “Sorry, Shirley,” I said. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “That’s okay. I have to admit, it was funny. Anyway, there’s a lot of grousing going on at that club over the train-track size. Good thing the project is a year off.”

  My mother pushed back her chair from the table and sighed. “Well, if we don’t take off, we’ll miss that sale. Sure you girls don’t want to join us?”

  “We’ve got work tomorrow, Mom,” I said. “Maybe another time.” Or decade.

  Lyndy grabbed me by the arm after we exited the restaurant and walked toward our cars. “My God! It was like trying to follow a stream-of-consciousness dialogue, but without the printed version.”

  “No kidding. And trust me when I tell you, tonight’s dinner conversation was pretty clear-cut. Usually it takes me days to unravel it. And we were lucky it was only my mom and two of her friends. You can’t possibly imagine what it’s like when the entire Booked 4 Murder book club gets together. Maybe they’ll put today’s gossip to rest.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Phee, but I don’t think you’ve heard the last of the Roxanne-and-Wilbur saga. And those train tracks? What difference does it make?”

  “Beats me, but I’m sure I’ll find out. Whether I want to or not.”r />
  * * *

  I hadn’t given Roxanne Maines or model railroads another thought until I walked into the office the following morning.

  Augusta was already at her desk and the Keurig was ready to go. “Nice dinner out last night?”

  “It was. Until my friend Lyndy and I ran into my mother at the restaurant. She was eating with Shirley and Lucinda.”

  “You went to dinner in Sun City West?”

  “Oh heavens no. I know better than to take a risk running into one of the book club ladies. Nope. We went to Arrowhead in Peoria. Thought we’d be safe. Ha! My dumb luck my mother and her friends were on their way to a sale at HomeGoods and decided to eat at the same restaurant we did.”

  “Oh brother. Don’t tell me you wound up at the same table.”

  “Only for dessert. And that was bad enough. Got an earful about some woman and her philandering husband. Oh. And model trains, too.”

  “Must be the morning for women with philandering husbands. Nate’s meeting with one of them right now. Lady by the name of Roxanne Maines.”

  “Roxanne Maines?” It can’t be.

  “Uh-huh. Do you know her?”

  “Tall? Blond? Maybe in her sixties or seventies?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Don’t tell me she’s in your mother’s book club?”

  “No, only their gossip. I mean, if it’s the same lady. The one my mother was yammering about was a former Radio City Music Hall Rockette.”

  Augusta shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. Want me to buzz you on the phone when she walks out of Nate’s office? You can see for yourself if you think it might be her.”

  “Geez, that’s so unprofessional. But yes, buzz me. I’ll be discreet. I’ll bring my coffee cup out here and act nonchalant.”

  “I’ll say one thing. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “That’s not funny, Augusta. I may have professional reasons to find out if it’s her.”

  “Really? Professional reasons? You plan on offering your accounting services?”

  “One can never tell.”

  “Harrumph. I’ll be sure to let you know when it’s time for your entrance.”

  Both of us laughed, and I walked into my office, but instead of closing the door, I left it slightly ajar. For the next forty minutes or so, I immersed myself in invoices. The phone rang once, but it turned out to be one of our vendors, who had a question for me. Another ten minutes went by and, sure enough, there was a buzz from the outer office. I reached for my coffee cup, got out of my chair, and threw open the door.

  A tall, blond woman wearing dark slacks and a clingy cowl-necked sweater walked to the front door accompanied by my boss. I pretended to select a coffee pod while eyeballing both of them. It was hard to say, but the woman certainly fit my mother’s description.

  Suddenly, she turned and was face-to-face with Nate. She latched on to his wrist and, in a voice that owned the room, said, “So help me, if I find out he’s having an affair with one of those train-chugging, Choo-Choo chickens, the next thing his lips kiss will be the stone-cold pavement.”

  Yep, it was the Roxanne Maines all right. Not a single doubt in my mind. I tapped the floor, waiting for the K-cup to quit brewing, and locked gazes with Augusta.

  Satisfied? she mouthed.

  I nodded back and smiled.

  By now, Roxanne had left the office and Nate walked toward us. “The two of you will have to do better than that if you ever plan to do surveillance work. Why the sudden interest in our new client?”

  “Not my interest,” Augusta said. “Phee’s the one staking a claim to this case.”

  “I’m not staking a claim. It’s just that—well, if you must know, Roxanne Maines was the subject of a long conversation my mother and her friends had last night at the restaurant. My friend Lyndy and I happened to be there, and before we knew it, we got swooped up and deposited at my mother’s table for dessert.”

  Nate burst out laughing and shook his head. “Like fish in a pelican’s mouth, huh?”

  “In a manner of speaking. And yes, Lyndy and I were privy to some idle chitchat about Roxanne, but nothing that Roxanne probably hasn’t already told you.”

  My God! I’ve become the gossip-mongering washerwoman in all those fairy tales.

  Nate moved closer to Augusta’s desk, where I was now standing. “And what exactly did you ascertain from your enlightening conversation? And dare I ask which of your mother’s friends were passing along their intel?”

  I gulped. “Shirley and Lucinda.”

  With that, Nate leaned over and belly laughed so hard, I thought he’d lose his breath. “Shirley and Lucinda? I’m afraid to ask, so I won’t.”

  Nate had gotten to know my mother’s friends in the past two years as a result of a few murders that took place in Sun City West. Had it not been for the exaggeration, gossip, and innuendo the ladies were famous for, Williams Investigations, along with the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office, would have solved those cases a whole lot sooner.

  “We’ve got the gist of it,” Augusta said. “Rotten, cheating husband. And no innuendo there. We heard it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. I thought the part about the lips kissing the pavement was a bit overdone, but what do I know?”

  “About the same as I do at this point,” Nate replied. “And I’m going by the book on this case. A little digging around and some undercover surveillance. Shouldn’t be all that hard to find out if the husband is stepping out on her. From what I understand, the guy spends most of his time at the Model Railroad Club on R H Johnson Boulevard when he’s not working on the train exhibit at the Beardsley Rec Center. Won’t take a herculean effort to see if he leaves either of those places with anyone.”

  “I might as well really make myself a cup of coffee,” I said, “as long as I’m standing here. I don’t even know Roxanne, but I feel sorry for her if what she says is true. I hate the idea of infidelity.”

  Nate gave me a tap on the shoulder. “I hate the idea of it, too, but let’s face it, this office profits from it. In the past month alone, Marshall and I investigated at least five similar cases. It’s a miserable thing, but it pays the bills.”

  “That’s what my uncle Orson used to say about running his chicken farm. At least you won’t get stuck with manure, Mr. Williams,” Augusta said.

  “No, but if things don’t go right, I might wind up stepping in it.”

  * * *

  As a matter of fact, Nate wasn’t the one stepping in anything unsavory. I was. And it happened early the next morning, before I was fully awake and my coffee had a chance to kick in. It was Saturday morning and Marshall leaned over the bed and gave me a gentle nudge.

  “Last night went by way too fast,” he said. “At least I don’t have any out-of-town cases this week unless something comes up. I’ll get those steaks on the grill the minute I get home this afternoon. Lucky you, it’s your Saturday off.”

  “Yay. And I plan to snooze for another half hour at least. Then I’ll tackle a few home projects I’ve been putting off.”

  “Forget the projects. Try to have a fun day. See you later, hon.”

  I closed my eyes, but I was too awake to sleep yet not awake enough to function. I threw a sweatshirt on over my nightshirt and walked into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I had barely taken the first few sips when the phone rang.

  My mother’s voice made my hair stand on edge, like static electricity. “Phee! You’re up. Good. How soon can you get to the Beardsley Rec Center?”

  “Please tell me this is a general reference question and not something else. It’s a quarter to eight.”

  “Cecilia thinks she might have discovered a dead body in the train exhibit next to the horseshoe tossing area.”

  “Then have her call the posse. And what was Cecilia doing by the horseshoe area at this ungodly hour?”

  “She goes for her morning walk around Beardsley’s perimeter every day.”

  “Like I said, have
her call the Sun City West posse.”

  “It’s not as easy as you think. Cecilia has, well . . . a reputation with them, so she called me instead. Streetman and I are going over there right now.”

  Terrific. A possible dead body and a neurotic Chiweenie. There’s a recipe for disaster. “What did you mean by a ‘reputation with them’?”

  “Long story. Last year, during one of Cecilia’s walks, she was positive she saw a dead body by the small berm between the Ramada picnic area and the main building. She was convinced it was a woman with a large, round face and long, brown hair that was somewhat unkempt.”

  “And?”

  “It turned out to be a large river rock with one of those palm fronds wrapped around it. Those fronds fall off the trees any time there’s a breeze.”

  “Oh brother. Was that it?”

  “Not exactly. A few months ago, when she was leaving church in the evening, she glanced into the car parked next to her and was adamant there was a dead woman in the back seat. Even went as far as describing the woman’s deep-set wrinkles and scraggly hair.”

  “I take it there was no dead body.”

  “Nope. It was someone’s scarecrow they bought earlier in the day at one of the local nurseries.”

  “Um, it sounds like this is going to be a wasted trip for you and Streetman. Still, if Cecilia is that concerned, she needs to call the posse.”

  “Oh, she’s concerned all right. Says she saw an outstretched arm.”

  “An outstretched arm? That could be anything! A large tree branch, a pipe, one of those decorative wooden borders—”

  “Maybe the third time’s the charm. Maybe Cecilia really did find a body.”

  “My God! This isn’t a game show.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Phee. Are you going to come or not?”

  “Fine. It’s better than listening to you nag for the next ten minutes.”

  CHAPTER 3

  I couldn’t believe I had just done that. I got so exasperated with my mother that I agreed to drive over to the model railroad display at Beardsley. By now, my coffee was lukewarm, so I chugged it, washed up quickly, and got in the car. Twenty-five minutes later, with an old-fashioned Dunkin’ Donut in my hand that I bought along the way, I pulled into the Rec Center’s parking lot.