Murder at the Car Show Page 4

  “I’m sorry, Obby. I’ve just been so busy.”

  “I understand you are very busy.”

  “I am busy,” Georgie repeated.

  “Busy is good when you are an artist. There is nothing worse than a creative block slowing you down.”

  “So true,” Georgie concurred.

  “But, an artist also has to take time to breathe—to smell the roses, to sketch, or to pet the dog she is painting—and sometimes enjoy life with a like-minded person.”

  “Do you think we are like-minded, Obby?” Georgie nervously tugged at the bottom of her T-shirt.

  “I most certainly do.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.” Georgie chuckled. She looked at her watch and gasped, “I’m so sorry; I am meeting my sister for coffee and pie. If I don’t get going, I’m going to be late. She has temper tantrums if I leave her waiting too long.”

  “Does she now?” Obby knew she was lying but chuckled anyway.

  “Yes, it’s a gross display.”

  “Well, Miss Kaye, I’ll leave you to join your sister, but I will be calling on you soon to join me for dinner—and I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.” Without letting her reply, Obby gave Georgie a quick peck on the cheek before walking briskly away. Not only did he not wait for her to speak, his action made her brain freeze. She wouldn’t have been able to speak even if she wanted.

  “What am I doing?” Georgie shook her head and began walking toward the diner. “Aleta is going to be spitting nails if I don’t hurry. Plus, I can’t be thinking about a date when there is a murder to be solved.” She was chastising herself so loudly several people looked at her with trepidation. “Well, I can’t. You can’t focus on dating when a corpse shows up.” The people who heard her comments either blinked nervously or quickened their pace to get away from her. Georgie chuckled.

  With surprising ease, Georgie put Obby and Stan out of her mind and thought back to Hera Packard. That poor thing had something to say, and Georgie was going to figure out what. “Did I miss something when I talked to her?” She reran the short encounter with Hera in her head. All she remembered was the lemons in the booth, the swirly mixing machines, and the way Hera chomped her gum. Then that was it; the next time Georgie saw Hera, she was lying on the blanket.

  “She looked fine when I bought lemonade,” Georgie muttered as she pulled open the door to the diner. “Not a supermodel but not sickly either.”

  “Who’s not a supermodel but not sickly?” Aleta asked then scooted one stool over at the counter of the Busy Bee Diner to make room for her sister.

  “Hera Packard,” Georgie whispered. “She looked normal before she died.”

  “Whatever normal is. Why are we at this place?” Aleta looked around the diner. “It’s very truck-stop chic. I like it.”

  “This is where Hera worked before she started at the fairgrounds”—Georgie took a menu and flipped to the back page where the desserts were listed—"and I’ve heard they have great pie. Maybe someone was friends with her here that we could talk to.”

  “Or maybe the someone who wanted her dead works here, too.” Aleta took a sip of her coffee without looking at her sister.

  The waitress behind the counter came along right then and took their order for two slices of apple pie, one slice of Bavarian cream pie, and one slice of key lime pie.

  “So, you don’t think it was a suicide either?” Georgie asked.

  “No. Why would she make a huge spectacle about it? People who commit suicide are so lost they usually do it alone. That’s one of the reasons it’s so sad. If they did it with an audience, more people could probably be stopped.”

  “Good point.” Georgie rubbed her hands together as the pies were lined up in front of them. “Can I have a bite of your key lime pie?”

  “Only if I get a bite of your Bavarian cream.”

  “Of course.” The ladies reached around each other, back and forth, taking sips of their coffee in the process.

  “Would you ladies like more coffee?” the waitress asked. She was square shaped with tiny eyes set close together and stubby fingers that held a pot in each hand.

  Georgie and Aleta nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you. These are some of the best pies I’ve ever tasted,” Georgie said.

  “Glad you like ‘em,” the waitress replied. The name on the tag pinned to her blue sweatshirt read Maxine. “My favorite is the pecan pie. I used to be a size six when I started working here. Now look at me ten years later.” Maxine chuckled.

  “We’ll take a slice,” Aleta said.

  “Coming right up.”

  “If she’s been here for ten years, maybe she knew Hera,” Aleta whispered to Georgie.

  “You read my mind,” Georgie whispered back.

  Maxine returned with a thick slice of pecan pie with a swirl of whipped cream on the side. “This looks fantastic, Maxine.” Georgie waved her fork eagerly as the pie was set before her, “I’m Georgie and this is my sister, Aleta.” Aleta just nodded, her mouth was too full for her to speak. “We normally don’t come by this way, but we were over at the car show this weekend and several people told us to stop for the pie.” Georgie carved herself a forkful of pecan pie before Aleta devoured the entire slice herself.

  “Oh, the car show.” Maxine huffed.

  “You didn’t like the car show?” Aleta asked, swallowing quickly.

  Maxine just shrugged, so Aleta continued, “We heard one of the waitresses from here got sick or hurt or something. Is that true?”

  “Not just hurt—killed—murdered!” Maxine said quietly as she looked around the diner. “Her name was Hera, and she used to work here—practically ran the place. She had a real gift for numbers; plus, she was a hard worker, never called in sick or came in late. The customers liked her. Her death is a real shame.”

  “My goodness, that is horrible!” Georgie said. “Do the police have any idea who did it?”

  “Hera’s niece and nephew come in the diner all the time. When they came in to tell us what happened and collect her things from her locker in the back, they figured the number one suspect was Hera’s neighbor. His name is Marley something-or-other.”

  “Really?” Georgie looked at Aleta.

  “Hera came in to work fit to be tied a couple times lately. Hera said this Marley guy had been a great neighbor for years. The kind of neighbor who just waved but kept to himself, but then, he apparently fell off the wagon.”

  “He was an alcoholic?”

  Maxine nodded her head. “Hera said that Marley would sit on his porch with a couple of six packs and just drink all day. Then, when the sun went down, he’d turn up his music and throw trash in the alley. He’d argue with himself at all hours of the night. This had been going on for over a year.”

  “Did she try to talk to him?” Aleta asked. Georgie could tell Aleta felt concern for Marley.

  “At first, Hera tried to tell Marley she had a brother who was an alcoholic, but he took it the wrong way. As a result, she became public enemy number one. Marley didn’t want to hear it. Hera never found out what pushed him over the edge.”

  “Yikes! But, that’s not really a reason to kill someone, though, is it?” Georgie prodded.

  “Of course not,” Maxine said indignantly. “Normally demons in dogs don’t tell people to kill anyone either, but don’t tell Son of Sam that! Excuse me ladies,” Maxine turned to leave, “I’ve got to get to my tables. Of course, the young girl we hired a month ago is late, again.” The Busy Bee Diner was starting to fill up as the lunch hour rush began.

  “Interesting,” Aleta said as she scraped the plate with her fork. She’d eaten most of the pecan pie herself as Georgie listened to Maxine talk.

  “You said it,” Georgie said.

  “Tell me honestly, Georgie, what was your opinion of Marley Gillibrand? Do you think he had anything to do with Hera’s death?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m curious to know your opinion,” Aleta said.r />
  “Since when?”

  “Since this is a murder and a guy you wanted me to go out with is a suspect in it. If things end up going sideways, I’ll need to know you are not a good judge of character when it comes to fellows I should date.”

  “When have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “How much time have you got?” Aleta grinned.

  “So, you are interested in Mr. Gillibrand. You said you weren’t. I guess that makes you a—what’s the word I want? A liar?” Georgie raised her eyebrows and waggled them teasingly at her sister.

  Chapter 6

  “Don’t give me that look, Georgie Kaye, or you’ll be wearing what is left of this key lime pie,” Aleta groused.

  Georgie laughed. “Well, it’s funny you bring Marley up. Stan wasn’t able to find him yesterday to question him.” Georgie took a small bite of key lime pie. “It’s a little weird because the police took the car to the pound where it is being searched and dusted for fingerprints.”

  “You’d think Marley would at least want to know where his car is.” Aleta cut off a huge portion of Bavarian cream pie and hoisted it into her mouth like a crane moving dirt.

  “That is what I thought. That’s why I snagged Marley’s address from Stan’s file. I thought we could take a stroll past his house and see if he is at home. I wouldn’t be saying anything. You’d be doing all the talking. “

  “Why am I doing all the talking?”

  “Because you’re the one he was undressing with his eyes.”

  “Shut up. Do you know how loud you are? People can hear you.” Aleta looked around, mortified.

  “You just have to deal with the fact that we Kaye girls are just too darn good-looking,” Georgie announced. “Of course, you don’t have it going on like your big sister, but you’ve got some stuff—bits and pieces.” Georgie waved her hands for additional emphasis. “That’s perfect! You’ve got bits and pieces.”

  “Check, please.” Aleta waved to the waitress who was laughing at their conversation. “Give it to her.” She jerked her thumb at her sister.

  “So, are you coming with me to Marley’s house?”

  “From the sound of it, you can’t find out anything without me.” Aleta dabbed the corners of her mouth with the paper napkin in her lap. “Yes, I’m coming with you.” The ladies settled their tab and headed to the Meade neighborhood that was on the Northwest Side of the city.

  “Where did you park?” Georgie asked Aleta.

  “I took a cab. Why?”

  “I’m parked down the street, but let’s do something different and take the subway.”

  “I repeat my question. Why?” Aleta planted her feet, “I’m not going one step further until you tell me what’s in your devious little mind.”

  “Uhm, to visit someone?” Georgie pouted her lips and looked up at the sky.

  “Visit who?”

  “It’s a surprise. Come on. The Blue Line is just up ahead.”

  “What? Why? We haven’t taken public transportation in years.”

  “That’s why we should do it now.” Georgie thought back to what Obby had said about experiencing life. It wasn’t that taking the subway was living life on the edge, but it was something different, something she had forgotten about that might inspire her.

  “You’re going to leave Pablo?”

  “He’ll be fine. I’ll have to come back this way to get home anyway. I’ll pick Pablo up then.”

  “Okay.” Aleta rolled her eyes.

  “That’s the spirit.” Georgie linked her arm with her sister’s and they walked to the Blue Line subway that would take them to the Meade neighborhood.

  “This is a lot different from just dropping a token in a slot.” Aleta looked up at the tall booth where she was to purchase her train ticket. “Does this thing take quarters?”

  “I think it only takes credit cards.” Georgie read the instructions and wrinkled her nose.

  “Good heavens, Georgie, we look like tourists!” Aleta giggled.

  “We’ve lived here our entire lives. We just haven’t ridden the train.” Turning, Georgie announced to the security guard and transit employee who were staring at them. “Well, we had to stop riding the train because—well you’ve probably heard of Aleta Margarita.” Aleta turned from the booth and glared at her sister. The two spectators didn’t move.

  “This is her, in the flesh, Aleta Margarita! I’m happy to say she’s been twenty years alcohol free,” Georgie announced, gesturing towards her fuming sister. “As long as you don’t include last year’s Mardi Gras; that was just a slip. We found her, thankfully, three days later. The only thing missing was a shoe—and her wallet—and the hair extensions she had been wearing at the time.”

  “Would you shut up and hand me your credit card,” Aleta hissed.

  “I paid for lunch,” Georgie griped.

  Aleta said nothing, just stood and stared at Georgie with her hand out. “Well, as you can see, I’m an enabler,” Georgie said to the security guard. “I can’t say no to her, but I’m learning, slowly. One day at a time, that’s all we can do—take things as they come.”

  “Would you shut up?” Aleta swiped Georgie’s credit card and charged six round trip tickets instead of two.

  “I’m on a fixed income,” Georgie griped.

  “Here, take your ticket and try to behave yourself.”

  “That is no way to talk to your elder sister.”

  “Two minutes, Georgie, and it didn’t make you mature at all. In fact, I think you probably needed those few extra minutes to cook inside Mom. You weren’t quite done when they took you out.”

  Up on the train platform was an old Asian gentleman wearing black cotton pants and a black shirt with frog closures down the front. He was sitting on a wooden chair with an open violin case in front of him ready to accept donations from passersby. The man played beautifully, but he wasn’t the real talent. Standing next to him, in black sweatpants and a pink cotton blouse, was a little girl who couldn’t have been older than four. She had her own violin and together they played the familiar “Ode to Joy” by Beethoven. The young girl was like a little doll with her jet-black hair cut in a bob and almond shaped brown eyes. Her eyes darted everywhere, looking at everyone as she played as if she was simply reciting a simple poem or telling everyone about her day at school. Her talent came so naturally that she made playing the violin look ridiculously easy.

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Aleta said.

  “She is the sweetest thing.” Of course, the twins, along with every other person waiting for the train, dropped a couple of dollars in the open violin case. Too soon the train arrived, and they couldn’t stay to hear the end of the concert.

  “How amazing was that?” Georgie said as they sat in a seat for two that faced the aisle.

  “That was worth putting up with all your abuse.”

  “You don’t really think I abuse you.” Georgie gently elbowed her sister. “You’ve sunk me into debt. How am I going to pay off my credit card with those exorbitant charges you put on it? The credit card company is going to send one of their many goons to my house demanding payment.”

  “If they do, send them over to my place.” Just as Georgie and Aleta had gotten comfortable and started to count off the stops until they reached their destination, a group of youths boarded the train. Dressed in baggy pants and wearing sweatshirts with strange graffiti logos, they were loud; laughing and pushing each other as they walked to the front of the car.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention, please.” One boy with dreadlocks and a Bears jersey yelled loudly. When everyone had looked up, the boy stepped aside and let a larger boy who had a shaved head and goatee, step up.

  “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy,” the goatee boy started to sing; his voice was beautiful, and the Kaye sisters were surprised to find themselves enjoying the impromptu serenade very much. When he finished, the boy with the dreadlocks said they were saving money to attend Columbia University i
n New York. Any donations would be appreciated.

  “What the heck,” Aleta said, reaching into her purse, “that was fun!”

  When they handed the young man their tip, Georgie asked the boy with dreadlocks if he sang, too. “I’m an artist,” the young man boasted. “I paint in oils, acrylics, and spray paint.” He blushed as he added the last bit.

  “Can we see any of your art around town?” Georgie asked.

  “If you go to the corner of Milwaukee and Clinton, you’ll see something of mine there.” Georgie wanted to go check it out. If that boy painted as well as his friend sang, he’d go far. Finally, they reached their stop and got off the train.

  “I’m really glad we did that,” Aleta admitted.

  “I am, too. I wouldn’t expect the ride back to be as pleasant, but that certainly was worth the price of the ticket.”

  The Meade neighborhood was quiet. The bungalow houses in it were similar to Georgie’s and Aleta’s, but they were a little more run down. There were not too many flower gardens or lawn sculptures, and there was at least one house boarded up with plywood on every other block. “I wonder if people are moving out or if this area is being gentrified,” Georgie said.

  “I don’t know, but I get the feeling this neighborhood has seen better days,” was Aleta’s considered opinion.

  As they approached the address Georgie had taken from Stan’s file, they saw a U-Haul van parked in the street. “Oh, my gosh. Is that Marley’s address? Is he skipping town?” Georgie quickened her steps.

  Once Georgie got closer, she realized the van wasn’t at the address she’d written down; it was in front of the one she had been given for Hera Packard, his next-door neighbor. “Let’s go see if anybody is at Hera’s,” Georgie suggested.

  “What on earth for?” Aleta wasn’t so sure.

  “I want to see if they know Marley.”

  Aleta looked at the couple that had emerged from the house, considering them as they walked towards the U-Haul van. “They look really busy. Why don’t we just go to Marley’s house and talk directly to him?” Aleta suggested.