Fool's Puzzle Earlene Fowler (microsoft ebook reader TXT) 📖

the front commanded in Elvia’s large, loopy handwriting: “Check out page 67, and the dress is an early Christmas present. If you wear anything besides this on Friday night, I’ll personally burn all your jeans. E. P.S. Wear your black heels and your hair in something besides that braid.”

I zipped open the garment bag to find an almost weightless Kelly-green silk dress with a lower neckline and shorter skirt than I probably would have chosen. But, knowing Elvia, it was the latest fashion and cost a bundle. I had to admit I was grateful; I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to wear to the auction Friday night. I looked from the book to the dress and wondered which mission she considered more impossible.

I closed the bag, sat down on the bumper of my truck and flipped to the page Elvia indicated. Missing Persons Investigation. I smiled as I scanned the chapter. She meant it as a joke, but she might have helped me more than she realized. I tucked the book into my purse, grabbed my dress and went home.

I was getting ready to search the refrigerator for some sort of edible plant or animal life, when the phone rang. I glanced at the clock. It was eight-thirty, about the time Dove settled down with the newspaper. Gossips’ heads were going to roll. Dove hated hearing anything last.

“Your daddy’s worried,” Dove said in a crabby voice. She always ascribed any sentimental feelings she had to someone else. “I ought to whip your butt for not calling me. I hope you’re packing an iron.”

“Watching the Humphrey Bogart Film Festival again, are we?” I said. “I found the body but I don’t think I’m in any danger.”

“You shouldn’t be alone. Can’t count on that trampy cousin of yours to be around. I could send Garnet out. She took a karate class once. Back in ‘71, I think. When all that women’s lib stuff was going on.”

“Good try, Dove.” I laughed at the thought of Aunt Garnet in her J.C. Penney spectator pumps, legs spread in a karate stance, protecting me from an assailant. “But, no go. I’ll be fine.”

“You coming tomorrow?”

“No, but tell everyone ‘Hi’ for me.”

I waited in silence for her lecture. But, as she is apt to do, she feinted, and brought up an even touchier subject.

“You find Rita?”

“Yes,” I said, hesitantly. “I gave her the message.”

“And she ignored it as usual.” Dove groaned loudly. “Another night of Garnet’s whining. She’s driving me crazy as popcorn on a hot skillet.”

“Well, good luck,” I said.

“You sure you’re going to be okay there alone?” Dove asked. “I think Garnet made it to a belt in that karate class.” Dove’s voice was hopeful. I guess raising six kids and one grandkid taught you to never say die. “Red or green or some color. She was pretty good, I hear. Especially with the yell.”

“No, Dove.”

“Rats,” she spit out and hung up.

I regarded the buzzing phone with humor and tried to remember a time when Dove actually said the word “Good-bye” to me.

I kicked off my boots and settled down on the sofa with the book Elvia sent me. I read the Missing Persons chapter three times. The information seemed obvious—“Learn a person’s habits and the types of people they associate with. Find those people and you’ll find your missing person.” It sounded so easy. But the only person I knew Rita hung around with on a regular basis was dead. I tossed the book on the floor in disgust and wondered if I should try Floyd one more time. Maybe he’d be more open without the chief of police sitting in his bar.

I lay on the sofa trying to decide whether I should go to Trigger’s or see if any food had mysteriously appeared in my refrigerator, when the phone rang. A nervous, whispery voice took care of those problems and handed me a whole new one.

“Benni?” said Rita. “Thank goodness you’re home. I need some money. Fast.”

7

TO SAY I lost control would be an understatement.

“Where have you been? Do you realize what kind of trouble you’re in? Do you realize what kind of trouble I’m in? I need to know what happened. Why did you drive away? Are you okay? What do you mean, you need money?”

“Benni,” she said, when I finally inhaled. “Calm down. No need to pitch a fit.” Her sleepy Arkansas drawl made me want to yank her through the phone, pouty lips first.

“Easy for you to say,” I snapped.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

“Can you get me some money?”

“You’re not getting anything until you tell me what happened last night.”

“Just a minute.” I heard her put a hand over the receiver and mumble something.

“Who’s with you?”

“Skeeter.”

“Who?”

“You met him. Tall, blond mustache, good-looking in a scroungy sorta way.” I heard a grunt, then a giggle.

“Oh, Mr. Belt Buckle,” I said. “Is that who you’ve been staying with?”

“Look,” she said. “Can I count on you or not?”

“Rita, I have to know what happened. You do know Marla is dead, don’t you?”

A moment of silence, then a hesitant, “Yes.”

“You need to talk to the police, Rita. I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, but they don’t.”

“No police.” It came out a little too quickly for my comfort.

“Rita, do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”

“Look, if you’ll bring me some money, I’ll tell you what I know and you can tell the police. Otherwise, I’m gone.”

I contemplated her offer. If I said no, I’d be no better off than when I’d started, and perhaps, a little worse. In person, I might find out something or maybe even convince her that talking to the police would be the smartest thing to do. A little voice whispered in the back of my mind—you’d better call Ortiz—but, after a small twinge of guilt, I ignored it.

“I don’t have much money to give you and I’m not giving you that until you tell me what happened.”

“Okay, okay,”