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16
ST. LUMIS
SUNDAY MORNING
Mrs. Trumbo’s dining room held half a dozen tables, each one covered with a red-and-white checked tablecloth topped with a single chrysanthemum in a skinny red vase between the salt and pepper. Everyone was talking about the party at Leveler’s Inn, comparing notes and hangovers. A woman said, “It was my flask of Grey Goose that rocketed the punch over the top.”
An elderly gentleman at the next table said, “So that’s why I wanted to fly south at three a.m.”
Mrs. Trumbo raised her voice over the groans and said to Pippa, “Full house and not enough tables, so sit here, dear.” She pulled out a chair for her next to a coffee table. It was fine with Pippa. She wanted to be by herself to think, to refine the plans she’d made on her drive from Washington yesterday.
Mrs. Trumbo appeared at her elbow. “Coffee? It’s strong enough to put extra pep in your step.”
The coffee, even with Pippa’s liberal dose of milk and two Splendas, was more than strong enough. As she sipped the high-octane coffee and waited for her breakfast, Pippa made her plans for this Sunday morning. She knew not all stores would be open this time of year, but she’d visit the open ones and cozy up to the owners, friendly as could be, and see what she could learn. Maybe she’d tell them she’d once lived here, get them to tell her if anything hinky happened here lately. She’d been told by a judge she’d interned for that she really knew how to listen and draw people out. Time to put what Judge Vena said to the test. It would be easier with people who recognized her. She’d play the family card, see if she could open them up. Of course, Chief Wilde would probably be her most valuable source, but she wouldn’t bring him in yet, didn’t know him well enough to know how he’d react or what he’d do. She wanted to be very sure about him first. This was her show until she nailed something down or needed his help.
Pippa looked up at a loud harrumph. Oh dear, she hadn’t heard Mrs. Trumbo, too deep in her plans. Her mouth watered when she saw a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and wheat toast. She took the cutlery and spread a white napkin on her lap. “That looks wonderful, Mrs. Trumbo. Thank you.”
“Major Trumbo always liked my scrambled eggs. It’s the pinch of dill, you know. You’ve got nice long legs, time to fill ’em up. Be a good girl and clean your plate.”
Pippa crunched on a piece of bacon and looked around at the mix of guests—several older couples, two families with a total of five kids, the kids too busy eating to make much noise yet, and a young man and woman who looked barely old enough to vote. The young woman was yawning, probably wishing she were still in bed with a damp cloth on her forehead and four aspirin down her gullet. Pippa heard her say to an older couple next to them during a brief lull, “This is our third year coming back to visit Barry’s parents and go to Leveler’s Inn with them, and every single year I swear I won’t go swimming in that awesome punch. But the devil whispered in my ear again and won. Again.”
Her husband had a bad case of bed head. He stopped shoveling down his scrambled eggs and said, “Before I got wasted on that Halloween punch, the local police chief warned me he never touched the stuff, said he never knew when he’d have to deal with ghosts stringing toilet paper all over town. I wanted to ask him who cared, it was Halloween, but then a guy dressed as Frankenstein handed me another glass of punch. Shelly, what was his name? Not Frankenstein, the police chief?”
An older woman called out, “Wilde, Matthew Wilde. He’s a nice boy. He spent three years in the Philadelphia Police Department before he took over from Chief Cosby. I wonder why he left?”
“Got to be a woman,” said a gentleman with a huge mustache decorated with some whole wheat toast crumbs. “Always is.”
“Or a man.”
“Nope, not Wilde. The chief shoots straight arrows.”
“No, I meant it works both ways,” his wife said, exasperated. “If the chief were a woman, it would have been a man.”
On it went. Everyone seemed content to stay in the dining room, talking and sharing stories. And Pippa listened. You never knew what nugget might drop into your lap.
Pippa ate two pieces of toast slathered with strawberry jam and finished up her scrambled eggs.
Mrs. Trumbo appeared in the doorway. Arms crossed, she waited until everyone was quiet and announced, “Services begin in twenty minutes at St. Mark’s on Columbo Square, on the back side of General Columbo’s statue. And no, for those of you who don’t know, our Columbo isn’t named after the old Peter Falk character. Our Columbo was a buddy of Theodore Roosevelt’s, rode up San Juan Hill with him way back when, before even I was born. Father Theo can assist you to repent your Halloween sins, and then you can have a nice walkabout, digest your wonderful breakfast, and clean the rest of the vodka out of your heads. Many of our shops are closed on Sundays in the off-season, but most will be open today with so many people in town this weekend. You might want to visit Harry’s Pawn Shop on Big Bass Street. His specialty is old handguns, strings of tatty pearls—the kind your mother-in-law used to wear—and old guitars, including one Harry claims belonged to Elvis. Then there’s Maude’s Creepy Puzzles. Maude Filly’s got snake puzzles and all sorts of monster puzzles your kids and grandkids will like. It’s on South Looney Street. If you take North Looney, you’ll go straight to Sleeman’s Used Cars, one of the son’s dealerships, though daddy did give it to him. They’re open every day except Christmas.
“Since it’s November, don’t be surprised if it gets chillier as the day goes on, even with the sun, so be sure to layer. Go on. Out. Dinner’s at five thirty. Roast beef with all the trimmings. Don’t be late.” She stood back by the dining room door, arms still crossed, and waited until everyone cleared out.
Pippa’s heart was pounding. A puzzle store? She smiled at her hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Trumbo, for the delicious breakfast. Maude’s Creepy Puzzles, you said?”
Mrs. Trumbo nodded. “Yes, on South Looney Street. Maude Filly owns it. That’s her maiden name, and it so happens she was Major Trumbo’s first wife, lived with him here in town when he was a big pooh-bah in the army. She’s been a good friend of mine since Major Trumbo passed to the hereafter, where he belonged, not before, it would have been too weird. She’d already changed back to her maiden name so there was no confusion. I always mention her store to my guests. Maude designs and makes most of her own puzzles, got a gift for it. I once asked her why the fascination with monster puzzles. You know what she told me? She said, ‘Lill, you can always pull apart puzzle pieces and the monster is gone, not like those monsters who come in your nightmares. People like that.’
“If you can figure that out, tell me. During the summer, when tourists are thick on the ground, she makes a fortune. Everyone with a kid wants a monster or a snake puzzle, says she can hardly keep up. It tides her over during the winter. Would you look at the time? Back to my kitchen. Have a good day, Ms. Cinelli.” She paused and gave Pippa a big grin, showing beautiful white teeth, possibly her own. “You’re a pretty girl. Not many young available men around St. Lumis, particularly now in November. That’s a pity. You’ll have to come back in the summer. All you’d have to do is walk around and look available.”
Pippa accepted this advice with a smile, but she wasn’t paying attention. Creepy puzzles. No, couldn’t be that easy, that obvious. She was already wearing a white shirt under a dark blue V-neck sweater, jeans, sneakers, and a leather jacket over her arm, ready to rock ’n’ roll. Her first stop would be Maude’s Creepy Puzzles, on South Looney Street, only a two-block walk from Major Trumbo’s B&B.
Five minutes later, she was already there, facing a deep, narrow storefront set between Sharpest Tools and Buzzy’s Burgers. Maude’s Creepy Puzzles was written in bold Gothic script above the door. One large front window showcased puzzles from ancient horror movies, like Creature from the Black Lagoon, the original Godzilla, and Jack Nicholson in The Shining, grinning manically, his eyes quite mad, a thick green snake wrapped around his waist, mouth open wide, fangs dripping venom. The snake looked nearly as terrifying as Nicholson. And there was a kraken, a giant bulbous beast rising above a ship, crushing it and eating the sailors, the kraken’s long, fat teeth dripping blood. Talk about giving kids nightmares.
Even the Closed sign was in fancy Gothic script. The door opened as Pippa studied a puzzle of a serpent winding its way up what looked like the Tree of Life. The Garden of Eden? If that serpent spoke to her, Pippa knew she’d have run away, not hung around and munched on an apple.
An older woman wearing an orange turban that rose a good five inches above her head and a flowing black caftan with yellow stars looked over at Pippa and gave her a big smile. She was about seventy, comfortably large, her eyes slightly almond shaped and nearly as dark as Dillon Savich’s. So this was the first Mrs. Trumbo.
“What a blessed Sunday morning. It’s good to see someone out of bed, looking alert, after those wicked revelries at Leveler’s Inn last night.” She touched her fingers to her orange turban. “Yes, yes, I’m still celebrating Halloween. Come in and look around. I think there’s a couple of Snickers bars in the basket on the counter if you still have a sweet tooth left. Just let me hang the Open sign. There.”
I’ve found the mother lode.
