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“Did she say fifty-two?” Mimi looks around, searching for confirmation. The lady is sweet as pie but often forgets her hearing aids.
“No, forty-two. Winnie the Pooh forty-two.”
“Forty-two,” Nancy emphasizes, spearing me with an annoyed glare for embellishing.
Mimi grins. “My grandson loves that little bear.”
“So do I,” I mock whisper, before continuing my weave around the room, replacing daubers and pointing out called numbers on cards—despite Nancy’s protests that it’s cheating—until the hour creeps toward nine p.m. and someone shouts a resounding “bingo” on the final round.
The residents start shuffling out of the room with good-nights, leaving me to collect their game pieces.
“Justine!” Shirley waves me over with a sharp nod. “Come here. Need to fill you in.”
She’s sitting with another human, which is enough reason to abandon my task. “You have more juicy Bonny Acres gossip for me? What’s Saul been up to, that dirty dog?”
“Better. I don’t think you’ve met Vicki yet.” She gestures to the other person at her table—a tiny, pinched-faced woman with round glasses and cropped white hair that has been sprayed into a helmet. I’ve seen her around before, her face always buried in a memoir or autobiography, but we haven’t spoken. “She’s been helping me with some historical research.”
“Are you part of the granny gang?”
“Shirley told me about that. What a silly name,” Vicki scoffs, her voice high and reedy.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I did not come up with it. But I can have T-shirts made in a range of colors.”
She titters with laughter.
“Vicki, this is Justine, our in-house spy. She’s the one who first tipped me off about Dieter’s building.”
“Such a shame what that son of his is letting happen. He was a good man.” Her face falls with distress.
“That’s what I keep hearing. Ned, my boss, speaks highly of him. I work with him, over at Murphy’s.”
Mention of Ned erases the woman’s frown. “Oh really? How is he doing?”
“Good. Lonely, I think, now that Trudy’s gone.”
“You know, I went out on a date with him once. He took me to the Galaxy Drive-In.” She smiles wistfully. “Such a gentleman. But then he met Trudy soon after—she was from a different town—and that was that.”
“You should come into the store and say hi. I’d bet he’d like to see an old friend.”
Her mouth curves, as if pondering that suggestion.
“More important things, about this research …” Shirley’s eyes sparkle. “You ever heard of the poet Hugh Whitman?”
I shake my head. “Poetry’s not my thing.”
“I don’t care for it either, but he’s Polson Falls’ claim to fame. He grew up here and won a Pulitzer for his work. That new school they’re building? They’re naming it after him. Anyway, Vicki had it in her head that she remembered a story about how Hugh Whitman moved back to town for a stretch and was living in one of Dieter’s apartments. So she started asking around and—”
“My old neighbor’s cousin’s aunt knows his family,” Vicki cuts in. “They started digging through boxes of photos and look what they found.” She holds up a black-and-white photo. “That’s him with Dieter Senior outside the butcher shop.”
I peer at the storefront and the two men standing on either side of the door—one, a young man in a butcher apron whose face I know from pictures on the wall, and another, a much older man with wild hair and a cigarette burning between his fingers.
The next picture Vicki holds up is a moody, professional shot of Hugh Whitman sitting on a chair, gazing out a tall window, a guitar cradled in his lap. “Recognize that place?”
“That’s Dieter’s building.” The curved head and grille pattern is unmistakable.
“They used that picture in a national magazine article. She also found an old Christmas card from Dieter to Hugh, saying how much he’d miss having him as a tenant.”
“He was living in that apartment when he wrote his Pulitzer Prize–winning work. Probably drunk for most of that time, if rumors are true, but that’s beside the point.” Shirley raises a finger. “If that’s not a notable figure to the town’s history, I don’t know what is.”
“You think this will be enough?”
“We’ll see what the commissioner says. Now, about that sales office.” Shirley’s gaze narrows. “You hear any more on that?”
“Nothing yet. The windows are still covered with paper.” An hour after my little fit, the workers moved their trucks to the back. They’ve been coming in and out all week. “From what I saw, the painters are done. A flooring truck was there yesterday.” To have that kind of cash to burn … “But Garrett did say they’d be opening next week.”
“Then we need to get to work.” A sparkle ignites in Shirley’s eye.
The trouble-making kind.
Chapter Thirteen
“Do you guys have anything bigger?”
“Bigger. Than this.” I gesture at the chest freezer. “It’s 24 cubic feet. You can fit entire human bodies in it. Several. You want me to prove it?” I lift the lid. “Come on, you and me’ll climb in here right now. I’ve already done it once.” When I first started at Murphy’s and saw the massive freezer sitting on the floor, I couldn’t help myself. It was too tempting.
