Soap on a Rope Read online

  He smiled. “That would completely bust the budget so I’ll give you the inside scoop. I don’t have the foggiest idea what happened.”

  “That’s your professional police evaluation?”

  “More or less. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Suicide’s out unless he was really confused and put the rope around his feet instead of his neck—but then the button to raise and lower the chandelier for maintenance would have been out of his reach. It’s inside the service closet.”

  “Surely not an accident,” I said.

  “Not unless you want to believe he was trying to reach the chandelier without lowering it but he slipped and got tangled in his safety line. I can’t picture Dingler trying to change a light bulb. Besides Grams already told me that he had a maintenance man take care of the place.”

  “You’re leaning towards murder?”

  “Murder seems as unlikely. Who would hang him from the chandelier instead of just choking him?”

  “A chimpanzee with an attitude?”

  Kal glared at me.

  I poked my chin toward the ceiling. “Did the killer move the dining table out from under the light fixture to make room for Dingler to dangle?”

  “If there is a killer—human or simian—he could have stood on it, but the scuffmarks indicate it was pushed out of the way. A deliberate dangle.”

  If Nelson were practicing for the magician’s challenge, he’d probably be in tights—if they made tights that big. “What was Dingler wearing?”

  “Khaki trousers, a white shirt, dress shoes and socks. No watch, no jewelry. It might be robbery and murder.”

  “But like you pointed out, why bother stringing him up?” Leading Kal in the right direction without giving away Dingler’s secret wasn’t easy. “Maybe the killer was making a statement.”

  Kal shook his head. “Dingler could drive a saint to pull off this stunt. He was a bombastic bully but nobody deserves to go like this.”

  “Maybe the killer didn’t intend for him to die. Where’s the rope? We might learn something from the way the knot was tied.”

  “What do you mean by we? You are not invited.”

  “Need I remind you of my success rate, not to mention my potential request for a salary increase?”

  “Lizzy and WonderDog helped you make headlines. You might want to enlist the help of your kitten this time. This is a case for a climber—Puff the magic kitten.”

  I ignored his crack about not being invited and charged on. “Did the Magoos take the evidence back to the station?”

  “Not Magoo. McCool. They had a coughing fit from the powder and left without their equipment and evidence bag. It’s over there by the door.”

  I scurried over, grabbed the satchel and dragged it back to Kal. “Isn’t it time Starfish Cove got themselves a competent forensic team? The Magoos are a disaster.”

  “As long as their uncle is State Attorney, we’re stuck with them. The county CSI sticks them in the Cove to keep them out of the way.”

  I stooped over the bag. “Got a pair of latex gloves?”

  “Here.” He handed me blue vinyl gloves from his trouser pocket. I held them while I continued to study the heavy cord.

  “Flashlight?” Even in the shadow of the bag, the rope had sheen to it. Those Magoos would miss an elephant in the room.

  Kal’s small light cast a bright beam into the evidence sack. I touched the tip of my bare index finger to one spot on the rope. Slimy.

  “Don’t! Not without gloves,” Kal barked.

  I rubbed my thumb against the slippery gunk on my finger and held it out to him.

  “What?” He looked annoyed, but curious.

  “It’s soap. There’s soap on this rope!”

  He rubbed my finger. This was hardly the time for the warm reaction I had. I pulled my hand away and said too sharply, “Soap. No doubt in my mind, soap.”

  Kal squinted as he moved his gaze from my finger to my eyes.

  The only thing that stopped me from telling him everything right then was that I’d given my word to keep the secret about Dingler the Masked Dangler. The soap- coated rope guaranteed that if Dingler found the strength to haul himself up, he’d lose his grip.

  This was no practice-related accident.

  Before I could spill the beans or at least open the can, Lizzy tottered into the room with Grams leaning on her. She turned her back shielding her grandmother from the black evidence bag. She spoke over her shoulder. “I convinced Grams to spend the night at my place. We’re going to her house to pick up a nightie and her medicine. Olive can you drive us?”

  Grams looked like a fragile pastry about to crumble.

  “Sure.” I flipped the evidence bag closed while my stomach tightened at the thought of driving Squeak. “Who’s watching Heather right now?” I was ashamed that I hadn’t thought about Lizzy’s ward earlier.

  “She went home from school with one of her little friends. Three teachers’ work days this week and then the weekend. She loves sleepovers. Has anyone called my sister?” Lizzy looked from Grams to Kal.

  “Sorry,” Kal said. “I thought it better if you tell Pam.”

  “I’ll call her at the hospital when we get to Grams’ house. She’s been working long shifts because of the nursing shortage.” Lizzy’s eyes watered.

  “Meet you and Grams at the elevator,” I said.

  Once they were gone I whispered, “Don’t let the Magoos have this rope.” I zipped the bag and pushed it in his direction. “I’m driving Lizzy’s VW. My car is at my condo. Can you pick me up at her house in about an hour?”

  “Of course. I want to hear more about the soap on this rope before we have it evaluated.”

  “Not by the Magoos!”

  I hoped I didn’t sound as freaked as I felt.

  Those guys could screw up an anvil.

  Chapter 7

  Grams’ cottage sat in the heart of the residential section of Old Town. The homes in her neighborhood were mostly bungalows, small in size but big in character. No two were alike but all had a sweet charm about them.

  Dusk settled over the peaceful community as we rolled down the street in the VW until Grams’ white lap-siding bungalow came into view. The indoor and outdoor lights were on—probably a timer. The place looked cute, aged, and inviting just like its owner.

  I drove around the white picket fence, pulled into the short brick driveway, and shut off the engine.

  The seating in the VW was tight. Grams took my hand as I helped her out. She’d aged ten years—no wonder.

  Lizzy squeezed out of the back seat—first one wedgie then the other. The aroma of WonderDog trailed her. Sitting in the hound’s rear navigator post had left its mark.

  I grabbed my tote from the back, hoping the mark of WonderDog hadn’t spread to the other side.

  Lizzy and I held Grams as she shuffled up the brick walkway leading to the front porch. With a hand on the wrought iron railing I braced my other hand around her back in case she slipped from Lizzy’s grip.

  “The pansies need watering,” Grams said.

  A lovely flowerbed of purple pansies bordered the stairs. The landscaping was as whimsical as its owner. A whiff of wild flowers and gardenia lent a calming air to the adrenalin thrumming through my body.

  “I’ll take care of the pansies later,” Lizzy said. She took the key from her grandmother and opened the door.

  I’d been in Grams’ cottage before, but the charm of the place struck me anew with its gleaming oak hardwood floors, a small fireplace of rough white stone, tiny arched doorways, crown molding, and plantation shutters—all it needed was Goldilocks.

  “I’ll help get your suitcase out in a minute.” Lizzy walked her grandmother to her bedroom and then pulled me aside. “I have to phone my sister and tell her. I don’t think I should do it in front of Grams. Can you help her while make the call?”

  “Sure. How are you doing?”

  “I’m over the initial shock. It is what it is,” she said in a mo
notone voice. “My father’s dead.”

  She stepped into the sunroom pulling a phone from the pocket of her jumpsuit.

  Grams sat on a single bed with a quilt of pink, blue, and white. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest.

  “Are you in pain?” I asked.

  “Just thinking.” She wiped at her nose. “I have an idea who did this to Nelson. I’m going to see that he pays for it. My son must have suffered horribly.”

  This was one of those times when a lie was necessary. “The medical examiner told Kal it was painless. A stroke can be that way. Quick.”

  She ignored my words of consolation. “We’re gonna get him, Olive,” she pounded one fist into the other. “You, me, and Lizzy!”

  The little lady stood up, dropped to her knees and pulled a small overnight bag from under the bed. She moved quickly, like a woman one-third her age, determination suddenly fueling her.

  She bagged a pair of pink slippers and tucked them in the case. She took a nightie from a drawer and laid it on top. Then she hurried into the bathroom. In a twinkling she returned with a toothbrush and paste in a clear plastic bag. A second bag held a hairbrush and a jar of Nonna’s cold cream.

  “You and Lizzy are close. I’m guessing she told you about Nelson.”

  A knot formed in my throat. I closed my eyes for a long moment hoping Grams wouldn’t ask me what I knew. She didn’t ask. She shared the secret with me. I felt like one of the family.

  “Pinky promise, tell no one!” Her eyes turned steely.

  I nodded. How could someone so tiny be so scary?

  “Nelson was the Masked Dangler. He hung from great heights by his feet—broke all sorts of national dangling records. By the time he was twenty he was a legend in Starfish Cove even though his identity was a secret. But that boy had a mean streak. The more successful he got the meaner he turned. The local magicians hated him.” She slowly shook her head.

  “He began to expose the illusions behind other magician’s tricks. My son ruined a lot of magical careers. Whoever killed him came from the Magicians’ League. It has all the marks of a professional trick.”

  I didn’t want to disagree but if the killer was a magician, he or she was the dumbest prestidigitator in Florida. The ad in The Silverfish Gazette was like a neon sign pointing right at the perpetrator.

  “Somebody calling himself the Phantom challenged the Masked Dangler with an ad in the Gazette. Shouldn’t be too hard to find out who paid for that ad.”

  She snapped her suitcase shut. “We’re going to find the killer before this highly hyped Magician’s Fusion. It’s set for April Fools’ Day—two weeks from today. Darned if I’m going to wait on the police. The less they know about Nelson’s secret past the better. I’ll continue to say it was a robbery gone real bad, but it wasn’t. It was revenge.”

  Lizzy stepped into the room. “Pam’s coming from Jacksonville tomorrow. She thinks we should leave it up to the police.”

  Grams threw back her boney shoulders. “We’re not going to rely on the cops. You, me, and Olive are going to catch Nelson’s killer. Pam can join us if she wants. Nurses always come in handy.”

  She stepped to the closet and rummaged in a pile of folded sweaters.

  Lizzy covered her mouth with her hand and whispered. “Pam doesn’t know about the Masked Dangler. We never told her. I wonder how she’s going to take it?”

  Grams tottered towards us slipping her arms into a light pink sweater. “I’m ready. Let’s boogie.”

  While Lizzy helped Grams secure her house for the night, I stepped out on the porch. Standing in the wraparound corner, I tapped Ivy LaVine’s number on speed dial. We’d only been gone since the morning and yet it felt like I’d abandoned our cold cream shop.

  Ten years younger than Grams, it took Ivy eleven rings to answer. I made allowances for her age while patiently counting the jingles. I imagined her dozing in front of her television while watching Murder She Wrote on an oldies cable channel.

  “Ivy here!” Her voice sounded like someone crushing tissue paper.

  “Sorry to bother you. How did it go at the shop?”

  “Not bad. We had a bunch of customers right after Mrs. Dingler got a call from her son’s neighbor. When she couldn’t reach him she panicked. Have you heard from her? Is she okay?”

  “We’re with her right now.” I hoped Ivy didn’t ask about Nelson. Gossip traveled faster than Superman on roller skates in Starfish Cove.

  “Is Nelson Dingler okay?” she asked.

  Nuts! I struggled for a way to avoid answering. Nothing came to me—so I put my foot in my mouth. “He met with an accident.”

  “How bad?”

  “Dead bad. But don’t tell anyone.”

  One single gasp later Myron Meyers—my former patient and a retired maybe-crime boss took over the phone. “What’s this I’m hearing? Sweet Lizzy’s father bit the big one?”

  The octogenarian’s use of the English language was a work of art—graffiti.

  “Are you cohabitating with Ivy? You’re always at her place.”

  Breathless voices were followed by the thud of what sounded like a headboard hitting a wall. They’d been canoodling.

  “Nose out of my personal business,” Myron said. “What’s going on? Did he take a bullet? ‘Ya need help?”

  “The Medical Examiner called it natural. Put Ivy back on—please.”

  There was a bit of shuffling, a groan or two, and Ivy returned.

  “Do what you have to do to help Mrs. Dingler,” she said. “If you need me tomorrow I can shop-sit again. I locked up tight as a…as a…well you know.” Failing to find the word she rolled along. “I left a note on the counter with a list of suggestions. I can’t wait to hear about your visit with Sophia Napoli.”

  “I promise to tell you all about it in the next few days.” I clicked off.

  “Everything okay at the shop?” Lizzy asked. She stepped out on the porch holding the door for her grandmother with one hand and the overnight bag with the other.

  “It’s all good. No problems.”

  Grams watched from the porch as Lizzy wedgied down the stairs.

  Lizzy reached over the flowerbed and turned on the hose. Still in a fog, she gave the pansies a quick sprinkle, hit the gardenia bush with a spray, and watered the porch steps.

  “Let’s get going, girls.” Grams tugged on a pair of pink crocheted gloves and bent to pick up her bag.

  Lizzy scrambled up the dripping stairs, took the overnight bag from her grandmother, and said, “I’m still not up to driving,” giving me her one-eyebrow pleading look.

  “I’ll take you home. Squeak is actually fun to drive if you like maneuvering a handle-less teacup in traffic.”

  My friend clambered into the backseat holding Grams’ bag. I handed her my tote and guided Grams into place.

  When I started to buckle her seat belt she smacked my hand. “Don’t you dare! I’m not a child.”

  Chastened, I ran around the car and slipped behind the steering wheel. Squeak chirped into action. I eased down the driveway checking the cottage in the rearview mirror. Grams’ house looked occupied with lights on and water dripping from the steps. It would be safe for the night.

  Anyone watching Squeak cruise down the street would never guess the car carried three determined killer-magician hunters.

  Chapter 8

  Kal wasn’t waiting for me at Lizzy’s. Too bad. I wanted to be sure the women were safe inside for the night. What if the entire Dingler family was in danger? I reached inside my tote feeling around for my can of self-defense hair spray. Unarmed! Not allowed on the flight, I’d left it home.

  A slobbering red tongue greeted Lizzy as she unlocked her door. “Enough WonderDog! Sit!”

  Instead of obeying, the gangly hound pawed at the front door once Lizzy closed it.

  “Dave was supposed to walk WonderDog before the dinner rush. I don’t think he’s been emptied. Maybe Dave couldn’t break away.”

 
She clipped a leash to the dog that bore a striking resemblance to the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “Be right back.”

  “Grams would you like some tea? Maybe Lizzy has some chamomile?”

  “That would be nice dear.”

  We left her bag at the door and walked into the kitchen.

  A bright turquoise teakettle sat on the stove. I filled it with water, but hesitated. One of Lizzy’s new finches swooped down and landed on my shoulder. Fearful that turning on the gas stove might result in an injury to the bird, I stopped my tea making.

  Two minutes later, Lizzy returned. She unleashed WonderDog who leaped on me dripping kisses. Despite his doggy breath I could never resist him.

  “I was going to make tea, but I don’t want to hurt the finches. How do you turn on the stove without the finches getting burned?”

  “Easy peasy.” She took a stick of incense from a drawer and placed it in a holder on the stove. The kitchen birds beat a retreat to the other rooms as if a hawk perched on the refrigerator.

  Grams and I exchanged eye-rolls.

  “Why did you replace your seventy-six lost finches with fifty-two?” I asked.

  “Because the pet store didn’t have seventy-six, they only had fifty-two. Fifty is a sensible number but I couldn’t leave two behind. That would be cruel.” She turned on the burner.

  The sound of Grams’ soft chuckle was followed by a knock on the door.

  “Come in!” Lizzy called.

  I made a mental note to warn her about not locking the door and being so free to invite knockers.

  Kal stepped into a WonderDog greeting complete with a sticky, smelly tongue—the dog’s not Kal’s.

  “Everything okay here?” He gave the combination family room and kitchen a quick scan.

  Grams shot a button-your-lip look at Lizzy and me. She’d dug in her pink orthopedic heels—determined to catch her son’s killer without Kal’s help.

  “I won’t rest until the mystery of Nelson’s death is solved,” Kal said.

  Grams didn’t respond. She plucked a Sweet Dreams tea bag from the jar on the counter, dropped it into a cup and poured boiling water over it. She’d written Kal out of her investigation.