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Authors: Ellen Byron
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presence. We need her maiden name.”
“And other married names,” Gran’ added. “Mrs. Clabber also didn’t seem the type who’d stay single for eighty years. I doubt Hal was the first man to put a ring on it.”
Maggie laughed. “Gran’, listen to you.”
“I’ve got a radio in my car,” Gran’ said. “I’ve heard that Beyoncé. She’s good. I keep up with the kids.”
“I haven’t found anything remotely useful, have you?”
“I’m afraid not. I wonder if Mrs. Clabber left any clues in the Rose Room,” Gran’ mused.
“The police went through it pretty carefully.”
Gran’ waved her hand dismissively. “That would be Cal Vichet and Buster’s son, Artie Belloise. And I believe the last time they CSI’d a murder scene would be never. Now if we were looking for a lost pet or someone to supervise a crewcompleting their court-ordered community service, they’d be our go-to fellows.”
Gran’ was right. Pelican PD was the kind of small-town department where all the officers did a little bit of everything, calling to mind the phrase, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” It didn’t help that Chief Rufus set the bar low when it came to overachieving. An enthusiastic rookie was more likely to be chastised for making his fellow officers look bad than lauded for putting in extra effort. Given their inexperience with murder scenes and the culture of indolence endemic to PPD, there was a strong possibility that Cal and Artie had missed a vital clue.
“Plus,” Gran’ pointed out, “neither of those boys knows how to think like an old lady.”
“And how would an old lady think? Hypothetically speaking.”
Gran’ leaned back in her chair, iPad on her lap. “I will do my best to tap into the mind-set of a female senior citizen.”
“I know it’s hard, Gran’, but I have faith in you.”
“If that was sarcasm, it was not appreciated. Now, when a senior woman travels, it’s pretty much a given that she unpacks her belongings. We are not a people who live out of our suitcase like some grad student at a youth hostel. A senior woman also tends to bring her valuables with her, not trusting them to be left at home. This can be jewels, papers, meaningful mementos. Anything important to her.”
“If she decides to hide these valuables somewhere in her hotel—or B and B—room, what would she consider a great hiding place?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Gran’ said. “Her ‘unmentionables’ drawer.”
“Okay, Gran’, this is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth—which may be the last time anyone referred to bras and underwear as ‘unmentionables.’”
“Still, I would guess Beverly would consider that drawer inviolate. And I would also guess that neither Cal nor Artie would feel particularly comfortable pawing through her undergarments during their search, so they might speed through that particular task.”
“Interesting.”
“I’d love to see if my theory is right.”
“Of course, there’s no way of telling without taking a look at the room. Which is locked and off limits.”
“True,” Gran’ stretched, then put her iPad on the desk and stood up. “I could use a little air. Why don’t you keep me company? But you might want to change out of your church clothes.”
Maggie went into her bedroom and changed from her skirt and clingy top into shorts and a T-shirt sporting the colorful Cooper Union logo. Then she followed Gran’ outside and onto the wraparound ground-floor veranda of the main house. The older woman stopped at the French doors that allowed access into the Rose Room from the outside. Gran’ glanced around to make sure she and Maggie were alone and then jiggled the door handle. It was locked, but after a few hard jiggles, the ancient latch popped open.
“Rufus wasn’t wrong when he mentioned we have terrible security,” Maggie said. “I think some upgrades may be in order.”
“Put them on the list.”
“That list is a study in deferred
“And other married names,” Gran’ added. “Mrs. Clabber also didn’t seem the type who’d stay single for eighty years. I doubt Hal was the first man to put a ring on it.”
Maggie laughed. “Gran’, listen to you.”
“I’ve got a radio in my car,” Gran’ said. “I’ve heard that Beyoncé. She’s good. I keep up with the kids.”
“I haven’t found anything remotely useful, have you?”
“I’m afraid not. I wonder if Mrs. Clabber left any clues in the Rose Room,” Gran’ mused.
“The police went through it pretty carefully.”
Gran’ waved her hand dismissively. “That would be Cal Vichet and Buster’s son, Artie Belloise. And I believe the last time they CSI’d a murder scene would be never. Now if we were looking for a lost pet or someone to supervise a crewcompleting their court-ordered community service, they’d be our go-to fellows.”
Gran’ was right. Pelican PD was the kind of small-town department where all the officers did a little bit of everything, calling to mind the phrase, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” It didn’t help that Chief Rufus set the bar low when it came to overachieving. An enthusiastic rookie was more likely to be chastised for making his fellow officers look bad than lauded for putting in extra effort. Given their inexperience with murder scenes and the culture of indolence endemic to PPD, there was a strong possibility that Cal and Artie had missed a vital clue.
“Plus,” Gran’ pointed out, “neither of those boys knows how to think like an old lady.”
“And how would an old lady think? Hypothetically speaking.”
Gran’ leaned back in her chair, iPad on her lap. “I will do my best to tap into the mind-set of a female senior citizen.”
“I know it’s hard, Gran’, but I have faith in you.”
“If that was sarcasm, it was not appreciated. Now, when a senior woman travels, it’s pretty much a given that she unpacks her belongings. We are not a people who live out of our suitcase like some grad student at a youth hostel. A senior woman also tends to bring her valuables with her, not trusting them to be left at home. This can be jewels, papers, meaningful mementos. Anything important to her.”
“If she decides to hide these valuables somewhere in her hotel—or B and B—room, what would she consider a great hiding place?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Gran’ said. “Her ‘unmentionables’ drawer.”
“Okay, Gran’, this is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth—which may be the last time anyone referred to bras and underwear as ‘unmentionables.’”
“Still, I would guess Beverly would consider that drawer inviolate. And I would also guess that neither Cal nor Artie would feel particularly comfortable pawing through her undergarments during their search, so they might speed through that particular task.”
“Interesting.”
“I’d love to see if my theory is right.”
“Of course, there’s no way of telling without taking a look at the room. Which is locked and off limits.”
“True,” Gran’ stretched, then put her iPad on the desk and stood up. “I could use a little air. Why don’t you keep me company? But you might want to change out of your church clothes.”
Maggie went into her bedroom and changed from her skirt and clingy top into shorts and a T-shirt sporting the colorful Cooper Union logo. Then she followed Gran’ outside and onto the wraparound ground-floor veranda of the main house. The older woman stopped at the French doors that allowed access into the Rose Room from the outside. Gran’ glanced around to make sure she and Maggie were alone and then jiggled the door handle. It was locked, but after a few hard jiggles, the ancient latch popped open.
“Rufus wasn’t wrong when he mentioned we have terrible security,” Maggie said. “I think some upgrades may be in order.”
“Put them on the list.”
“That list is a study in deferred
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