Free The Turtle Mound Murder by Mary Clay

‘Hi, I’m
Penny Sue, and my medium told me we’re going to get married?’”
    “Don’t be silly, I’d never be so brash. I’m
going to ask him about his boat. Tell him I’m thinking of buying
one.”
    I scoffed. “Well, don’t call it a boat.
That’d be a dead giveaway.”
    “Uh oh,” Ruthie said, putting her hand on
Penny Sue’s shoulder to hold her down.
    “What are you doing?” Penny Sue shook
loose.
    “Look.”
    A waitress stood by Lyndon’s table. Clad in
the restaurant’s uniform of Hawaiian shirt and white shorts, the
woman was a stunning specimen of youth with shapely legs, a perfect
tan and sun-streaked hair (the real stuff—not the exquisite,
expensive variety Penny Sue so loved to toss carelessly.) We
watched as she leaned over, exposing large breasts in the cleft of
her shirt. We also saw Lyndon smile broadly.
    “Now see what you’ve done,” Penny Sue said,
turning on Ruthie. “That girl beat me to the punch.”
    “Me?” Ruthie shot back. “I was trying to
keep you from making a fool of yourself. But go ahead, do it your
way. Race over there and shove her out of the way like Roller
Derby.”
    “Wait a minute,” I said as I took out my
eyeglasses. “That’s the cleaning lady, er, Charlotte.”
    Penny Sue squinted at them. “You’re right.”
A smile stretched her cheeks. “This is perfect. I was going to ask
Charlotte to help out with the party. Now I can talk to her and
invite Lyndon at the same time.” She took the last sip of wine.
“When you get a table, don’t wait on me to order.” Penny Sue draped
her purse over her shoulder and sashayed across the deck.
    We watched as Penny Sue talked animatedly to
Lyndon and Charlotte. A moment later she sat down and Lyndon was
ordering her a drink.
    Ruthie and I toasted her chutzpah. “She’s
got balls,” Ruthie said.
    “I guess that’s why she always goes for the
macho sports types. She’d run right over a normal guy.”
    “After three divorces, you’d think she be
gun-shy.”
    “She’s definitely not that.”
    Ruthie chuckled. “Right. Shy in any way,
shape or form is not one of Penny Sue’s shortcomings. But, you have
to admit, she’s made a royal mess this time. Do you think Penny
Sue’s truly under suspicion for Rick’s murder or is Woody just
jerking her chain?”
    I took a sip of my Sauvignon Blanc. “I think
she’s on the list, though not at the top. Woody isn’t going to do
anything rash; he knows the Judge’s connections. Remember, Woody
got a call from the Attorney General over the brawl in the parking
lot. A murder charge would bring the whole state down around his
shoulders. Woody’s no fool—he’s going to be careful and thorough.
The thing that bothers me is that pickup truck. I sure don’t like
the idea that we’re being followed.”
    Ruthie signaled the bartender for another
round of drinks. “Me, either. Maybe we should go home,” Ruthie said
nervously.
    “We can’t. We’re stuck here until the
investigation’s over.”
    “I’d forgotten that. Did Penny Sue get in
touch with Woody about the truck?”
    “He was out, so she left a message.”
    The bartender arrived with peanuts and more
wine. The nuts were a bad sign. I had a feeling we weren’t going to
eat any time soon. “No word on our table?” I asked hopefully,
flashing a big smile.
    He looked uncomfortable. “A few more
minutes. A large party should be leaving shortly.”
    He was lying, I thought, remembering the bus
parked by the front door. Twenty or so senior citizens were seated
at a long table in the middle of the deck. They were eating dessert
and having a high old time, so I doubted they’d leave soon. I
downed a handful of peanuts.
    “I think I’ll call home and check on Poppa,”
Ruthie announced suddenly.
    I nodded. She was still bothered by her
psychic reading. The thought of losing a parent was unsettling, to
say the least. I was fortunate that both of mine were alive and
going strong. I was the oldest, and