The Turtle Mound Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

look as Penny
Sue told her story for the third time. With each telling, her voice
got stronger and the dramatics laid on a little thicker. This
version ended with a haughty toss of her perfectly streaked hair
and an emphatic: “I was not shooting at Rick. They were warning
shots, nothing more. I know how to handle a gun; I can shoot the
wings off a fly from twenty paces.”
    “I don’t doubt that.” Woody handed back
Penny Sue’s revolver and permit for a concealed weapon. “We’ll see
what Rick has to say. He may want to press charges.” Woody stood to
leave.
    “Charges? For what?”
    “Reckless display of a weapon, aggravated
assault, discharge of a firearm within city limits, use of a
firearm in the commission of a felony—there are lots of
possibilities.” Woody paused with his hand on the front door and
grinned. “I’ll be in touch. Don’t leave town.”
    Woody smirked and jerked the door open. An
attractive blonde woman—hand raised in the knocking
position—pitched forward. A riot of shrieks, mop handles and
pinwheeling arms, the young lady grabbed for anything—the anything
she finally found being Woody’s trousers, which she almost pulled
off.
    Jaws slack and eyes wide, Penny Sue, Ruthie
and I were momentarily frozen by the sight of Woody—shirt tail and
boxer shorts completely exposed—with a shapely young woman hugging
his knees. I recovered first and stooped to help the poor girl.
    Woody pulled his pants up, making no effort
to tuck in his shirt tail, and stalked out. As the screen door
slammed behind him, Woody shot Penny Sue a look of pure rage which
said: This is your fault , and backed into a scruffy guy clad
in jeans and a tee shirt. The stranger grabbed Woody by the
shoulders and pushed him roughly.
    “Pete, it’s all right,” the young woman
said. Then to us, “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to be home.
I’m Charlotte, the cleaning lady.”
    Woody wriggled out of Pete’s grasp and held
up his briefcase to display the State Prosecutor’s ID tag suspended
from the handle. “Watch your hands, bud, unless you want to spend a
night in jail.” Shirt tail fluttering, Woody stormed past Pete to
his car.
    I handed Charlotte the mop. “That’s all
right. That man was in a sour mood before you got here.”
    “Sour? Pissy’s more like it,” Ruthie
corrected, eyeing Pete who didn’t seem exactly cheery.
    The corner of Pete’s top lip was puffy and
misshapen, giving him the appearance of a permanent sneer or of a
man who’d been in a fight. The guy had sun-streaked hair, a ruddy
complexion, and wasn’t unattractive, just hard and rough; the type
you’d expect to pick fights in bars. In any case, he didn’t seem to
fit Charlotte, a tanned nymph who looked like she’d hopped off a
surfboard.
    Charlotte must have picked up our
questioning look.
    “My husband,” she offered. “My car’s in the
shop.”
    Penny Sue was perplexed. “What happened to
Mrs. Hudson? She usually does the cleaning.”
    “She’s my aunt. I’ve taken over some of her
accounts, now that she’s gotten up in years.”
    “We just arrived; the place doesn’t need
cleaning.”
    Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Pete
and shifted nervously. “I’ll do a light dusting. Everything on the
beach stays dusty; it’s the salt spray. It’ll only take a minute.”
She turned to get the bucket and cleaning supplies which she’d left
on the front porch.
    “That’s not necessary,” Penny Sue insisted,
holding her forehead with both hands. “Get my purse, will you,
Leigh? I have I terrific headache.” Then, to Charlotte who was
standing on the other side of the screen door with a dejected look,
“Wait a moment, hon.”
    I returned with the purse. Penny Sue found
forty dollars that she handed to Charlotte. “Thanks, we can manage
on our own. We’ll be here a week or two. Do you have a card? I’ll
call you before we leave.” Charlotte found a rumpled blue card in
her pocket and started to speak.