Good Night Sleep Tight: A Charlie Bannerman Mystery, #1

CHAPTER ONE

I knew it was going to be a bad day when I slipped on the bathroom rug as I got out of the shower. Things didn’t get much better when I opened the front door and Duke, my Malamute, ran out. I checked my watch: I needed to be across town in fifteen minutes to have breakfast with my mother, Grace. It would take at least ten minutes to track Duke down and coax him back to the house. At this point, I seriously considered going back inside, locking the door, and crawling back into bed. Tossing my purse on the couch, I grabbed the leash and started walking down the street, calling Duke’s name.

If you’re looking for your dog, he headed for Mrs. Rodriguez’ backyard, Mr. Crubbs, my next-door neighbor said from his front porch. He was scrubbing dried egg off his living room window.

I see the rugrats have struck again, I replied.

Gosh darn kids, he grumbled. One of these days, I am going to get them good. He was embroiled in an ongoing war with the neighborhood kids. They loved tormenting him, throwing toilet paper in his trees, egging the house, and letting the air out of his car tires. He did not have actual proof they were doing it, but everyone in the neighborhood knew it was them. Mr. Crubbs spent a lot of his time planning his revenge, but he never actually did anything. Not yet, anyway.

I’ll come back later and help you finish cleaning that off, I told him as I took off for Mrs. Rodriguez’ house. He grunted and waved in reply. A man of few words, that Mr. Crubbs.

He was right. I found Duke in Mrs. Rodriguez’ backyard, his front two paws on the trunk of her oak tree, barking his head off at her calico cat, Blinky. She was standing on her back porch, yelling at Duke and waving her broom in the air.

Ah, Charlie, it’s about time you got here! Your dog has chased my sweet Blinky up the tree again! I thought you were going to keep him locked up inside!

He ran out when I opened the front door, Mrs. Rodriguez, I said, ducking as she swung the broom in my direction. I promise I’ll help you get Blinky down.

You know where the ladder is, she snapped. Just put it up this time after you get my sweet baby down. She turned and went back inside, muttering something in Spanish that I couldn’t quite make out, but pretty sure it was nothing I could repeat to my mother.

Walking around to the front of the house, I grabbed the ladder from inside the garage, dragged it around the back, and leaned it against the tree. I attached Duke’s leash to his collar and tied him to the clothesline pole. Sit, I ordered him. He sat down and gave me his patented angelic look, the one he always used whenever he knew he was in trouble. It was a look that said, Honest, Mom, she started it!

Looking up the tree at Blinky, I could believe it. Contrary to what Mrs. Rodriguez thought about her poor, sweet baby, Blinky was a known terror. While she complained about everyone allowing their pets to run free, Mrs. Rodriguez was not one to practice what she preached. Blinky was let out every night to roam around the neighborhood, and she seemed to know which room the dogs slept in at each house. She appears in the window of that room, and sits there, smiling that little cat smile, while the dog stands with their paws on the windowsill, barking their brains out.

If anyone dared to confront Mrs. Rodriguez, she would vehemently deny the charges, sweep Blinky into her arms, and storm into the house. I tried this once, and I swear that cat looked at me over Mrs. Rodriguez’ shoulder and stuck its tongue out.

Climbing the ladder, I reached out for Blinky, who promptly reached out her paw and left five red scratch marks on the back of my hand. Cursing, I glared at her. She just sat there, smiling that evil cat smile. I climbed a little higher, grabbed Blinky by the scruff of her neck and climbed down. I contemplated letting Duke have another go at her, but my conscience prevailed and I knocked on the back door. Here you go, Mrs. Rodriguez, safe and sound.

Oh, my poor little baby! Did that mean old dog scare you to death? she exclaimed, taking Blinky from me and cuddling her. Mamita will give her little sweetie pie some extra milk and treats, yes she will. She slammed the door, leaving me standing there with an overwhelming urge to throw up.

I put the ladder up, banging it around so Mrs. Rodriguez could hear me putting it away, untied Duke, and walked home. He seemed quite satisfied with his morning workout, bounding into the house and lapping water from his bowl while I washed the blood from the back of my hand. Giving him an extra treat, I grabbed my purse off the couch, opened the door as I checked my watch...and ran smack into Keaton Lawson, who was coming up the steps. As we tumbled to the ground, I heard a distinct ripping noise and groaned.

Whoa, what’s the hurry? Keaton asked, helping me up.

I am late for breakfast with my mother, I said as I looked for the rip. Figures, right on the knee.

You should have gotten up earlier.

I got up on time, not that it’s any of your business. Duke got out this morning.

Which explains the fresh marks on your hand, Keaton said. He went after Blinky again, huh?

Yes, he did. I’d really love to stand here and talk about this, but I have got to get going, I said, unlocking the car door and getting in.

Are you free for dinner tonight?

I had planned to do some writing this evening.

How about I bring something over? Pizza?

I don’t know, Keaton, I said, putting the key in the ignition. Can I get back to you on that?

Sure, no problem. Just give me a call.

I turned the key, but got no response. What the heck? I muttered, trying again. Nothing. Oh, lovely, just what I need. A dead car.

I have been telling you to get rid of this old Beetle for years, Charlie. It has finally kicked the bucket.

It was working just fine last night, I grumbled. I looked at my watch. I better call Mother and tell her I can’t make it.

I’ll give you a ride.

You don’t have to do that.

I don’t mind. Where are we going?

Climbing out of the car, I locked it and followed him over to his car, a new midnight blue Mustang Shelby GT. Edna’s Country Kitchen. I sat down in the black leather seat, inhaling that new car smell. Oh man, I really wanted this car. The car, not the man.

Ten minutes later, we parked in front of Edna’s Country Kitchen. I eat here at least three times a week, mainly because I hate cooking for one. Everyone came here to eat, even the bank president, Winston Tracy, whose daughter, Sydney, is my best friend. It was owned by Rachel McQueen, who served simple, home-cooked meals at reasonable prices. She makes the best cherry pie in the whole world. The crust is nice and flaky, the cherries are sweet, and she always gives you a generous portion, not those little slivers that wouldn’t feed a squirrel other restaurants give you. It’s to die for. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

Charlotte, you’re late, my mother gently admonished me as we walked up to her table (she is the only one who calls me by my given name – the only one allowed to, I might add). And what happened to your jeans?

It’s all the rage, Mother, I replied, bending down to give her a kiss.

Mother saw Keaton behind me. Keaton! What a pleasant surprise!

He kissed her cheek. Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Bannerman. You look lovely today.

She blushed. Thank you. Please, sit down and join us, she added before I could stop her.

Thank you, ma’am, I’d be delighted, he accepted, sitting down before I could send him away. So much for a nice, quiet breakfast.

Rachel came over with a glass of sweet tea for me. I didn’t know you were going to be here, Keaton, she said, placing my glass down in front of me. Is there something I should know?

Nothing! I said quickly. He was kind enough to give me a ride when my car wouldn’t start.

You all want your usual? she said before walking off without an answer. She knew her customers so well we rarely had to tell her what we wanted.

What happened to your car, Charlotte? my mother asked after Rachel left.

It’s nothing major, Mother. It just wouldn’t start, that’s all.

Excuse me a moment, Keaton said, standing up and moving away.

What was Keaton doing at your house this morning?

Nothing, Mother. He was coming up the steps as I was leaving.

And you ran right into him, causing the rip in your jeans, she said. I can tell you had another run in with Blinky this morning, too.

I do not lead a dull life, Mother.

That is so true.

So what did you want to talk about?

Well, your father and I are planning our fall vacation, and I was wondering if you would mind asking Sydney if she could recommend some places to stay in New England.

I can, but why don’t you just ask her yourself?

Mother squirmed in her seat. Because I have had a bit of a falling out with her mother. I would rather not run into her right now.

Isabella Tracy is an indomitable force. Few dared to cross her, and when they did, it was like the Titanic running into the iceberg. Isabella always wins and it could be months before you were in her good graces again. What happened this time?

I simply suggested that we hold our circle’s annual dinner at another location this year instead of at the country club. I thought it was a very good suggestion, considering the recent recession. Many people are feeling the pinch, and I believe having it somewhere else will cut down on the costs.

And Isabella did not take the suggestion well?

Grace shook her head. I’m afraid not. She became very defensive, and said that if the country club was no longer good enough to host the dinner, then perhaps our circle was no longer good enough to have her as a member.

Keaton sat back down. Perhaps you could find a sponsor for your dinner, Mrs. Bannerman.

What a lovely idea, Keaton! my mother exclaimed, as if it was the most brilliant idea she had ever heard. Do you know anyone we could get to sponsor us? It would be for charity, of course.

I have a few ideas. Let me see what I can do for you. We’ll find a place for you to hold your dinner that won’t cost you too much money.

Oh, this is great! I am so glad you invited him to join us, Charlotte. He is an answer to my prayers.

Would it do any good to point out that I hadn’t invited him? Probably not.

Chapter 2

One thing you should know about me if you haven’t figured it out already: I am a natural-born klutz. Put me in a car, and I do just fine. But walking around is a different matter entirely. I’m pretty sure I paid for Dr. Lance’s new Cadillac last year. If I had stock in Johnson & Johnson, I would probably be the CEO by now. That is how much of a klutz I am. In other words, cat scratches and a skinned knee are mild injuries compared to some of the other things I have done.

Keaton drove me home after breakfast, rather proud of his noble gesture to my mother. I am pretty sure he thought that would get him in my good graces. Poor, delusional fool. He has been trying to get me to go out with him for three years. Sydney, Keaton and I grew up together, and in all those years, I have never considered him anything other than a friend. I am not sure why he suddenly started to ask me out. Lord knows I have never encouraged him in any way. Sometimes I think my mother is behind it, but I would never flat out ask her.

Anyway, as we pulled up to my house, I noticed a truck parked in front and someone’s butt bent over the engine of my beloved light blue Beetle. Who in the world is that? I muttered.

My mechanic, Harry, Keaton replied. I called him and asked him to take a look at your car.

I didn’t ask you to do that, Keaton.

I know. I wanted to help.

Unsure how to respond, I got out of the Shelby and walked over to Harry. Excuse me? I’m Charlie Bannerman.

He stood up, wiped grease off his hand and shook hands. Harry Conway. Hey Keaton, good to see ya again. How is that backhoe workin’ now?

Just great, Harry. Have you figured out what is wrong with this hunk of junk?

Hunk of junk? I said indignantly. She is a classic, thank you very much! I would appreciate it if you didn’t insult her in front of me!

Sorry, Keaton said, holding his hands up. I did not mean to insult your precious baby.

Any brownie points he thought he had earned just went out the window.

Well, I ain’t sure. I mean, I have an idea what’s wrong with her, but without a closer inspection, I won’t know. But I think someone poured sugar into your gas tank.

What?

Like I said, I ain’t sure. I’m gonna tow yer car back down to my place and check her out. I ain’t got no loaner car to give ya, sorry, ma’am.

It’s ok, I sighed, running my hand across the roof of the car. Just take good care of her for me.

No problem, ma’am. She’s in good hands, I guarantee it.

Giving my beloved Beetle one last glance, I walked up the steps and unlocked the door. Keaton was right behind me. Do you have some errands to run, Charlie? I’ll be glad to help out if you need me to.

I turned and looked at him. Don’t you have a construction company to run or something?

I don’t always have to be there. That is why I have foremen. They can handle the jobs when I’m not around. I am at your disposal.

Harry interrupted. I found this note on the windshield. Thought it might be important, he said, holding out an envelope

Thank you, Harry, I said, taking it from him and opening it.

No trouble. I’ll call you later when I have had a chance to work on yer car.

Thanks again, Harry, Keaton said, shaking his hand. I appreciate you coming out on short notice.

Anytime, Keaton, anytime, he said before he drove off, towing my car with him. What is in the envelope, Charlie?

Just a note.

What does it say?

It’s nothing important.

Your face says otherwise.

My face says nothing. Thanks for the ride, for breakfast, and for sending Harry to look at my car. I’ve got some writing to do, so if you don’t mind, I said and started closing the door.

He put his hand against the door to stop me. See, I did all this stuff for you; the least you could do is show me the note. If it is nothing like you say, then no harm done and I’ll be on my way. Piece of cake.

Was it addressed to you?

Actually, there wasn’t a name on the envelope. So it could be for anyone.

Was it found on your car?

No, he conceded, It was on yours.

Therefore it was meant for me and not you. Goodbye, Keat...HEY! Give that back! I said as Keaton reached out and grabbed the note from her hand.

Unfolding the note, the multi-colored block letters spelled out: MINE, NOT YOURS. GET YOUR OWN!! He looked up at me. What the heck does this mean?

I snatched the note back. I have no idea. It can’t be about the car. My parents bought that car for me when I graduated from high school years ago.  Maybe the previous owner wants it back.

Doesn’t sound like it’s about the car, Keaton frowned. Maybe the note person poured the sugar in the gas tank.

If it is sugar, I corrected. I have been meaning to take the Beetle in for a tune-up, just haven’t had the time. Harry will fix the problem, and that will be the end of it.

If you say so, Keaton said, although he wasn’t convinced. Dinner tonight? There’s a good playoff game on tonight.

Never one to miss a playoff game, I reluctantly agreed. I would just make sure that Sydney would be here, too.

CHAPTER 3

I mentioned Mr. Crubbs earlier. Let me give you a little more background on him. Franklin Crubbs lives alone, having been married twice and divorced twice. Being a World War II Army veteran, he loves war movies and any movie with John Wayne. I know this because we have movie night once a week at my house, chowing down on popcorn and talking about the Duke for hours. A guy like that can’t be all that bad, right?

There is a bus that runs down our street, and despite the fact that he isn’t supposed to drive anymore because of his eyesight, Mr. Crubbs refuses to get on the bus. Instead, he sits outside on his porch and flips off the bus driver, who is a former Navy Seal. It’s that whole Army vs. Navy thing. He doesn’t hesitate to tell you exactly what he thinks, gets straight to the point, and can be rather coarse and rude about it if he believes in it passionately enough. Because of all his medical problems, he qualifies for home health care, but the nurses that show