Clueless Chase

  Clueless Chase

  Pineville Gazette Mystery #2

  Wendy Meadows

  Copyright © 2018 by Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Thanks for reading

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Also by Wendy Meadows

  Chapter 1

  Mary tapped a pencil against her Model 03 Hektowriter typewriter. “Betty,” she said in a thoughtful voice, “what do you think of my idea?”

  Betty fumbled with a notepad and nearly dropped it. The office was hot and dry, causing her to feel like she was melting under the green dress covering her scarecrow body. Mary, on the other hand, sat beautifully in a pink and white dress with her lovely, soft brown hair tied in a ponytail. Mary, Betty thought, sure resembled Judy Garland. Of course, Betty told Mary that fact quite often—a fact which Mary never seemed tired of hearing.

  “A statewide talent contest right here in Pineville sounds really neat,” Betty said in a rather nervous voice. Betty just knew—and dreaded—that Mary was going to insist she enter the talent contest.

  Mary continued to tap her typewriter. “We need to make it a charity talent show,” she said. “All the proceeds will go to our wounded returning home from the war.”

  “Charity…got it.” Betty scribbled down a few notes.

  “We’ll need some big names, too.”

  “Big names,” Betty added and scribbled down a few ideas.

  Mary grew silent and listened to Benny Goodman’s voice float out of the Model 40-140T Philco radio sitting on her desk. After a minute, she said, “We need a really big name to star in the talent show. Not a whole bunch of big names, just one big name.”

  “One big name…not a bunch…got it.”

  Mary looked at her best friend and grinned. “Oh, you silly dear,” she said.

  “Huh?” Betty looked up at Mary, alarmed. “Did I do something wrong, Mary?”

  “Of course not.” Mary giggled. She loved Betty like a sister and found her best friend very funny at times. Of course, after dealing with a deadly spy and nearly being killed, laughing sure was some good medicine to take.

  Betty stared at Mary with confused eyes. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because you make me laugh,” Mary explained, giving Betty a loving look. “Now, honey, we need to think of who we’re going to snag…what Big Name we can hook into starring in our talent show. If we go after too many big fish like I originally wanted, we might miss out on catching a single fish. I think it’s best if we focus on one big fish.”

  Betty looked down at the notepad she was holding and studied her notes. “Louis Melton is a funny man.”

  Mary shook her head. “Louis Melton joined the Army and broke his leg in a training accident. He’s out of action.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I like Louis Melton. He tells jokes about his school days.”

  Mary began tapping her pencil against the typewriter. “What about Matthew Ingles?”

  “Oh, he’s so…rude.” Betty cringed. “His jokes are very mean, too.”

  “You’re right,” Mary agreed. “Matthew Ingles does cause himself trouble with his humor.”

  “Maybe we can get Hank Jergens?”

  “Hank Jergens joined the Navy and drowned.” Mary sighed.

  “Drowned?” Betty gasped. “Oh, my.”

  “He fell overboard during a storm…at least, that’s the official story,” Mary explained and shook her head. “The unofficial story is he got drunk and fell overboard.”

  “Really? Goodness.” Betty gasped again.

  “Well, it was no secret that Hank Jergens had a drinking problem. He was sauced nearly every time he did a show.” Mary bit down on her lip and studied the hot office. “Let’s go take a walk outside, okay, dear? It’s a little stuffy in here this morning.”

  Betty liked the idea of taking a walk. She stood up and followed Mary outside into the hot morning. “At least there’s a breeze,” she said with a sigh, wiping a little sweat from her forehead.

  Mary looked up and down the street and spotted a few early birds dipping in and out of the stores. “It’s a hot morning but a beautiful morning,” she said and pointed up at the clear blue sky. “The birds are chirping, and the air is fresh.” Mary drew in a deep breath of air. “Now, where were we?”

  “Hank Jergens,” Betty said, watching Mr. Billings ride by in his 1937 Chevy truck. Mr. Billings spotted Betty and Mary, tipped his straw hat at them, and continued on down Main Street toward the diner. “Mr. Billings would starve if it wasn’t for the diner,” Betty told Mary.

  Mary grinned. “Well, Mrs. Billings isn’t the world’s greatest cook,” she confessed in a not-so-secretive voice. “That poor woman sure does try to feed her husband.”

  “Burned water.” Betty grinned and let out a mischievous little giggle. “Oh, that was mean of me.”

  Mary laughed. “Yes, it was.” She watched Mr. Billings park in front of the diner, hurry out of his truck, and make tracks inside to fill his hungry stomach. “Maybe we should get Mr. and Mrs. Billings to star in our talent show.”

  “Really?” Betty asked.

  “No, I’m just kidding.” Mary laughed again. She grabbed Betty’s hand and started to walk toward the diner. “Let’s go have a glass of cold iced tea.”

  “Sure.” Betty smiled. “I love iced tea.”

  Mary nudged Betty with her shoulder. “I know, honey,” she said and then suddenly stopped walking. “Hey!” she exclaimed.

  Betty nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?” she yelled. She threw her head upward and searched the blue skies. “Is it enemy planes? Oh, I just knew the enemy would eventually bomb our town!” Betty hauled butt behind a 1940 Chevrolet Clipper and hunkered down.

  Mary sighed, walked over to the car, and removed Betty’s arms from over her head. “The enemy isn’t bombing us, honey,” she said in a calm voice. “I had an idea, that’s all.”

  Betty slowly looked up at the clear sky. “No enemy aircraft?”

  “No enemy aircraft,” Marry assured her wide-eyed best friend.

  “We’re not going to die?”

  “Not for many, many, many years,” Mary promised.

  Betty kept her eyes on the sky and then decided it was safe to stand up. “Better to be safe,” she told Mary in a serious voice.

  “Of course it is, honey.” Mary grinned and wiped a little dirt off Betty’s dress.

  “Being safe is smart.”

  “You bet it is,” Mary agreed. She looked into Betty’s anxious face and fought back a giggle. “Being safe is very smart.”

  Betty studied the sky again. “You can never tell when the enemy might bomb us.”

  “That’s true,” Mary said. She took Betty’s arm and walked her toward the diner. “Now listen, honey, I think I know who we can get to star in our talent show.”

  “Who?” Betty asked.

  “Monroe Baker.”

  Betty stopped walki
ng. Her eyes grew wide. “Monroe Baker…the actor?”

  Mary nodded her head. “Monroe Baker is from right here in Pineville and he’s known as the ‘Southern Charm’ out there in Los Angeles.” Mary smiled. “Also, we did go to school with him and—”

  “I never spoke a single word to him,” Betty said in a shaky voice. “Every time Monroe Baker appeared in my sight I hid behind a trash can…water fountain…a locker…” Betty looked down at her trembling hands. “Monroe Baker…golly.”

  Mary grinned. “Oh, honey, he’s just a man. There’s no need to let him make you nervous.”

  Betty shook her head. “Tell that to my diary. I used to write about Monroe all the time when I was a young girl.”

  Mary’s grin widened. “Oh really? What did you write?”

  “Huh? What?” Betty asked. She looked at Mary in terror and nearly fainted. “Oh…nothing important.”

  “Maybe Monroe would like to know what you wrote about him,” Mary asked in a teasing voice. Unfortunately, her suggestion made Betty pass out on the spot. “Oh dear,” Mary cried as Betty’s eyes rolled back and her body collapsed down onto the sidewalk.

  As Mary dropped down to her knees to check on Betty, a shadow appeared over her. Mary glanced up and saw the mailman. “Oh, hello, Mr. Wilson.”

  James Wilson, dressed in his usual blue mailman uniform and wearing his usual blue mailman hat, studied Betty. “Fainted again,” he said in an amused voice. “What was it this time? Did she forget her pen?”

  Mary watched James set down his brown mailbag, lean down, and examine Betty’s unconscious face. Mary was very fond of James Wilson. In his mid-sixties, he had gray hair and a smile that could melt solid ice. And most appealing were his eyes—always kind and humorous. James Wilson never had a bad word to say about anyone and was always able to find a joke or two to tell throughout his day delivering mail.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t the pen this time,” Mary told James, fanning Betty’s face with her hand.

  James gently lifted Betty’s right eye and checked her pupil. “She’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Say, this reminds me of a joke I heard at the diner this morning.”

  Mary grinned. “Okay, Mr. Wilson, what’s the joke?”

  James stood up. “A man wanted to send his letter across the world, but the letter refused to go.”

  “Why did the letter refuse to go?” Mary asked.

  James winked at her. “Because it was afraid to fly and refused to become ‘air mail.’”

  “Oh brother,” Mary moaned. “Air mail…good grief.”

  James laughed at his joke. “Did you hear that the envelope lost its boxing match? It sure got…licked.”

  Mary rolled her eyes and then laughed. “Good one, Mr. Wilson. You should be in our talent contest.”

  “Talent contest?” Mr. Wilson looked curious.

  Mary continued to fan Betty with her hand. “I’m running the announcement in tomorrow’s paper,” she explained. “I’m organizing a statewide talent contest. All tickets to the show will cost a dollar. The proceeds will go to our wounded boys returning home from the war.”

  “Hey, now, that’s something,” James said. “Our boys sure need the care.”

  “They sure do,” Mary agreed. “My husband wrote me a letter and said the war is really just beginning for us in Europe and the Japanese sure aren’t going to wave the white flag anytime soon.” Mary stopped smiling. “John said that the Germans have an iron hand over Europe and are going to be difficult to defeat. Our boys are going to need all the care they can get.”

  James nodded, and his face grew somber. “A lot of caskets are going to be filled,” he told Mary. “By the time the war ends in the Pacific and in Europe, the ground will be stuffed. Sometimes I wonder how many more dead bodies this old world can hold.”

  Mary looked up at James. It was rare that the man ever spoke in a serious tone. James Wilson understood that kindness and a little humor were two tools worth harmonizing in his daily routine. He avoided arguments and serious talk because he felt that it was better to seek the beauty of life instead of the ugliness.

  “I sometimes wonder that same thing,” Mary confessed.

  Betty let out a little groan.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Mary said, looking down at her friend.

  James took off his hat and nodded. “I’ll sign up for the talent show and pay a dollar for my wife to have a seat,” he promised Mary. “The wife and me get mighty bored sometimes. Our Melanie doesn’t visit us much anymore since she moved to Florida. We understand that her husband was offered a mighty nice job, but we sure liked having Melanie in town within arm’s reach.” James put his hat back on. “Well, I better get back to my rounds. Tell Betty I said hello…when she wakes up.” James winked at Mary and hurried off.

  Mary watched James vanish around a street corner and then focused her eyes on Betty. “Betty, honey…can you hear me…Betty?” Betty’s eyelids began to flutter. A minute later, she opened her eyes and looked up at Mary. “Why, hello there,” Mary said, smiling.

  “I…fainted again…didn’t I?” Betty asked in a weak voice.

  Mary nodded. “Yes, honey, you did. Do you think you can get up?”

  Betty studied the blue sky overhead for a moment and then nodded her head. Mary grabbed her right arm and helped her up. “Better,” Betty said in an embarrassed voice.

  “Oh, honey, don’t be embarrassed. I was teasing you about Monroe Baker before you passed out.”

  Betty’s eyes grew wide again. “Monroe Baker!”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Marry hollered. She grabbed Betty’s arm and steadied the wobbly woman. “Betty, don’t faint on me again!”

  Betty managed to catch her breath, focus on Mary’s determined face, and nod her head. “I won’t…faint. I promise.”

  Mary let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she said and pointed at the diner. “Let’s go get our tea, okay?”

  Betty nodded. “Okay,” she said but didn’t allow her legs to move.

  “What is it?” Mary asked.

  Betty looked down at her hands. “Mary, maybe we should forget about Monroe Baker,” she said in a desperate voice. “You know as well as I do that many of the married women in this town simply adored Monroe. And it’s no secret that Monroe is…well…a stuffed potato.”

  Mary read Betty’s voice. “Monroe was always a little too sure of himself,” she agreed.

  “Arrogant is a better word,” Betty told Mary and slowly lifted her eyes up. “Mary, please don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, honey.”

  “Then…we’ll think of someone else other than Monroe Baker?” Betty begged.

  “Sure, we’ll—”

  “What’s this about Monroe Baker?” an excited voice asked as footsteps ran toward Mary and Betty.

  Mary spun around and spotted Heather Norton, the town gossip, charging toward her. “Oh no.”

  Heather reached Mary and flashed an eager smile across her nosy face. “Is Monroe Baker coming back to Pineville? Oh, he was so dreamy when he lived here.”

  “We were just—” Mary tried to speak.

  Heather hugged a green purse to the yellow dress she was wearing and gazed back in time with lovestruck eyes. “Oh, Monroe was such a dream! All of us girls simply gushed over him.” Heather nearly melted at the memories flashing through her mind. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell the girls Monroe Baker is coming back to town.”

  “Heather,” Mary said in a desperate voice, “Monroe Baker isn’t—”

  “Oh, the girls are going to be simply giddy.” Heather sighed and raced off before Mary could stop her.

  Betty gasped. “Oh dear. Heather will have every girl in town believing Monroe Baker is coming back to Pineville for a visit.”

  Mary sighed. “Betty, honey, if the girls in this town believe Monroe Baker is going to show up and ends up being a no-show…why, they’ll have our heads.” Mary looked into Betty’s eyes. “Honey, it looks like we have no
choice. We’re going to have to try and contact Monroe Baker.”

  Betty let out a miserable moan. “Monroe Baker…oh dear,” she said and followed Mary back to the newspaper office without getting her sweet tea.

  Mary put down the 1931 Ericsson model telephone sitting on her desk, looked across the office at Betty, and winced. “Monroe Baker said he would love to come back to his hometown and headline our talent show.”

  “Oh dear,” Betty moaned.

  “Now, honey, I’m sure it’s not going to be as bad as you’re imagining,” Mary said. “Monroe Baker is human just like the rest of us. He was born right here in Tennessee and ran barefoot in the summer and got dirt on his face like a normal boy. Sure, he grew up a little…arrogant, but you have to admit, the girls in this town helped him stand on that platform.”

  Betty stared at Mary. “Well, the girls did swoon all over him like wolves on a duck.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Betty wasn’t so certain. “What if Monroe comes back to Pineville acting like a rooster in a hen house? He left Pineville claiming he was going to conquer the world, and he left behind a lot of broken hearts…including mine.”

  “Yours?” Mary asked in a shocked voice. “You said you never even spoke to him.”

  “I didn’t,” Betty sighed. “A girl can love standing in the shadows, can’t she?”

  “Oh, honey,” Mary said, “that was years ago. We were all young and a little foolish back in the old days.”

  “The old days weren’t so long ago.”

  “Maybe not,” Mary admitted, “but I’m a married woman who is deeply in love with her husband. I don’t have time to act like a little girl stumbling over her eyes. Besides, I never liked Monroe Baker. Not in the way you girls did, anyway. Monroe was simply the boy next door to me.” Mary sighed. “Honey, let’s try not to make a mountain out of a molehill, okay? Now, let’s focus on getting the story ready.”