Gertrude, Gumshoe Cozy Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1, 2, and 3 Read online

  “No, not yet,” Gertrude admitted. “Why haven’t you come to visit me?”

  “Didn’t want to.”

  “So, you just drop me off in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, and then you drive off, and I almost get killed, and you don’t even come to say you’re sorry?”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Calvin said. “It wasn’t the middle of nowhere, and you chose to get out of the car. I have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I would think that you should have come to me by now to say thank you.”

  “Thank you? Are you bonkers? What do I have to say thank you for?”

  “Oh, never mind,” Calvin said. “So, the news said she discharged a firearm. Did she try to shoot you?”

  “Yep!” Gertrude said proudly. “Almost got me too. Would’ve if I hadn’t a ducked!”

  Calvin rolled his eyes. “So, did she say anything interesting to you?”

  “Oh yeah! I got a full confession out of her! Recorded it on my jitterbug. They didn’t put that on the news?”

  “No, Gertrude, they sure didn’t. So, why’d she do it?”

  “Can I come in?” Gertrude asked. She was getting tired of standing.

  “No, thank you. So, why’d she off her partner?”

  “Well, she fell in love with Frank the cop. So she wanted to stop blackmailing him, but Lori wouldn’t.”

  “Oh,” Calvin said, thoughtfully. “So when Trixie said they were only blackmailing two men, she meant Silas and the mayor, huh? Tried to keep her boyfriend out of the equation?”

  “Yep, I think so.”

  “So do you think she was going to take over the blackmailing?”

  “I dunno. Probably not if she framed Silas,” Gertrude said.

  “So then why’d she break into your place to steal the photos?”

  “Not sure,” Gertrude admitted. “She never confessed to that part, although I didn’t think to ask. I’m sure it was her. I think she probably just wanted to get the picture of her and Frank back. We could go visit her in jail if you want, and ask her?”

  “No!” Calvin declared, alarmed. “I’m all done traipsing around with you. You have a nice day,” he said, and started to close the door in her face.

  “Wait!” she said, holding up one hand. “I came over to invite you to my press conference.”

  Calvin guffawed. “Press conference? What for?”

  “I called one. I have news. So I called a press conference.”

  “Really?” Calvin said, his voice adrip with criticism. “Is there any press coming?”

  “Oh, never mind then,” she said, and turned to go. Then she had another thought. She reached into her walker pouch and then turned back toward Calvin. “Here, this is for your fridge,” she said, with her hand outstretched.

  He took her offering. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he said, looking down at her shiny new business card. “Not bad, Gert. Not bad.”

  “Don’t call me Gert,” she said, easing herself down his steps. “Only my friends call me that.”

  ***

  At nine o’clock sharp, a car pulled into Gertrude’s short driveway. What, no news van?

  A pretty, but frazzled-looking, reporter climbed out of the car. She headed toward Gertrude’s door. Gertrude stepped outside to meet her. “Hello!” she said brightly, as she came down the steps. “Are you a reporter?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “I’m Lindsey Michaels with Channel 5. Are you Gertrude?”

  “Sure am!”

  “OK, then, what do you have?” Lindsey asked, taking out a small notepad.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else?” Gertrude said.

  Lindsey snickered. “I think you’re lucky to get me, lady. So spill it.”

  Gertrude looked at the road, unsure of how to proceed.

  “Either start talking, or the only reporter here is leaving,” Lindsey said.

  “But you don’t even have a camera!” Gertrude complained.

  Lindsey took a phone out of her pocket and wagged it at Gertrude.

  “OK then,” Gertrude said. She backed up a few feet and then stepped up onto the steps leading to her front door. In this way, she felt a little as if she were on stage. She had always dreamed of holding her own press conference. So what if there was only one press person present? She would just make the best of it. She cleared her throat. “I have called you here today”—Lindsey Michaels rolled her eyes—“to announce that I have decided to open my own private investigating services —”

  “They gave you a PI license?” Lindsey Michaels interrupted.

  Gertrude paused. They have official licenses for this? “Well no, not yet, I’ll be working on that. But for now, I have this business card …” she held up one of her new business cards. Lindsey rolled her eyes again. Gertrude hobbled down the few steps and handed the pretty reporter a card.

  “Is this all you called me here for?” Lindsey Michaels asked.

  “No, there’s more,” Gertrude said and went back up the steps. “As you see on the card, my business is called Gertrude Gumshoe Inc. …”

  “You’re incorporated?” Lindsey asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Unsure of what she meant with this question, Gertrude ignored it. “What people don’t know is that it was Gertrude Gumshoe Inc. who apprehended the fierce and dangerous woman who murdered Lori Hicks. And now I am making my services available to the public. For a fee.”

  “OK, I’m leaving,” Lindsey said.

  “No wait, there’s more. At first, I suspected that the Mattawooptock Mayor, Lance Pouliot was the murderer.”

  For the first time, Lindsey Michaels looked interested. Or at least amused.

  “But I was wrong. However, in the course of my investigation, I did find this incriminating photo of the Mattawooptock Mayor bedding the stripper-murderer.” Gertrude pulled the photograph out of her back waistband.

  Now, Lindsey took her phone out. Suddenly, Lindsey was the most engaged journalist in the state. Within three seconds, Miss Michaels had taken three photos of the photograph. “Any chance I can take that?” she asked.

  “Promise to publish it?” Gertrude asked.

  “Promise,” Lindsey agreed.

  “Here you go,” Gertrude said, handing the pretty reporter the evidence of debauchery. “Thank you for coming to my press conference. Have a nice day.” And with that, Gertrude Gumshoe went back into her trailer, and sat down in her recliner. She invited the cats to join her, which many of them did. Then she started a new episode of Murder, She Wrote, checked to make sure her shiny new cell phone was fully charged, and had a signal, and then sat back, relaxed, and waited for the calls to pour in.

  New Creation Publishing

  Madison, Maine

  GERTRUDE, GUMSHOE: MURDER AT GOODWILL. Copyright © 2016 by Robin Merrill. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover by Taste & See Design

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016918989

  Book 2

  A Note from the Author

  Please understand: I love Goodwill. Most of my wardrobe came from Goodwill. This story is not meant to disparage this wonderful organization, but to pay a sort of homage to it. I am confident that Goodwill has always been and will always be a safe place to shop.

  1

  Christmas was coming, and Gertrude didn’t have all her shopping done yet. Actually, she didn’t have any of her shopping done yet. But she really only had to shop for her sister Harriet, and she wanted to get something for Isaiah and Elijah, two little boys from her church.

  Gertrude didn’t usually shop
at Goodwill; it was just too pricey for her taste, but they were having a dollar sale that weekend, and she knew Goodwill would have games and toys.

  So, she called the CAP bus. CAP stood for Community Action Program, a county-run organization that provided free transportation to people who qualified.

  The CAP bus pulled into Gertrude’s trailer park fifteen minutes later. Gertrude threw on her coat, said goodbye to her many cats, and headed out into the cold. She was happy to see that Norman was driving. She liked the cut of Norm’s jib.

  “How are things, Norm?” she said as she hoisted herself into the van.

  “Oh you know, the usual.”

  She banged the snow off the feet of her walker and slid the van door shut. “Ah, nice and toasty in here,” she said. She really didn’t like being cold. The older she got, the less she liked it.

  “I aim to please,” Norman said. “Where to?”

  “I need to go to Goodwill, do some Christmas shopping.”

  Norman chuckled, but he didn’t argue. He drove his van around the one-way loop that served as Gertrude’s street, and then pulled out onto Route 150 in the small Maine town of Mattawooptock. Goodwill was only a few miles away, and it didn’t take long to get there, despite the sloppy driving conditions. He pulled the van up to the front door. “Do you know how long you’ll be?”

  “Yeah, probably a couple of hours,” Gertrude said. “I like to make sure I see everything.”

  Norman shook his head. “Only you could spend a couple of hours in Goodwill. My shift will probably be over by then. But just call for a bus. They’ll let you use their phone.”

  “No need, Norm! I got my own jitterbug now!”

  “You do?” Norman asked, shocked.

  “Yep!” she proudly declared. “You want my number?”

  “Nah, that’s OK. I’ll get it later. You have fun shopping now.”

  “Always do!” Gertrude said, and slid out of the van. Then she slipped and slid her way through the slush toward the big, glass double doors.

  Goodwill was packed on this Saturday morning. Gertrude couldn’t believe that so many people could afford to shop at Goodwill. The kids’ corner of the store was completely swamped. There were little rugrats everywhere.

  Gertrude stowed her walker neatly in the near corner of the store, and replaced it with a shopping cart. Then she headed, with some trepidation, toward the masses.

  She wisely avoided the clothing racks, and weaved her way through strollers and shopping carts to the toy section. Here, there were only kids, so Gertrude was the same height as everyone else. She saw a stuffed panda that she thought Elijah might like, but as she reached for it, a grubby toddler grabbed it from beneath her hand. Gertrude gave the girl a dirty look, but resisted the urge to snatch it out of her sticky little paws. She surveyed the remaining toys before her and found a colorful stuffed dinosaur. She snatched it and looked it over. Only one dollar. In pretty good shape. No holes or stains. Only a few stray dog hairs. She could pick those off later. She threw the stuffed dino into her empty cart. Now, for Isaiah. He was a little older, so she wanted to get him a big-boy present. Her eyes traveled to the puzzles. Aha! But wait, how do I know there are no missing pieces in these puzzles? In the end, Gertrude decided it was worth the gamble. She had a vast collection of “extra” puzzle pieces at home. If the puzzle she purchased had any holes, she was certain she could find something in her collection of extras that would work. So, after a little ado, she decided on a forty-piece puzzle depicting a tank full of colorful, tropical fish. She thought Isaiah would like it. She was also starting not to care, as she was really getting tired of hanging out in the kids’ section. There were just too many kids there.

  She tossed the puzzle into her cart. Now, for her sister Harriet. She pushed her cart out of the kids’ section and then looked around, wondering where to go next. She didn’t want to look at clothes, because a) they were expensive, and b) Harriet was no Slim Pickens. Gertrude didn’t want to buy her something that was too small, or, heaven forbid, too big. She’d never hear the end of it.

  I know! Perfume! Gertrude knew from past visits that, in another corner of the store, a small section was devoted to things that smelled fancy: cosmetics, soaps, lotions, and such. She pushed her cart out of the fray and toward the perfume section, which appeared to be empty.

  As she rounded the corner to come into the perfume aisle, she saw that the section wasn’t entirely empty, and she let out a little shriek.

  There, on the floor, lay a young woman, who, judging from the pool of blood around her tousled, wavy, brunette locks, was very dead. Only inches from the unfortunate woman’s head lay the ugliest lamp Gertrude had ever seen. She marveled at how the lamp was fearsome enough to stand out and startle her, despite its proximity to a dead person. The thing was an awful green, a shade straight out of a 1970s kitchen. She had a dishwasher bearing that same tint of avocado tucked away in her trailer. Not only was the lamp this regrettable hue, it also bore a lampshade in a clashing shade of lime. And it got even worse. Suspended from the hideous lampshade were several decorative birds. Though Gertrude was fairly confident that they were not, the birds appeared to be taxidermic. She scooched to try to peer at the birds through the thick layer of dust they each bore, and that’s how the hordes found her when they arrived in response to her shriek: crouched over a dead body.

  She heard several gasps and looked up to see about a dozen faces looking at her in horror. “I just found her like this!” Gertrude cried.

  She scanned the faces and could tell that many didn’t believe her. As if she would just decide to thump some strange woman in Goodwill with the world’s ugliest dead-bird-lamp. Mothers were shielding children’s eyes from the scene, and a man in remarkably thick glasses gruffly told Gertrude to “Get back!”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Gertrude cried. “I can prove it too! That lamp will not have my fingerprints, and look,” she added, holding her hands up, “I’m not wearing gloves!”

  “What lamp?” the mean man in thick spectacles asked, looking around.

  Gertrude looked down at the blood. What in tarnation? Sure enough, the lamp had vanished, though there was a smear in the pool of blood, marking where the lamp had been. Gertrude looked around at the crowd, searching their hands, carts, and bags, but she didn’t see the lamp, or any blood. She began searching their faces, but she didn’t see anyone who looked particularly guilty.

  A woman who looked to be in charge pushed her way through the crowd. “Everyone, please leave this aisle. The police have been called. They’ll be here shortly. They’ve asked me not to let anyone leave the store, but please, let’s give this poor woman some space.”

  At first, Gertrude thought the speaker meant to call her, Gertrude, the “poor woman,” but then she realized the speaker had meant the dead one. Gertrude backed out of the aisle, pulling her cart with her, still looking for the lamp.

  “Did anyone see or hear anything?” Gertrude asked loudly, but she was summarily ignored. She pushed her cart through the crowd, not bothering with time-consuming niceties, until she had circled around to the other end of the closed-off aisle. She squatted to look at the scene from a different angle, and then she saw it. A dirty, dead bird. Only one. But it had to have belonged to that lamp; there was just no other excuse for its existence. It had rolled, slid, or drifted just under the lip of a bottom shelf, so it was invisible to anyone standing upright. Gertrude tried to be sneaky as she reached under the shelf to retrieve the bird, but she needn’t have worried. No one was paying her any mind. She snatched the bird and slid it into the pocket of her plaid jumpsuit.

  She was looking around for other clues and birds when she heard a voice she recognized, but wished she didn’t. “All of you, go to the area in front of the fitting rooms. Someone will be there shortly to speak with you,” Deputy Hale of the Somerset County Sheriff’s Department ordered.

  People began to obediently file toward the changing rooms. Gertrude stayed put.
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  “Oh great,” Hale said, “you again.”

  2

  “You should be happy to see me,” Gertrude said to Hale. “I know what the murder weapon was, and someone here moved it, because it’s gone.”

  “Oh yeah? What was it?” Hale asked without looking at her.

  “It was an ugly green lamp with dead birds hanging off it. Well, the birds weren’t really dead. At least, I don’t think so, but they looked dead. And they were filthy!”

  “OK. Thanks for that. Now you can join everyone over by the fitting rooms.”

  “Aren’t you going to write that down?” Gertrude asked. “Don’t you want more details about the dead-bird-lamp?”

  Hale finally looked at her. They had a short staring contest, and then he said, “No. I got it.”

  “Well, what about security cameras?”

  “This is Goodwill,” he said.

  “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure people steal from Goodwill!”

  “No cameras,” Hale said, and pointed at the crowd on the opposite side of the room. “Now go.”

  Gertrude gave him a dirty look, and then headed that way. It’s too bad he’s such a jerk, she thought on her way there. ’Cause he’s really quite handsome. But isn’t that the way? Young, good looking, pompous jerk. He’ll probably run for mayor.

  Gertrude parked her cart alongside another. She leaned her forearms on her cart’s handle and then surveyed the contents of the cart beside her. Apparently, this shopper had trouble saying no. Her cart was overflowing with goodies. Gertrude spotted a hen and rooster salt and pepper shaker set and sneakily moved that to her own cart. No one noticed. They were all too busy craning their necks toward the crime scene.

  Gertrude didn’t want to let go of the cart, but she forced herself to do so, so that she could move about the crowd, looking for clues. Marveling at the fact that no one was paying her any mind—she might as well have been invisible—she looked closely at people’s hands, in their carts, and she was even able to peer into a few purses. Had she not been such a morally upstanding individual, she could have even kiped a few wallets. Of course, she did not.