Death of the Naked Lady Read online

  DEATH OF

  THE NAKED LADY

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Death of the Naked Lady (A Mary Malone Mystery, #2)

  ~1~

  ~2~

  ~3~

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  ~5~

  ~6~

  ~7~

  ~8~

  ~9~

  ~10~

  ~11~

  ~12~

  ~13~

  ~14~

  ~15~

  ~16~

  ~17~

  ~18~

  ~19~

  ~20~

  ~21~

  ~22~

  ~23~

  ~24~

  ~25~

  ~26~

  ~27~

  ~28~

  ~29~

  ~30~

  ~31~

  ~32~

  ~33~

  ~34~

  ~35~

  ~36~

  ~37~

  ~38~

  ~39~

  ~40~

  ~41~

  ~42~

  ~43~

  ~44~

  ~45~

  ~46~

  ~47~

  ~48~

  ~49~

  ~50~

  ~51~

  ~52~

  Epilogue

  Other writings by Marlene Chabot

  NOVELS

  China Connection

  North Dakota Neighbor

  Mayhem With A Capital M

  Death At The Bar X Ranch

  Anthologies

  Why Did Santa Leave A Body?

  “A Visit From Santa”

  Festival of Crime

  “The Missing Groom”

  SWF Stories and Poems

  “The Gulper Eel”

  DEATH OF

  THE NAKED LADY

  A MARY MALONE MYSTERY

  Marlene Chabot

  COPYRIGHT©2016 MARLENE CHABOT

  ISBN 13:978152335109

  ISBN 10:1523351098

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition:

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

  Printed in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my family, John, Scott, Amy, Kathy, Ava, Greta, and to all my loyal followers. Without your support and encouragement over the years, this second Mary Malone Mystery wouldn’t have come to fruition. I also want to add a special thanks to my Aunt Shirley. If it wasn’t for my husband’s and my visit to her home one October day and her suggestion to take a leisurely stroll along the beach at Park Point, I would’ve never stumbled upon the theme for this story. Thanks a million. God Bless!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  Many thanks to Karlajean Becvar for the many hours spent proofing and making suggestions for this novel.

  PROLOGUE

  When the stork dropped off the Malone household’s fourth bundle of joy, namely me, thirty-some-odd years ago, Mother insisted I be called nothing short of Mary Colleen. To her dismay, the proclamation didn’t take root. The minute I entered pre-school, classmates, teachers and family alike referred to me simply as Mary. I didn’t mind. Honestly. Perhaps they should’ve called me Jane. You see, I’m as plain Jane as you can get. I fear trying new things of any sort including new boyfriends, diets, and jobs. Of course, being the youngest of four children doesn’t help either. Everyone assumes things are handed to you, the baby, on a silver platter, but it’s not necessarily true. This baby has fought tooth and nail for everything she has, which at this moment doesn’t amount to much.

  I’m a teacher by trade or was until this past spring when, to my shock, Principal Drake from Washington Elementary handed me an envelope in which contained terrible news, blasting my schoolmarm foundation to smithereens. Mandatory school district cut backs meant I wouldn’t be returning to my classroom in the fall after all.

  Great, I thought. How’s this gal with a master’s degree supposed to support herself now? Not by running home to Mom and Pop. No way. So, I did what any sane, single woman would do. I said, “Adios,” to my job, sublet an apartment in downtown Minneapolis with a widowed aunt, and dusted off my resume, taking whatever job got tossed my way, which included a PI case intended for my brother. And in the midst of all the drastic changes in my life, I even found a steady guy, or so I thought.

  Unfortunately, life doesn’t remain the same. Just when you think things can’t get any worse—wham— you hit another detour. The case is over, my pocketbook’s still bare, and the so-called boyfriend’s rarely there. Maybe I should curl up in a ball in the La-Z-Boy, binge out on Kemps’s flavor of the month— Pumpkin Pie ice cream and wait for opportunity to knock. I’m told it works for famous starlets. Why not me?

  ~1~

  The wind howled like a Banshee this moonlit night, tossing thunderous waves weighted down by debris and driftwood against mighty Lake Superior’s shoreline. The horrendous noise made Ethan Tucker shiver to the core. Where’s my comforter? Before he could remember, another loud crash pierced the quiet of his bedroom and thoughts of dead pirates rising from the depths of the lake to seek solace with him flooded his brain. Why did Jacob, his friend, find it necessary to share shipwreck and ghost stories on Halloween? The thin cotton sheet Ethan used to cover his noggin was no good. It didn’t block out anything. He lifted the sheet a smidgen and cautiously peeked out to discover where his comforter might be hidden.

  “No! No! It’s still not right.” Fingertips of one hand tapped out a feverish funky tune along the furrowed ridges of my fair forehead while a mean-looking neon pink pen, recently added to my collection thanks to a shopping spree at Ace Hardware, quivered in the other awaiting the next command from my meager brain cells. What would be the fate of the fiction staring me in the face? Would the fourth penned page of this preteen novel be tossed like an old pair of panties or saved to see another day? Seconds ticked by. The ax finally fell. “Scratch it. It’s crap.”

  But the dreadful decree remained unfulfilled due to an unexpected outburst bellowed from the bowels of the kitchen. “Mary, got time for tea and cookies?” The inquiring voice belonged to none other than Zoe, my roommate.

  Startled by Zoe’s untimely words, my shaky hand released the chunky pen imprisoned for the past hour. While I remained in somewhat of a semi-trance, I watched the pen dive straight for the aged-desk and add yet another unique nick to its wardrobe. There you go, Mary. If the book doesn’t pan out, you can always work for a furniture factory, making new pieces look old. According to all those home makeover shows, distressed furniture’s in high demand these days.

  While I pondered an eight hour shift in a furniture factory versus no job at all, Aunt Zoe’s shrill voice battered my thoughts yet again. “Mary, I’m waiting. A simple yes or no will do.”

  “I suppose,” I harshly replied. The nasty tone wasn’t meant for my widowed aunt who has shared a dwelling with me at the Foley Apartment Complex since I received a pink slip in my teacher’s mailbox four months ago, even though her daily interruptions and other quirks do tend to slither under my skin. It was meant for me, and rightly so. My writing wasn’t moving along as fast as I’d hoped. Extra income wouldn’t be sliding into my checking account lickety split from book sales to cover bills when requests for a substitute teacher or an assistant at Singi Optical weren’t forthcoming. Perhaps a hot refreshment would rejuvenate my mind and body. Even though I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt and sweatshirt, I’d been shivering for quite a spell.

  Aunt Zoe’s short, spiked, fiery red head crowded
in on me as she leaned forward to deliver cookies and a cup of steaming tea.

  My shoulders automatically stiffened. Whenever my aunt’s involved with food, turbulence seems to follow in her wake. Today didn’t prove otherwise. In the process of handing things off, her elbow nicked my shoulder and a few drops of liquid spilled on my neck. I reacted accordingly and jumped. “I’m sorry, Mary. How clumsy of me. I’ll grab a tissue to dry you off.” She quickly set the tea and Oreos down on the desk near my elbow and moved towards the tissue box on the night stand.

  After counting to ten, I hastily produced a fake grin for my aunt’s benefit. “Don’t bother, Auntie.” I raised my hand to the back of my neck and swiped the droplets of moisture off. “See. No harm done. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Just don’t do it again, I thought, bending my head towards the tea resting by my elbow. “Mmm, smells wonderful. A cranberry-blend if I’m not mistaken. Thanks for your thoughtfulness.” I curled a hand around my cup, took a sip, and then set the cup back down. “Autumn has finally made its grand entrance, hasn’t it?”

  “It certainly has.”

  “I love fall.”

  Aunt Zoe tilted her head forward. “Could it be because a certain someone’s birthday’s coming soon?”

  “Maybe. But the red and yellow hues of leaves, the vibrant mums, and grocery bins overflowing with pumpkins, cranberries, squash and apples thrill me too.”

  “Hmm, yes,” she agreed, “I know what you mean, especially the food in the grocery bins. So, what have you been up to, Niece?” she inquired as she continued to steal a glance over my left shoulder, “Making birthday plans? Or catching up on your letter writing?”

  “Neither. No money for a party and I left snail mail behind years ago. What writing I do nowadays is via the computer.”

  Her bright painted nails poked at the loose sheets of paper on my desk. “Then what’s with the pages of scribbled notes? Working on another case, huh?” Without waiting for a reply, which is par for the course where my dad’s sister is concerned, she rambled on. “Funny, because last night I decided to make a suggestion in regards to our low cash flow. I think it’s high time we posted a sign in the building telling our fellow apartment dwellers this Sherlock Holmes’ team is available anytime, day or night.”

  I peered up at my aunt’s chunky cheeks. The pumpkin-colored rouge she wore mimicked her thick coated lips and nails. “Sherlock Holmes? I thought we were trying to be more like Miss Marple.” I waved my hand. “No matter. We’re not taking on another case. One near death experience at the Bar X Ranch was enough for me, thank you very much.” As far as I was concerned, the topic on sleuthing had been tabled permanently.

  Unfortunately for me, Auntie didn’t appear to think so. What can I do to derail more of her sleuthing schemes? Offering up my written words for her to inspect suddenly came to mind. “Here.Take a look at this. It’s actually my first day’s attempt at writing a saleable novel. If I can hit a homerun like J.K. Rowling did with Harry Potter, the future of this unemployed teacher won’t be so bleak.”

  “Well, if my opinion counts at all, it appears you’re off to a gang-buster start.”

  I only wish.

  Auntie fanned her plump face.

  Probably having another stupid hot flash, I thought as I crushed my arms to my chest. How many does this make? A thousand? God must really enjoy tormenting women. Maybe if He had warned Eve women coming after her would suffer because of her stupid decision in the Garden of Eden, she wouldn’t have been so anxious to eat the dumb apple in the first place.

  Leaving my thoughts on Eve behind, I stiffly replied, “It doesn’t feel like it. I’m still having trouble creating the right setting. The novel must be extremely vivid if I want kids emptying bookstore shelves the minute it’s released.”

  “Cooling your brain cells, Mary, ought to do the trick. It helps the juices flow to the surface.” She inched her way towards the thin, grey metal vent mounted on the bedroom ceiling. “I’ll stop the heat from flowing in here.”

  Cool my brain cells this time of year. Is she crazy? “Please don’t,” I quickly pounced. “The room’s already too chilly for me.”

  “Hmm? My hormones must be out of whack. Every time I enter this room I swear someone’s stoked the furnace.” She stepped to the side of the desk and shoved back the knitted sleeves of her pumpkin-colored top, exposing the tiny lion tattoo below her left elbow. I stared at the orange and black animal. It’s not the first time I’d seen it, but I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to inquire about it yet. Maybe it simply reminded her of the many safaris she’d been on. “Where does your story take place,” she continued, “in a foreign land? If so, it’s right up my alley. You know how much traveling Edward and I did over the years.”

  I hesitated with my reply. “Duluth.”

  “Oh, sorry, it’s been several decades since I visited Minnesota’s northern region. I don’t remember much.”

  Yes! Her words were music to my ears. We already spend 90 percent of our waking hours with each other as it is. There’s no way I’d give up the other 10 percent so she could co-author a book with me. But I knew Dad’s sister, she doesn’t give up easily.

  Seconds later the rhythmic tap, tapping of her pudgy, orange-painted fingernails against the edge of the desk proved me right. Her mind clicked away. She’d soon be shelling out her secret thoughts. When they finally came, it wasn’t much. “Why, that’s easy to resolve.”

  What? She’s got a simple solution. Dare I ask? Even though I pride myself on my inner warning system being fairly accurate, since moving in with my aunt I’ve caught myself ignoring it more and more. Instead of closing my ears to her hairbrained notions, I actually tune in. Maybe it’s the teacher in me. Surely one of Auntie’s ideas will eventually pan out, right? I bit the bait. “It is?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t your mother have a relative living around Canal Park?”

  “Canal Park?” My fingers flew back to my furrowed forehead where they had been feverishly performing earlier. What relative could she be referring to? Think, Mary. Thankfully, not too many seconds ticked by before piano movement on my forehead kicked in and jarred my memory. “You must mean Lizzie, my second cousin. Actually, she lives in the Park Point area.”

  “Is that the quaint little community one gets to by crossing the Aerial Lift Bridge?”

  I nodded. “I think so. I haven’t been to Duluth since grade school.” My mind reeled back in time, but all I saw were mountains of licorice-colored coal resting on the banks of mighty Lake Superior waiting to be hauled on board rusty Michigan-bound ships. I slipped out of my cushy office chair, scrambled to the nightstand where my cell phone had been placed before I dropped off to sleep last night, and picked it up. I flicked it on, chose contacts, tapped my parents’ number, and waited for someone to answer.

  “Hello.”

  I lucked out. I had reached my mother. If Dad had answered, he wouldn’t have had a clue where to hunt for the info I needed and instead of getting Mom he would’ve told me to call back when she wasn’t so busy. “Hi, Mom. You got time to talk?”

  “All the time you need,” she replied, “especially if you’re calling to share info on a new man you’ve met.”

  Good grief. Sometimes I think my mother’s more worried about my being single the rest of my life than I am. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mom, but I’ve nothing to report. No available bachelors have knocked on my door recently. Nope, I haven’t heard from David lately either. And, no, I’m not hooking up on the internet with some kook, no matter what Uncle George thinks I should do.”

  I inhaled deeply. “Mom, please let me get a word in. Okay? I called to tell you Aunt Zoe and I thought we’d take a drive to Duluth and pop in on Cousin Lizzie, but I don’t know how to reach her. Do you? Great.” I turned my attention to my roommate for a split-second and pointed to the paper and pen on my desk.

  Getting the message, she picked up the spiraled writing tablet an
d pen, and then handed them off to me.

  “Thanks,” I mouthed as I patiently waited for my mother to dig though her address book and return to the phone.

  “Sorry, it took so long, dear,” she said clearly out of breath. “I forgot I had left the address book by the phone in the basement. Okay, got a piece of paper and pen handy to write this down?”

  “Yup. Go ahead.” She gave me the number and I repeated it back to make sure I had it right. “Got it. Thanks.”

  “Say Mary, while you’re up in Duluth, you and Zoe should think about going to the rose garden and the aquarium if you can fit it in.”

  “We’ll try. Love you too. Bye.” I pressed END and faced Aunt Zoe again. “My mom says the mutt misses us and we should think about coming by next week for a home cooked meal.”

  “Hmm. It’s certainly a new twist on an invite; telling us your brother’s dog misses us.”

  I laughed. “What’s so hard about saying she and Dad are curious to see how we’re fending for ourselves?”

  Aunt Zoe’s somber face broke out in a broad grin. “I don’t know, but what the heck, we’re getting another free meal. Something us single gals look forward to, right?”

  On cue, my stomach growled. “You got it.” Neither one of us would ever make it through the first hour of a reality cook-off show, but I gotta say my baking expertise isn’t too bad, considering I’ve attempted desserts about four times in the last ten years. I glanced at my wide-banded, leather Timex watch. Noon already. I guess I’d better satisfy my stomach’s complaints. I picked up my cup of tea and headed for the kitchen. “Hey, Roomie, is there a slice or two of pizza left over from last night’s supper?”

  Aunt Zoe stepped in behind me and headed in the same direction. “Gee, I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember. This menopausal brain of mine seems to be on forget mode lately.”

  It’s been more than just lately. Since I didn’t want to upset the applecart this early in the day, I kept my thoughts hidden from view. “It’s all right.” I waltzed into the kitchen and marched straight to the fridge. If I couldn’t find any pizza, I’d stuff my size 16 body with a baloney and cheddar cheese sandwich, and whatever snacks happened to be lurking in our almost bare cupboards.