miss fortune mystery (ff) - body in the bog in the bog (2 page)

“See there, Ida Belle, I told you she wasn’t gonna have a problem with this. Her second question was ‘why was he buried so close to town,’ not ‘why did we bury him’ at all,” Gertie snickered.

“I’m still not convinced we should tell her. We did promise Marge… And, we’ve kept it to ourselves for forty years…Over forty years actually,” Ida Belle shook her head. Those silver-gray curls didn’t move an inch, and Fortune knew Ida Belle’s whole head would be instantly incinerated if a flame got anywhere close to that heavily-sprayed coif.

“He wasn’t that close to town forty years ago. Either someone moved him…” Gertie mused.

“Or the town grew?” Fortune guessed.

“Sinful really
has
grown,” Gertie agreed, looking overly proud of her little town.

“C’mon ladies, this is getting ridiculous,” Fortune said. “If I’m not calling the sheriff immediately and reporting the disturbance of that unmarked grave, I have to know why. Why shouldn’t I report it?”

“I don’t suppose a ‘please don’t do that for us’ would suffice?” Gertie hopefully asked, with her eyes wide open and her bristly, white eyebrows arched.

“Nope,” Fortune answered, and watched Gertie’s eyebrows deflate. “I need a very good reason to go against my common sense in reporting a dead body. And let’s not forget, it’s also against the law.”

“We don’t like breaking laws either, dear. Sometimes we find we just need to
bend
them a little though,” Gertie chuckled softly when she saw the exasperated look on Fortune’s face. “I’m sorry Fortune, but you have to understand, this isn’t our secret to tell.”

“Well, who do I ask then?” Fortune huffed. “Point me in the right direction.”

“Marge,” Ida Belle stated, glaring at Fortune. “And you know perfectly well it’s too late to get her permission to tell you.”

“She didn’t exactly take this secret to her grave if you two know about it,” Fortune said. “Whatever happened, it can’t hurt her now, right?”

“It could hurt her reputation and we wouldn’t want that. Marge wouldn’t want that…” Gertie raised her eyebrow. “We know what happened, but the rest of the country, the world even, wouldn’t see it the way we do.”

“The world? As in,” Fortune spread her arms, “the
whole-wide
world? What does that body have to do with the whole world?”

“It was a huge scandal, dear. It’s still an open case... Unsolved to this day, you know,” Gertie seemed confused that she had to explain this.

“Gertie!” Ida Belle exclaimed. “We haven’t decided to tell her anything, so ixnay on the andalscay.”

“Hah!” Fortune barked. “You think I don’t know pig-Latin?” she asked as she eyed the ladies, looking first at Gertie and then Ida Belle. “Everyone knows pig-Latin, I’m just sayin,” she scoffed, then narrowed her eyes.

“A scandal involving a
he
, forty years ago... I’m guessing it’s not Elvis buried out there,” she chuckled, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room. She abruptly stopped laughing, and then her eyes widened. “We are in the deep South. It’s
not
him… Elvis, I mean… Is it?”

“No dear, it’s not Elvis, at least that body isn’t Elvis. Wait, you mean Elvis
Presley
? That boy singer from up north, Gladys and Vernon’s boy?” Gertie looked really confused now. “Because Elvis Thibodeaux, Thelma and LeRoy’s boy…”

“Gertie!” Ida Belle said, sharply raising her voice. She was shooting daggers at Gertie with her eyes.

“I don’t wanna know,” Fortune shook her head and hummed out loud for a second. “I didn’t hear anything… I don’t know anything… It can’t be my problem if I didn’t hear it…”

“Well, none of this has to be your problem, dear,” Gertie said sensibly. “If you could just forget about finding those bones…”

“No, I can’t forget about those bones!” Fortune said, more than irate now. She was barely keeping herself from tearing out the platinum-blond extensions glued to her own natural, formerly buzz-cut hair.

“I saw them with my own eyes. I even held them in my own hands. Dammit Gertie! I can’t just let this go. That body out there in the bog was a human being at one time! Someone cared for him! Someone is probably looking for him!”

“That’s true. Lots and lots of someones!” Gertie agreed cheerfully.

“Stop! Fine!” Ida Belle narrowed her eyes. “We swore to never say anything about this. Marge did leave us an out, though. I think she hoped it would never come to light, but she wrote everything down, just in case.”

“So, you’re saying you can’t tell me, but you’ll let me read about it?” Fortune asked and then sighed. “I get the feeling you two are just wasting time, hoping I’ll change my mind about calling the sheriff,” she snickered. “Although it would probably be a waste of time to call him, maybe we should just call Carter.”

“No! Not Carter.” Ida Belle said. “He’s a lot smarter than old Robert. E. Lee. He’s the last person we need involved in this.”

“Robert. E. Lee is the sheriff though,” Gertie sighed. “He should be the one.”

“I don’t care which one we call,” Fortune almost whimpered. She was wearing down. She hated it, but she’d already discovered, these two old ladies knew how to wear her down.

They just kept talking… And talking… And talking, until she couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like screaming. Instead, she glared at both of them.

“Well?” Fortune asked, as she glared some more.

“You have to understand that reporting it would open a huge can of worms. Bloated, loathsome, repulsive worms! And once opened, those worms can’t ever be put back in the can!” Gertie shuddered.

“What could possibly be that bad?” Fortune wondered out loud.
What were these old ladies hiding?
It sounded like they’d been hiding whatever it was for decades.

“The consequences,” Gertie said, “of making all of this public knowledge. The consequences would be
bad
. I mean really, really bad.”

“We’re also trying not to break our promise to Marge,” Ida Belle said. “We take our promises seriously in Sinful. Especially when that promise was made to a good friend, like Marge.”

“Marge is gone,” Gertie said sadly, “but I think she’d understand…”

“And?” Fortune thought Gertie was ready to crack.

“A promise is a promise!” Ida Belle suddenly exclaimed. “I need to get to the License Bureau today, but I’ll run home and get the lock box first.” She turned to Gertie, “Don’t let her pick up a phone... Scratch that, don’t let her even get near a phone. I expect you to stick to her like glue till I get back, you understand Gertie? Glue!”

After Ida Belle left, Gertie explained that Marge had written her account of what had happened with that body and put the pages in a lock box, which had never been opened since the day she turned the key. The box was kept with whoever happened to be in charge of the Sinful Ladies Society with strict instructions to not open it.

Ida Belle returned in record time and handed her the box. It was a waterproof, fireproof type of metal box that someone would keep important papers in. The kind you’d expect to find in a safe, loaded with money or precious gems. The key was sticking out of the lock.

Fortune supposed she should be glad it was Ida Belle in charge. And that she also knew the story, so she’d at least allow the box to be opened, even if she wouldn’t utter a word about it.

“Before I let you open this,” Ida Belle held the box reverently, like it contained sacred relics. “I need you to promise me you won’t do anything except read while I’m gone.”

“But,” Fortune started to say.

“Promise!” Ida Belle interrupted her. And then glared at her.

“I promise,” Fortune shook her head.
Why did she let these old ladies get away with browbeating her?
Although Ida Belle hadn’t even really browbeat her, she’d just looked at her… But she’d looked at her sternly, very sternly. Fortune had to admit, in her professional opinion, Ida Belle had a wicked glare.

“And you!” Ida Belle turned to Gertie and pointed at her chest. “Don’t let her out of your sight… Like glue! And no phones! You hear?”

“I won’t dear,” Gertie replied. “Now give me the box, and go get your license. Remember to smile purdy.”

Ida belle ran back out the door, well, she actually walked out, but in Fortune’s head the old lady was running and not a single curl moved. At least the driver’s license picture explained the need for Ida Belle’s gussied-up hairdo.

She turned to Gertie. “Well?” she asked, pointing at the box.

“You just sit down and get yourself comfortable,” Gertie told her, “this could take awhile.” She waited until Fortune got comfortable in her chair, and then she sat on the sofa with the box in her lap, and slowly turned the key.

“Sometime today would be nice,” Fortune snapped.

“Keep your britches on dear, it’s illegal to go without pants today,” Gertie chuckled and then got serious. “I’m working on it. It’s a little rusty…”

“Here! Let me do it,” Fortune leaped out of her chair, and was headed for the couch when Gertie finally got the key to turn.

“Now, sit,” Gertie said, pointing her finger at Fortune as she opened the box and pulled out what looked like a scroll. It was actually a bunch of pages all rolled up and held in place by a large rubber band.

“Yep, she wrote it
all
down,” Gertie said. “Like I said, get comfortable, this could take awhile.” She handed Fortune the first of many pages.

Chapter 3

Fortune unfurled the first page and started reading:

I’m writing this all down before my memory fails me. It hasn’t yet, but it could, so I want to lay out the facts of exactly what happened in 1971. How I came to be involved and my part in it.

To begin, I always loved Seattle. Not that it really matters, but I couldn’t figure out how to begin. So, that will have to serve as my beginning, although I will try to stick to the facts from this point onward.

I first visited my friend from the Army, Wilma Marlow, in Seattle, in 1962 during a leave from my duties, and visited her many times in the years after. In 1962, Wilma had invited me to come and attend the fair with her, since her leave was scheduled at the same time as mine. We both thought it was a happy coincidence. I stayed with her in the house she’d inherited from her grandparents a few years earlier.

She hadn’t done much to change the house at that point. In later years, she renovated as much as she could, when money and time allowed. Her grandparents had left some money in a trust for her, but she never touched it, saying she was saving it because you just never knew when you might really need it.

I asked her if she was saving it for a rainy day. She laughed and said most days in Seattle were rainy days, so that expression didn’t work well there.

Wilma was an thoughtful, intelligent woman and she never married. After the Army, she studied to become a forester. She wanted to help preserve the natural beauty of the forests and mountains surrounding her home. I considered her a great friend. If she had lived in Sinful, she would’ve been a great addition to our Society.

Seattle could be as cold and wet as Sinful was hot and wet, but its chilly, refreshing rain was nothing like Sinful’s damp humidity, and I loved everything about that kind of rain. The warm, earthy smell of it, the cool, silky feel of it running down my skin, and especially the magnificent rainbows that formed during those few rare moments when the sun shined through it.

The World’s Fair was in full bloom when I arrived that summer, and we spent a few days playing tourist; we attended the science exhibits, wandered through the art exhibits, and stuffed ourselves with delicious food from the numerous vendors from all over the world.

We even fought our way through the over-whelming crowds to get on the elevator which deposited us at the top of the newly-built Space Needle. The view made the effort worthwhile.

It was the tallest building I’d ever been in and the view was spectacular. It wasn’t raining for once on that day, and the sun shone brilliantly over the entire area. The Seattle skyline, the Olympic and Cascade Mountain ranges, Mount Rainier, Mount Baker, Elliott Bay and all of the surrounding islands were laid out before me. The beauty of it all left me breathless. I could’ve stayed up there for hours or days even, just drinking in that view.

Anyway, I later read that over twenty-thousand people a day had ridden those elevators during the duration of the fair. I didn’t find it at all hard to believe.

I digress. Where was I? Wilma’s house. Back to the facts:

Wilma’s cousin, Dan, from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, and his new wife, Alma, were also visiting Wilma, and attended the fair with us. Dan’s full name was Paul Daniel Marlow but he was known by his middle name.

Dan was a Mountie and he served in the Air Services Branch of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. His job mainly dealt with conducting search and rescue operations, first from the air and then with boots on the ground.

Alma, his wife, suffered from Friedreich's ataxia and was in a wheelchair, which made attending some of the exhibits difficult for them.

I’ve often thought about that over the years. A World’s fair, whose theme was science and the future, didn’t even have handicap facilities for the attendees. I guess they figured no one would be handicapped in the future, or maybe the thought of making things accessible for the handicapped was too futuristic for them.

Anyway, Dan was a kind, thoughtful man and Alma was as sweet as could be. She tried to be as cheerful as possible, using her sense of humor constantly to remind herself, and everyone else, she wasn’t just the sum of her disease. And it was a horrible disease. Her spine was curved and her feet arched sharply.