"Not now," I groaned. "How am I ever going to get everything back to the store without a car?"
I can't help you solve every mystery, doll, Jack replied. "It was a rhetorical question," I pointed out. "Beside which, you don't have a body, so how could you help?" Low blow, baby.
"Sorry. I'm not mad at you, it's just-"
It's just that sometimes a dame needs a real man around the house, not just some spook. Well, open your peepers or you'll miss your pal, Charlie Big Suds-
"Huh?"
Jack the Biscuit. The pie-eater who featherbeds for the mail service-
" Seymour!" I cried out the window.
Seymour turned on the sidewalk and waved. Then he slung his mailbag over one shoulder and sauntered up to my window. "Car trouble, Pen?" he asked. I nodded.
"It's probably a lost cause, but if you unlock the hood, I'll be glad to take a look."
I popped the hood and Seymour lifted it. He tinkered around for about a minute and told me to turn the key again. I did, and we both heard the sound of silence.
Seymour closed the hood. "It's your battery."
"What's wrong with it?"
"You're kidding, right? The thing's deader than a Kennedy. When I roll out my ice cream truck later, I'll give you a jump and you should be good to go."
When Seymour wasn't delivering mail, he was moonlighting as an ice-cream truck vendor. That was all well and good: "But I need a car now-this minute!" I told him. "I have to bring a bunch of goodies from Cooper's back to the store."
Seymour eyes brightened. "You're heading to the home of the melt-in-your-mouth bear claw? Treat me and I'll help you out."
"It's a deal!"
I opened the trunk so Seymour could stash his mail. Then we set off down Cranberry Street toward the busy bakery. All along the main street, the faux antique Victorian streetlamps were festooned with posters advertising the movie festival's films. Many featured the voluptuous form of the young Hedda Geist, star of Wrong Turn, Man Trap, Bad to the Bone, Cruel and Unusual, and Tight Spot.
"Did you go to the lawn party at the Finch Inn last night?" I asked Seymour.
"You bet," he replied. "I never miss a chance to goad Fiona Finch. Did you see the way she and Barney renovated that miniature storm tower she calls a lighthouse? I told her I liked it better when it was painted Day-Glo orange and covered with graffiti-"
"Oh, come on. I haven't seen it yet, but it can't be that bad. And who needs graffiti? It's just an eyesore."
"Hey, you can learn a lot from reading that stuff. Archaeologists search for Roman graffiti just to get a feel for what the common people were thinking."
"But that's history-"
"Yeah, and I learned the romantic history of Quindicott High School from that old tower, before Fiona defaced it. By the way, do you happen to know anything about a girl named Brenda? She'd probably be in her midtwenties by now, and-" Seymour stopped in his tracks. His slightly bulging eyes bulged a little wider.
I followed his gaze to the front of Mr. Koh's grocery store, where a beautiful young blonde was selecting fresh fruit from the store's wooden bins. I recognized her immediately.
"That girl," I whispered, "she was with Hedda Geist last night. Do you know who she is?"
"Her name's Harmony Middleton," Seymour informed me. "She's Hedda's granddaughter."
The girl wore a hot pink tank top over white, very short shorts, and a young man in jeans and a rock band T-shirt was obviously flirting with her. I recognized the shaggy dark hair and the shamrock forearm tattoo. It was Dixon Gallagher, one of Bud Napp's part-time employees at the hardware store, and I wondered if Bud had used him on the final fix-it work he'd done for Brainert's theater.
A roaring engine suddenly shattered the quiet on Cranberry. I turned to see a black-and-chrome motorcycle pulling up to the Koh's fruit stand. The rider was a big guy, wearing blue jeans and a black leather jacket. Without pulling off his ebony helmet, or lifting its tinted visor, he grabbed a drink from the outdoor refrigerator. Then he turned to observe Harmony and sauntered over to her. He finally pulled off his helmet. but I couldn't see the blond man's face. I could tell he was making some kind of joke, purposefully finding a way to join the conversation. Harmony laughed and smiled at him, pushing his beefy arm playfully while Dixon smirked and folded his own tattooed arms tightly.
Seymour shook his head. "Like moths to flame."
"Excuse me?"
"That same little scene got played at least ten times at last night's lawn party-except with different players." "What do you mean exactly?"
I'll tell you what the postman's saying, Jack piped up in my head. Harmony just might be a chippy off the old block. "Excuse me?"
She wears skirts that defy gravity. She buys underwear with loose elastic. In other words, she's a real-
"Okay, okay!" I told the ghost. "I get it!"
"That girl not only resembles her granny," Seymour said, "she attracts male admirers the way Hedda did back in the day. And let me tell you, the wolf pack was circling Harmony for hours-much to Hedda's chagrin."
"Oh, really? Hedda didn't like it?"
"As soon as Harmony started flirting with the young men at the party, Hedda had some trivial reason to call the girl over and order her around. It seemed pretty obvious she didn't like sharing the spotlight."
Seymour struck a diva pose and assumed a falsetto. "Get me another punch, dear! I don't care for this ballpoint they gave me; find me the one I brought to sign autographs! I need my wrap from the car!"
Seymour lowered his voice. "I'll give the girl this: She never back-talked her grandmother. Just scampered around and did the woman's bidding. Me? I would have told the old bag to go jump in the duck pond."
"Maybe Harmony simply respects and admires her grand-mother. And Hedda's probably used to speaking to Harmony like a child-"
"More like an employee," Seymour said. "Which would be more accurate, because Brainert told me that Harmony isn't just a relative, she works full-time as Hedda's assistant. And, boy, does Hedda work it!"
Now the mail carrier's got me wondering…
"What Jack?"
When Grandma Hedda's finally six feet under, what sort of inheritance will Little Miss Harmony get?
"You're saying you suspect her of something?"
I suspect everyone of something, baby. The little miss I suspect of having a motive to off her grandmother. Last night's "accident" with the falling speaker almost flattened Hedda Geist-a dame who treats this girl like a servant, which must chafe, even if the girl doesn't let on. And didn't you just notice Harmony talking to one of Bud's employees?
"Yes, but there's no way Bud Napp could be involved with a murder plot. Not Bud."
Maybe not your auntie's boyfriend, but how well do you know the kid working for him?
"I don't know Dixon at all, except to see him behind the counter at Bud's store."
Well, Harmony seems pretty chummy with him.
"Or it's simply an innocent flirtation-like the big, blond guy who drove up on the black motorcycle."
Either way, I'd say the girl had a motive, and her little friend had the opportunity.
"To do what, Jack?"
To rig that speaker to fall smack on the old diva's noggin, that's what! Pay attention, doll!
"I am paying attention, but nobody's saying that speaker was rigged to fall. We'd need evidence for that."
So go get it. Talk to your aunt Sadie's Buddy boy about it, if you trust him that much. Napp will give you the scoop whether something was hinky.
"Hey, look at that!" Seymour interrupted (not that he knew he was interrupting). He was pointing out a poster on the next block. "C'mon, Pen, let's get a move on. I want a look at that poster."
We strode quickly up the block and Seymour rushed toward a poster that someone had just put up. It advertised the screening of an old Gotham Features movie, Mike O'Bannon of the Sea Witch.
"Sweet!" Seymour said. "I'm a big fan of the Fisherman Detective! What about you, Pen?"