Bookmarked for Murder by V.M. Burns

Author:V.M. Burns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-10-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

A few probing questions revealed that Irma had taken a tumble down a flight of steps. I tactfully questioned whether Irma’s tumble down the stairs could have been an accident. After all, she did wear six-inch hooker heels on a daily basis, and it was possible she merely tripped.

Nana Jo’s response was that Irma’d been wearing stilettos for more years than I’d been alive and she would fill me in more when I got back.

I relayed the conversation to Frank and we quickly left and headed back. During the short ride from Michigan City, Indiana, to North Harbor, Michigan, we discussed the latest developments.

“Do you think someone really tried to kill Irma?” he asked.

“I don’t know why they would. It seems so far-fetched.” I shook my head. “If anyone other than Nana Jo told me someone tried to kill Irma, I wouldn’t have believed it, but . . .”

“Your grandmother is usually a very reliable source.” Frank turned into Shady Acres.

One glance at the parking lot sent my heart racing. There were at least four fire trucks, two police cars, and several ambulances. I gasped.

Frank reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. Then he navigated around the vehicles and pulled up as close to the curb near the door to the lobby as he could and let me out.

I hurried inside. The scene in the lobby was pure chaos. Irma was strapped onto a gurney in the lobby. Dorothy and Ruby Mae were shouting orders at the emergency technicians. Caroline Fenton looked as though she’d been crying. If she’d had a run-in with my grandmother, then she probably had. There was a crowd of residents gawking nearby. I recognized Sarah Jane Howard, who seemed as though she was trying desperately to get Nana Jo’s attention. However, Nana Jo and Velma Levington had Bob the bus driver in a choke hold. Sidney Sherman was arguing with Detective Pitt, and the decibel level was unreal. Everyone was shouting.

I stood for a few seconds and watched in openmouthed wonder.

Frank whispered in my ear, “What’s going on here?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a whistle Nana Jo had given me when we went to New York for Thanksgiving. My grandmother was amazed to learn I had never learned to whistle, so she’d picked up a police whistle to help me hail a taxi.

I gave the whistle a long blow, which produced an eardrum-bursting sound that stunned the crowds into silence and had the desired effect of stopping the commotion.

“What on earth is going on here?” I asked.

Unfortunately, everyone started talking at once and I was forced to give the whistle another toot. “One at a time.”

Nana Jo started. “Velma and I caught the murderer when he tried to kill Irma.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Bob croaked, and squirmed under the pressure applied around his neck by the two women.

Irma moaned from the gurney. “Someone pushed me.” She pointed her finger at Bob.

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