Reason for Concern: A Mrs. B Mystery

By Anita Kulina

People don’t vanish into thin air. Yet no one has seen Alice since St. Mary’s Senior Center had their Supper Club outing on Sunday. As Mrs. B learns more about her friend, the disappearance seems to involve a burglary, an emerald necklace and maybe even a motorcycle gang. Where in heaven’s name is Alice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandt Street Press
• Release date: Aug 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950836000

Anita Kulina

Anita Kulina is the author of "Millhunks and Renegades: A Portrait of a Pittsburgh Neighborhood." This is her first mystery.

Book preview

Sunday

1

Mrs. B sat on the front seat of the blue Mustang convertible, tying a yellow babushka under her chin. She looked in the side mirror to brush down her white bangs while her friend Anne tapped pale pink fingernails on the steering wheel.

Anne said, What’s taking Alice so doggone long?

Mrs. B looked around. From where they sat, she could see most of the restaurant’s parking lot. Almost all the cars from the Burchfield Senior Center Supper Club, which would have been more aptly named the Lunch Club, had cleared out already. A bigger-than-life tiger sculpture sat in the middle of the lot, flanked by a 12-foot lion tamer in top hat and tails, perennially pointing invitingly toward the entrance to Barnum’s.

Mrs. B said, I wonder why they have a tiger instead of a lion.

What? Anne was still tapping her fingers.

You’d think they’d have a lion instead of a tiger.

Anne ignored her.

After a minute Mrs. B said, Maybe tigers were cheaper.

Anne waved her arm in the direction of the parking lot. Look. We’re the last ones here now. The one remaining car from their little Senior Center convoy was pulling away.

We ought to check the ladies room, Mrs. B said. She could be indisposed.

Oh, I didn’t think of that. Let’s go see. Anne shut off the engine and put the keys back in her pocket as she swung her long legs out into the parking lot.

It took Mrs. B a bit longer to get out of the car. The Mustang was in beautiful condition but it was an old car and it sat low, and the arthritis in her knee was acting up again. Oh, well, a walk around the restaurant might help. She removed the yellow scarf and tossed it into the car. She picked up her little yellow patent-leather purse, looked around, then shoved it underneath the seat.

Anne stood for a moment, admiring the old convertible. Then she said, I don’t know why I’m being so cranky. We can figure out how to get home. I don’t have to follow them. And it’s a beautiful day for a drive. We really couldn’t have had a nicer day. Gosh, that heat wave we had.

Wasn’t that awful, Mrs. B said. Mrs. B had actually fainted from the heat a couple of Sundays ago. Thank goodness she was sitting on her glider when it happened. If Jimmy hadn’t been hosing down his porch and come over to see what was the matter, she might have thought she’d just fallen asleep after feeling a little dizzy. Instead she woke, embarrassed, with her neighbor holding a cold, wet dishtowel to her forehead.

Today was a beautiful day, though. Anne was right. It was a perfect day to enjoy these winding country roads. The sun shone down brightly through the tall trees that bordered the parking lot, and there were just a few tiny clouds hinting at the edge of the horizon. The temperature hovered around seventy-eight degrees, blessedly cool for July.

Now that they were close to Barnum’s front door, they could hear circus music from a speaker near the entrance. If Mrs. B was home right now, she thought, she’d be sitting on her porch eating a popsicle. She tried to remember if she had any popsicles left in her freezer.

It took a second for their eyes to adjust after the bright sun outside. Other than a couple of servers preparing for the dinner crowd, the dining room appeared to be empty. A young woman sat at a table near the entrance, folding napkins. When she stood, Anne waved her back down. We already ate here. We’re just looking for our friend.

The two women headed down the hallway to the far end of the restaurant. Straight ahead they could see sunshine through a propped-open door. They passed a glossy tan door adorned with a big, burly strong man and opened the bright pink one with the tutu-clad tightrope walker.

No one was inside.

A young man in a long white apron tossed a cigarette to the ground as he came through the back door. The ladies watched him enter the kitchen, then Mrs. B walked out the door he’d just come through. Anne followed.

A narrow asphalt strip ran the width of the restaurant. To their left was the parking lot, and to the right a row of pine trees. Almost directly in front of them was a narrow dirt path that went down a hill into the woods. At either side of the path’s entrance were two large, prickly bushes. Mrs. B peered down the path but all she could see was trees.

Anne reached toward a bush. Look, raspberries! She ate a few, then picked some more.

Mrs. B filled her own palm and the two of them ate as they walked the perimeter of the restaurant, careful to be sure the berry juice didn’t stain their summer outfits.

I don’t know Alice very well, Mrs. B said. Is she the kind of person who would do this, disappear and you’d have to go look for her? She pulled an old, faded blue handkerchief out of the pocket of her yellow blazer and wiped her hands.

Beats me, I never talked to her before today, Anne said, then added, Well, that’s not entirely true. I used to see her down the Legion Hall but that was years and years ago, when I was married to my first husband. You know, on Saturday nights when they used to have the dances. We would say hello to each other there. But then her husband died, I remember he was only thirty-nine, can you believe it? Heart attack.

That’s so sad, Mrs. B said.

Two little kids, too. Alice never came down the Legion after that. I wasn’t even sure she was still in Burchfield until she showed up at the Senior Center last week. Never see her at the supermarket. She must go to the one in Rockwood. And we never see her at St. Mary’s. I think she might be Protestant.

Mrs. B was puzzled. Didn’t you talk to her at crafts last week?

No, no, remember, I was doing that silk embroidery with the mahjong ladies, Anne said.

Oh, that’s right, Mrs. B said. I forgot. Did you finish that little purse you were working on?

Friday afternoon I stitched the last feather on the fan. It really turned out cute, I’ll have to show you, Anne said as she reached for the berry-stained handkerchief. You know, when you told me you asked Lily if the mahjong ladies could show me how to sew like that, I was a little mad at you. I didn’t want to sit at their table. All those Chinese ladies. I never knew any Chinese ladies before. But as soon as I got used to it, I really had a lot of fun.

I’m sorry for putting you in a spot, Mrs. B said. I didn’t realize.

Anne wiped her hands and handed the handkerchief back. Oh, you were just being nice. I know I kept telling you and telling you I wanted to learn that silk embroidery. Ever since my first husband brought me back a robe from overseas. Oh, it was lovely, Edwina. I wish you could have seen it. Royal blue silk, you know, that heavy silk, with a big parrot all up and down the back. She swept her arm to illustrate. That one lady, the chunky one who always wears purple, I don’t know how to say her name, she was so patient, showing me how to do the stitches. Thank goodness for Lily, though, translating. We’d have done the whole week in pantomime.

Mrs. B folded the handkerchief so the berry stains were inside and put it back in her pocket. Even with Lily’s accent, I always understand everything she says.

The sun glinted off the lion tamer’s big red coat as they rounded the last corner. Poor Alice, Mrs. B said. Didn’t you feel bad this morning when we were all in our cars getting ready to leave and her name wasn’t on the list for carpool? I guess it happened because she was so new, but still. She had to feel awful, standing there all by herself. I’m glad we had room for her in your car.

Anne said, Always room for one more, that’s my motto. But where the heck is she now? They were at the front of the restaurant again, next to the tiger. A path at the end of the parking lot led to a sidewalk. A few little buildings were clustered along it, a block or two away.

She must have gone home with somebody else, Mrs. B said. You don’t think she would have walked down to those shops, do you?

Let’s check before we head home. They got back into the car, and Anne put her key in the ignition. I’d hate to leave her stranded here.

2

Downtown Hopewell appeared to consist of three establishments. The first looked like an old-fashioned corner store. White plastic tables and chairs sat outside, apparently to allow patrons to drink the Ice Tea offered prominently in their signage. A large, stately oak tree shaded the building. On a telephone pole near the doorway, a poster advertised the county fair. Up above the poster sat a metal Greyhound Bus sign. The other two buildings were a doctor’s office and a bait shop.

Anne pulled up along the curb outside the store. Mrs. B pulled her purse out from under the seat. As they got out of their car, the roar of two enormous black motorcycles made them turn and look behind them.

Two young men in leather vests parked at the curb. The shorter one, sporting a big grin and a mass of blond curls, gave a long whistle as he walked toward them. "Nine-teen sixty eight! This your car?"

My grandson’s. He’s in the service. Afghanistan. Anne smiled back. I told him I’d keep it in my garage, but you have to take them out once in a while, don’t you?

Sure. Blow the carbon out. He ran his hand along the fender as he circled it slowly. "Baby blue. Bay-bee blue. This is one fine car. Original upholstery?"

Anne tilted her head to consider. I think so.

He nodded toward Mrs. B, then held out his hand. Haven’t seen you ladies out this way before. I’m Boom. They both shook his hand while a large, dark man hovered over them. This here’s Tiny. Tiny looked at Boom, then nodded toward the ladies.

Boom said, You ever need that Mustang serviced, you come out our way. I promise not to sneak it out for a drive. Or two.

Anne and Mrs. B both laughed.

As the men disappeared into the store, Boom said in a loud whisper, Matches her eyes, don’t it, Tiny? That baby blue. Then he gave Anne a wink as the door closed.

When the bikers were out of sight, Anne whispered to Mrs. B, What’s that say on the back of their vests?

M.C., it said. I’d guess it’s an insignia for a motorcycle club, Mrs. B said. She was looking at the poster on the telephone pole. The county fair’s today.

Oh, yeah. The fairground’s just over that rise. Anne pointed. Always had to take the kids to the county fair when they were little.

Me, too. Wasn’t that a long day, Mrs. B said.

The kids used to love it, Anne said. Not me, so much. All those stinky cows.

They did have funnel cakes.

Oooh, good point.

Anne peered over Mrs. B’s shoulder at the brightly colored poster. When I was little, I always wanted to run away to the circus, like Toby Tyler. Didn’t you?

Before Mrs. B had a chance to answer, Boom and Tiny came back outside, each lighting a cigarette. When they got to the bottom of the steps, a woman in a white t-shirt and jeans opened the door and said, Hey, Boom.

He turned around.

You going down over the hill?

We can, Boom said. Why? What do you need?

Tell the professor I got those solar batteries in?

Sure, Boom said.

He and Tiny walked by the ladies on the way back to their bikes. Tiny was even bigger close up. Mrs. B felt like a mouse next to an elephant. As the men drove away, they both nodded toward Anne and Mrs. B. The ladies waved.

Anne said, I can’t remember the last time I was winked at. They were good-looking young fellows, too. She walked toward the door of the little store, then looked