Once She Saw…
A Blind Man
Ms Araminta Cozy Mystery Series, Book 1
By: Deborah Diaz
Copyrighted material
Copyright 2015 by Deborah Diaz
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.
About the Author
Deborah Diaz is a retired insurance adjustor. She is living at Tennessee and enjoys reading mystery novels during her free time.
*** Sign up for a free 9,600 words short story prequel for Ms Araminta series title “Once She Saw…A Burned Warehouse” here***
https://deborahdiaz.leadpages.co/freeinsidebook1/
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/deborahdiazauthor
Manufactured in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Copyright
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Recommended readings
Chapter 1
The little Melrose suburb of Nashville, Tennessee was not the fanciest area in the world. In fact, two interstate overpasses soared over its main street, and the rich folks’ area was just on the other side of the overpasses. Still, Melrose was respectable and entirely proper for a middle class maiden lady who was unencumbered by relatives.
Miss Araminta, who insisted on that title, was proud of the life she had lived. Having lost the only man she had ever loved in the jungles of Vietnam, Araminta had resolved never to marry. She was now 67 years old and retired from her position as an insurance agent, having saved enough money along the way to buy her own condo.
This condo was a new, first floor unit, and she could walk to most places she needed to go. She even had a designated parking space for her nice little Ford, and there was a crosswalk with a pedestrian-activated switch for crossing the busy highway to the area shops.
Though she was retired, Araminta was by no means idle. She volunteered with a battered women’s shelter her church supported. When she was not occupied with that, she crocheted dish cloths and dish towels from cotton yarn, and mufflers, stoles, and lap robes from acrylic yarn.
Everything she made had to be washable, because needy people required things that could be washed, and Araminta made things for needy people. The only time she sold her products was at church sales; the rest she gave away to help the women who had lost everything.
Also, Araminta enjoyed following the example of Queen Mary of England by using the peg looms currently being sold in fashionable craft shops. Nowadays, there were plastic peg looms you could even use to make hats, but Araminta always cherished the idea of the future King George VI of England knitting woolen mufflers for his future subjects under his mother’s critical eye. If a teenaged boy could learn to craft a muffler on pegs, Araminta knew she could also.
Now Miss Araminta got her trolley/hamper out of her hall closet to do some grocery shopping. She checked her change purse to make sure she had enough quarters to put into the hat of Bill, the blind beggar.
Bill had just turned up one day with his seeing-eye dog, and the neighborhood had taken him on as a project. Mr. Hamlin, the neighborhood grocer, let him and his dog sleep in the storage shed behind his store and kept the bathroom next to the stockroom unlocked.
Bill had refused all of Araminta’s efforts to refer him to various social work agencies; he didn’t want to be any trouble to anybody, he said. Outdoor living was just fine for him and Fido, as long as the grocer and his neighbors were willing to look out for them.
Finally, Sergeant Pierce of the local police force had convinced Araminta to let Bill live his life his own way. The Nashville police kept up with their homeless neighbors and understood why they had chosen their vagabond lifestyle.
Now Araminta stood just across the street from the grocery store, waiting for the traffic light to change. She could see Bill and his sweet, shaggy Fido sitting on the sidewalk with Bill’s hat upside down beside him. When it was wet outside, Mr. Hamlin always brought out a bit of old box or packing material for Bill to sit on, and Mack, the record producer who was Araminta’s neighbor, kept the blind man supplied with cheap umbrellas. Fortunately, today was sunny.
Suddenly, Araminta stopped and gasped. A lady had come out of the grocery store, was she bent hurriedly over Bill’s hat, scooping out the coins. This lady was well dressed, too, wearing a lightweight blue wool jumper, with matching purse and shoes.
Why would an obviously well-to-do person stoop to stealing from a blind man? Araminta was so shocked she even forgot to scream. The lady robber straightened up quickly and ran into the local diner before the shocked witness could even cross the highway.
When the light changed, Miss Araminta charged across the road and knelt down beside the blind man. “Bill, you’ve just been robbed,” she told him, knowing he might not have noticed. “I’ll tell Mr. Hamlin about it when I go in to do my shopping, and I’ll be back out with some quarters for you later.”
“It was a lady, wasn’t it?” Bill responded almost wistfully, as though he had had a pleasant experience. “I caught a whiff of the perfume on her clothes.” He put out a hand and touched Araminta’s. “Look, Miss Araminta, don’t you go worrying yourself none. I ain’t been sitting here long enough to make much money, and the folks down at the diner will find me a bit of food this evening, no matter how little I’ve got.”
He shook his head. “Lord, if that poor woman needs what I’ve got, you’d best be praying for her instead of me.”
When Miss Araminta ran into the store office to see Mr. Hamlin, he was friendly but discouraged her outrage. “Lord, who’d have thought anybody would stoop to stealing from old Bill? I could put in a call to Sergeant Pierce at the local station, but I can’t see what he could do about it. That woman will be long gone before he could even get here. Don’t worry, I’ll see Bill doesn’t go hungry tonight.”
Araminta fumed silently as she pulled her trolley/hamper around the grocery. Mr. Hamlin was probably right, and she already knew Bill would never make any effort to keep from becoming a victim. She had always believed the unfortunate should learn to pull up their socks and help themselves, but now, every time Araminta tried to help someone, she learned more and more about their mental health issues and sheer emotional lassitude that kept these miserable people in the gutter. Well, this time she was at least going to try to find the robber in this case and give this woman a good talking to.
Finished with her shopping, Miss Araminta dropped some quarters into Bill’s hat and pulled her little trolley into the neighborhood diner, where she found only the proprietress standing behind the counter. “Billie Sue,” she began, “you just served a woman wearing a light blue wool dress.”
“Yes, I did,” Billie Sue replied without any surprise. She had seen Miss Araminta’s shocked reaction to the theft from across the street. “I knew that dame was in some kind of trouble. She had mended that wool sheath pretty carefully, but I could tell that some man had ripped it half off of her not too long ago.
Her teenaged daughter came in here first – poor little thing had a black eye and a split lip - and begged for a glass of water. Of course, I gave it to her. Then her mother rushed in after her with a big handful of change, still trying to act like Miss Got Rocks, and bought two sandwiches to go. She said something about her car being over at Carl’s, and the kid being hungry.” Car
l was an old-fashioned neighborhood mechanic who had managed to put his shop where it would be most appreciated.
“Thanks for telling me.” Miss Araminta cut off further confidences. Now she was in a hurry. “Maybe I can find the lady over at Carl’s.” If Bill and the diner owner were right, this woman and her daughter needed help, but the woman still shouldn’t have taken Bill’s money. Araminta burst into the office of the little service station. Finding no one on hand, she rang the bell for service.
Carl came in after a moment, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. “Hope you haven’t got an emergency, Miss Araminta,” he said genially. “I’m handling one of those right now.”
“For a woman in a mended blue wool dress,” Miss Araminta managed not to pant after her sprint. “I’m looking to have a talk with her; she stole the money out of Bill’s hat just now.”
Carl walked closer and looked Miss Araminta in the eye. “Look, nobody does more than I do to take care of old Bill, but don’t go after that poor woman. She’s desperate. I agreed to put a new starter in her car for a flat rate of thirty dollars because that was all she had. She’s running away from somebody; I’ve seen this happen before.
That teenaged girl she had with her had been beat up right bad, and the mother was trying to hide it. When I told the lady her car would take me a couple of hours to fix, she said she’d take the kid over to the Lazy Eight and risk her credit card there until I called.”
“Oh, Lord! Somebody could track her down from the credit card in that time.” Araminta had never before been scared while doing her charity work, but she was starting to be scared now. “If I can just talk to her, maybe I can get them both into a safe place.” She started scrabbling in her purse. “I haven’t even got my address book, or my reading glasses! Maybe I should just run home before I head to the motel.”
“You better go now if you want to catch them,” Carl advised. “I’ve just got about an hour’s more work on this car.” He hoped Araminta could find her quarry; those two lost souls needed all the help a church lady could give.
Chapter 2
Not daring to waste any time going home, Miss Araminta crossed the busy highway again and hurried up to the Lazy Eight, a low-rent motel built close to the interstate overpasses often used by commercial travelers. Once safely on the sidewalk, she opened her purse and pulled out her case for the prescription dark glasses she was wearing, in case she needed an excuse for asking about the motel guests. Mr. Patel knew her reputation as a do-gooder and didn’t appreciate her calling on his customers.
But this time she didn’t need any excuse. The Hindu motel owner pursed his lips when he saw Araminta. “So, the neighborhood social worker is on her rounds again,” he observed. “This time I think you have arrived in the nick of time, as they say. The lady just offered me one of those sucker credit cards that companies send out in the mail.
This woman is scared, and her child has been beaten.” He stopped to check the name in his register. “You will find Ellen Gleaves and her daughter in room 102. They have only rented for a few hours; otherwise, I would have turned them away.”
Miss Araminta hurried out onto the concrete walk that surrounded the cheap motel. This situation was worse than she had thought! Even Mr. Patel, who usually complained about her interference, realized his guests were in trouble and that she could help them. Room 102 was, thankfully, just a few steps away, and soon she was knocking on the door.
Cautiously, one of the occupants pulled open the door as far as the chain would allow, and peeped through the gap. “Are you from the garage?” she asked shyly.
“No, but I know you and your mother are in trouble, and I can help.” Araminta rushed her words out before the door could be closed again. The visible eye looked even more frightened, and then turned to seek help from someone within.
Now the door was pulled open abruptly by an angry hand. Ellen Gleaves – for it must be she – was still trying to maintain the look of a well-to-do lady and was failing miserably. Her eyes were huge, and her face was dead white; obviously, she had been trying to repair her pallor with blush powder. She still wore her expensive shoes and shoulder bag.
“You just forget you saw us, you old snoop,” Ellen began angrily. “I’ll come to pay back the blind man once I’ve found my ex-husband. I know Liam must be in this city somewhere.” Reaching into her purse, the woman pulled out a heavy handgun and pointed it at Araminta. “This gun is all that he left me, and I’ll use it if I have to.
Now I’ve gone and married a drunk, and this husband has started beating up my daughter.” Ellen’s free hand shot out and pulled the trolley/hamper from Araminta’s slackened grip. “I’ll just take this. Emily’s going to get hungry again before I finally find my Liam.” She slammed the door.
Miss Araminta hurriedly backed away from the door, afraid Ellen would take a shot through it. That certainly hadn’t gone well, and she hoped Mr. Patel had not seen the weapon. Now that there was a gun involved, she had to report the matter to Sergeant Pierce at the police station, whether he could do anything or not.
Patel watched Miss Araminta retreat through the big window in the front office. Old busybody, he thought. Couldn’t she see those two women were too scared to listen to a do-gooder? They had even stolen the old lady’s groceries. Oh, well, it would serve her right. Maybe she would learn.
Before going to see Sergeant Pierce, Araminta thought ruefully, she’d have to go back to her condo and get her spare trolley, the one with the wheel that wobbled. She was determined that she would have Bill and Fido over to supper this evening to make up for their mishap, and for that she needed special food. Also, she would need to get the cooperation of Mack, her neighbor.
Mack usually treated the blind beggar and his dog to a bath once each month, and his cleaning lady would be coming in tomorrow. This would be a convenient time for her to ask him to do his monthly favor. Maybe she’d ask if Mack could trim Bill’s hair, too, and give him a little bit of a shave. Clean shaven, Bill would look halfway decent when she took him to Sergeant Pierce to file a formal complaint.
Getting the slightly defective trolley from her closet and bribing Mack to do his part by offering him dinner occupied Araminta for nearly half an hour. Then she drank a quick energy drink and set out to walk to the police station three blocks away.
Chapter 3
Sergeant Hansen Pierce stood up from his desk when Miss Araminta entered. She was one of his neighborhood ‘sources,’ though usually she just provided rumors he could include in his daily report to headquarters. Today she seemed flushed and flustered, so the sergeant pulled out a chair for her and went to the water cooler to get her a little paper cone of water.
“Thanks,” Miss Araminta told him once she’d gotten her breath back. “I’ve been running all over the place this morning, and I had to go back to my condo to get my spare trolley. I’m determined to give Bill and Fido a good supper this evening, since they’ve had such a shock. You see, Bill was robbed this morning. I was a witness, and the whole matter has proved much more serious than petty theft from a blind man. The woman has a gun, though she didn’t threaten Bill with it.”
“So why don’t you tell me all about this?” Pierce drew out his notebook and a pencil.
Araminta paused a moment, thinking of the best way to make her presentation. “As I said, I witnessed the robbery from across the street and saw the woman who did it – without showing the gun. It would be stupid to wave a gun at a blind man. Then I saw her go into the diner and meant to ask Billie Sue about her after I’d gotten my groceries, but I had to talk to Bill first. You know what he said?”
“That anybody who would rob a blind man must need the money,” Pierce responded. He had spent several hours on his rounds talking to Bill, and he was much more familiar with the depressed helplessness that had settled on this homeless man than she was.
“Yes, even though Bill had smelled her perfume and knew she must be wealthy,” Araminta replied. “I asked Mr. Hamlin in
the store to call you, but he said you couldn’t do a thing. I knew the woman had gone into the diner, so I went on over there to get information.”
“And what did Billie Sue tell you?” Pierce often ate at the diner and knew its proprietress could be a good witness when she chose to be.
“Oh, it was so horrible!” Araminta sat forward in her chair and addressed the policeman earnestly. “Billie Sue said the woman’s teenage daughter had come in first – and that the child had a black eye and a cut lip. The poor little thing asked for a glass of water, and of course Billie Sue gave her one. Then the mother came in with a handful of change and ordered two sandwiches to go.
She said they were waiting while her car was over at Carl’s garage. Oh, and the mother had hurriedly mended her nice wool dress, but it still looked like some man had ripped it half off of her recently.”
“So you realized it was one of those battered woman cases your church works with,” Pierce nodded, “and you went over to Carl for more information. He’s another softie; it’s surprising how many we’ve got in this neighborhood.”
“Yes, and Carl can probably tell you something about her car; I didn’t see it,” Araminta continued. “The starter went out on her, and Carl agreed to fix it for what she offered. Imagine, thirty dollars was all she had! Anyway, she and the girl were going to hide away over at the Lazy Eight until Carl could get the car going again. Naturally, I went over to the motel immediately.”
“So what did you find out?” Pierce was amused; he could just see her trotting back and forth across the highway with her trolley/hamper bumping along behind her. Where was that trolley, anyway? The one she had now looked like her old one.
“The woman’s name is Ellen Gleaves, and she and her daughter are in room 102,” Araminta replied. “The poor woman wouldn’t believe I could help them. She said she had come to Nashville to find her ex-husband, Liam, who had left her with only the gun she was waving around.