expected, she understands that I blurted it out in the heat of the moment. In short order she courageously accepts her mission. Mario, Shanelle, and I will keep an eye on her from a hidden vantage point, which all of us find reassuring. While we grab a hasty meal at a café popular with students from Winona State, we explain to Mario what little we know about Galena Lang.
“Maybe she and Ingrid had an ancient feud,” Trixie says.
I can tell Trixie’s getting into her role. “The only time anybody hires a P.I.,” I say, “which I’m pretty sure is what this guy Hubble is, is when they need to check somebody out.”
“Who would need to check out the local mortician?” Shanelle wants to know. “I mean, even if you want to use her services you don’t need to know whether she bounces checks or is secretly married.”
“If they were feuding,” Trixie says, “it’s weird that Galena was Ingrid’s mortician.”
“Who knew?” I say. “I got the idea Maggie picked Lang Funeral Home because it’s the most established place in town. Anyway, Trixie, remember to find out what Ingrid told Hubble about why she wanted Galena Lang investigated.”
“If she told him anything,” Mario says.
“I want to get a load of this Galena Lang.” My mother swipes her lips with a napkin. “I hope she has the good sense not to put Goth makeup on the newly deceased.”
We drop my mom back at Damsgard so she can begin “steeping” her fruitcake. I note Pop’s rental car is once again in the driveway. So Maggie and Pop are back from their Minneapolis day trip. Let’s hope the love triangle doesn’t erupt into another homicide in the next hour.
We three queens plus Mario return to Lake Winona driving two cars: our rental plus Ingrid’s silver Mercedes. To make sure that Hubble doesn’t see us, we park on a residential side street a few blocks from the boat landing. I’m sure the lake is a lovely recreational area on a warm day but now when it’s pitch dark out, barely twenty degrees, and deserted, it’s a little spooky.
We boldly bundled Trixie into Ingrid’s warmest coat so she wouldn’t freeze. It’s a delicious garment: a mid-thigh black puffer with a cinched silhouette and fur trim on the hood.
“I feel positively toasty in this,” she says as we gather curbside to review her instructions.
“It’s styling, too,” Shanelle observes.
“I agree. And that’s good because being well-dressed always gives me confidence,” Trixie says.
Spoken like a true beauty queen.
“We’ll be watching you from the rental car just up the street from the boat landing,” Mario assures her. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I won’t. In fact I’m kind of excited!” Her hazel eyes shine.
Trixie gets in the Mercedes and drives off. We wait a few minutes then take a different route to park in our prearranged spot. Mario cuts the engine. We see the Mercedes parked ahead, and Trixie waiting by the boat landing, her breath fogging in the frigid air.
“I’m kind of excited, too,” I murmur. “This is like a stakeout.”
A few minutes pass before a nondescript Japanese sedan parks behind the Mercedes. A huskily built man in a parka and wool cap emerges and greets Trixie at the boat landing. We watch her hand over the wad of cash stashed in her pocket. Hubble doesn’t bother to count the bills.
“He must think Ingrid’s good for it,” I whisper.
Hubble and Trixie engage in an animated conversation. Every once in a while Hubble glances around as if to make sure no one is observing the tête-à-tête. I always freeze in place when he does that. At one point Trixie’s mouth gapes as if she just heard something shocking.
“I am dying to know what he just told her,” Shanelle says.
Then Hubble pulls out his wallet and hands Trixie something.
“Good,” Mario mutters. “I think she just got his business card.”
That was part of her mission, too. We want to be able to contact Hubble again.
Finally the two
“Maybe she and Ingrid had an ancient feud,” Trixie says.
I can tell Trixie’s getting into her role. “The only time anybody hires a P.I.,” I say, “which I’m pretty sure is what this guy Hubble is, is when they need to check somebody out.”
“Who would need to check out the local mortician?” Shanelle wants to know. “I mean, even if you want to use her services you don’t need to know whether she bounces checks or is secretly married.”
“If they were feuding,” Trixie says, “it’s weird that Galena was Ingrid’s mortician.”
“Who knew?” I say. “I got the idea Maggie picked Lang Funeral Home because it’s the most established place in town. Anyway, Trixie, remember to find out what Ingrid told Hubble about why she wanted Galena Lang investigated.”
“If she told him anything,” Mario says.
“I want to get a load of this Galena Lang.” My mother swipes her lips with a napkin. “I hope she has the good sense not to put Goth makeup on the newly deceased.”
We drop my mom back at Damsgard so she can begin “steeping” her fruitcake. I note Pop’s rental car is once again in the driveway. So Maggie and Pop are back from their Minneapolis day trip. Let’s hope the love triangle doesn’t erupt into another homicide in the next hour.
We three queens plus Mario return to Lake Winona driving two cars: our rental plus Ingrid’s silver Mercedes. To make sure that Hubble doesn’t see us, we park on a residential side street a few blocks from the boat landing. I’m sure the lake is a lovely recreational area on a warm day but now when it’s pitch dark out, barely twenty degrees, and deserted, it’s a little spooky.
We boldly bundled Trixie into Ingrid’s warmest coat so she wouldn’t freeze. It’s a delicious garment: a mid-thigh black puffer with a cinched silhouette and fur trim on the hood.
“I feel positively toasty in this,” she says as we gather curbside to review her instructions.
“It’s styling, too,” Shanelle observes.
“I agree. And that’s good because being well-dressed always gives me confidence,” Trixie says.
Spoken like a true beauty queen.
“We’ll be watching you from the rental car just up the street from the boat landing,” Mario assures her. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I won’t. In fact I’m kind of excited!” Her hazel eyes shine.
Trixie gets in the Mercedes and drives off. We wait a few minutes then take a different route to park in our prearranged spot. Mario cuts the engine. We see the Mercedes parked ahead, and Trixie waiting by the boat landing, her breath fogging in the frigid air.
“I’m kind of excited, too,” I murmur. “This is like a stakeout.”
A few minutes pass before a nondescript Japanese sedan parks behind the Mercedes. A huskily built man in a parka and wool cap emerges and greets Trixie at the boat landing. We watch her hand over the wad of cash stashed in her pocket. Hubble doesn’t bother to count the bills.
“He must think Ingrid’s good for it,” I whisper.
Hubble and Trixie engage in an animated conversation. Every once in a while Hubble glances around as if to make sure no one is observing the tête-à-tête. I always freeze in place when he does that. At one point Trixie’s mouth gapes as if she just heard something shocking.
“I am dying to know what he just told her,” Shanelle says.
Then Hubble pulls out his wallet and hands Trixie something.
“Good,” Mario mutters. “I think she just got his business card.”
That was part of her mission, too. We want to be able to contact Hubble again.
Finally the two
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