Killing With Kings

by Lois Lavrisa

  “Howie, you know me better than that.”

  “And that’s why I’m worried. I’m telling you as a friend, it was an accident, pure and simple,” Howie declared.

  Was Howie’s resistance to my suggestion that McFalls look more into Ray’s death due to his personal hatred of Ray, or was it something else?

  “I’d listen to your pal,” McFalls chimed in.

  Howie let out a long breath. “José, any other time I’d be right there with you. You know that. But not this time. Sorry.”

  “Fine,” I returned. “I’m going to stay awhile. See you later.”

  After patting me on the back, Howie left.

  As I made my way to the poker table, I called my friend, Dr. Regina Fenny, at the coroner’s office. “Can you do me a favor and come to Sanders’ Tavern?”

  “For a cold beer?” she asked.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Ah, since it’s not a social call, I assume you need me in a professional capacity.”

  I proceeded to get her up to speed on what had happened.

  “I’ll be there in five,” she said, adding, “And José, since I’m doing you a favor and going to see your corpse, you owe me a few plus-ones.”

  Chapter 10

  I approached Officer Nowak. “How are you holding up?”

  “Okay, I guess, considering.” Her eyes were red and swollen.

  “I’m really sorry for your loss.” That’s what I said, but I could hear how detached and clichéd I sounded.

  Nowak wept. “I’m numb. Like this is some weird nightmare.”

  “I’m sure.” Again, I realized how weak that sounded. Even though I hadn’t liked Ray, the dead deserved respect. I needed to muster some emotion while his niece was grieving.

  “I can’t believe that my uncle is dead. I just can’t. He was more like a father to me than an uncle. My dad split when I was born, and Ray looked after my mom and me. He also protected us from my grandfather, who’s a hard-ass to everyone. But mostly toward his two kids, my mom and Ray. It’s a classic dysfunctional American family.”

  “Isn’t everyone’s family a little off in some way? I don’t think there’s any normal family, mine included. Families do the best they can with what they have,” I added attempting to empathize with her.

  “I guess so.” She sniffed. “I’m glad that Uncle Ray stepped up after my dad left. He always had my back. He came to all of my softball and volleyball games, and he even helped support me through college. Now he’s gone—” Nowak choked on her words. She wiped her swollen red eyes with the back of her hand.

  I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  Nowak sniveled. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Would you like me to call any other family?” I offered.

  “No, thank you.” Nowak brushed hair from her eyes. “I’ll do it. It’s probably better coming from me anyway.”

  “José!” McFalls waved a plastic evidence bag holding the EpiPen. “You happy now?” He laid the bag on the bar top before walking over to Norman.

  I gave him a thumbs-up, glad that he had followed through with my request.

  Glancing around, I saw Patrice pick up Ray’s cell phone from the floor. She began tapping on the screen. Why was she handling his phone? But first I had to turn to Nowak before she left. “Remember, the offer stands if you need anything, okay?”

  Nowak’s chest heaved as tears rolled down her face. She pulled out her phone.

  I moved away from Nowak and asked the paramedics to wait a minute before they bagged and carried the body out. I intended my Medical Examiner friend to examine it first.

  While I waited for Regina to arrive, I strode over to Patrice. “So, what are you doing with Ray’s phone?”

  Her eyes were wide as though I had startled her. Her voice went a pitch higher than normal. “I’m looking for his contacts. Someone needs to call his family.”

  “His niece, Officer Nowak, is doing that.”

  She clutched the phone in one hand. “Well, then, good. That’s taken care of.” She got up from the chair and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “This is unreal, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I held out my hand. “And I’ll take that from you.”

  “Why, of course.” Patrice placed the phone in my palm. “It’s really sad. I know he wasn’t Mr. Popular and all. But Ray was very charming and sweet when he wanted to be.”

  That statement took me aback. Maybe she and Ray had been having an affair, after all. “Sweet and charming? Ray?”

  “I mean, I’ve heard that about him.” Patrice turned toward the front door.

  Norman came up next to us. “Obviously, we need to call the tournament. Bag the chips, straighten things up, and call it a night.”

  “Hold off a second or two on cleaning up, okay?” I directed Norman.

  Norman arched a brow. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Gentlemen, it’s been quite a night. I need to head home now.” Patrice hugged us and then left.

  Although I preferred everyone to stay put, I had no reason to keep any of them here. As of now, I had zero evidence this was anything more than an accident.

  “Maggie looks like she’s going to faint or something.” Norman rubbed his chin. “Poor gal. I think we need to get someone to take her home.”

  I walked over to Bezu and Maggie by the bar. Maggie was seated on a barstool, her head hanging down. “Maggie, how are you doing?”

  She placed a hand on her forehead as she squeezed her eyebrows together as though in pain. “I’m a bit lightheaded. But I’m okay.” Her voice was soft and quiet. “I think I’ll just go back home and lie down.”

  “I’d be glad to give you a ride. I’m all packed up and ready to go,” Bezu offered. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  “No need. I have my moped.” Maggie slid off the barstool and gathered her purse and sweater. She brushed her hair off her face. “Thank you for your concern. But really, I’m fine.”

  “Let me walk out with you, at least.” Bezu gathered her basket and bag. Maggie and Bezu left as Regina entered.

  “Hey there.” Regina held her medical bag in one hand.

  “Thanks for coming.” I greeted her with a hug. “I know this isn’t protocol, so I appreciate your indulgence.”

  “It comes with a price.” She smiled. “Two boring weddings, one drama-filled family gathering, and an eighties-themed birthday cookout.”

  We had known each other for several years now and had become good friends. Since we were both single, we were often each other’s plus-one at events. She was one of the few people outside of Bezu, Annie Mae, Cat and my sisters who knew I was gay. Although she thought I was wrong not to live openly as a gay man, she honored my request for secrecy.

  “One wedding. No family gathering. No eighties-themed cookout.”

  “No good.” She held up one finger. “One wedding.” Then she put another finger up. “One cookout. My final offer.”

  I shook her hand. “Deal.”

  I led her past Big Mike and Norman, who were at the bar talking, and Officer Nowak, who was on her cell phone. Regina greeted JJ and the paramedics.

  McFalls strode over. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’d like Dr. Fenny to take a quick look at Ray,” I explained.

  “Did you get a call that I didn’t?” McFalls asked. “’Cause the only call I got was that there was an officer down because of an allergic reaction. Don’t make a case where it doesn’t exist. This is not a homicide, José. The coroner’s office will do a thorough review of the body and, I’m certain, determine that Ray’s death was just a fluke. But if they think there’s any foul play, which I highly doubt, I will follow through on it. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you on my back.”

  “Okay, fine.” I had to tread lightly here and avoid overstepping my boundaries. “I just wanted a pal of mine, who happens to b
e the medical examiner, to take a quick look at Ray. Dickey said he read about a recall of EpiPens, and curiosity got the best of me is all.”

  “Since you’re my friend, I’ll look the other way this one time, but watch yourself. Okay?” Finished talking to me, he looked down at his phone.

  “I understand. Thanks for cutting me some slack here,” I told him.

  Regina and I made our way over to Ray. We’d worked together years ago in the crime lab. At one point I had seriously considered becoming a forensics scientist, but then I’d fallen in love with the complexities of explosives.

  The paramedics were putting away their supplies. A body bag sat alongside the stretcher.

  “I saw him inject himself in his left thigh,” I told Regina.

  She knelt down next to the body. After putting on disposable gloves, she began to inspect it. “He has all the signs of a severe allergic reaction. Swollen lips, eyelids. Large welts.”

  “Like I told you on the phone earlier, he was allergic to peanuts.”

  Taking out scissors, she cut the top left leg of his pants and then pulled back the fabric to reveal his skin. “Hmmm, this is unusual.”

  “What?” I squatted next to her.

  “The site of the injection.” She leaned in closer to Ray’s exposed thigh. She shined a pen flashlight on one specific area. “There is massive swelling.”

  “I’m assuming that’s not normal.”

  “No. Not normal at all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” She peeled off her gloves. Her lips were formed in a tight line and her forehead creased.

  “I can see by the look on your face that something is up.”

  “José, I’ve never seen this type of reaction at an EpiPen site. I can’t say for certain what caused this until I get him on the table.” She put her gloves and her penlight in her bag.

  “Would you let me know as soon as you find out anything at all?” Together, we stood. “And would you mind putting a rush on it?”

  She picked up her medical bag. “With Ray being a cop, I’m sure his autopsy will be a top priority. The whole force will be all over it.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” But there was something bothering me about all of it that felt as though it needed to be taken care of immediately, as if it would be too late if we let it go. “Thanks for coming out tonight,” I repeated.

  “Get your tux ready; it’s a formal wedding.” She smiled. “And for the cookout, figure out which famous eighties person you’ll be. I’m going as Madonna.”

  “I’ll be the Invisible Man.” I smiled.

  “Wrong decade, smartass.”

  Chapter 11

  “You need to sit back a bit, Dad. All I see is your forehead,” I said to the computer as I Skyped my family in Miami. I sat in my kitchen chair drinking coffee, wearing a T-shirt and crumpled boxer shorts. They only saw me from the waist up, so no need for real pants.

  My black Labrador watchdog, J.K. Growling, and my gray cat, Meowly Cyrus, snuggled on a rug next to me near the kitchen table. My parents and I had already covered our typical weekly conversation basics—weather, health, gossip about relatives, and reports regarding which neighbor was annoying them.

  “Dad, move back, here.” My eldest sister, Juanita, put her hands on his shoulders and guided him back from the screen until his face was in full view. She leaned into the picture. “Better, José?”

  “Much. Where did Mom go?”

  My dad pointed to his side. “Right here.”

  I took in a deep breath, feeling exasperation. Juanita had the patience of a saint to deal with our elderly folks. “Juanita, can you please push the computer even further back so that I can see both of them?” If it weren’t for my sister helping my folks Skype, this would have been an even worse disaster than it already was.

  Mom put her mouth close to the screen as if she were talking into a phone. “So, anything new with you, son?”

  “Mom, remember you just sit back here, normal. He’ll be able to hear you just fine.” Juanita rolled her eyes at me as if to say, Aren’t you lucky you don’t have to deal with all of this? “You’d think we haven’t already done this a hundred times before,” she said to my mom.

  I smiled. “All is good here.”

  “Son, I’m not getting any younger. I hope during one of these Sky Pie computer face talks, you’re going to tell me you’ve got a nice girl.” Dad pointed a finger at the screen.

  “It’s Skype, not Sky Pie, honey.” My mom leaned in front of him. She waved her hand at the screen as if shooing a fly. “Now, José, don’t you worry. When it happens, it’ll happen. Don’t let him pressure you, baby. You have enough on your plate.”

  “What? It’s so wrong to ask my only son if he’s going to get married so he can give me a grandson to carry on the family name? I’m almost eighty years old; I can’t wait forever.” Dad looked indignant.

  He was the typical Cuban macho man, the family patriarch who wanted all of us to have a life steeped in tradition. To him, this meant a heterosexual relationship where the man went to work and the woman stayed at home to have babies. My father griped but seemed to tolerate the fact that my sisters were college-educated career women and not housewives.

  “You’re so old-fashioned, Dad. What about your three daughters? Do we mean nothing to you?” Juanita shook her head.

  “Never mind your father.” Mom put her hand in front of Dad’s face. “You do whatever you want in your own time, my precious baby boy.”

  “Precious baby boy? Really?” Juanita said.

  “Of course you’re special, too, my sweet girl.” My mom patted Juanita’s hand.

  “I’m your firstborn. Of course I’m special.” Juanita stuck her tongue at me.

  “Real mature for a fifty-year-old.” I smirked.

  “I’m just saying, I’m not getting any younger, and I’d like to see you married and with a boy or two before I push up the daisies.” Dad shook his finger at the screen.

  “Yes, why aren’t you married, José?” Juanita stuck her face close to the screen so that I could see her roll her eyes. She was coaxing me to come out to my parents. All my sisters knew I was gay and hated that I kept that secret from our folks. But they also knew how old-fashioned Dad was, so they went along with my request for secrecy.

  I ignored both her and my father.

  “All I ask you, José, is to find a nice girl. Settle down. And do it soon. At my age, I could go like that.” My father snapped his fingers.

  “Jeez, Dad, thanks for being so morbid at eight in the morning,” Juanita scolded him.

  I was grateful my eldest sister was there for my folks and seemed to have an unlimited supply of patience with them. Right now, I was at my limit.

  I heard a knock at my front door and then the sound of it opening.

  “Hello, José? It’s Bezu. I’m so sorry to bother. But I need your help. I’m simply beside myself.” Bezu’s voice came from my hallway.

  “Bezu, I’m back in the kitchen,” I called.

  My dog lifted one eyelid and then closed it as Bezu’s footsteps came closer. So much for a watchdog. My cat didn’t even move a whisker, but I didn’t expect anything from her.

  “Who are you talking to?” my mom asked.

  “A friend of mine is at my house,” I explained as Bezu entered the kitchen.

  “José, I think I might have had something to do with killing Ray,” Bezu blurted out.

  I motioned to my open screen. “Bezu, these are my folks and my sister, Juanita.”

  Bezu’s eyes went wide as she blushed and looked over my shoulder into the screen. “Have mercy.” She took a breath as if to compose herself. “Good morning. So very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, Juanita. I’m so sorry I’m interrupting you all.”

  “We Skype every Saturday morning, but trust me when I say that you did not interrupt anything. Actually, we were wrapping it up,” I claimed hopefully.

  “Did you s
ay you think you killed someone?” my mom asked Bezu.

  “Not on purpose, of course,” Bezu told her, “but maybe accidentally.”

  “Oh, now this conversation is finally getting good. Do tell,” Juanita said.

  Bezu and I unfolded the events of the night before.

  “So you see, Bezu had nothing to do with his death,” I declared.

  “Well, I’m not so sure about that,” Bezu said before pausing. “What I haven’t mentioned yet is that I think that I might have accidentally contaminated the food. Let me back up a second. I keep all of my oils under the sink, lined up next to each other.”

  “That’s where I keep my oils, too,” my mom added.

  “Mom, we don’t need to know where you keep your cooking stuff.” Juanita rolled her eyes. “Bezu is in the middle of telling us her story.”

  “So far, I don’t see a problem,” I put in. “You knew not to use any peanut oil because of Ray’s allergy.”

  “Well, yes, but…” Bezu paused. “While making the brownies, I used canola. Which is always the last bottle on the left.” She sucked in a breath. “At least, I thought I did.”

  “Thought you did?” I repeated.

  “Yes.” Bezu continued, “Last night I tossed and turned, unable to quiet my mind, like I had a burr in my saddle. I couldn’t settle down. I just kept second-guessing myself: did I use the wrong oil?”

  “You think you used the peanut oil?” Juanita asked.

  “Good question.” My mother patted Juanita’s arm.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Bezu twisted her mouth.

  “See? I’m as good at figuring things out as your precious baby boy is,” Juanita asserted. “Go on, Bezu.”

  Bezu lowered her head. “So here I was, so meticulous about making sure there were no traces of any allergens, wearing gloves, sanitizing the counter and all. And now I fear I might have used the wrong oil.”

  “Wow. That is quite a mess if that’s true.” My dad shook his head.

  “Yes, like she doesn’t know that already, Captain Obvious,” Juanita sighed.

  “You need to show sympathy. This nice, pretty young lady is upset. We should leave them alone to figure this out,” my mom decided.