“Right. Did you see him come back?”
“Nope. But towards the end of the shift, he had plenty money sticking outta his pocket. We’re supposed to tip share. He ain’t supposed just take them tips.”
“Was that the night Veronica died?”
“Yep.”
The toilet flushed. The stall door opened. Water ran. Paper towels rolled out of the dispenser. The bathroom door opened. I waited listening to my own heavy breathing.
The bartender? No way. He was chatty and nervous. Why would the perpetrator chat openly with me if he was the murderer? A wad of cash in his pocket could have meant lots of things. Maybe he was stealing tips? He was angry about getting stiffed. Was he hard up for dough? Did he get access to Veronica’s room, lace her bath bombs with rat poison and steal her loose bills?
Not hardly.
Even risky with the hotel security cameras watching every twitch that happened in the building and out. On the other hand, the waitress might want to get even with a lecherous grabby guy. It happens. Back in the lobby, I looked for the waitress, but she wasn’t on the bar room floor. I glared at the bartender until he felt it and looked up. He glowered, but turned his back.
He wasn’t Veronica’s killer, I could feel in my bones.
Why was Myra here with Morris? How did John Lake know Myra knew about Veronica’s murder? Nothing was adding up.
I headed for the front steps, leaving the hotel knowing more than when I arrived.
Sandy was right, Marvell’s spies were real.
The bartender thought Morris Beasley was a large jerk.
Ellen thought Myra was held hostage. And I think Ellen’s having an affair, but that’s a minor aside.
I was starving. I forgot to eat.
Even though I wanted to find Teddy and tell him about the rat poison problem, he’d have to wait. Finding Myra knocked him down a notch on my list of priorities.
Fanny appeared beside me rushing down the steps.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“A demon killed Veronica. She’s gone to the Beyond. We can’t get to her.”
“What? Wait for me.” I was too slow to catch her passing through the hotel’s brass and glass doors.
I chased after her, but the light changed before I could cross the street. Cars passed right through her. When the first car passed through her, I yelped and snapped my eyes closed. I knew the vehicles couldn’t hurt her, but it was against the forces of nature to see cars pass through her. Passing through glass and wood was a good trick, but a moving object like a car passing was a different thing altogether.
Impatiently, I pushed the crosswalk button a couple of times. A man walking his dog stopped next to me. The dog lifted his leg at the pole, but before the dog could do his business, the man jerked his leash.
“Rufus. Be nice. Nice evening, huh?”
“Lovely.”
I sent Myra a text: Where are you? Need to talk. Call me. She had better answer me.
When the light changed the crosswalk signal pinged.
“After you.” I waved Rufus and his man across.
“Thank you kindly.” They made fast work of the crosswalk and on the other side of Central Avenue, the dog guided his man north.
I scurried south, taking a wide berth at the entrance of the Southern Club.
At the Row’s door, I found the key and unlocked it, but didn’t bother turning on the lights because I was only passing through.
“I’m calling it a night.” I waited hoping Fanny would reply. Something had spooked her enough to keep her quiet and she didn’t answer.
25
Myra’s House
I needed to eat and started home. Leftover chocolate pie and ibuprofen would be a decent dinner. Fanny abandoned me without an explanation, and it was getting late. Halfway to my condo, I dialed Teddy from the car phone. When I bought the car, I loved the convenience of making a phone call with a one touch button. I’m slow with newfangled gadgets and hadn’t figured out how to text message through the steering wheel.
He didn’t answer. I didn’t leave a message. Where was he? Lacing beers with rat poison at Fat Jacks? Hope not.
At a stoplight, I had an epiphany—Myra’s silence was a bad omen.
The light turned green, I made a U-turn and drove like a crazy woman toward Myra’s house.
I have been to her home dozens of times, if that little. Even if Myra couldn’t sing, she entertained, and I was good at being entertained. Everyone adored her parties filled with jazzy music, delicious food and good gossip. Afterwards, everyone talked about Myra’s party and lit up the cell towers on the mountain behind Bathhouse Row.
By the time I arrived at her front door, it was dark and a glow from a nightlight came from the garage window. All the other windows facing the street were dark.
Maybe she was out of town?
Her lavish 1970s ranch style house sets along a swatch of Lake Hamilton shoreline. She completely modernized everything; kitchen, baths and windows. The marble floors are palatial. The rebuilt swimming pool was landscaped with native Arkansas plants. She had planned to flip the house, but once the renovations were complete, she loved the location too much to sell.
She hadn’t answered her phone, since when? The last contact I had with her was when she visited the Row. How long ago was that? My mind scrambled all the events, and I couldn’t remember what was what. Doubts erupted into fear, and I grabbed my cell phone to text.
At Myra’s. Come ASAP. Even if Teddy wasn’t answering my calls, he would read a text message.
“Myra’s gonna think I’m crazy.” I glanced back at the dark house, popped open the car door and hustled up the steps. A motion detector made the porch light come on. In the light, I watched my finger push the doorbell. It rang too clearly and I heard a sniveling whine.
A sniveling whine came from a slightly open door. Frankie, Myra’s Chihuahua, breathed through the crack. Frankie was home alone? She never left her dog at home for long, and especially not at night. With my finger, I eased the door open another half inch.
What in the world? Myra wouldn’t leave her door open or unlocked. Never!
Frankie snarled, backing up and didn’t leap out to take a hunk from my jugular. The dog has a terrible reputation for mauling slippers to death and I didn’t trust him one bit.
“Hey you,” I whispered at him, but he scurried away, sliding on the slick foyer floor.
“Myra? You home?” I stepped into the foyer. “Myra?”
The living room wall facing the lake was a bank of glass with a fabulous view of the far shoreline. Twinkling lights from boat docks and other homes reflected in the dark water. My footfalls echoed on the marble floors in the generous room. She hadn’t left a single lamp lit.
Why didn’t the alarm go off? I shouldn’t be trespassing.
At night, when she wasn’t entertaining, she had motorized drapes to cover the expanse of glass. Myra loved her guests, but alone she wanted privacy and safety. If she had gone out of town, she would’ve closed the drapes. With the drapes open and the lights on, nighttime boaters could see right into the house. Frankie licked my ankle as I stood at the windows gazing at a night fisherman trolling along the shoreline, his glowing lantern made yellow patterns in the water that would attract fish.
I picked up the dog, sniveling he proved his might before he shivered, snuggled into my arms. “Where’s your mama?”
Behind me, in the far reaches of the house something thudded.
“Haa!” I whirled toward the slight sound and my butterfly flinched a hard warning. I headed in the direction of the thud. Frankie couldn’t stand sitting and followed me down the long hall, nipping gently at my heels.
“Myra!” I yelled. “It’s me, Pattianna. I’m checking on you.” The thud happened again, and I was sorry I yelled.
I’m so dumb. I could be walking into a trap.
I followed the sound heading along a glassed atrium hallway filled with orchids toward where
I knew Myra’s bedroom was located. The bedroom door was closed and I hesitated outside it. There was a dried dollop of dog poop by the door.
“Myra, sugar, I’m coming in. You decent?”
If she pops out of the room with a shotgun pointed at my nose, we’ll have a good laugh later.
My phone pinged loudly, and I jumped back from the door.
“Holy!” I pulled it from my pocket.
Why are you there?
Teddy. Thank God.
I typed for what felt like an eternity: At Myra’s house. She’s missing. Door unlocked. Dog poop in the house.
I held my breath until Teddy replied: Calling Dick. Go back outside. Don’t touch anything.
I didn’t reply. He’d take care of everything else.
I wasn’t waiting on him. Dick drove too slowly. I turned the doorknob and surprisingly, the door wasn’t locked and I opened it a bit. Frankie slipped through the crack.
I waited, listening for Myra to shoo the dog. Even if she was indisposed, she would respond to him.
Nothing. I was about to trespass into her private boudoir.
I followed him into the disheveled room. Clothes were tossed haphazardly, and if she had left, she did it in a big hurry.
Frankie stood by the closed bathroom door shivering.
“Myra? You in there?” Another thud happened, followed by a muffled sound. Frankie shivered, and I turned the doorknob. It was locked. Another muffled sound happened, and I knew what I had to do.
I learned a lot typing those sheriff’s reports. I stepped back, hiked my leg and crammed my foot into the door just under the doorknob.
Much to my surprise, it popped open.
I was shocked by what I saw and froze. “Oh, my God! Myra?”
Fully dressed, Myra lay trussed up with duct tape around her wrists and ankles. She looked like a damaged shipping carton tossed into her spa tub. A stripe of duct tape covered her mouth, but not her nose. She was tied to the towel racks at each end of the tub with what looked like black pantyhose.
A tear tracked down Myra’s cheek. “Uhhmun naughann,” she mumbled, but she lay perfectly still.
I took a long assessment of the scene. I needed to be careful. It’d be a while before anyone else arrived. A steady, but slow drip of water fell into the partially filled tub.
“What the?” Balanced on her belly was the blue bath bomb I had given her as a gift. The unused Black Lily Shea soap bar lay on the tub’s rim.
I got onto my knees next to the tub. The water was about even with Myra’s hip bones.
“Dick’s on his way. Teddy too.” I reached for the faucet and tightened it until the drip stopped. Luckily, the stopper wasn’t sealed properly or she would’ve drowned in the tub.
Myra replied with a shiver. Her face was flushed a horrible hue of rose. If Sandy were here, she’d check her pulse. I was sure Myra’s blood pressure was sky high, and grateful she had some. Underneath the duct tape at her wrists dark bruises grew. She was in such bad shape; I couldn’t leave her lying in the tub until help arrived.
I patted her arm, and immediately regretted the gesture. That’s all I’m good for in a crisis, patting arms. Naturally, the next thing I said was, “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She pleaded with her eyes.
Hunkered over next to the tub, I examined the tape. “I need something to cut the tape.” I was afraid to rip the tape off her mouth, I might do more damage than good.
She mumbled a clear no and thudded her head against the metal tub. It sounded exactly like the thud I heard at first. How long had she lain banging her head against the metal?
Her gaze went back to the bath bomb.
I followed her gaze and realized, if that bath bomb fell into the water, we’d both die... quick like. “It’s poisoned, isn’t it?”
She moved her eyes up and down, confirming my suspicions.
“It’s Morris Beasley, isn’t it? Where is he?” Myra cast a look at the door. “Did he leave?” She nodded.
My butterfly fluttered to life. Heat rose up my chest, and I took a cleansing breath. I had to stay calm. The slightest slip might be deadly.
Morris could kill two old biddies with one more poisoned bath bomb.
“I understand. I’m gonna grab it.” I found a hand towel hanging by the sink and gently draped the towel over the bomb.
“Hold very still.” I hunkered, waiting and let her have a moment.
She knew the bomb was poisoned, otherwise, she wouldn’t have laid in the tub so long. She’s a formidable woman; a measly bath bomb wouldn’t have fazed her, not unless she knew it would kill her. If even the smallest drop of water touched it, we were goners.
“Ready?” Using both hands, I scooped the bath bomb off her belly, wrapped it in the towel and ran out the bathroom door.
I didn’t stop until I laid the bundled bomb on a grassy spot illuminated by landscape lights on the far side of the swimming pool. I backed away, watching it, not completely trusting the location. The grass might be wet. Dew could activate it. If the lawn sprinklers went off, we’d be goners.
Frankie sniveled at my ankles. I scooped him up. “C’mere, little dude. Let’s get outta here.”
In the background behind the sound of my thumping heart, I heard sirens.
As soon as I knew Myra was safe, I retreated getting out of Dick’s way. After the bomb was removed from the lawn, I sat on a poolside chaise lounge with Frankie curled, warming himself at my feet.
The crime scene investigators had shut off the sprinklers and took the bath bomb off the lawn. Now, they milled about talking quietly, looking for more clues in the dim patio and pool lights. Until daylight, they wouldn’t be sure they’d found everything. Who knows Morris might have laced the pot plants with poison.
Teddy crossed the lawn, coming my way.
“Hey you.” He sat on the end of the lounge next to the dog. Frankie growled warning Teddy not to get too close.
“They found Myra’s boat at Piney. He ditched it there.”
Piney was a suburb north of Hot Springs on the Ouachita River heading toward Lake Ouachita. “Really? He must’ve been desperate to take a boat?” When the water ended, where would a fugitive go? Was he on foot?
Piney was a good hike from Hot Springs.
“Figures. But he hasn’t been found.” Teddy dazed across the lake.
We sat for a minute with little left to say.
“Any word on Myra’s condition?” I asked.
She was traumatized and bruised. Even in her weakened condition, once the paramedics removed the duct tape from her mouth, Myra let the universe know what she thought of Morris Beasley.
“She’ll be okay.” Teddy shook off his daze. “They found his bag in Myra’s guest room.”
“Uh-huh. Why did he leave his suitcase and take the boat? The man must’ve been out of his mind.”
“Probably. There was a bottle of foot powder in his shaving kit. Dick thinks it’s the rat poison. They’ve sent it to toxicology.”
Had Morris brought the poison in the foot powder container with him? He could’ve gotten it on the plane even in a carryon bag.
“Dick told me the substance was banned.”
“Looks like he planned to kill her. The bath bombs made it convenient.”
Across the water, reflecting twinkling lights drew my attention. Myra’s view was good, but my third-floor condo had a better one.
We sat in silence again until he said, “When I heard about the rat poison, I was scared.”
We shared a look, but my heart leapt with relief. Teddy knew I was worried about the rat poison he spread in the building. Now with Morris implicated, I didn’t need to share my suspicions about his involvement.
“I called Dick and told him about poisoning the building. I didn’t…”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to… Did you believe I poisoned the bath bombs?”
I hesitated and couldn’t lie. “I didn’t know for sure.
I prayed it wasn’t you.”
I looked him in the eye, but he couldn’t hold my gaze and looked away across the lake again.
“It’s okay. I would’ve thought the same.”
From the open patio door, an investigator intervened in our awkward confessions. “We’re wrapping up. Let’s head out.”
“Guess I can go.” I pushed on Frankie and he growled.
“Can I drive you home?” Teddy stood, offering me his helping hand once again.
I took it and planted my feet on solid ground. “My car’s out front. I’m okay.” In the pool’s romantic lighting, he stood taller than I remembered.
“I understand.” He glanced down, clearly disappointed with my answer.
26
Anita
First thing the next morning, my cell phone pinged. Pulling the phone out from underneath my pillow, I read the display: Dick on KARK. Get up. Turn on TV.
It was from Anita’s number. Good grief, she had learned to text. That was enough to wake the dead.
I fumbled for the television remote and before I could fluff my pillows, Dick stood behind a podium, answering reporter’s questions.
“That’s right. We’re looking for Morris Beasley. A suspect in Veronica Lake’s death.” Dick wouldn’t be making a statement, if he didn’t believe Morris killed her. Myra must have rallied enough to tell Dick everything she knew about Veronica’s death.
Dick held a photo of the man that he most probably got from Mike. The clown had one redeeming factor. I recognized Morris in the photo Dick showed the camera, but I would never forget his ugly face.
“So, Sheriff Strand, the suspect was from Hot Springs?” A reporter asked.
“Yes. He’s an Arkansas native. A member of the prominent Beasley family.” He would think the Beasley’s prominent.
Another text pinged: Beasleys.
A killer from a prominent Arkansas family will set the cell towers ablaze.
Another text: Gangster.
My peaceful life without Anita knowing how to text was over. I knew she meant the Beasley family were former gangsters, not Dick. He could’ve been a gangster, since extortion runs through his veins.
Bath Bombs & Beyond Page 18
