Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Heather Graham

  Lori shook her head, spearing her spinach angrily. “He didn’t kill her.”

  “Okay! I didn’t really think that he did. I mean, none of us thought that any one of us would ever do anything like that—it was just plain tragic. Mandy was trying to be a hotshot in the water, and she tangled herself in the vines. That’s the way I saw it. If I ever had any evil thoughts, the damned cops caused them.”

  Lori exhaled. Well, that was true. The cops were the only ones suspicious that day.

  “Things are different now, though, of course.”

  “What?”

  “Well, Ellie Metz was no accident. She wasn’t just murdered, she was butchered. Pass the ketchup, will you, sis?”

  A security guard at the exit stopped Sean before he could leave the morgue.

  “Mr. Black?”

  “Yes?”

  “Detective Garcia asked me to give you a message. He’s having a late lunch with friends at Monty’s—wants you to come. Says he promises it will be interesting.”

  “Thanks,” Sean said.

  He left the morgue, pausing just outside to stare up at the blazing sun. Hell. He’d told himself that it was possible to be here, and not live in the past. He’d barely been back, and he was becoming buddy-buddy with those who had—unwittingly, perhaps—half skewered him a lifetime ago.

  But as he hailed a cab, he knew that he would be heading for the restaurant.

  He’d liked Monty’s as a kid; it hadn’t changed much. There was an indoor restaurant, and an outdoor restaurant. Wood decking, palm trees, cats, a bay breeze. On the water, shaded, the tables were cool enough, and he discovered Ricky out at a table directly on the water with two other men. They’d obviously ordered some time ago, and were just finishing up. Ricky’s friends were apparently on duty while Ricky was off. Ricky had a beer, the other two were drinking ice tea. Ricky was in cutoffs and a T-shirt, the others were in dockers and polo shirts.

  “Hey, Sean!” Ricky called, rising.

  His companions started to rise as well; Sean waved them back down, sitting himself.

  “Bill Crowley, Alex Hanson,” Ricky said. “Sean Black.”

  They all nodded.

  “These guys are on my team,” Ricky said.

  “Team?”

  “Task force. There’s ten of us, hunting down clues on the Eleanor Metz murder,” Crowley explained. He was fortyish, balding slightly, with a basset-hound look that seemed to state he’d been in homicide a long time. He smiled.

  “Ten cops, one murder, a task force, that’s interesting,” Sean said.

  “Well, the publicity on this one calls for immediate action,” Hanson said. He was younger, late twenties, crew cut, the kind of physique that meant he spent several hours daily at a gym. “The mayor is convinced we’re going to plunge the place into a rep so bad, we’ll never crawl out if we don’t get the guy fast.”

  “And Dr. Peterson—one of the force shrinks—thinks this guy probably started out abusing women, maybe turned to rape, and then murder,” Bill Crowley said. “He thinks that—” Crowley broke off, then shrugged. “We weren’t sworn to confidentiality, but we don’t want this out, either. Anyway, the shrink on this one thinks the guy has killed before, and his victims were buried well enough to decompose so that the murders just weren’t discovered.” He looked at the others guiltily, as if he shouldn’t have spoken.

  “Sean isn’t going to say anything. He’s been at the morgue already. Gillespie is using him,” Ricky said.

  “Oh, yeah? I thought you were a writer?” Hanson said.

  Sean started to answer, but Ricky was a step ahead of him, slamming him on the back. “My old buddy here is a lot of things. He’s got a doctorate in forensic anthropology.”

  “Hey, great,” Hanson said. He swallowed a long swig of his ice tea, then shrugged. “All right, what the hell is that?”

  Sean grinned. “My specialty is bones. I started with a lot of field digs… ancient peoples, that kind of thing. Digging up ancient burial pits, we can learn about evolution and the way that people lived. That kind of thing. And we can also study more recent bones. Find out what happened to people.”

  “Murder victims,” Crowley said.

  “Yeah. And sometimes, not. Bones can tell a lot of stories.”

  “How do you know if someone was stabbed without flesh and blood?” Hanson asked.

  “Sometimes, you can’t. Mortal wounds can be inflicted without striking bone. But murder victims usually fight, and murderers can seldom be so careful that they can make sure they don’t strike bone. Scratches, abrasions… a lot can be seen on bone.”

  Crowley sat back, looking at him. “So that’s why your stuff sounds so good.”

  “You read my books?”

  Crowley nodded. “I had just figured you learned about cops and court from the time you were arrested here.”

  “Ah,” Sean said.

  “That was a bad rap. They were just looking for something. Couldn’t haul in any of those rich kids back then, though I think things are getting better now.”

  “You were on the force then?”

  “A rookie. It was a dumb call all the way around when they arrested you.”

  “I wasn’t there,” Hanson said, “but I met Rutgers, and he was one asshole.”

  Rutgers. The cop who had been the first plainclothesman at the rock pit. The cop who had insisted there had been a murder, long before the M.E.s had ever taken a look at Mandy’s body.

  “The D.A.’s office issued the warrants,” Sean said evenly. Seemed like he could never get away from it. Miami. Big city. Lots of crime. But people didn’t forget.

  “On Rutgers’ insistence; and they made a mistake. Obviously. They didn’t have enough evidence, and that came out at the trial. They wasted the taxpayers’ money, and they ripped up a lot of lives,” Crowley said. Rising, he offered his hand to Sean. “Must have seemed like the whole city was out to lynch you, Mr. Black. There were a lot of us on your side all the time. Alex, we’ve got to head back in. Ricky, see you at the office. Mr. Black, nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Alex Hanson agreed, pumping Sean’s hand. “Hey, I don’t mean to impose, but—”

  “If you’d like, I’ll have Ricky bring you both some signed copies of my books,” Sean said.

  Bill Crowley beamed. “My wife will sure be impressed. Thanks.”

  Ricky slammed Sean on the shoulder again with his palm in a good old boy gesture. “Man, you’re all right, Sean. You always were, way back when. Hey, Brenda!” he said, calling to the waitress. “We need a couple of drafts over here. Thanks, Sean. This is really great of you. Crowley is a big fan.”

  “Yeah. No problem.”

  Dark eyes alight, Ricky was in a good mood, new murder or no. Yeah, they were buddies. Except that Ricky, like the rest of them, had basically turned his back on Sean when his folks had told him that he was just bad blood.

  What the hell had he expected? They’d all been kids.

  The drafts arrived. Ricky lifted his glass. “To Eleanor LeBlanc Metz. May the poor bitch rest in peace. Jesus,” he said, setting his beer down and running his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Sean, isn’t it strange. I’m homicide, I do this for a living, and suddenly it’s Ellie on that slab, and I’m feeling as sick as a kid and remembering…” He paused and looked at Sean. He lifted his beer again. “I was one royal shit back then. If you’d thumbed your nose at all of us, it would have been simple justice on your part.”

  Startled, Sean lifted his beer to Ricky. “We were all just kids,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Ricky murmured, an awkward smile on his face as he accepted Sean’s forgiveness. “Just kids. Want to go to the funeral with me tomorrow?”

  Ellie’s funeral.

  “Sure.”

  Somehow, he knew that they’d all be there.

  Lori ran into Muffy in the rest room.

  She was powdering her nose, but saw Lori in the mirror as Lori came in. “Oh, hi! Nice to see
you again, sorry, I really hope that I didn’t disturb you. I guess I’m just overly friendly, too trusting and too much like a puppy in need of affection—that’s what my dad always said, and of course, that I kind of talk on and on and don’t stop. Oops, sorry, guess that’s what I’m doing now.”

  Lori laughed, walked up to the mirror, and set her purse on the counter to pull out her brush. “It’s great that you’re friendly, Muffy. Don’t let people tell you otherwise.”

  Muffy closed her compact, smiling. “You know, that’s really nice of you to say. Andrew always made it sound like his kinfolk were all snobs. You’re not like that at all.”

  “Thanks. Have you worked with Andrew long?”

  “Oh, on and off. I don’t work with him all the time, you know. Depends on who is directing what.”

  “I guess there’s a lot going on down here.”

  “Oh, yeah, the market for this stuff is huge down here.”

  “You like working in film?”

  “Well, I’d like to be in the films more than I am.”

  “Oh, well… you’re in the business, surely you can get into the pictures more—”

  “Oh, yeah, some, but I’m getting old. They like the young chicks to actually be in the pictures. As far as getting the dudes up for it, there’s really nothing like an old broad like me with lots of experience.”

  “Excuse me?” Lori said, confused. Then she felt her cheeks flame, and she felt like an idiot.

  Muffy hadn’t noticed. She was patting her hair. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m good at my job. I make a lot of money at it. I can take a guy from zero to sixty in seconds flat. Saves the producers a bundle, because there’s nothing like waiting around for the guys to get to it when they’ve already shot a w—” She broke off then, staring at Lori, and blushed furiously herself. “You know,” she said awkwardly, “young guys, they get to it quick, and then they’re like wet noodles. Young girls just don’t know what I know that can… get a noodle going again, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, sure. And I’m sure that you are great at what you do.”

  Muffy smiled broadly, “Well, I’ll be seeing you. I hope. Take care, Lori.”

  “You take care, too, Muffy,” Lori said. She waited a few moments after the other woman had left.

  Then she returned to her table.

  Andrew had just ordered them coffee. She thanked him, and sipped her coffee.

  “You know, Andrew, I don’t mean to be a pest, but I’m still confused. Just what is it that Muffy gets ready for you on your sets?”

  Andrew almost spit coffee. “Muffy, uh…”

  “She gets things ready,” Lori said, staring at him. “What things.”

  Andrew stared back at her. “Well, she, uh, she just prepares things…”

  Lori leaned forward. “What things?” Andrew was bloodred.

  “Body parts?” Lori inquired sweetly.

  “Oh, Jesus—” Andrew began, eyes lowered.

  “Why the hell did you lie to me? Why do you pretend to be making nature films—”

  “I am making nature films, and I do work for PBS—”

  “Please don’t tell me that Muffy does animals.”

  “Jeez, Lori—”

  “Jeez, Andrew!”

  “Who the hell are you to judge me?” he demanded angrily.

  “I’m not judging you. I’m just your sister, and I don’t understand why you lied to me, why you didn’t trust me with the truth!”

  He sat back, stared at her sulkily. “You don’t always tell me the truth.”

  She hesitated. “I share a lot with you.”

  He sighed. “I am doing everything I said I was doing. I didn’t lie. I’m just doing a little bit more, that’s all. And you’ve got to know all the truth, well, Muffy is a fluffer. They call her Muffy Fluffy, and she’s so good at what she does, she could probably raise the dead. She’s actually a really nice person—”

  “Yeah, she seems to be,” Lori interrupted softly.

  Andrew sighed, looking at her again. “Lori, the folks would just die if they knew.”

  “I know that, but I’m not the folks.”

  He nodded. “It’s not something that I want to do, but I do want to make films, and I just wasn’t surviving. I can do one porno flick and support myself for months, and help finance my other work.”

  “I’m not judging you, Andrew, honestly.”

  He shook his head angrily. “Okay, so I’m judging myself, and I’m disappointed in me.”

  “Andrew—”

  “Let’s get out of here. I didn’t expect to see anyone I work with here—I do my adult stuff in other counties most of the time.”

  “Andrew, look, I’m really sorry. If I can help, let me know. I won’t tell anyone—”

  “Oh, some of our friends know,” he said dryly. “Old Brad needed money once, and he ‘acted’ for me.”

  “What?” Lori said, startled.

  “He said he needed the money. I think he had a good time. The girls all thought he was just drop dead gorgeous, and they fawned all over him.”

  “Did—did Jan know?”

  “No, of course not! He’d die if his daughter ever found out! Lori, you wouldn’t—”

  “No, I wouldn’t say anything!”

  “And don’t forget, our folks would have heart attacks on the spot—”

  “Andrew, I won’t say anything. Anything at all.”

  “I’m quitting as soon as I can.”

  “You’re all grown-up, Andrew. That’s a decision you have to make for yourself.”

  He’d been so anxious to leave. He suddenly settled back. He smiled at her. “You know what, little sister?”

  “What?”

  “It’s sure good to have you home.”

  She smiled. “It’s good to be home.”

  She wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. But one thing was sure; home was just chock-full of surprises.

  When they finally left, Andrew kissed her cheek before she slid into the driver’s seat of her car. “I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “Nine-thirty?” she asked.

  “Ellie’s funeral,” he reminded her. “Bright and early.”

  “Ellie’s funeral, bright and early.”

  “Hail, hail. I’ll bet the gang will all be there,” he said.

  He closed her door, waved, and walked away.

  8

  Ellie’s coffin was brass with handsome crosses at the edges. When Lori and Andrew arrived, a soprano was singing a sad lament about God’s will, and the priest was consoling her family in the front pew. Andrew urged his sister toward a rear pew. By rote, Lori slid to her knees at the pew and lowered her head. She tried to say the right words for Ellie, yet she couldn’t really remember her friend, and in her mind, her prayers sounded hollow. When she thought about the horror of the murder, however, she was able to pray that Ellie had found peace. She then found herself raising her eyes, though her head remained bowed, and she watched as others began to pour into the church.

  There were a number of women who were sobbing with a true emotion that tore at Lori’s heart. She was startled when she felt a tap on her shoulder, and realized she had been studying the women so fiercely that she hadn’t realized that her cousin, Josh, had come to sit next to her. She rose from her knees to the seat, offering Josh a warm hug. She sat back a little, looking at him. She hadn’t seen him in several years, but he hadn’t changed much. He was a striking man with reddish hair, green eyes, and a handsome tan. Her mother had told her that his folks were proud of him, but deeply dismayed. He had a great state-of-the-art bachelor condo, a red Prowler, and a yacht— but no steady girlfriend, and no prospects for fatherhood in the near future. He looked happy and healthy to Lori, however, and she was convinced that Josh was doing just fine. He certainly wasn’t over the hill, and his only real problem was that he was an only child and his folks were really anxious on the grandchildren issue.

  “Good to see
you, kid,” Josh told her.

  “You, too,” she whispered.

  “You look great.”

  “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

  She stared forward again, and saw a man rising from the front pew to greet another man.

  “Two of her exes,” Josh whispered to her. He shrugged. “I worked on her last divorce.”

  Lori nodded, then asked Josh, “Do they think that any of the men in her life might—”

  “Those guys were both out of state,” Josh whispered.

  “How do you know?”

  “Ricky has headed up a lot of the investigations,” Josh said simply.

  “Ah.”

  “There’s your old friend Susan Nichols,” Andrew said, nudging Lori from the other side.

  Lori had kept up with Jan, but she’d only heard about Susan through Jan now and then. She leaned forward. Susan was still very pretty, petite and well built, with long dark hair, dark eyes, and beautiful ivory skin. Right now, however, she looked rough. Like the other women who had come in earlier, Susan was suffering real, close, and personal grief, crying so that rivers of tears fell down her cheeks, no matter how she tried to staunch them.

  “They hung out now and then,” Josh offered, whispering in Lori’s ear.

  “Did they?”

  “They were both divorced, no children, you know.”

  She nodded, then leaned forward frowning as she tried to place the man who followed in after Susan, tapping her on the shoulder, then holding her in a close, comforting embrace when she turned to him. The man was tall, brown-haired, with clean-cut, yet ruggedly handsome features; he wore an expensive Armani suit very well, being both well muscled and lean.

  “Don’t you recognize him?” Andrew asked her.

  “Jeff Olin. Mandy’s brother,” Josh offered.

  Jeff looked good, really good, tanned and healthy, and prosperous. Andrew had said that he was an attorney. Lori was glad for him; he had taken his sister’s death hard, and the last time she had seen him, he had been stunned and numb, a lost little boy.

  “And hail, hail, as I said…” Andrew added as someone else entered the church.

  Lori turned. Ricky Garcia, Ted Neeson, and Sean and Michael Black were entering together. Lori found herself smiling slightly. They looked like a team out of Baywatch, all dressed up for the church shot. Big guys, young, handsome, bodyguards out of the Bold and the Beautiful.