Killer Chameleon

by Chassie West

  There was another heavy, gloom-filled silence. Finally Duck rose, spinning his chair around.

  “All right, listen up. Clarissa, you just became family. Leigh and I can’t replace your twin but we’ll do everything we can to support you and see things right.”

  She blinked, dabbed at her nose, and nodded. “You’re a good man, Dillon. Thank you.”

  He wasn’t finished. Eyes narrowed, he turned his attention to me. “I know you, Leigh Warren. Nothing those guys said makes a difference to you; you’re gonna keep poking and prying to find this woman. I’m going on record here to say I’m gonna be poking and prying along with you.”

  “Me, too,” Tina spoke up, to no one in particular. She couldn’t seem to look anyone in the face, especially me.

  Tank nodded. “Count me in.”

  Clarissa’s eyes welled. “I know you’re doing it for me and Sister—well, partly, anyway. And I really appreciate it, but I don’t want any of you to risk your jobs. Sister wouldn’t want it either. You heard what they said.”

  “We heard them loud and clear,” Duck said. “And we don’t care. We’re gonna get this woman off the street. And if Thack and Evans don’t want our help . . .” He looked at me. I knew precisely what he was thinking.

  “To hell with them,” I finished for him.

  12

  IT WAS STILL INKY-DARK WHEN DUCK KISSED me awake. “Rise and shine, babe. Breakfast is ready. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

  I rolled over and willed the face of the clock into focus. Six-ten. “Why so early?” He smelled of soap and aftershave and, in fact, was already dressed. My brain cleared, his last statement finally registering. “What do you mean, everyone’s waiting? Who’s here?”

  “Tank and Tina. Move it, sleepyhead. We’ve got things to discuss.” He yanked the covers to the foot of the bed and handed me his robe.

  I made do with minimum ablutions and toothpaste, pulled a rake through my hair, and managed to get to the kitchen just as Tina yelled, “Hey, I’m eating whether you’re here or not!”

  “I’m here, I’m here,” I said, tripping over the hem of Duck’s robe in my hurry.

  “Morning,” she muttered, in my general direction. She still hadn’t looked at me in the eye since her outburst of the night before. If this was to continue, it would be a long morning.

  One good look at the spread on the table, however, made me willing to put up with anything: a platter of crisp bacon, another of fluffy scrambled eggs half a foot high, and a third of fried apples, a breakfast favorite of mine that Nunna fixed every Sunday the Lord sent.

  “Good grief, Duck, what time did you start cooking?”

  “I didn’t.” Pulling a chair out for me, he jerked his head toward Tina. “She did. Even brought everything with her.”

  Tank grabbed the plate of bacon. “Had me shopping for brown eggs at five o’damn clock in the morning. Have you any idea how hard it is to find a store open that early? And they had to be brown, too. Only African-American eggs for Tina J. Younts.”

  “Oh, shut your yap.” She took the plate from him, forked three strips for herself, four for him, and passed it to me. “I don’t care what anybody says, they just taste better.”

  The bacon looked ready for an ad in a magazine, lean, straight, and crisp. “Lord, Tina, you did yourself proud.”

  That elicited a pained smile. “It was the least I could do.” She got up, grabbed the coffeepot, began filling cups, but put it down before she’d finished. “I owe you an apology, Leigh. Well, two, actually.”

  “Two?”

  Nodding, she continued serving the coffee. “You have to understand. Aunt Sister was losing it, but none of us could bring ourselves to admit it. To be truthful, we were taking the easy way out because getting her to a doctor was like bathing a cat. It wasn’t just that she was forgetful; I mean, you expect that at their ages—”

  “How old are they?” Duck interrupted, helping himself to eggs.

  “Seventy-four.”

  “Seventy—” He halted, midscoop. “You’re kidding. Why were they still working?”

  “Because they wanted to. Neat n’ Tidy is a family business started by my grandmother’s sisters. Practically all of us have worked for it at one time or another, and Aunt Sis especially loved putting things right, she called it. After Auntie Clar retired from teaching full-time, she started helping out with her twin’s clients because it was getting too much for her. But I have to be honest, Aunt Sis was always one sheet short of a linen set. She could clean her ass off but that’s the only thing she could be trusted to do perfectly. Her head was always somewhere else.”

  “Get to the point, honey,” Tank said, shoveling sugar into his coffee. “You’ve got to be at the doctor’s by eight.”

  She made a face at him and sat down. So far she hadn’t eaten a thing, which meant she was more upset than I’d realized. Anything bad enough to come between Tina and a plate of food had to be on a par with Armageddon.

  “What I’m trying to say,” she continued, “is that when I talked to Auntie Clar on the phone out at your new house, she told me that Aunt Sis had screwed up somehow, that it had something to do with you and a box. The problem was, she wouldn’t explain, said they wanted to talk to Duck about it first because it had happened here. Then they intended to tell you, Leigh, and they were terrified you were gonna sue them over it.”

  “Sue them?” I put my fork down. “Over a stupid box? What would make them think that?”

  “According to Auntie Clar, you said you would.”

  “How could I, when I didn’t even know what had happened to it? I . . .” Then I remembered running off at the mouth, something about suing Duck’s pants off. “Oh, no,” I said, groaning, and explained. “I was kidding. I’m planning to marry the man, for pete’s sake. How could Clarissa think I’d actually sue him?”

  Tina sighed. “Because she did. Auntie Clar, that is, years ago. She got left at the altar and sued the dude for breach of promise. Won, too.”

  “Holy shit.” Duck shook his head. “Who’d have thought it?”

  “They did.” Tank gestured toward his wife with his fork. “Her people have this thing about the justice system: if somebody does you wrong, sue ’em. They’re regulars in small claims court. Go to a family reunion and sooner or later you’ll hear that Cousin So-and-So’s suit is scheduled for whenever and Great-uncle Doozy-whatsis finally decided to settle.”

  “You make it sound like it’s a hobby,” Tina grumbled. “It’s not. They’ve never had a suit dismissed as being capricious, so lay off my folks. What was I saying?” she asked, then remembered. “Oh, yeah. I owe you an apology, Leigh, for not saying anything after I got off the phone with Auntie Clar, but she made me promise. Then when I saw Aunt Sis curled up in the trunk of your car and the box behind her, I figured she’d done something dumb just to avoid winding up in court. You didn’t deserve what I said then and I’m sorry again, I really am.”

  “Tina.” I nudged her plate closer to her. “Apologies accepted. Now eat.”

  “Honest?” Her expression was comically pitiable.

  “Honest. Your eggs are getting cold.”

  “Women,” Tank muttered, his mouth full. Tina whapped him on the back of the head with a pot holder. He grinned, she smiled with relief, and all was right with the world again.

  Except for the clink of cutlery against china and the ccasional crunch of bacon, the kitchen was silent while we got down to business and, oh, the fried apples were to die for.

  Once we’d finished, I started up to clear the table, but Duck forestalled the effort.

  “Let ’em wait. We’ve got stuff to discuss, then I’ve got to get out of here. The whole point in my getting up early was to go in before my shift and see what I can find out.”

  “About . . .?” I asked.

  “We have to get this woman for Clarissa and Claudia, and you. So I need to see if Willard’s gotten anywhere, for a start. I wish I knew him. It would make things s
impler.”

  “Let me do it,” Tank volunteered. “We go back a ways.”

  “Great. They’ll have dusted the Chevy and the box, so I’ll check to see if we got lucky with prints. Then I’ll tackle Marty, see if there’s anything in the system that’ll help. If I take her a carton of Newports, maybe she’ll give me a printout of your arrest record.”

  Marty. Martha Makrow Jensen, twenty-year veteran with the D.C. Metropolitan Police and expert at massaging the department’s computers to find out anything one wanted to know. She was almost as good as Plato dePriest, someone on my list of people to see today.

  Tina pecked crumbs off the plate that had held the toast. “I’m kind of in a bind. I’ve got the doctor this morning and court this afternoon, which I’d forgotten. And after work, I promised I’d take Auntie Clar shopping for a dress to bury Aunt Sis in, so I won’t be able to drive you around, but not to worry. Chet’s letting you use his car until he’s finished getting the paint off yours.”

  Either she had one helluva secret she could use as blackmail or his car was a dog. “That’s awfully nice of him, Tina. What does he drive?”

  “A Vette.”

  “As in Corvette?” Duck asked, brows flapping like a flag in the wind. He’d kill for a Corvette.

  “Yup.” Her smile was sweet, belying the devilish glint in her eyes. “Loves the thing like it’s his firstborn child, and a surefire way to see that he gets your car back to you in record time. Says he’ll drop the Corvette off about nine.”

  “I’m speechless. Thanks, Tina. And don’t even ask,” I warned Duck. I could see his wheels turning, trying to figure a way to get me to trade wheels with his oil-burner.

  It was time to broach the subject I’d avoided. If nothing else, it would take his mind off the Corvette. “There’s one more avenue I have to pursue if I’m to eliminate possibilities, and that’s women you’ve dated, Duck.”

  Thunderheads gathered in his eyes, the kind pregnant with cloud-to-ground lightning. “Anyone particular in mind?”

  “Ilene Quarles,” Tina said, elbow on table, chin on fist.

  She must have struck a chord because his expression became one of speculation.

  “Touché. She did make a real pest of herself. Only thing is, she couldn’t pass for Leigh in a month of Sundays.”

  “Damn. You’re right.” She nudged my foot under the table, confirming my suspicion that she had tossed that name into the hat to take the heat off me and at least make him consider the possibility. “How about Dana Underdown or Selena What’s-her-name? They sorta look like Leigh, sort of.”

  I felt Duck’s gaze and found him scrutinizing me as if for the first time. It was a little creepy, making me sympathize with specimens under a microscope.

  He nodded, slowly. “More than sort of. Guess I was working my way toward you even back then, babe. Okay, I’ll track them down and check ’em out.”

  I wasn’t sure I was particularly happy about that, but it made sense. He knew them; I didn’t.

  “What’s on your plate today, babe?” he asked.

  “Enough to keep me busy for a week.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “I need to eliminate the teenager and Nell Gwynn once and for all, even if it means contacting every member of Gracie’s class. Those two had to have been invited by somebody. There’s Plato dePriest to see, and Dolly at Graystone. I want her to take a good look at me and give me similarities and differences with the woman she saw.” That took care of three fingers. “I’ve got to file a change of address at the post office, buy Janeece a welcome mat, and I still haven’t picked up my suit for the wedding. That’s for starters. Then there’s Ourland and the police station to check on. And Elizabeth—I mean, Grandmother—is waiting for an answer about the house. Oh, and Tracy should be back from her conference in Atlanta.”

  “Who’s Tracy?” Tina asked.

  “A cousin who could pass for my sister. She’ll be able to tell me if there’s any other female in the family who’s our age and looks like us. It’s a reach, but I’d be stupid not to check.”

  Duck tapped me on the forearm. “Why not ask your mom’s sisters? They’d know.”

  “Because they want to make a bridal gown for me. I don’t want to hurt their feelings, and I’m running out of ways to say no. This family thing’s a lot more complicated than I expected.”

  Suddenly Tank whacked the table with a hammy fist, making the dishes jump. “Speaking of families, I just remembered something.”

  His wife gazed at him sidewise. “This had better be good.”

  “It is. Think back, Tee. Remember a certain juvenile who got picked up during a raid of Helle’s Hole a few years back, the one you helped out?”

  I frowned. “A juvenile? You’re kidding.” Helle’s Hole. Strippers. Lap dancing.

  Tina’s jaw hung slack, her eyes the size of the toast plate. “My God. I’d forgotten that. She’d gone on a dare with some college-age friends, used someone else’s ID. Once she admitted who she was, I recognized her last name, realized she’d simply gotten in over her head, and called her dad to come get her.”

  “In other words,” Duck said, pouring the last of his coffee into the sink, “someone owes you. And that would be . . .?”

  She shot him a smug smile. “My lips are sealed. Let’s just say that there’s a distinct possibility Aunt Sis’s autopsy may be performed before the day’s over.” She hopped up, placed her dish on the counter. “Move it, Tankie. Places to go, people to see.”

  The leisurely breakfast was over. Ten minutes later, they were gone.

  I checked the time. It was still a little early for making calls, except, I reminded myself, all the women on the list Gracie had given Duck were retired and probably at home.

  I cleaned the kitchen, then myself, enjoying the invigorating sting of Duck’s fancy dual-head shower, almost worth marrying him for, even if he’d been a loser. I dressed, opting for fancy undies, my better slacks, a silk blouse, and a good blazer, with the snobs at the Bridal Bower in mind. At eight-fifteen I got on the phone and, as I’d suspected, woke only one person on Gracie’s list. All the others sounded bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and more than willing to indulge in a rehash of the decorating, caroling, invasion by the police, and grilling that had ended their evening. None admitted knowing Georgia Keith or Nell Gwynn. Two, however, assumed that they’d been related.

  “A similarity, doncha know,” a Mrs. Williams told me. “The shape of the face, more than anything else. Must be some Caucasian in the young lady’s family, though. Long, straight hair halfway down her back. The one my age with the charming accent, she wore hers in a short Afro like, gray all over. Very attractive.”

  Short gray hair like the driver of the compact?

  A Miss Cobey, however, wasn’t quite as complimentary. “Too much foundation for a woman her age. I used to sell Mary Kay, so I notice that kind of thing. No reason for all that makeup either. I mean, it wasn’t a dressy occasion, we were decorating a tree, for God’s sake. And she had quite good skin underneath all that goop. I told her she was ruining her pores lathering it on with a trowel like that. I had hoped she might have taken the hint when she left to go to the bathroom, since it would have been a good opportunity to wipe some of it off, but she didn’t. She’ll learn.”

  “Whose bathroom did she use?” I asked, paying attention for the first time. There was no public restroom in the building.

  “I don’t know, I’m sure. She got on the elevator, so I assumed she went to someone’s apartment.”

  Damn. Eight apartments on each of five floors. It would take me a couple of days, if not longer, to catch everyone. I could just hear myself: “I’m sorry to bother you, but did you let a lady with a Jamaican accent use your bathroom on Monday?”

  Figuring I’d get other calls out of the way while I had the time, I caught Tracy as she was about to leave for work as a branch manager of one of the county’s libraries.

  “Hi, cuz,” she trilled. How could anyone sound so chirp
y this early? “When are you coming out? It’s been a while since we had a girly session over a plate of fries.”

  “Soon,” I promised. “I’ll make this fast. You know the family. Is there anyone else who looks like us, enough to pass for you or me if someone didn’t know us well?”

  “Well, that’s one hell of a question, cousin. Let me think.” I heard the tap-tap of a fingernail, but it didn’t take her long. “In a word, no. Not even close. What’s going on?”

  “Long story and you don’t have time. Perhaps this weekend. Thanks, Tracy. Tell your mom I said hi.” I hung up before she could ask more questions.

  Next was Elizabeth, who sounded delighted that we would accept the house. I put her on my list of weekend visits and phoned Plato next or, rather, his voice mail, which meant he either was in the john or didn’t feel like being bothered. There was no question that he was home. Agoraphobic, he only left his sanctuary under pain of death. I left a message that I’d call him later and just might stop by. It paid to warn him or he’d ignore the doorbell.

  Someone knocked at nine on the dot, and I opened the door to a masculine version of Tina a foot taller in height and a lot less talkative. With a minimum of words he informed me that my car would be ready tomorrow, the next day at the latest, that there was a LoJack installed in the Corvette and alarms up the wazoo, but regardless, he’d just as soon I not park it in a neighborhood where it was guaranteed someone would try to steal it. He showed me how to work the remote, dropped the keys in my hand, and left looking as if he was losing his only friend in the world. Once I saw it, I understood why.

  Turquoise, long, and low-slung, it was parked in someone’s reserved slot, the reason perfectly clear; it was the only space open with a light directly above it. No dark corners for this baby. Not only could you not miss it, you’d be clearly visible if you tried to steal it.

  I got in it and prayed that mine would be ready tomorrow. My knee, unused to having to bend at such an acute angle in order for me to sit, snarled at me. This turquoise beauty was so low, I might as well have been sitting on the ground. I wondered if I’d be able to get out without a hoist of some kind. Then I started the engine and forgot any misgivings I had. This thing had Power with a capital P!