Killer Chameleon

by Chassie West

  “Me neither, but there is something familiar about her.” He stared at the face a little longer, then shook his head. “Can’t put my finger on it. Don’t worry, it’ll come. Let’s find Marshall and Billings.”

  Eddie was right; I had never met these two but remembered them from Jensen’s wedding, only because Marshall reminded me of Tom Selleck and Billings was a clone of Donald Trump. They looked me over openly and grinned.

  “A dead ringer for the woman we saw,” Billings announced. “Lady, you’ve got a twin walking around out there.”

  I swallowed my disappointment. “Then you won’t recognize this woman,” I said, and handed them the blow-ups.

  “Uh-oh.” Marshall grimaced, peering over the other’s shoulder. He looked up at me, down at the photos, then up and down again. “It is her, Bill. Look at the profile. That’s where we made our mistake. From the side, you two are a lot alike. And from where we were sitting, that’s pretty much all we saw, her profile.”

  “I’m not sure,” Billings said, clearly undecided. “What about when she was up dancing?”

  “Well, I don’t know about you but between that strapless dress and the moves she was making out on that dance floor, I wasn’t paying all that much attention to her face then.” He flushed. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

  “Did she at any point tell anyone her name was Leigh Warren?” I asked.

  “We wouldn’t know.” Marshall glanced at Billings for confirmation. “We were in the corner, too far away to hear anything she said. She was just part of the scenery. We were watching the bartender, at least most of the time. That’s why we were there.”

  “What it is,” Billings said, giving the snapshots back to me, “is one of those cases where two people look alike when you see them separately but not when they’re together. Know what I mean?” he asked me, his face intent.

  I acknowledged that I did, remembering a pair of fraternal twins in Sunrise who fit that description to a T.

  “We’re really sorry.” Marshall tucked his cap under his arm. “I hope we didn’t cause any trouble between you and Duck. It was an honest mistake.”

  “Forget it. And thanks, both of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said together and headed toward the locker room.

  “Well, that was certainly enlightening,” Eddie grumbled, as I trailed him back to his desk.

  “It really was. What they said made perfect sense and it explains how she’s gotten away with things. Besides, there’s no proof that she gave my name, and she couldn’t have known there would be cops on the scene.”

  Eddie slouched in his chair and extended a hand for the photos again. He stared at them intently. “I still say I’ve seen her somewhere, and it’s gonna drive me nuts until I figure out where.”

  He made copies for me and kept a set for himself. “You watch your step,” he advised as we parted. “Marilyn and I want you and Duck to be Pat’s godparents—”

  I squealed, surprising both of us, him because he wasn’t expecting it and me because I’d never imagined myself as a squealer. “You do? Honest? Oh, Eddie I’d be honored.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I want you honored and in one piece. So you take care of yourself, hear?”

  I floated out of there. Me, a godmother. Now, all I had to do was stay sane so I could enjoy it. That meant getting this woman off my back once and for all.

  It occurred to me that I should check on Clarissa, but had no idea where she lived. I darted back into the station, borrowed a phone book from a harried desk sergeant and found her listed on Holly Street in Northwest Washington—in other words, not that far from where I’d lived for almost ten years.

  It was one of those old, white clapboard houses, two-stories, black shutters at the windows, and surrounded with azaleas that would enrich the small yard with color come spring. There was an aura of permanence about the whole block, the sidewalks lined with trees that probably predated the houses they would shade in summer. This was truly representative of the heart of the city, the one rarely seen by tourists. There were hundreds of such old neighborhoods where residents had lived and thrived for decades in quiet stability, far from the monuments and white marble institutes of government and the hordes alighting from chartered buses at the Mall. Yet the most the public ever saw on TV and in newspapers were the recognizable symbols of government and memorials or the seedier areas of the city where crime and poverty thrived. A shame, and a disservice to the rest.

  Once on Clarissa’s front porch, I hesitated. From the number of voices clearly audible even through the closed door, it was apparent she had a houseful already. I might be intruding, especially if they were all family.

  Turning to leave, I was halted when I heard the door open.

  “Come to pay your respects?” a voice boomed. “Don’t go. Clar, more company!”

  I swiveled around to meet the welcoming smile of a ginger-haired man wearing the collar of the clergy and facial features that marked him as a blood relative of the twins. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks like paint spatters, and a slight gap between his two front teeth gave him a boyish look, despite the fact that he had to be at least middle-aged or beyond.

  Clarissa ducked under the arm holding the door open, her frazzled expression dissolving when she saw me. “Ms. Warren! Leigh! How nice of you! Please, come in and meet everyone.”

  I don’t know if the reverend picked up on it but I distinctly caught the desperation in Clarissa’s “please.”

  “I can only stay a minute,” I lied, feeling no guilt at all once I was inside. If the house had had rafters, there’d have been people hanging from them. The place was jammed, all ages, all sizes, all colors, all identifiable as from either Tina’s side of the family or Clarissa’s. The reverend, it turned out, was her brother. Considering the occasion for their coming together, they were a darned cheerful bunch. And after all the introductions, the only name I could remember and match to a face was the reverend, whose name, oddly enough, was Lee.

  Clarissa hustled me into the kitchen where several preschoolers sat around the table mangling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a couple of grandmotherly types watching and wiping mouths and hands. The latter glanced up long enough to smile and say, “Pleased to meet you,” before returning to their charges.

  “Coffee?” Clarissa opened an overhead cabinet, one eye on the gathering behind her. “Please,” she said softly, as she reached for a cup. “Get me out of here.”

  I managed to swallow my surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “If you don’t, I’m gonna kill somebody,” she whispered. “Or myself. Please!”

  “You’ve got it.” I had no idea what I’d do with her, but I recognized a plea to escape when I heard it. “I came to take you to the station house so you can sign your statement,” I said, loudly enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear. “Did you forget?”

  Her eyes rounded comically. “My goodness, I certainly did. Give me a minute and I’ll get my coat.”

  It took us a good fifteen minutes more to get out of there, during which Clarissa was called upon to swear that there was no reason for anyone else to come with us and that it made more sense for me to take her, since as a former member of the force, I knew the ins and outs of what would be required of her.

  Once in the Corvette, all restraints were off. Clarissa broke down, blubbering into a lace-edged handkerchief. I got us away from there before someone might look out and see her, drove to the end of the block, and pulled over. I dug a pack of Kleenex from my purse. There was no way that dainty hanky would be enough for the job.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, sniffling and wiping some minutes later, “and so grateful, Ms. Warren.”

  “If you don’t start calling me Leigh, I’m gonna make a U-turn and take you right back home.”

  She shot a teary smile at me. “Leigh. Don’t misunderstand. They’re my family and I love them, but not en masse, unless it’s a reunion. It’s all that cheerfulnes
s. We truly believe that death is simply a transition from one stage of life to another and that even though Claudia’s left this plane, she’s still around, watching over me. So there’s no reason for a lot of gloom and doom. But I’ll miss her, dammit, and I can’t pretend I won’t.”

  “I’m sure they don’t expect you to. They’re probably all putting on brave faces, thinking they’re helping you.”

  “I know.” She demolished another tissue and squared her shoulders. “You can take me back if you want to. I didn’t mean to interfere with your day.”

  Dumping her would definitely simplify matters, but I couldn’t do it. She looked so brave in her bright red coat and dangling onyx earrings.

  “Tell you what. How about hanging out with me for a while? I’m still trying to track down the woman who”—I took a breath, trying to compose a tactful way of referring to the witch who might have been responsible for her twin’s death—“who’s been masquerading as me.” I went on to describe the Bridal Bower farce.

  “Oh, Leigh.” Clarissa placed a consoling hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. What an awful person this woman must be. And how awful for you. Your wedding dress, of all things.”

  It occurred to me that as hard as I’d tried to avoid it, I’d have to give in and let the aunts in the Shores make my outfit. The problem would be convincing them to keep it simple. And considering how little time there was between now and the day after Christmas, I’d better get it over with and tell them.

  “Is there anywhere you need to go?” I asked Cla-rissa. “Have you contacted a mortuary?”

  “No need to. One of the cousins back there runs a funeral home. He’ll handle everything, memorial service and arranging to take Sister back home, and Tina’s taking me shopping this evening.” For a moment I thought she might break down again, but she hoisted her chin and sighed. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t have anything to do to distract me and keep me from thinking about poor Sister and how afraid she must have been closed up in all that darkness.”

  It was my turn for the consoling pat on the arm. Lord knows I couldn’t think of anything of comfort to say. We still didn’t know whether Claudia had been alive or dead before winding up in the trunk. Either way, she hadn’t climbed in of her own free will. Heat simmered between my eyes. The urge to kill was taking on a whole new meaning.

  “So where are we going?” Clarissa asked. I had the distinct impression she’d known what I was thinking.

  “My old apartment building. There are a couple of people I need to see.”

  “Shall I wait in the car?”

  “It’s too cold for that, and I can’t guarantee how long I’ll be. Besides, I think you’d enjoy meeting Gracie Poole.”

  I’d said it as a means of assuring Clarissa that I had no qualms about taking her along. As things worked out, I’d been right on target. The two hit it off immediately, thanks to Gracie’s decor.

  “My Lord, it’s enough to make a body swoon,” Clarissa declared, hands clasped as in prayer. “All these lovely prints and things. Is it all right if I just look around while you two talk?”

  Gracie, flamboyant in a flowing caftan, flushed with pleasure. “Help yourself. I’m so pleased you like them. Let’s adjourn to the kitchen, Leigh. We can chat while I make tea for us all. You will take tea, Clarissa?”

  “What?” Seemingly mesmerized by a copy of Gainsborough’s Blue Boy, she tossed over her shoulder. “Oh, yes, I’d be delighted.”

  Gracie’s kitchen, the same layout as mine, was another gallery in miniature. Small, framed prints of Picasso, Matisse, Klee, Pollock filled every square foot of available wall space. I found the effect claustrophobic, but reminded myself it wasn’t my kitchen.

  She put the kettle on and set out cups and saucers. “Willa called to tell me she’d talked to you this morning. Was she of any help?”

  “I got more detailed descriptions of Georgia and your Ms. Gwynn.” I related the puzzle about the latter’s use of a bathroom.

  “Not mine,” Gracie said, shaking her head firmly and dislodging a long white tendril in the process, “although she could have if she had asked. Oh, dear, I just remembered I’m all out of English Breakfast.”

  I assured her that Clarissa would enjoy whatever was available. “Do you mind if I pass on the tea and leave her with you while I go up and talk to Neva? Oh, and would you take a look at these?” I placed the photos on the table. I doubted that Gracie had seen my nemesis, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

  She abandoned the tea service and sat down, digging a pair of spectacles from the pocket of the caftan. “Who is this, now?”

  “The woman who’s been causing me so much trouble. Perhaps she has some connection to your Georgia Keith and Nell Gwynn.”

  Gracie peered at the pictures, grabbed a napkin, polished her glasses, then examined the photos again. She frowned.

  “She definitely wasn’t one of the ones helping with the tree,” she said. “But I could swear I’ve seen her before, Leigh. Perhaps at the Seniors’ Center. I’ll have to think about it.”

  I ground my teeth in frustration. Everyone seemed to be of the opinion they’d seen this woman before. Why the hell couldn’t they remember where?

  I took my leave as soon as I could, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn’t be missed. Once Gracie discovered that Clarissa had actually met Picasso, I knew it wouldn’t matter how long I’d be gone.

  Upstairs Neva’s snarl when she jerked open the door metamorphosed into a smile of pure relief. “Sorry. I thought you were Mr. Hopkins. He’s been down here twice today, griping about his thermostat. He’s the one who broke the damned thing. Come on in.”

  It was even more disorienting being in my old unit than it had been in Gracie’s. It was the first time I’d crossed the threshold since moving out, and it looked and felt completely different than it had during the years I’d occupied it. Neva and Cholly were into kitsch in a big way, Neva’s arts and crafts a major element of the decor.

  She hauled me into the den, now a nursery, to show me the cradle she’d cleaned and painted, and the assortment of baby paraphernalia she’d acquired. Mobiles dangled from the ceiling, making me dizzy. Otherwise, the effect was charming, with teddy bears and rainbows decorating the walls.

  “It’s lovely,” I said, realizing she was waiting for my reaction. “This is gonna be one happy baby.”

  She turned in a circle, her expression wistful. “I sure hope so. It’s likely to be the only one we’ll ever have. I’m no spring chicken, you know?”

  I wasn’t certain how I should respond to that so I guided her gently toward the purpose of my visit.

  “The bitch stole your wedding dress?” Neva’s righteous indignation was fulfilling. It made me feel infinitely better that someone else, especially a female, understood what I felt.

  “I’d kill her, that’s what I’d do,” Neva said. “Kick her ass good and proper, bloody her up some, and then, whack! Let her have it.”

  “A tempting thought, but I have to catch her first. I want to ask a favor. The lady with the Jamaican accent I’ve been trying to find, it turns out her name is Nell Gwynn and she had to use the bathroom while she was here helping with the decorations. I figure she wouldn’t knock on a stranger’s door and ask if she could use the john. So if I can find out who let her use theirs, I’ll be able to track her down. I don’t have time to canvass everyone in this building, so—”

  “Want me to do it? Be glad to. I’ll start right after dinner. Practically everybody will be home by then. And I’ll call you at Mr. Duck’s and let you know what I’ve found out.”

  “You’re a good friend, Neva,” I said, marveling that I could say this without reservation, considering all the years I considered her a pain in the butt. “Oh, and take a look at these. This is Madam X.” Once again, I removed the photos from my pocket and passed them over.

  Neva held them up, her eyes widening as if it helped her to see more clearly. “Wait a minute.” She stomped into
the kitchen and returned with a monster magnifying glass, using it to get a closer look. “Well, shit, I’ve seen her, even talked to her.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “You have? Where?”

  “Across the street on the corner. She’s been there for I don’t know how long, several weeks, anyway.”

  “You mean, she’s homeless?” That made no sense.

  “No. Working, for the city, she said. I asked her. I mean, she’d been standing over there with a clipboard all hours of the day and I couldn’t stand it no longer. So the next time I had to go over to the cleaners, I asked her what she was doing. She said something about a traffic survey, counting the number of cars turning left from the side street onto Georgia. I figured maybe they were finally gonna break down and put some left-turn signals up. Only thing is, she was doing a piss-poor job. I never saw her paying one bit of attention to no cars nowhere and there wasn’t nothing on that piece of paper on her clipboard but doodles.” She looked down at me from her lofty six feet. “So that means . . .”

  “That the woman has been watching me, stalking me for God knows how long!”

  14

  I BOLTED OUT OF NEVA’S APARTMENT, IGNORED the elevator for the stairs, and was peering out of the lobby door not sixty seconds later. The building is U-shaped, the entrance to it recessed and too far back to see the corner. Which I knew, of course, but had reacted first, thought second.

  Back up to the fifth floor again, to Janeece’s, this time. Thank God she’d insisted I keep a key. I knocked, then went in and hurried to her bedroom windows, almost launching myself straight through them, since evidently Janeece had gone through an eeny-meeny-miney-mo this morning, trying to decide which shoes to wear to work. She’d left them out and I tripped over several. I nudged them aside and plastered my nose against the pane, the corner in plain view. She wasn’t there.

  I swore, rearranged the shoes, and left the apartment, fuming at the thought of that woman watching me come and go. And she had to have been in the lobby at some point on Monday night during the decorating. How else would she have known that I was on my way to the basement, specifically to the storage units?