Some Like it Hot

by K. J. Larsen

  Cristina covered her face with her hands and shuddered. “Poor Alan.”

  “Eeuuuw,” Cleo said. “I’m going for cremation.”

  Frankie flashed a light in the box. He shrugged. “I don’t see no diamonds.”

  “Mitchell swallowed them.” I crossed my fingers. “Look in his stomach.”

  I blinked and Frankie stood beside me. He was staring at me. “You look in his stomach.”

  Max held up his arms. “C’mon, Bogie. I’ll catch you.”

  I tossed my flashlight down and sat on the grassy edge, my legs dangling. Max put his hands around my waist and lifted me down to the ground. He held me there a moment.

  He whispered in my ear. “I’m seeing you naked under that trench coat.”

  “In your dreams.”

  I placed my hands on the sides of his head, as if reading his mind.

  “That’s not me. Those giant melons aren’t mine.”

  He grinned. “They’re Marilyn’s. But the rest is you.”

  I lightly smacked the side of his head and picked up the flashlight.

  “Hello, Alan.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, I carefully explored the remains with my hands. When I spoke, my voice was bleak. I said. “The earrings aren’t here.”

  “Look again,” Cristina demanded.

  Max dropped an arm around me, his hand cupping my shoulder. “It was smart detective work, Kitten. And you were right about the diamonds. Mitchell should have swallowed them.”

  “Only he didn’t.”

  Cleo said, “Someone has a fat retirement plan tucked in a drawer with his socks.”

  “Or pantyhose,” Cristina said.

  “If I was da first responder, I wouldn’t be drivin’ dat piece of shit Pontiac,” Frankie said.

  “You’d look fine in a Ferrari,” Cleo said. “Like your Uncle Joey.”

  “Hell yeah,” Frankie said.

  “I’ll pass that on to Kyle Tierney. He’s sure to understand.”

  Max said, “If you let me handle Tierney, you won’t hear from him again.”

  “Neither will anyone else.” I made a face. “Thanks, but I have to figure this out on my own.”

  “We’re done here,” Frankie said. “Cleo and I will meet you at Mickeys. Cat’s buying.”

  I murmured something to Mitchell and was straightening his tie when my hand brushed his Adam’s apple. It was a honker.

  “Gimme some light,” I said.

  Max beamed the flashlight. The eerie, vacant eye sockets stared back at me.

  “Did your friend have a protruding Adam’s apple?” I asked Cristina.

  “Not that I recall.”

  “You’d remember this one.”

  A giddy grin spread across my face. It was another stickler.

  I elbowed Max. “What do you think?”

  I think maybe a bullet saved this guy from choking to death.

  I shut my eyes for a moment and murmured an apology to Alan Mitchell. Another to all the saints. To every nun and priest who tried to make me the kind of person who doesn’t desecrate graves and rip open a dead guy’s throat. But mostly to Mama. She scares me more than all the others combined.

  I braced myself. This was going to be hell at the confessional.

  I gently worked the leathery neck with my fingertips. The skin was paper thin. It parted with the lightest touch. The Adam’s apple fell away and diamonds—as pure as water—dazzled in the light.

  No scalpel. No Dr. Frankenstein. I hoped the saints took notice.

  “Damn, girl,” Max breathed.

  I removed them carefully and cupped the chandelier earrings in my hands. They were identical round cuts. Each a perfect carat. They took my breath away.

  Frankie whistled low. “Who says you can’t take it with you?”

  Cristina dropped a hand down. “We wanna see. I’ll hold them for you.”

  I gave her the earrings and straightened Mitchell’s tie one more time.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Max closed the casket. He put his hands around my waist. “I’ll lift you up.”

  “Stop,” Cristina said. “Stay where you are.”

  There was something in her voice—less sinister than whacko. My heart dropped in my chest.

  Cleo screeched. “Is that my gun? You stole my freakin’ gun.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. You’ll get it back.”

  “And I’ll pop you with it.”

  Frankie growled. “I’ll kill her.”

  “Stand in line,” Max said.

  Cristina said, “Those earrings belong to me. I’m taking them with me.”

  “Hello, village idiot, the diamonds belong to Marilyn’s estate,” I said.

  “Uh—whatever, freak girl.” The moon lit her deranged smile. “I’ll just need to borrow Max’s Hummer.”

  Big mistake.

  “Oh boy,” I said.

  With a single cat-like leap, Max surged to the surface and tackled the woman waving Cleo’s gun.

  The diamonds flew from Cristina’s hands, shimmering in the night. Cleo took a dive that would have made any pro running back proud, capturing the earrings in midflight. She landed hard, crashing and burning into Harry’s tombstone. She came up with the diamonds clenched in a fist, arm extended high, they never touched the ground.

  Max hoisted me up. “No one messes with my rig.”

  I looked at Cristina. Her head was resting on Alan’s marker. She was out cold.

  “Yo, Max,” Frankie said. “She had a freakin’ gun on us. You know, it cudda gone off.”

  Max shook his head. “The safety was on.”

  “Sheesh! Amateur hour.” Cleo clobbered Cristina with her shovel. “That’s for stealing my gun.”

  “Yeah,” Frankie said and kicked her.

  “She’s already out,” Max said. “She can’t feel that.”

  “She will.” Cleo wrestled her pocket and whipped out a stun gun at Cristina.

  Zzzzzzzzzzap

  Cristina moaned and opened panicked eyes.

  Cleo lifted the taser to her lips and blew. “That’s for messing with my gun.”

  Cleo looked at Cristina. She looked down at the hole.

  I said, “No.”

  “Bummer,” Cleo said.

  Cristina sat up and cradled her head. There was an angry red mark on her forehead and a sticky trickle of blood down the side of her face.

  “I need to get a few band aids in my bag,” Cristina said.

  “Move and I’ll cap your sorry ass. Band aids won’t do you much good then.” Frankie’s cheerful voice was terrifying.

  I said a prayer for Alan Mitchell and tossed the flowers I bought at the Flower Cottage in his grave. We refilled the hole and rolled the sod back over the dirt.

  Cleo packed away her moonlit supper. We stashed the shovels in the back with the bolt cutters and the padlock from the cemetery gate. Cristina climbed into the backseat. Cleo jerked her out.

  “Uh uh, crazy cakes. You walk.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Frankie said. “Lunatic Barbie ain’t ridin’ with me.”

  Cristina threw her big doe eyes at Max. “Please, Max.” Blink blink.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Nobody steals my Hummer and expects a ride.”

  “Cat! Help!” she whimpered.

  “You should walk to California,” I said reasonably. “But the adults here have to think about Halah Rose.”

  “Who?” Cleo said.

  “Dammit,” Max said. “All right. Cristina rides in the Hummer. But she goes home tomorrow.”

  Cristina tapped her chin. “I’ll need a couple days to put some things together.”

  “Can’t we just shoot her?” Cleo said.

 
“Yes,” I said.

  We all loaded in the Hummer and cruised to the gate. Cristina was quiet in the back between Cleo and Frankie. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Cleo’s taser was on her lap. And her fingers were twitching.

  Max drove to the entrance and stepped outside to open the big, black iron gate.

  I swirled the diamonds in the palm of my hand and watched them catch the moon.

  There was a scuffle by the gate. Instinctively I dropped the earrings in a pocket. A man emerged from the shadows, looming up suddenly and charging at Max. The figure went at him head-down, bull-like, ramming into his back. They hit the ground hard. Max recovered quickly and with a few angry twists and slugs, was on top of his attacker. Max punched him in the solar plexus. The air went out of his lungs with a loud whoosh.

  Max dragged him to his feet and snapped him around into a choke hold. The man made strangled, gasping sounds, like a wounded animal.

  I shot out of the Hummer and rubbed my eyes. “Garret?”

  “You know this creep?”

  I blinked, stunned. “He’s the ex-fiancé I was telling you about—”

  A pistol jammed against my head.

  “And here’s the fox-killing dramapocaylpse now,” I said.

  “Watch yourself,” Sylvia said. “Let him go. Or I’ll blow her pretty little brain into itty bitty bits.”

  Max released Garret’s throat. Garret pulled a Beretta from his shoulder holster and trained it on Max.

  “Stay where you are, Rambo,” Garret choked.

  “Pussy,” Max spat. “I should’ve broken your neck.”

  Garret walked around the Hummer and loosened the valve core on all four tires. The air whistled, and the tires went flat.

  “Now you pissed me off,” Max said.

  “You’ll regret that,” I smiled.

  “Bite me.” Garret growled.

  “I’ll take those earrings now,” Sylvia said.

  “Give them to her, Kitten,” Max said.

  I dropped a hand in my pocket.

  “No!” Cristina screamed. “Don’t do it!”

  “Seriously?”

  Sylvia said, “You got five seconds. Earrings in my hand or I shoot the big mouth in the backseat.”

  “Would you?” Cleo said.

  I pulled the baubles from my pocket and threw them at her. She scooped them off the ground, laughing.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Go to hell,” Cleo said.

  “How did you know we’d be here?” I said.

  “They’ve been following us for days,” Cleo said.

  Sylvia gave a hard laugh. “We didn’t have to.”

  I mentally backtracked. “When you came to my house, you planted a bug, didn’t you?”

  “That’s creepy,” Cleo said.

  “You’re a monster,” Cristina shrieked. “You got no heart.”

  Sylvia laughed. “Now that’s something I used to hear every day.”

  They scooted out the gate backward, wielding their pistols like Bonny and Clyde. Max jerked his door open and would have torn after them, but I pulled him back.

  “Wait,” I whispered.

  “You’re not going to let them get away with this?” Cleo demanded indignantly.

  “Cowards,” Cristina screamed into the night.

  Frankie and Cleo brandished weapons. “What are we waiting for?”

  On the other side of the gate, a motorcycle kicked into gear and roared into the night.

  “Let them go,” I said. “They got nothin’.”

  “My diamonds,” Cristina wailed.

  “Shut up,” Cleo said and zapped her.

  I ducked my hand in a pocket and pulled out Marilyn’s earrings.

  Cleo stammered. “But you gave her—”

  “The ones from the crime photos. They’re a perfect costume copy. But worthless. Mitchell pulled a switch on Tierney. It got him killed.”

  Cleo smacked my shoulder with unabashed admiration. “You stole those from police evidence?”

  “Borrowed. I can buy a replacement online for under a hundred dollars.”

  “You’ll get your money back,” Max said grimly. “I’ll take a lot more out of that dirtbag’s hide when I find him.”

  “I parked behind the bike when I came in,” Frankie said.

  “Did you get the license?”

  “No, dammit. But the plates were out of state.”

  Max fired up the Hummer and coaxed the flattened tires through the iron gate. He parked on the street behind Frankie’s Pontiac.

  I heard Max’s teeth grind. “I’ll find that dumbshit. He left fingerprints all over my rig when he flattened the tires.”

  “Yeah,” Frankie growled all macho. “We’ll hunt his sorry ass down.”

  I kissed Max’s cheek. “That won’t be necessary. Sylvia told us who she is.”

  Max rubbernecked. “What did I miss?”

  “She said she has no heart. She’s the Tin Woman.”

  “Tin Woman?”

  Cleo gave a hoot. “She’s Nicole Bonham. Billy’s bitch--of--a-wife.”

  I smiled broadly. “And the plates were Kansas.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It should’ve been embarrassing having to call Chance to Al Capone’s burial place in the middle of the night for a ride. We were a motley bunch. Filthy, sweaty, all dressed in black—me draped in Billy’s honkin’ huge Philip Marlowe coat. Frankly, I was too tired to care.

  We were huddled outside the Hummer when Chance’s Toyota Highlander pulled up.

  He climbed out, saw Max. His brow rose.

  “Max?”

  “Chance,” Max said, and climbed into the backseat.

  Chance frowned. “What’s he doing here?”

  I shrugged.

  Cleo threw her arms around Chance. “I could kiss you,” she said and did. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

  “Muchas gracias,” Cristina said and climbed in the car with Max.

  Chance said, “That must be Cristina from California. Why’s she bleeding.”

  “I know, huh?” Cleo said. “I wanted to stuff her in the coffin. But no!”

  Chance’s jaw dropped. “Coffin?”

  I drew a circle in the air, pointing at my ear. Like Cleo was crazy. It’s not a hard sell.

  “Yo, thanks for the lift, man,” Frankie said. “I dropped my keys in the casket.”

  Chance shot me a look.

  “All right,” I admitted. “But there was just the one.”

  Frankie climbed into the backseat and Cleo wriggled onto his lap. She giggled.

  Chance smiled. “That’s a new look for you, Inspector Clouseau.”

  “It’s Phyllis Marlowe. I’ve been channeling Billy a lot.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell me it wasn’t when we were making love.” Our eyes locked for a brief moment.

  I ran my fingers around the back of his neck, leaned in, and whispered softly in his ear. “Take me home, big boy. You’re going to love the reindeer boxers.”

  ***

  Chance was due in court early. When the phone woke me at eight, he was gone and I smelled coffee.

  I could get used to this.

  I reached for the phone without opening my eyes. Uncle Joey didn’t wait for me to speak.

  “Tell me.”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed.

  “Uncle Joey? Uh, hello?”

  He was gone.

  I padded to the kitchen and opened the secret compartment behind the pantry. Marilyn’s diamonds sparkled beside some dusty bottles of moonshine left over from Prohibition. I cupped the earrings in my hand and sat at the table with my coffee and the morning p
aper. Even the editorial about political unrest in Washington seemed cheerier with the dazzling diamonds in the corner of my eye.

  I called Cleo and asked her to meet me at my house. “There’s something I want to check out.”

  “You’re not gonna wear Billy’s coat again, are you? Cuz every time I see it, I wanna zap Cristina.”

  “No coat. Where is she now?”

  “In bed.”

  Probably hiding from the taser.

  “Bring her with you.”

  Cleo snorted. “Well, duh. I’m not leaving psycho-belle here with the silver.”

  “Mama’s taking Halah and Inga and Beau to a concert at Archer Park. She’ll drop them at my house later.”

  “I’m pulling pastries from the oven,” Cleo said. “We’ll eat them at your house.”

  “No rat poison in Cristina,” I reminded her. “She has a daughter.”

  “I know, dammit.”

  Uncle Joey burst through the door out of breath. “Where are they?”

  “Gotta go,” I said and disconnected.

  I kissed his cheek and dropped the diamonds in his hand. Uncle Joey closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

  “I can smell her.”

  I laughed. “You and your obsession with Marilyn.”

  His eyes began to twinkle. “What man isn’t?”

  He fondled the earrings at the table, and I poured coffee in his favorite mug. Cleo and Cristina arrived a few minutes later with a platter of warm Crostatas. She had filled the dense, buttery crusts with sour cherry and apricot jam.

  Already in a weakened state, Uncle Joey almost dropped to his knees.

  Cristina had pancaked on the makeup. Her bruises from last night’s unfortunate encounter with a tombstone were still visible. She seemed anxious to make amends. She did up the dishes.

  Cristina talked about Bridgeport and her time working at the Irish Pub.

  “I hope you can stick around a while,” Uncle Joey said. “Linda’s parents are friends with a guy who plays bass in the symphony. I know he’d take Halah to a rehearsal and introduce her to—”

  “No!” I fairly screamed and checked the panic from my voice. “Uhm, they’re going home tomorrow. Halah’s hoping to make her school concert.”

  Uncle Joey said, “Where do you live?”

  “Far, far away,” I said.

  Uncle Joey gave me a strange look I pretended not to notice.