by Ali Brandon
As the last twangy notes of the seventies hit faded, Darla rose from the curb and swiped a bit of sweat from her brow.
“I need to talk to Pinky for a moment before we grab that coffee. Do you mind watching Hamlet a sec? I think he needs to rest up another minute from the walk,” she told Jake, nodding in the cat’s direction as she handed the leash to her friend.
Hamlet lay sprawled on his back against the curb, looking unsettlingly like a drunk sleeping it off in the gutter. At Darla’s words, he slit open one green eye. Not moving, his expression confirmed.
“Go ahead, kid, we’ll be here when you get back. And tell the band I’ll be back for one of their CDs after their set.”
Leaving the pair, Darla headed toward the makeshift stage. The Babies had paused for a needed water break, and she saw in sympathy that their black T-shirts were soaked through with sweat. She also made a mental note to ask Pinky the brand of his eyeliner. Despite the heat, it hadn’t melted into a broad smear beneath his eyes as she suspected hers had.
Of course, his might be permanently tattooed on.
“Hey, y’all, you’ve done a fantastic job,” she told them as they sucked down their water. “Several people mentioned they wanted one of your CDs.”
“Yeah, we already sold, like, four of them,” Pinky said with a proud smile. “That’s better than most nights at the club.”
“Well, save one for my friend”—she gestured toward Jake, who was fanning herself and Hamlet with a discarded block party flier—“and save one for me, too. I’ll get it when I write you the check for the rest of your fee.”
Pinky gave a triumphant little fist pump. “Six!”
“Hang around awhile after you finish the set, and I’ll bet you sell a couple more. Speaking of which, do you mind ending up with a special request? I think it would strike the perfect note for the Fourth if your last song was ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”
“Sure, we can do that. Right, guys?”
Grunts of assent greeted that declaration, and Darla gave a satisfied nod. “Perfect. Just be sure you announce it beforehand so everyone can stand at attention.”
Leaving the Babies to finish their break, Darla rejoined Jake and Hamlet. “All right, time for that iced coffee. Hammy, we’ll get you a nice water.”
They crossed the street toward Perky’s, passing Hank and his brother Hal, who were disassembling the mats in the makeshift demonstration ring. The last demonstration of the day was finished, and a handful of Darla’s TAMA classmates were milling about, still dressed in their TAMA T-shirts and white gi pants. They were gathering the stanchions and rope that had enclosed the ring, and picking up stray trash.
“Hey, Darla,” Hal exclaimed, his biceps bulging as he lifted a pile of mats and heaved them atop another stack. Unlike his brother, who wore his hair in a ponytail, Hal shaved his big head smooth. Like Hank, however, he’d cut off the sleeve of his karate gi jacket, the better to show off said biceps.
“This block party was a great idea,” he said with an approving nod, sweat making his bald head gleam. “We already had five new students sign up this afternoon.”
“Wonderful! That’s what this event was about, giving us all some good publicity and getting our names out there.”
Leaving the group to finish dismantling the ring, Darla, Jake, and Hamlet headed down the sidewalk to where the Perky’s booth was situated, and where His Highness was seated alone behind the table. Perhaps there had been a lull in customers during the karate demonstration, while everyone had gathered near the ring to watch, and George had apparently decided to take advantage of the break. He was slumped back in his chair, arms crossed and chin on his chest, giving every appearance of napping.
Darla slowed her pace.
“What do you think? Should we wake him up?” Though she suspected that rousing a snoozing King of Coffee would be akin to poking a sleeping bear with a stick. Definitely not recommended.
Jake shrugged. “That depends. How badly do you want that iced coffee?”
“Not enough to listen to him roar for fifteen minutes. Maybe we can wait for Livvy. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”
The squeal of feedback decided the issue, however, when Pinky’s voice came from the stage speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is, uh, our last song today. So give it up for the, uh, national anthem!”
Mike in hand, Pinky leaped high into the air and landed back on the stage with a thud, arm whipping around to dramatically cue his band. An abrupt shriek of guitar even worse than the feedback split the air, and Darla’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh no, don’t tell me,” she said with a groan. “He’s going to do the Jimi Hendrix version.”
Sure enough, with a growl and a clash of electric strings Pinky launched into a sixties rock-and-roll-inspired “Star-Spangled Banner.”
So much for the world’s greatest tenor, Darla thought in dismay as she and Jake dutifully stood with hands over hearts even as she winced at the discordant notes. Darla glanced George’s way. Amazingly, the man was still sleeping through the rage of minor chords and Pinky’s shouted lyrics. He had to be wearing earplugs . . . that, or he was partially deaf!
It definitely sounds like bombs bursting, Darla thought as Pinky reached that line of the song. Good thing there’s no law against blowing up the national anthem.
And then, abruptly, the music stopped. Pinky’s clear tenor rose over the silence, the bell-like tones giving Darla sudden chills as he sang the final phrases a cappella.
“O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o’er the land of the free and the home of the—”
“Me-OOOW!”
Hamlet’s sudden caterwaul startled Darla so much that she almost dropped his leash.
“Hammy, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she exclaimed, forgetting standing at attention as she swiftly bent toward the cat. She barely heard the rousing applause from the fairgoers as Pinky and the Screaming Babies took their bows, and she almost missed the announcement about CDs for sale.
Jake leaned closer to Hamlet, too, and frowned. “Maybe that last note hurt his ears.”
“I doubt it. There were lots of other notes earlier that should have sent him scampering before—wait!”
This last was directed back at Hamlet, who was tugging against his leash in the direction of Perky’s. Darla straightened and glanced that way again. George still slumped unmoving behind the table, and a sudden bad feeling gripped her.
“I think Hamlet is trying to say that something’s wrong with George,” she exclaimed, pointing toward the motionless man. “Quick, we need to check on him!”
The three of them rushed in that direction, though Jake put out a restraining arm as they reached the table. “Let me,” she softly told Darla, then called in a louder voice, “George, can you hear me? George?”
When the man remained unmoving, Jake moved closer to him and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “George, are you—?”
His arm abruptly swung loose, dangling now so his knuckles grazed the sidewalk. Jake gave her head a grim shake and reached out a hand to George’s neck to check his pulse.
“Oh no, it can’t be!” Darla gasped. “Jake, is he—?”
“Whaddaya want?” George roared, eyes flying open as he straightened in his chair.
Reflexively, Darla shrieked and jumped back. Even the usually unflappable Jake looked startled before she shook her head and chuckled.
“Sorry, George,” she told him, while Darla heaved a relieved sigh. “We wanted a couple of iced coffees, and it looked like you were sleeping.”
“Just resting my eyes,” he grumbled, shoving back his chair and rising. Then, catching a glimpse of Darla, he nodded in her direction and sourly added, “Why don’t you drink her coffee that she says is so good?”
Reminding herself that thirty seconds earlier, she’d been giving
thanks that the man was still breathing, Darla summoned a serene expression. “Because we—Hamlet!”
All at once, the leash that had been looped over her wrist went flying. Hamlet had broken free of her grasp and was springing toward the steps that led down to Perky’s, the star-spangled tether trailing after him. Serenity forgotten, Darla went bounding right after him. If he ran down the steps, she’d be able to corner him there, and—
Darla halted at the top of the steps, gripping the handrail as she stared down at the landing outside the Perky’s door. The mango-painted door she’d previously admired was ajar, while one of the two wicker bistro chairs had been tumbled over. Hamlet leaped onto the glass-and-wicker bistro table, where he stared down at the crumpled figure who lay halfway inside the door.
All Darla could see from her vantage point was a pair of slim legs encased in black yoga pants topped by the hem of a bright red T-shirt. But it was enough for her to be certain of the identity of the woman who sprawled motionless on the ground.
Livvy King.
TEN
“I still can’t believe that Livvy is dead,” Darla declared the next morning as she clutched her oversized mug of black coffee and willed her eyelids to stay open.
She had been up well past midnight the previous night. Word had spread swiftly about Livvy, and Steve’s restaurant had served as an unofficial gathering place as the locals had come together over the unexpected loss of one of their own. More prosaically, there had also been the rest of the block party decorations and booths to finish clearing away. Doug had been there, too, along with Hank and Hal.
Somewhat to Darla’s surprise—or maybe not, given whatever past there was between her and the dead woman—Penelope had been a no-show. Although Darla did recall the dance instructor mentioning taking time off as soon as the Fourth of July event was over. Maybe she’d headed back to her studio directly after the final dance number, without ever realizing that tragedy had befallen the block party.
Even more surprising, George himself had briefly stopped by the impromptu assembly. If George’s presence had been unwelcome at the establishment, given his past behavior toward Steve’s offspring, Steve gave no sign of it. The fellow widower had been a gracious host. George, however, had waved away all offers of food and drink except for a glass of water, although even that he left untouched as he accepted his neighbors’ condolences. He left a few minutes later, but not before he’d gestured Steve aside and the pair exchanged a few words. From her vantage point Darla hadn’t been able to hear what was said, but neither man had appeared angry, which she took as a good sign.
Still, she’d worried about George going back to his apartment alone. While they’d been waiting for the police to finish up, she’d made a point of asking him if he had any local friends or relatives he wanted her to call. She had gathered from his silent headshake that there wasn’t anyone; at least, not anyone that he cared to notify.
Darla shook her head as she dragged her foggy thoughts back to the present. “Livvy was, what, thirty-three? Only a couple of years younger than me. Someone her age shouldn’t just keel over like that.”
“You never know about these things, kid,” Jake reassured her, stifling a yawn. “It didn’t appear to be the result of a fall, since there were no visible scrapes, blood, or trauma, like she’d tripped going down the steps, but Livvy might have had some sort of medical condition none of us knew about. Just because she was young didn’t mean she couldn’t have had a bad heart. Or she could have had a brain aneurysm that suddenly ruptured.”
“There was the whole thing with her rheumatoid arthritis,” Darla replied, quickly relating to Jake what Livvy had explained to her. “She was self-medicating with herbs. Maybe she had some sort of bad reaction and her weakened system couldn’t stand the shock.”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe. But, don’t worry. The medical examiner will figure it out.”
Darla nodded, covering a yawn of her own. She, Robert, and Jake were upstairs in the bookstore, seated in the coffee lounge. It was only the three of them, since the store wouldn’t open for another thirty minutes, and James wasn’t scheduled until right after lunch.
Given their mutual lack of sleep, Robert’s first assignment had been to brew up a pot of a dark specialty blend coffee supposedly guaranteed to wake up even the drowsiest of drinkers. Darla prayed the caffeine would kick in soon. Otherwise, she told herself, she’d be pulling a Hamlet and curling up in a quiet corner of the shop for a nap.
Robert had been behind the counter foaming up his cup of coffee with the steam wand. Now, clutching his mug in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other, he sank in the free chair next to the seat where Hamlet sprawled. Looking rather like a raccoon with the remains of the previous day’s black liner smudged around his eyes, he said, “I wonder how Hamlet, you know, figured out something was wrong.”
“I don’t know,” Darla replied. “He’d acted kind of strange yesterday morning when we stopped by Perky’s before the block party started. But he sure was Hammy-on-the-spot. I hate to think what would have happened if George had been the first one to find her.”
Darla stared pensively into her coffee cup as she recalled what actually had gone down. After a single glance at his wife’s motionless form, King George had lumbered back to his chair again, apparently deep in shock, and abdicated all responsibility. It had been Jake who’d confirmed what Darla had feared, that Livvy was beyond help. Hamlet, meanwhile, had slipped down off the table and trotted back up the steps to Darla’s side, obviously satisfied that he’d done his part.
Jake’s subsequent cell phone call brought a swift response from the various emergency personnel, who secured the area . . . a job made easier as the street was already blocked off. After taking Hamlet back to the bookstore where he’d be safely out of the way, Darla had given James a hurried explanation for all the commotion on the next block down, then had settled in to remain with Jake and a shell-shocked George for the next couple of hours.
What the police thought, Darla had no idea. She knew the cops would want to get formal statements from the three of them, since they were the ones who’d found Livvy, but she’d been surprised when the detective who’d finally showed up to take over the investigation had been none other than Reese.
And it was the cool, competent Detective Reese that she’d always known, rather than the sheepish fiancé Fiorello from earlier in the afternoon. After an offhanded, “So much for fireworks tonight,” he’d been all business. While the uniformed officers maintained the scene, Reese had made the rounds of the nearby shops before returning to question the three of them.
Other than his halting responses to Reese—last he’d recalled seeing Livvy had been at the table before he fell asleep—George had stirred only when the time came to remove his wife from the scene. The dead woman’s body was barely discernable under the covered gurney as the EMTs maneuvered her slight form up the concrete steps. It was then that the Coffee King had heaved himself up out of his chair and intercepted the wheeled stretcher.
“Wait,” he grunted out. “I need to, well, make sure. Know what I mean?”
Darla had reflexively leaped up to join George, feeling obliged to make some show of support. But she’d promptly regretted the impulse when she caught a close-up glimpse of Livvy’s preternaturally white, slack features as the EMT had obligingly flipped the blanket aside. And it had been the memory of that face that had kept her from readily falling asleep that night.
Now, Darla shoved her coffee cup away and reached for one of the leftover doughnuts that Robert had salvaged from Doug’s pastry case.
“I have to say, Hank and Doug really stepped up to the plate,” she said through a mouthful of stale, sugary dough. “As soon as the police gave us the okay, they notified all the retailers and shut down the block party without most people realizing anything was wrong.”
“Right, and at least this all went down at
the end of the day,” Jake agreed. “Things were already winding down, so there were only a couple of dozen people still around. Hardly anyone will know what happened until they read it in the paper today.”
“Yeah, or until Facebook or the Twitter-verse explodes with the news.” Darla sighed. “I know it’s awful of me, but after all our hard work on the block party, I’d hate it if all people remember about it is Livvy’s death.”
“Awful, but understandable,” Jake assured her with a faint smile. “And I’m pretty sure Livvy would forgive you for thinking that. She’d have wanted the event to be a success, if only for George’s sake.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Darla glanced at her watch, and then over at Robert. He was half snoozing over his cup, and a foam mustache trailed from his upper lip.
“Up and at ’em. Pat the pine,” she said with a smile, echoing one of her father’s favorite sayings he always used to roust her younger, sleepy self out of bed. When Robert stared at her in confusion, she explained, “That means feet hitting the floor, which used to be pine in the olden days before they invented wall-to-wall carpeting. Now, hurry. It’s almost time to open.”
“No one’s going to be here this early the day after the Fourth,” Robert grumbled, but he obligingly rose and headed back to the coffee bar to begin prepping.
Hamlet stretched and yawned, but remained firmly planted in his chair.
Jake smiled. “I think I’ll take a page out of Hamlet’s book and kick back awhile longer. All I’ve got on tap for the day so far is a stack of paperwork.”
“Be my guest. But I’ve got to go power up the registers and do a bit of straightening, and then I’ll unlock the doors. And, Robert, don’t forget, you’re only on for a half day, anyhow.”
