by Cassie Page
“Oh, well of course I could do a reading for you. I’d be happy to. I’d see you at my apartment where I see private clients.”
Was he for real? Tuesday could fall in love with him herself if only he weren’t so, well, perfect. She liked men with a little more of an edge. The LAPD guy fit the bill for her.
She dug around in her purse and fished out a card. “Here. Call me anytime. I won’t tell Holley. Anything we talk about is confidential, but you can divulge the information to anyone you wish.”
He stuck the card in his pocket just as Holley, Zora and Gray Star returned.
“So, Roger,” Zora said, getting to the nasty heart of things. “Who do you think did it?”
Tuesday stood back from the conversation observing the director’s assistant. She was just this side of pretty. Her eyes were good with an even mouth and a perfect nose. Yet something was off, because when you put them all together, they were askew. Nose and mouth too far apart. Nose and eyes too close together. She looked like she was wearing a badly made Halloween mask of her face with a touch of menace thrown in. To make matters worse, her clothes were slapdash. Shapeless top and long skirt with an elastic waistband that made her look middle-aged, though from her flawless skin, Tuesday guessed she was barely thirty. Overall, Tuesday did not pick up any happy vibes from Zora, the grim nature of the memorial notwithstanding.
Tuesday noticed Roger stiffening at Zora’s question. “The girl? Are we sure someone did something to her? And how would I know? I never met her.”
Zora took a sip of her drink before answering. “Well, if you don’t know her, she must be the only actress in Hollywood you’ve missed.”
She smirked at Gray Star, who returned a look that could have been in agreement or a symptom of brain death.
Roger’s voice was low and intimidating. “You need to stop spreading those rumors, Zora. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His response startled Tuesday. This was not the Roger who wanted his tea leaves read.
Menace was not just in Zora’s eyes, but in her voice as well. “You can fool a lot of people, pretty boy, but not me.”
“Zora. This is neither the time nor place.”
“You mean you didn’t ask the dead girl to sit for one of your,” Zora hooked air quotes in front of him, “portrait sessions?”
Roger set his glass on a nearby table and nodded to the group. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to leave. Really nice meeting you, Miss, er Tuesday. Take care, Holley. We’ll be in touch.”
He walked off without even acknowledging Gray Star.
Zora called after him. “I hear you can’t account for your whereabouts during the time she was killed.” He left without answering.
Tuesday stood there in a state of shock. So maybe her first instincts about Roger were correct, after all. But he seemed so sincere. Yet, after hearing the way he growled at Zora, not that she didn’t deserve it, Tuesday could imagine that voice threatening Holley. Though why would he? She needed to get home and do a Tarot Card reading on all this. She looked around for a clock to see how much longer before she could politely make an exit.
Then Zora turned her attention to Holley. “What are you doing here? I thought it was a closed party. You haven’t been hired for anything yet.”
She gave Tuesday the once over. “Are you and our Electra doing a wardrobe smackdown tonight?”
She let the sentence fade away, her sneer conveying her disdain for Tuesday’s getup. Tuesday chose her denim skirt today. To spruce it up she had sewn on a dozen or so laminated wine labels, finishing it off with a Flamenco type fringe made of colored, plastic paperclips over rainbow striped tights. Her puffy shirt and Christmas ribbon tie completed her outfit. What’s not to like?
Under ordinary circumstances Tuesday might have suggested she give Zora a makeover, Cuz god knows you need it, girlie. But out of respect for the occasion, she kept her mouth shut and decided to attack the food table. “Holley, I’m going to get something to eat. Coming?”
Grabbing a plate for each of them, Tuesday said, “Holley, if that girl doesn’t watch her mouth she might end up the next cast member to, you know,” Tuesday rolled her eyes, “have a heart attack.”
“I know what you mean, Miss Tuesday. From what I hear around town, she isn’t very popular.”
Tuesday shook her head in bewilderment. “I guess she’s good at her job. Or, keeps the boss fooled.”
Tuesday was beginning to wonder if Zora’s nastiness had real teeth. Could she have made the phone call to Holley? Or had something to do with Ariel’s death? But what motive would she have? Did she have a friend she was trying to get into the movie? That would explain trying to scare Holley off, but why kill Ariel, unless the two events were actually coincidences?
Holley was loading up her plate. “I’ll tell you what I think, but promise not to say anything? I don’t like being negative.”
“Speak to me girl,” said Tuesday. “I’m all ears.”
Holley took a piece of prosciutto-wrapped melon and Tuesday followed suit. “I think she’d like to be in the movie, not just working on it. What you see is a massive case of jealousy.”
Surprised that Marco would serve something so ordinary, a combination that lost its appeal years ago yet still showed up on every craft table in town, Tuesday popped the melon in her mouth. But then the ambrosial fruit overwhelmed her taste buds, followed by the mellow, salty ham. Her knees almost buckled with pleasure.
Marco’s reputation came in part because he was a chef and a farmer, growing his own artisanal vegetables, fruits and herbs that he served in the restaurant. Also, he partnered with ranchers to provide specially fed and cured meats and poultry so that his food had become known in all the important food magazines. She helped herself to three more skewers before she realized she was embarrassing herself, and that there were so many other delicacies on the table she wanted to sample.
Like the cornucopia on the table, her thoughts were varied and crowding each other for prominence. She needed to think about what Holley had said about Zora. She’d get back to that another time, but for now she asked, “Holley, how well do you know Roger?”
Holley was jamming Lemongrass Chicken into her mouth. “Mfpmph. ‘Scuse me.” She swallowed. “Well enough, I guess. We met on the set of my last movie and he kind of liked me. But you know, me? Not so much. You can see why, right? He’s just so, I don’t know. Ordinary.”
Tuesday was beginning to understand why Holley succeeded in her strange movie parts. She was a few moons short of a galaxy. “You think so? I don’t know. Most women would go nuts for a chance with him.”
“I know. Like Zora.”
“No, you’re wrong there. You heard her. She practically accused him of murder. She can’t stand him.”
“Yeah, well. Zora hates on everybody. Especially Ariel. See, she has it bad for Roger, but he won’t even look at her. I could see that at the audition.
“She even offered to pose for him, but he turned her down. Told her she didn’t have the right look. Told her in public at a party. I don’t think he meant it in a mean way, that’s she’s ugly or anything. Just that she wasn’t right for the part, so to speak. He just told her the truth. I wasn’t there, but those things get around. She tries to put the hurt on him now every time she sees him.”
So maybe Roger was off the hook again.
“Then she became obsessed with the idea that he was in love with Ariel. I wish he would be. Get his mind off me. Oh, wait. What am I saying? She’s dead.”
Tuesday interjected, “Well, he claimed he didn’t know her. And wouldn’t it be tragic if he was into Ariel and she ended up dead like his wife? Two in a row? What would that do to him?”
“What wife? Roger’s never been married.”
Tuesday put down her fork to deal with the shock. No wife? Who was he lying to? Her or Holley. Tuesday moved Roger back into the suspect column. But Zora was a piece of work, too. She could have killed Ariel in a jealous r
age. But why would Holley get death threats? And in her brief speech, the director’s wife hinted that she or possibly both of them had been threatened also.
Tuesday’s head was spinning trying to sort out this puzzle when she heard a commotion by the front door. She turned to see Zora throw her glass of champagne in Electra’s face. The entire room drew a giant, shocked intake of breath. The wine dribbled down the front of the designer’s shapeless chiffon tent, which now clung wetly to her breasts, clearly outlining her nipples. Tuesday couldn’t make out all of the angry words they exchanged, but Electra, covering her chest with her hands, opened the front door and ran out screaming into the dusk, “You’ll pay for this, Zora. You make phone calls for him. That’s not the same thing as having talent.”
Brava Vitale came up behind Tuesday and muttered to no one in particular, “That was a long time coming,” then walked over to her husband.
Tuesday stared openmouthed at Holley. “This is a toxic environment, Holley. Methinks someone should get the EPA in here.”
Holley brushed her away. “Oh, Miss Tuesday. You haven’t spent much time around movie sets. This is nothing.”
Maybe so, but Tuesday was pretty sure not many movie sets had rumors of murder and curses swirling around them. She remembered the reading she had done for herself that afternoon. An M had shown up in the leaves. What did that refer to? Money, movies, murder? Then Mulberry popped into her head. Did M merely signify the name of the Mulberry Cat Café, the home of the readings? That was probably it. The mundane, obvious answer getting lost in the hunt for the exciting and mysterious.
But wait. What about the body in the teacup? Who could that refer to? Ariel’s body had already been discovered. She tried once again to sort out the puzzle, then decided she’d had enough for one day. “Holley, I’m going to head home.”
Then the front door opened, and in walked Mr. Gorgeous, the police station guy, who gave her a big, happy smile of recognition.
Pretty Flowers
“Next time change it up. I’m getting tired of these heart attack jobs. How about tampering with the brakes, or a fall down a flight of stairs.”
He adjusted the tarp as he spoke, rearranged his tools, always the perfectionist.
“You know I don’t have control over these things. I take orders, we both take orders.”
“Yeah, well this one is complicated. I need more time.”
“We don’t have more time. Get on it.”
He threw a rag against the wall. He hadn’t bargained for this when he went out on his own. He thought he’d be able to call all the shots. He hated taking orders.
He opened his computer. Maybe a little gardening would take the edge off. He’d look at pretty flowers for a while.
Chapter Nineteen: Missed Chances
Of all the reasons why Tuesday staggered into the kitchen the next morning bleary-eyed and searching for her coffee grinder, obsessing over butterfly earrings was near the top of the list. The pole position, though, belonged to her obsession with Mr. Gorgeous. How many ways could an ex-cop inventor break a girl’s heart? She hadn’t wanted to think about it, so she tossed and turned during the night mulling over her shopping budget. No matter how she did the math, she couldn’t see a corner to squeeze in the earrings without making deep cuts in appropriations for shoes and purses. No, the earrings did not have her name on them, but in the light of day that made good, if painful sense. She wasn’t sure the new guy should have her name on his person, either, though it was too late for that. He had kissed her business card just before he kissed her goodnight.
Nevertheless, several hours later heading to the Café for her afternoon clients, she drove two freeways out of her way and pulled up in front of Designer Considers. Marci and Darci were dressing the windows with new finds. They waved, and even though their shop wasn’t officially open for another half hour, they unlocked the door for her.
“Ah, Tuesday,” one of them said “You’ve decided to say yes to the cashmere twin set and a-line skirt. Let me get them for you.”
“No, no. I really have said no to them. But the earrings? The butterflies? They were calling to me all night. I’m not saying it’s a definite yes, but I’d like to at least take another look.”
Who was she kidding? She knew they were as good as hers. She had her hand on her wallet.
Marci and Darci each gave her a woeful I told you so look. “Honey we knew you’d be back for them.”
“Yes,” Tuesday smiled, “and here I am. You know me so well.” So it meant extra shifts at the Café. Those beauties were worth it.
“But we’re so sorry. We told you they wouldn’t last at that price.”
Tuesday’s face fell. “You mean they’re gone?”
“Just before closing an old customer came in. She’s the wife of a director. He makes those vampire movies? Someone just died on the set or something. Maybe you saw it on the news.”
Tuesday’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Mrs. Vitale?”
“That’s the one. She can afford Rodeo Drive but she likes a bargain once in a while so she comes in here. She was browsing just as we put them on display. She snapped them right up. Didn’t even haggle over the price.”
Tuesday was kicking herself for not snapping them up herself. It was the Dior suit all over again, but what could she do? The universe was telling her to be practical. Never a welcome message, but so be it.
“I can see how she’d need retail therapy right now,” she said trying to be philosophical. “It’s been a bad news week for them. I can relate.”
She forced herself to be upbeat, yet her heart was sinking into her solar plexus. “Well good for you two. That was a nice sale for the shop. I should know by now that when it comes to your inventory, she who hesitates is lost. If something like that shows up again, you’ll save them for me, okay?”
Marci had quietly rescued from the racks the clothes Tuesday had rejected yesterday. “You bet we will, dear. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink the sweater set?” She shook the hangars temptingly.
Tuesday made a show of putting her hand to ear to listen for something. “No, sorry. They’re not speaking to me today.”
Marci shrugged, said, “Can’t blame us for trying,” and Tuesday waved goodbye. She hoped the new owner of the gorgeous butterflies wasn’t going to show them off until she got over her jewelry envy. She was afraid that if she ran into her wearing them at the Café she’d cause a scene ripping them off her ears. Oh well, now she had nothing to distract her from thinking about the new man.
Chapter Twenty: Whither Thou Goest
The first night they had leaned against Tuesday’s Civic for half an hour, lingering outside Goren’s house making chitchat to see if the initial lightening bolt they both felt was real. They argued in a flirty way about who spotted whom first.
“I was standing outside with the gangbangers trying to get your attention and you walked right by me.” He feigned hurt feelings, and Tuesday declared him the winner. He asked for her email, and she handed him her card, grazing her lips ever so slightly as they said goodnight.
Now, two nights later, they were letting their steaks grow cold staring into each other’s eyes. She would have shown the door to any other date who suggested a restaurant chain. But when he emailed, “Ozzie’s Steaks good for you?” she joked, “Whither thou goest I will go,” and she knew she wasn’t just quoting Scripture.
He wrote back, “There’s one about a mile from my house. Sorta my second home.”
Tuesday found it easily. She had a rule to stay safe on a first date, so she drove herself to the Australian themed steakhouse. First they established how they each knew Goren Vitale--if they had mentioned that while they stood watching the rising moon that first night, Tuesday couldn’t remember, in fact she couldn’t remember much except him saying, “We gotta do this again. Soon.”
They sat in a booth near the bar and gigantic TV so she leaned in to explain, “I’m twelve degrees removed. A friend of a friend of Gor
en’s.”
He answered, “I’m a zillion degrees removed. I was supposed to meet a friend there, but he went to the wrong party. I guess it wasn’t exactly a party.”
Tuesday brought Ariel’s death. He’d told her he’d once been on the force. She figured he might have some clues.
“How do you think she died? They’re looking at foul play, right? I haven’t seen any details on the news.”
He put up his hands to slow her down. “Whoa, Nellie. I’m just an ex-cop. I don’t have inside info.”
The waitress came over and said, “Nice to see you, Charlie,” then smiled at Tuesday. “What can I get for you, hon? Something to drink while you scan the menu?”
They agreed to split a Caesar salad and he ordered rib eyes for them, medium rare. He handed back the menus and asked, “How the kids doin', Betsy?”
She made notes on her pad while she answered, “Oh you know. They keep me wondering how much time I’d get for stringing them up by their toes,” then stuck her pencil into her over permed, frizzy ponytail before she gathered up the menus.
“A lot, Betts.”
“Some days it’d be worth it.” She walked away chuckling, the sound of her pantyhose scraping against her ample thighs.
Tuesday cocked an eye. “Charlie? You told me your name was . . .”
For a moment she thought he was going to reach for her hand, then he changed direction and toyed with the salt and pepper shakers.
“It is. She never gets it right. Sometimes I’m Clyde or Marty. At least she remembers how I like my steak. Usually I eat at the bar and watch a game if I don’t have plans. But that’s only, you know, six, seven nights a week.”
