A Corpse in a Teacup

by Cassie Page

  Tuesday could do nothing but pat her on the shoulder. The room was filling up and she began to worry about the time. She whispered to Holley, “I can’t stay all day. I have to work at the Café this afternoon. I’m going to see if they will interview us first.”

  She made her request to one of the uniformed officers who checked a list on her clipboard. She found Holley’s name, but not Tuesday’s. “That’s because I’m not part of the production,” she explained. “I’m Miss Wood’s companion.”

  Her request elicited nothing but a raised eyebrow. Recognizing a lost cause when she saw one, Tuesday returned to her uncomfortable folding chair. Holley was checking her voice mail and Tuesday said, “You look glum sweetheart. Don’t tell me you got more bad news today.”

  “It’s Roger. He won’t return my calls. I asked him about his wife last night after you told me he was married.”

  “Past tense, Holley. He used to be married. At least that’s the story he gave me.”

  “Well I asked him why he didn’t tell me. He said it was too painful to share. Then he said maybe I was right and we shouldn’t see each other any more. I asked not even as friends, and he said he didn’t think he was good for me. He had too much negative energy.”

  Tuesday was surprised. Why would he pull back from Holley? Maybe Zora’s comments got to him. As time passed, Tuesday became more befuddled by the turn of events. “So why are you trying to reach him? Let him be, sugar. Just let him be. He’s in his own dark world and you don’t need that energy.”

  Holley persisted, her huge eyes showing a mix of worry and fear. “But after everything that’s happened, I’m worried about him. He goes running in the morning on the strand out by the ocean and always calls me before he leaves his house. He doesn’t take his phone so he can get away from everything. He might not even know what’s happened to Electra. He would hate not knowing.”

  “Trust me, Holley.” Text messages were flooding Tuesday’s phone with news flashes about the latest death connected with the film. “From the news blast this story is getting, if he is within five inches of civilization this morning, he knows. He probably heard it on his car radio.”

  Holley’s head hung down and her thick hair was falling over her face. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I need him until he’s not available any more. Maybe I was too hasty about Roger. What do you think Miss Tuesday?”

  “I think that’s the age old story of love. Move on, Holley, before you get in too deep.”

  Holley made an unconvincing stab at looking on the bright side. “You’re right. You’re always right. But I’m just going to call him once more just to be sure.”

  While Tuesday was rolling her eyes, Detective Jameson got a call. After she hung up she gathered her crew around her and fell into a deep discussion with them. Then she made an announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so sorry, but we are going to have to postpone our interviews until later today.”

  “Good,” said Tuesday, grabbing her stuff to get to the Café on time.

  Jameson raised her hands to try to calm the generalized grumbling.

  “I know this is inconvenient and I want to thank you all for coming in on short notice, but I had no forewarning that we would be called to another assignment. We have your contact information. Someone will call you with details about when we will meet next. Again, I’m sorry.”

  She gave the high sign to her partner and then led the way out of the room, behind them the seven officers on the interrogating team. Once again, Jameson and company were walking out on a meeting they had called. Tuesday wondered how they got their work done.

  Gray Star started sobbing and pulling at the pointy lapels on her jumpsuit.

  “I heard them,” she screamed. “I heard what they were talking about. Why they had to leave. There’s been another murder!

  The Check’s In The Mail

  “Three in a week? We’re on a roll. A record for me. Yeah, it’s done.”

  “Well stay put. The way things are going, we may have more work for you.”

  “I need a break. This stuff takes it out of me.” He laughed. They both knew he lived for his work. Even if the targets didn’t.

  “We need proof you know, before you get the last payment.”

  “Don’t worry. The evidence will be on your doorstep by midnight.”

  “Okay, and the check will be on yours as soon as it checks out.”

  “Nice doing business with you.”

  “Same to you, Clipper.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Surprise

  “Guess who?”

  Tuesday’s least favorite words in the English language, especially at eight in the morning. Only one person announced herself that way, as if Tuesday wouldn’t recognize her mother’s boozy voice.

  “Hi, Tessa. What’s up?”

  During Tuesday’s adolescence her mother insisted she stop calling her mommy. For a while, she tried to pass her off as her baby sister. Tessa wasn’t her real name. After a free makeover at a department store cosmetics counter she decided that Ruth, her given name, was too bland for her wild, inner spirit and she became Tessa. The boyfriend she wanted to impress at the time with an exotic moniker had long ago departed, but the name stuck.

  Names became a thing with Tuesday. She could not contain the joy she felt for people important to her in a name. Nor could she go around constantly saying I love you to her friends, so she called them honeybunch, sweetie, lovie or dear one. Her mother had just three names. Tessa on most occasions, Tessie when Tuesday felt relaxed, and mommy when it seemed things were spinning out of control again, and she became a vulnerable little girl needing her mother.

  Tuesday gave her mother another prompt to announce the reason for her call. “Everything okay?”

  The question made her nerves start to ping. A call from her mother meant one of three things. She wanted to borrow money, a double edged sword: on one hand it meant her mother wasn’t dealing drugs, but also Tuesday wouldn’t ever get the money back.

  It could mean Tessa was once again on the wagon and practicing the step where she had to atone for her sins. They would have endless conversations about what a bad mother she was. Until guilt or cravings overwhelmed her, and she fell off the wagon.

  Or, she was into the tequila again, and the conversation could go anywhere.

  “Tuesday girl,” she finally said, “I have good news. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  This time her voice revealed very little that could prepare Tuesday for her state of mind, so she decided to stay positive. What could it hurt?

  “I’m all ears, Tessie.” Tuesday picked up her iPad and skimmed her email, actually giving her mother only half an ear. Until she said, “I need you to give me a recommendation.”

  “A what? A recommendation for what?”

  The last time she backed her mother was for an apartment so Tessa could have one more fresh start. Tuesday ended up losing the deposit she had fronted and had to pay to have the wine stains removed from the carpet.

  “I just told you, Tues. Weren’t you listening? This job. It’s the chance of a lifetime. And I’ll only have to stay with you until I get my first paycheck and can get my own place.”

  Tuesday sat up and the iPad slid to the floor. “Wait, mommy. Go over this again. Start from the top.”

  It wasn’t that Tuesday didn’t love her mother, but as she had explained to Olivia the night they traded mother histories, she needed to worship hers from afar. Tessa had made genuine sacrifices to keep Tuesday out of the clutches of foster care. Tuesday knew she was the center of her mother’s life. It was just that the center of her mother’s life was chaotic, and Tuesday did better hanging out on the fringes. Like living in Los Angeles while her mother resided in Phoenix, or St. Petersburg, or Buffalo, her last address. They hadn’t roomed together since Tuesday was seventeen and went off to live with her grandmother to attend junior college.

  “I have this job, Tuesday. I’m a life coach.”
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  Another call came through. It was from Holley. Tuesday let it go into voice mail. This was one conversation she couldn’t put on hold.

  “A what? Tessa you have to train to be a life coach. It’s like a profession. Sort of. And you have to have life experience to help people with their problems. Like finding a job or coping with motherhood or something. What kind of coaching are you going to do?”

  A text from Holley came across the top of the smart phone screen. I think Roger is dead. Call me.

  Tuesday stared at the message, disbelieving, while trying to get the gist of Tessa’s explanation. “Cosmetic Reinvention. And I’m certified. I’m qualified. I wouldn’t be able to do this if I weren’t. And the company that trained me wants to hire me. I just need a recommendation.”

  Tuesday said, “What?” at the text.

  “I said Cosmetic Reinvention. Aren’t you listening to me? This is my life plan I’m talking about.”

  “Tessa I just got a text.”

  “But I need you to listen to me.”

  “I am. What are you saying? What company? What’s Cosmetic Reinvention?”

  What did Holley mean, Roger was dead?

  “You know, for women who’ve been choosing the wrong cosmetics all their lives. They are in ruts and can’t get ahead because their look is all wrong. CRI. That’s Cosmetic Reinvention International. They trained me and now they want me to work for them.”

  “How much did you pay for the training?”

  Another text arrived, this time from Natasha. Find the cat or you don’t work here no more.

  “Mommy, I have to go.”

  “No. Just listen to me. It was an investment. And they have a payment plan.”

  Why should she have to find the cat? Tuesday was trying to keep all this bad news sorted out in her mind. Tessa was hounding her to pay attention.

  “Okay. So what is the job?”

  “Well, it’s really exciting. I’ll build my own team.”

  Tuesday recognized the pie in the sky tone in Tessa’s voice. She had a new plan to start afresh. This was going to cost Tuesday, it always did, either in cold cash or painful life lessons. “You mean you’ll train them to sell more coaching programs.”

  “Yes. How to work out a life plan for the clients.”

  Another text. From Mr. Gorgeous. Lunch?

  Now she had to negotiate a trifecta of trouble. This avalanche of texts had to stop. One more and she wouldn’t be able to cope. She had to get her mother off the phone. “Do you get a salary or a commission?”

  “Oh, commission, of course. That’s where the money is. You basically work for yourself.”

  “Because a 9-5 job limits you.”

  “Exactly. You’ve heard of the company.”

  “Actually, I have Tessa. It’s called Scam International. Tessa! I have to go.”

  “You’re so negative. What have I told you about thinking positively? You’ll get so much further in life, dear. I think you need a Cosmetic Reinvention. I’ll do one for you. Free, of course. Then you’ll see the value of this. And the best part is I’m relocating.”

  “Tessa, I think you should stay where you are and rethink this. We can have a Skype call and figure out a life plan for you. I’ll coach you and it won’t cost you a dime.”

  Holley called again. Tuesday debated putting her mother on hold, but let the call go into voicemail again. Holley followed it up with another text: We’re all going to die. I’m doomed.

  Tuesday just stared dumbfounded at the message. Her mother became insistent. “What do you mean, stay where I am? I can’t do that.”

  Tuesday’s impatience seeped into her voice. She couldn’t help it. She always tried to be nonjudgmental with Tessa. It was the path of least resistance. She worked at keeping her voice even. “Why, what’s happened to your apartment? I thought it was secure.”

  “Oh I’m not in my apartment any more. Phoenix wasn’t happening for Cosmetic Reinvention.”

  “Tessa. I mean it. I have to go. If you have a new number, give it to me and I’ll call you. Real soon. Where are you?”

  “Here.”

  Tuesday paused. She didn’t like the sound of that. “Here where?”

  “Here in LA. I’ve been on a bus all week. I finally made it to the bus station. I’m waiting for you to pick me up. Surprise!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Here Kitty

  “Holley, how do you know Roger is dead?”

  Things were happening too fast. Tuesday’s blood pounded in her neck. It had been a tossup which message she would return first. In the end it had been no contest. Why did Holley think Roger was dead? Not Roger. She hadn’t made up her mind whether he was capable of criminal acts, but she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt until she knew otherwise.

  Holley’s voice crackled from tears clogging her throat. “Miss Tuesday, he won’t answer his phone or texts. I’ve been trying to reach him since yesterday. He never makes me wait for a return call. You heard what Gray Star said. The police left the meeting because there is another murder. He’s the next one.”

  “Holley we don’t know that. Have you turned on the TV? Is there any news?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Then don’t jump to conclusions. I want you to stay calm and stay put. Don’t let anyone into your house unless you know them.”

  “Oh, Miss Tuesday. I’m too sensitive for all this. I can’t be alone. Harry left after breakfast. You have to stay with me.”

  “Holley, I can’t. My mother is in town. I have to pick her up at the train station now.”

  “Your mother? Oh, Miss Tuesday. You are truly blessed to still have your mother.”

  “Oh, Holley, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had lost your mother.”

  “Oh, I haven’t lost her. I know where she is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She moved far away. For her health.”

  “Oh, where did she go, Arizona?”

  “No, the south of France.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Holley had given few clues about her family life in the months Tuesday had known her. Their time was spent on readings, not socializing. “What’s wrong with her? Did she sprain the hand she uses to sign her credit cards?”

  “Something like that. Her nerves. She has a nervous condition.

  Tuesday thought, so it runs in the family. “And where is she exactly?”

  “Some town called San Tropiz.”

  “Do you mean San Tropez?”

  “I don’t know. I’m reading it off her postcard. She’s in a sanitarium there.”

  ”I wonder which one. Dior? Yves St. Laurent? Valentino? Holley, nobody goes to sanitariums any more.”

  “Well my mother did, and I wish she was back here with me. If someone is trying to kill me, I might never see her again.”

  Holley began to cry, big hiccoughing sobs. Tuesday had a thought. “Holley, stay put. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “You promise?”

  “Oh, girlfriend. I promise.”

  The next call was to Mr. Gorgeous. She got his voice mail, so she left a jumbled message explaining that getting together was complicated because her mother was in town. She’d text him later.

  He texted back immediately that he was ready when she was. Tuesday grabbed her tote bag and took off for East 7th Street, the Los Angeles Greyhound Bus Station in a far more buoyant mood than a confrontation with her mother or Natasha would explain.

  Tuesday arrived early at the Café before anyone else. It was Saturday, and they drew in the weekend shopping crowd. Natasha had made it clear that, for reasons Tuesday couldn’t fathom, she held her responsible for the disappearance of the cat. Rather than spend time defending herself against the charge, Tuesday decided to take the path of least resistance and try to find it.

  She arrived early before any of the staff and even though a janitorial service swept up every night, she grabbed a wide broom and went over every square inch of the floor in the main restau
rant and the patio. She swept every corner, including the storeroom, utility closet, kitchen and freezer. She found no trace of the missing glass sculpture. She even had a freezer burn to show to Natasha from touching the meat rack as proof that she had done everything and looked everywhere possible. The cat was not in the restaurant, she declared to the rafters as the rest of the staff began to arrive.

  When Marco and Natasha arrived, the chef declared an impromptu staff meeting. Tuesday grumbled that she was attending more meetings these days than the president of General Motors. When everyone had assembled, Marco stood at the cash register casting an evil eye over the room. A dozen or so gathered around the front tables in their uniforms, an embroidered outline of the missing cat mocking them from their breast pockets. Natasha stood behind him, severe and accusing. The creator of the creature, Victor, was absent, perhaps in mourning in his studio. Missing as well were two servers, on vacation since before the theft, so not under suspicion. The evening staff gave Tuesday puzzled glances, not recognizing the girl in the feather and camo camisole and duct tape mini skirt as one of their own. Her look today channeled early Bjork, but the new boots with cushy soles and British school tie were head-scratching accessories.

  Natasha gave Marco the sign to begin. The beefy chef often addressed the staff when he was trying out a new dish or explaining how they should describe an elaborate preparation to customers. He also barked at them regularly, if they weren’t picking up orders fast enough or were too rough with a plate and a towering creation fell over and ruined the artful presentation. But he had never taken over the reins of a disciplinary meeting. He cleared his throat and demonstrated, what Tuesday always knew, a distinct aptitude for chewing out the underlings.

  “I’m telling you, I cannot have my kitchen disrupted with this cat business any longer. Someone in this room knows what happened to The Mulberry Cat. The longer you put off admitting your guilt in stealing it or, god forbid, breaking it and disposing of it, the harder the hammer will fall on you. Now we all know that accidents happen. We’re all human.”