A Corpse in a Teacup

by Cassie Page

  “I’ll get up off the couch, but that is as far as I’m going.”

  Holley shook her head in mock disgust and extended her hand to pull Tessa to her feet. “I’ll give you a few minutes to catch your breath and then we have to get back to work before your muscles cool down.”

  Tessa turned and stared through the shutters, seemingly fascinated by Holley’s front yard. Actually, her breathing had returned to normal, but she was drawing a red line. She would decide when she was ready to work out. No way would she let a tinsel-toed gym bunny run her life. She was making enough changes in her life. If she needed to rest on the couch, by . . . .

  She noticed a black SUV slow down in front of the house and it stopped her internal rant. The sun visor was pulled over to the driver side so she couldn’t see who was peering into Holley’s house. Not that she would recognize any of Holley’s friends. She waved and then turned to Holley.

  “Star gazers, honey?”

  Holley gave her a puzzled look. “Somebody’s giving your house the once over. Friend or autograph hound?”

  Holley came over and with a knee on the couch, bent over to peer through the blinds. The car was driving off. “I’m not that famous. Somebody probably checking house numbers. Let’s get back to work.”

  Toward the end of the routine, a knock on the door pulled Holley out of a plank. She and Tessa queried each other with their eyes and then she got up and walked to the door.

  “Stop, Holley!”

  Holley, turned, puzzled.

  “Tuesday told us not to open the door for anyone unless you knew who it was.”

  Holley peered through the peephole, then threw open the door. “Mr. Gregory! Come on in.”

  Her neighbor walked in thrusting a fistful of herbs at her. “For your smoothies,” he said, grinning, his eyes lingering on Tessa, sweating and struggling to get up off the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Busted

  Both her reading with Vera and her session with Rainey discombobulated Tuesday, sending her thoughts all over the map. Rainey. What a name for such a sad sack. Tuesday didn’t mean that in a harsh way. She had to have a deep well of sadness for misery to be the central experience of her life. But how could both murder and birth play such prominent roles in her reading? Yes, life was full of contradictions, and then a third murder, but . . . her phone rang interrupting her philosophical ruminations. Mr. G.

  She told a little white lie. “Hi. Sorry I couldn’t call you back earlier because I was with a client.”

  Tuesday heard aggravation and tension in his voice. She didn’t know him well enough to know what it meant. “What can I do for you?”

  “Tuesday, we need to talk. But not on the phone. Can you meet me for coffee in about twenty minutes?” He named a café halfway between his house and Tuesday’s.

  “Sorry, but I can’t meet you any time soon. I don’t have my car.” She debated whether she should mention the news about Zora, but past history told her he probably wouldn’t want to go there. What could he do about it, anyway?

  She explained what had happened at the Cat after she left him, that she had taken a cab home and was in the process of calling friends to see who might drive her to the impound lot. “Actually, I’m in a cab on the way home. I had an errand.”

  “Where did they take your car?”

  “Compton?” She said it like it was a dirty word. “But I don’t know where in Compton. I’m sure it’s at least an hour from here.”

  “I know the Compton lot from the old days. Yeah, a guy named Kenny runs it. Or he used to. Still owes me a favor, if I have the right guy. I’ll take you down there and see what we can work out. Give me your address.”

  “I don’t even know it they’re open on a Sunday.”

  “Those places never close. But you can pay the ticket part online. You’ll need that to spring your car.”

  Half an hour later Tuesday answered her door in one of the vintage outfits she’d bought on Monday at Designer Considers. The cerise sequined smoking jacket and electric blue tights that were a little big so she had snapped on plaid suspenders. Mr. G. had sounded intense on the phone, so she decided to dress down and not call attention to herself. At the last minute, she touched up her pedicure and walked splay-toed in her gold flip-flops until the green sparkly polish dried.

  She almost didn’t recognize him in his conservative gray business suit and striped tie. He had left his diamond stud at home. She stretched up, expecting a kiss, but he just walked into the living room. They exchanged an awkward smile and suddenly Tuesday was ill at ease. She invited him to sit down and offered tea. He broke the seriousness on his face with the grin that she loved. “Do I get a free reading?”

  Tuesday grinned back. “I’m closed for business right now. I need to know what’s up with you? Why the rush to meet?”

  He bit his bottom lip and looked around the room uncomfortably. Was this going to be a relationship conversation, she wondered? Was he beating her to it? Were things happening too fast for him? She waited for him to explain himself. His question startled her. “You know where I’ve been this morning?”

  “With your wife and kids? I think I’d have to do a reading to find out because I haven’t a clue.”

  He laughed, but it was more a release of tension than a flash of humor.

  Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Let’s go get your car. This can wait until later. We want to beat the traffic.”

  Tuesday was joking, but noting his quick exit from the conversation, she wondered if there really was a wife and kids.

  They had thirty miles of backed up traffic to do what they had not really been able to accomplish thus far, get to know one another. Now she had a million questions for him. Why was he single? Was he even single? What was his relationship track record? Did she pick up the piece of cat glass on his property?

  He started off. “Tell me again how you know all these movie types.”

  “Through Holley.”

  “Oh, yeah. The actress. She was at the Vitales’ party. Well, memorial. I thought she looked familiar. I’ve seen her movies. Is she the client you talked about bringing to the Café? A friend?”

  “You’re a good detective. I only said I had a client; I didn’t mention her name.”

  He smiled and buffed his nails on his lapel.

  “I don’t know if you could say Holley and I are friends. She got caught up in this murder business and I’m just along to keep her company. Moral support.”

  “So you read her tea leaves?”

  “Hmm. I’m not sure I’m supposed to say.”

  He turned on the air conditioning as they talked. “This is a murder investigation. I don’t think fortune tellers are protected by the doctor-patient confidentiality laws.”

  “First of all, I’m not a fortune teller. I have a skill that I’ve studied and perfected for many years. What I do is not hokum. It takes perception and focus and memorization.”

  He held out his hand to slow her down. “Whoa Nellie. I didn’t say it was hokum. You remember all the antique clothes and car parts? Who am I to judge? I say, whatever starts your engine.”

  “Point taken.” She glanced at his profile. It reminded her of a boxer, the nose crooked and bumpy, the ear a little cauliflowered. Altercations with bad guys in his past as a detective, she guessed. It was the full frontal that got her, the easy grin, the sleepy eyes, the soft mouth. That was a memory from last night. BC, Before Cat.

  Where was this going now? Was this the beginning of a relationship as he had been teasing her it was? Or the end? She was trying to get lost in his story of a new engine part he had found on eBay, but she couldn’t stop worrying about how the piece of cat glass got on her boot. She never heard it scraping the wood floor in her apartment or scratch the pavement. That had to mean that she picked it up on his property, didn’t it? Did she want to spoil the moment and quiz him about it? Wait, what was he talking about? Pink hair?

  “What did you just say?”

&nbs
p; He gave her a wink and a chuckle. “Hmm, what do I have to do to get your attention? I was just paying you a supreme compliment.”

  “Would you mind repeating it for the west coast audience?”

  “I said, when you walked by with that pink hair I knew I had to follow you home.”

  “But I told you. I didn’t walk by you, You walked by me. I was sitting inside against the wall . . .”

  “How quickly they forget. You passed me outside the precinct. I was talking to some gangbangers and couldn’t miss that pink hair going inside.”

  “Oh. I remember the gangbangers, but I missed you.”

  “Story of my life.”

  His good nature was infectious. She made a show of stroking his arm to comfort him. She meant it as a tease, was about to say, poor you, but he took her hand, squeezed it and kissed it, sending a shiver down her spine. Then he abruptly dropped it back into her lap. What did that mean? He was running hot and cold.

  She needed to do some work when she got home. Get out the Tarot cards, the pendulum to see if she should be allowing this to happen. Last thing she needed was another commitment phobic hottie in her life. Who might just be spinning a huge lie to boot.

  “And by the way,” he said. “They weren’t gangbangers.

  He looked around as if about to reveal a secret. “Some of my friends go undercover. Things aren’t always what you see.”

  “Wow. Had me fooled. But aren’t you giving their cover away? Suppose I get into some nefarious deal with them? I’ll know they are the law.”

  “That case is closed. Big drug bust. They were on the news last night. I guess you didn’t see it. I don’t give away state secrets. Not even to you.”

  Tuesday stretched. Traffic had slowed; this could be a long drive. She wasn’t going to hem and haw anymore. After all, he did just kiss her hand. Might as well get to the point; get things out in the open.

  “Do you always jump right into the pool like this? There are a lot of things we don’t know about each other. You know what they say. Speed kills.”

  This was a first, this reticence. The hanging back, checking for red flags. Tuesday was usually the one to jump into a relationship with blinders on.

  He was gripping the steering wheel with two hands and flashed her a quick grin. “So is it truth-telling time?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “Okay, I’ll go first. I’ve been married once, I have a little girl. Sophie. Six years old. The truest love of my life. Her mom and I are on reasonable terms. I’m up to date on alimony and child support. Just to warn you? I’d break a date with Faith Hill if Sophie needed me. It’s never happened, but just so you know where my heart is. However, there’s still lots of room left in there for the right woman. In case you’re asking. A few involvements since the divorce. I found them easy to get into and easy to get out of. I think commitment went out the window after I got married. Women don’t seem into it.”

  “So your wife ended things?”

  “With a buddy from the precinct.”

  “Do you want commitment?”

  “Just looking for the right woman. Only way to fly if you ask me.”

  He took her hand back. “Bonus points for pink hair.”

  Everything was so easy with him. She teased, “Eyes on the road, please. And if you’re looking for commitment, I’d stay away from Faith Hill. Married, you know.”

  “A guy can hope.”

  There was an awkward pause. Tuesday broke it with, “So, are you interested in my story?”

  “Of course, I am. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  “Well, before we go there,” she took a deep breath, “I have something to ask you.”

  “My birthday so you can do my chart?”

  “I’m serious.”

  He reached over and stroked her palm with his thumb, a tender move that almost made her forget her question. She withdrew her hand. “Don’t distract me. It’s about that piece of glass I found last night.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, I’m trying to figure out how that thing got on my boot. It never made any scratches on my floors, and I never heard it when I was walking outside. I searched the Café from top to bottom and didn’t find any glass. So I’m thinking if I didn’t have it on my boot before yesterday, the only other place I could have stepped on it was,” she made her voice small, as though delivering reluctant news, “at your house.”

  “Well, that would make sense, except I’ve never been to the Café. So how would it have gotten to my garage, or my driveway?”

  “Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?” She tried to make it sound playful and teasing, but it came out awkward and nervous.

  His eyes didn’t leave the road. “Are you sure you are?” Just as teasing, just as playful, just as serious. “Are we playing chicken here?”

  “Are we?”

  “It seems to me that if we suspect each other of some big nasty, then we don’t have a future together. If, all things being equal, that a future was, or is, at all possible or desired. We both know how tricky the relationship thing can be. At least I do.”

  Tuesday nodded in agreement.

  “If you think I had something to do with the cat, or any other dark number, we should stop here. For me, though, it’s a reasonable question, but I don’t know how that bit of glass got on your sole. However,” he raised his index finger for emphasis, “I’m sure there is a good explanation. I’ve decided I want to see where this goes, you and me, and I’m just going to trust you. Simple as that.”

  Tuesday scowled at him. “Trust me about what?”

  He paused for a moment, then continued on. “Just saying. You know what my job history is. When I was on the force I made a career of being suspicious of everybody, even the victims. I’ve known you for maybe thirty-six hours, but I knew the minute I saw you that you were for me. This is not my style, jumping in the pool as you said, but with you, I’m a fool for love. The next step is up to you.”

  Tuesday didn’t know how to answer, except she knew she had to close the moment with something. Without agonizing over it she said, “I guess, me, too. Lord help me. I’m busted.”

  They exchanged a soulful look and were happily quiet until he pulled into the lot in Compton, her hand remaining in his for the rest of the drive.

  Chain link fences with curls of barbed wire on top, CCTV cameras and barking guard dogs announced the security level of Prince’s Auto Wrecking and Impound Services.

  Tuesday read the fine print on the sign welded to the chain link fence. Bail bond services available. Reasonable.

  “Your basic full service parking lot,” she said.

  He answered, “The best for the best,” then told Tuesday to wait in the car. “I might still have a friend here who’ll take care of this for us.”

  She liked the sound of us.

  A burly redheaded guy, looking like a wild Irish chieftain in studded leather, heavy work boots and a flowing red beard came out of an armored office. Tuesday could hear the electronics that opened the bulletproof glass door and then unlock the steel gate that allowed visitors in and out of the compound. The two men exchanged a few words, then the redhead put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. He shouted, “Hey, Vic. Someone to see you.” He went back inside his office. Mr. G. turned and waved to her while he waited for Vic to arrive.

  In a few minutes, a short, elderly guy in his own set of leathers came out from a line of cars with the telltale ID numbers scrawled in yellow marker on the windshields. Tuesday stretched her neck, but couldn’t spot her own gray Civic. The lot had more than a whiff of the underside of life and a reflex finger of guilt wound its way up through her solar plexus. She started a little argument with herself, professing her innocence to an unseen accuser. “My car wasn’t in anybody’s way! They’ve got a scam going to make money off unsuspecting customers. The ticketing officer must have been hiding in the bushes. Well, I won’t stand for it.”

  Sh
e interrupted her internal diatribe to watch the old man recognize his visitor. A look of happy surprise spread across his face. He held open his arms and shouted through the chain link, “Well look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t my old buddy, Clipper!”

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Mr. Who?

  She had Mr. Gorgeous or Mr. G firmly planted in her head. It was odd to hear someone actually say his name. She rolled it around in her head as if for the first time.

  Clipper.

  It had snap. She liked that, though the history of his name was cutesy, not a trait she typically liked. When she had first pressed him about his moniker he told her that he had a younger sister who, when she was two, couldn’t say his name. Clifford. It came out Clippord, got shortened to Clipper by his father and it stuck.

  She watched the old man give a signal to the bearded guy, who opened the gate. He and Clipper shook hands with loud, laughing hellos and gave each other a man hug, barely touching chest to chest with a hefty pound on the back. Her reaction to this common but tepid greeting was always the same. Are they afraid they’re going to catch girly bugs from each other if they exchange a real embrace?

  The man and Clipper walked over to Tuesday. Clipper opened the car door for her, gave her a hand out and introduced her to Vic.

  “He owns the place. He’ll take care of you.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Tuesday. Now if you’ll just give me your driver’s license and receipt for the ticket, I’ll see what’s going on with your car.”

  Tuesday fished in her bag and handed over her ID. She and Clipper squinted at each other in the bright Compton sunshine while they waited, sending wordless acknowledgement of their new found glee. While they were mooning away, a brand new pick up bounced down the driveway and they jumped out of the way before it ran into them.