A Corpse in a Teacup

by Cassie Page

  A very angry and very pregnant woman slid out of the passenger side while the driver turned off the engine. He lit a cigarette then pulled his ball cap down over his eyes and leaned back into the headrest while the woman screamed at the redheaded guy through the locked gate. She rattled the chain link while calling the employee every variety of insulting names. The redhead strolled towards her with his arms outstretched.

  “Cindy, where you been? I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

  The woman’s hair was almost as red as the man’s, but colored from a bottle rather than Mother Nature. Her anger flushed her face to match her hair.

  “Don’t Cindy me,” she growled. “What are you doing with my car again?”

  The guy pulled his mouth down in a show of regret. “I keep telling you, babe, don’t park it by a fire hydrant and we won’t have to keep meeting like this.”

  She raised her fist, her large purse slapping into her chest. “Fire hydrant my ass. I bet it was parked across the street. You guys know when I get my alimony check and you come after me for it. I know your game. Anyway, it wasn’t me that parked the car. I lent it to my ex a few days ago and this is what he does with it. Go after him for the money.”

  Just then Vic returned from behind the row of cars. “Miss Tuesday, I’ve got your car down at the second tier. I’ve told the guys to bring it up right away, but it’s going to take a few minutes. It seems there was some mistake.”

  He gave Clipper a knowing look. “We shouldn’t have taken your car at all. Some mix-up with the dispatcher. I apologize. Let me make it up to you. I’ll give you a coupon for free parking in any of our downtown lots.”

  Tuesday accepted the card. “Thanks a lot, Vic. That’s really nice of you. I knew there had to be a mix-up. Anything you can do about the parking ticket I already paid?“

  “Wish I could give you a get out of jail free, card but that’s out of my hands.”

  Clipper broke in and shook Vic’s hand. “Thanks for your help, Vic. We have to get going.” He whispered in Tuesday’s ear, “Don’t push your luck.”

  Just then mad Cindy’s Mercedes appeared behind Vic. Tuesday bristled. She’d arrived before Cindy, then remembered she’d gotten off scott free. Unlike Cindy with the A1 service.

  They jumped out of the way as the Mercedes pulled up in front of them to a still raging Cindy. She knocked on the door of the pickup and the driver came to life. Cindy waved him off, so he backed up the truck, spun around and drove off in a spray of gravel. Tuesday waited while Cindy reluctantly handed over her credit card to the redhead. After folding her receipts and stuffing them into her purse, Cindy opened her trunk and dropped her purse inside. But before she slammed the hood shut, something inside the trunk caught Tuesday’s eye, rendering her speechless with disbelief.

  Before Tuesday could gather her wits and call out, Cindy drove off. Clipper opened the door to the Civic for Tuesday, but she resisted, spluttering incoherently. They hadn’t made a plan and he still hadn’t completed his agenda, discussing his reason for wanting to see Tuesday that morning in the first place. He said, “See you at the back at your apartment?”

  “No, no, no!” She shook her head wildly and pointed toward the disappearing Mercedes. “You don’t know what she has in her trunk. We have to follow her.”

  “Who?”

  Tuesday pointed, but Cindy had pulled out of the lot and dissolved into the traffic.

  Clipper looked from Tuesday to the street. “What’s the matter?”

  “The cat. She had the cat in her trunk. It was in pieces. In a plastic bag. The Mulberry Cat!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Give ‘Em The Boot

  Clipper shielded his eyes from the sun. “You’re sure you don’t know her.”

  “I’ve never seen her in my life. That hair? I’d remember that tragedy.”

  Tuesday’s phone buzzed as she tried to figure out exactly what she had seen in the Benz. It was one of the servers from the Café spreading the word. Natasha was calling everybody into the restaurant for an emergency meeting. Like now.

  “This is getting old,” she grumbled to Clipper as she slipped her phone back in her tote. “Natasha’s paying overtime, which is supposed to sweeten the pot, but I’m not on salary so that means nothing to me. Got to run. I’ll call you after the meeting.”

  Before she took off, she did her best to rub the yellow marker off her windshield that dubbed her a scofflaw.

  At the Café, Natasha was in a particularly bad mood. Tuesday assumed it was because she promised to cover overtime for the meeting. She let Detective Jameson run the show.

  The detective had pulled her long Afro into a ponytail and it bobbed playfully as she walked to the cash register. Marco and winemaster Peter stood by the bar, and once again, the staff had seated themselves at the front tables. Overtime or no, none seemed pleased at coming to work early. Meetings didn’t bring in tips.

  The detective roamed a harsh stare over the staff. She watched them twitch and turn in their seats waiting for the meeting to begin, chattering among themselves trying figure out what was going on now. The detective seemed to be watching for signs of guilt. Someone unable to look her in the eye, an inappropriate level of hostility masking knowledge of the reason for the meeting. All eyes were on Jameson. The curious, the bored, the seemingly guilt-free.

  She looked up at the ceiling, grim and determined. She had no time to waste. “You know that the owners,” she nodded to Natasha and Marco standing behind her, “have been very concerned about the disappearance of a glass cat. You all know that the restaurant was named after it. The Mulberry Cat. I understand that the owners have questioned you extensively, but no one seems to have any knowledge of it’s whereabouts.”

  Heads bobbed agreeing to her version of events. Eyes rolled. Not the cat again. Except for Tuesday. She looked at Marco but couldn’t catch his eye. They both knew the fate of the cat. They had seen the piece from Tuesday’s boot. Should she raise her hand and correct the detective?

  “Well now we have a more ominous need to locate the cat. Are any of you aware of it?”

  The staff looked at one another, then presented puzzled faces to the detective.

  “Do any of you know Zora Slade?”

  It took Tuesday a moment to recognize the name. She’d only heard the woman’s name a few times at the party and from Holley. And, of course, from her new client, Rainey.

  It was clear the world of the movie set and the world of the restaurant business didn’t converge. The name did not seem to register with anyone in the room. Though Zora’s death had been revealed to the media, no one there seemed to have picked up on it.

  Tuesday knew where Jameson was headed and she wanted to make it clear she had no involvement with the deceased. She raised her hand. “I’ve met her once but, no, I don’t know her. I mean, it’s not like we’re BFF’s or anything.”

  Detective Jameson gave her a look that Tuesday found easy to read. An, I’ll see you after class scowl. Why are you involved in yet one more crime?

  Jameson began to pace in front of the staff, looking at the floor, speaking as though she were thinking out loud.

  “Ms. Slade had the misfortune to die last night. This is of interest, why?” She paused to let her rhetoric take effect. “Because she worked on the movie set where a possible cast member and a wardrobe mistress were killed.”

  A murmur danced through the group. That movie set. Restaurant gossip had alerted everyone to the fact that one of their customers was married to the director. Still the atmosphere of bewilderment hung over the group. What did the murders have to do with the Café? Detective Jameson was about to tell them.

  “That makes three suspicious deaths possibly linked to each other. Now we learn that a sliver of glass was discovered in Ms. Slade’s stomach contents during her autopsy. I’m sorry to be so graphic. I know this is unpleasant, but the glass appears to be a piece of The Mulberry Cat.”

  Expressions of horror rose from the tables. Mar
co yelled, “No. That’s not possible.”

  Natasha looked as though she might faint. Evidently, she had not been informed of this news before the meeting. From Tuesday’s vantage point it appeared to her that Peter, the sommelier, was the least affected. Either he had heard it already or, like Rainey, he knew Zora and was not bothered by her death.

  Tuesday, though, was as shocked as anyone.

  Marco stepped forward. “Are you telling us the cat was broken? How can that be?”

  Without thinking, Tuesday blurted out, “But you knew that, Marco. I told you last night.”

  As one, the staff turned to look at her, then Marco, who had turned beet red. “What are you talking about?” he shouted. “I knew nothing of the kind.”

  “But chef, I gave you the piece of orange glass I found stuck to my boot. I was here last night. In fact, my car was towed while I was talking to you. I don’t work at night so I didn’t know where to park and when I went outside . . . “

  Detective Jameson interrupted her. “You mean you had a piece of the Mulberry Cat?”

  “Yes. I came back to give it to the chef. He promised a reward to anyone who found it.” As one, everyone in the room bobbed their heads in agreement. “I wanted Natasha to know what I’d found, even though I knew it would upset her, but I thought she should know it was destroyed. At least she could stop looking for an intact cat.”

  Natasha exploded in Tuesday’s face. “You mean you broke my cat?”

  “No, no. I didn’t break it. I found it stuck to my boot. Well,” she was about to say Clipper’s name but decided not to reveal anything that personal.

  “I was with a friend last night and he noticed it. I put my foot up,” she demonstrated by crossing her foot over her knee, “and there it was.”

  Jameson scowled. “Your boot? Why didn’t you report this to me? You knew we were looking for the cat. You were here when we were called in the other day to find it.”

  The detective looked from Tuesday to Marco and back. Natasha was shouting and pointing to Tuesday. “Arrest her! She stole my property and destroyed it and then fed it to that poor woman. Arrest her.”

  Detective Jameson ordered Natasha to stand back and let her question Tuesday. “Now Miss Tuesday, once again. Why didn’t you report this important piece of evidence to the police?”

  “I didn’t know it was evidence. At least not murder evidence. I don’t know how it got on my sole, but I knew Marco would want to know what I found, so I gave it to him. He also promised a reward of a thousand dollars that I’m still waiting for!”

  Marco glared at her. Jameson turned to him. “Let me have this piece of glass.”

  Marco threw out his hands. “I don’t have it. It was just a piece of gravel. It didn’t look like anything to me. It certainly wasn’t from the cat, so I threw it in the trash. It was picked up this morning. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “So our one piece of evidence got tossed into the trash.” Jameson made no effort to hide her frustration.

  “But I know where the rest of it is detective.”

  Jameson turned to Tuesday. “You do? Where?”

  “In the back of Cindy’s car.”

  “Who’s Cindy?”

  Tuesday noticed that Marco coughed, and his face bloomed with anger. He seemed to be giving Tuesday some sort of signal to shut up. But she continued.

  “I don’t really know who she is. She was at the impound lot in Compton this morning. See, my car got towed last night when I came in here to give what I’d found to Marco. I had to go down there this morning to reclaim it. A friend drove me and that’s where I saw Cindy. That’s what the guy working in the lot called her. Apparently she gets her car towed a lot. Cindy was there rescuing her Mercedes. When she opened her trunk I saw a bag of cat pieces. They were in a clear plastic bag. I could see right in.”

  Natasha broke into tears. “My poor kitty.”

  Detective Jameson was typing furiously into her iPad. “Give me the name of the impound lot. Maybe they will help me track down this Cindy.”

  Marco held up his phone. “Detective, are we done here. I have to leave to meet with my suppliers or we won’t have any ribs for dinner tonight.”

  “No,” Jameson said. “You can’t leave the premises until we’re done. I need to ask you some more questions.”

  Then she addressed the restless staff who were all asking the same question. “Who’s Zora? I’ve never heard of her.”

  Jameson clapped her hands. “Attention, people. I need the contact information for each of you. My officers will collect it and I will need a statement of your whereabouts last night.”

  Most of them murmured, “Here. Working.”

  Then she turned to Tuesday. “Can I have a word? Miss Tuesday, have a seat. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

  Two things popped into Tuesday’s mind. First, she should consider tacking a last name on to Tuesday so people would stop referring to her as Miss. Ever since she’d hooked up with Holley, she had the feeling she was in a southern chic flick every time someone addressed her.

  Next, she had to do something about the brain pain this whole case was causing her. That had been broken glass she saw in that Cindy’s car, hadn’t it? Now, as she relived the brief moment the feisty woman had opened her trunk, she wasn’t so sure. And by the way, didn’t Cindy realize it was a $90,000 Mercedes sedan she was manhandling and not a destruction derby contender when she drove off spraying gravel all over her rear end? The car’s rear end, that is.?

  So what else could have been in that plastic bag? Work out clothes? Not with that baby bump. Toddler toys? Of course. The colors were garish enough. Some retro dishes? Nah, those shades of turquoise and orange were too ugly even for ‘50’s Danish Modern.

  And besides, she countered with herself. What are the odds that Natasha’s precious, one of a kind (thank god for small blessings) feline sculpture would show up in the back of a pristine Mercedes driven by a foul-mouthed pregnant lady sporting a $3,000 Prada tote who got hauled in to the impound lot by the parking police? To say nothing of how it might have made it’s way into Zora’s innards. What was that all about?

  Not possible, Tuesday decided. She’d seen something that only looked like the cat. And now she has embarrassed herself announcing to the world, or the one person that matters most in her world this morning, Detective Jameson, that the tell tale glass was seen hiding out in a scofflaw’s pricy ride.

  Well, Kanesha couldn’t arrest her for being mistaken. Could she?

  As she was ruminating, the sound of banging pots and loud voices charged the air, already tense from the news that there could be a killer in the house. Marco and Rowena having at it in the kitchen again. Everyone’s nerves were strained. Jameson and the officers were duplicating the task they started on the set. Asking people for their contact info, and an alibi for Zora’s time of death. Whether they knew her even, or had ever seen her in the restaurant.

  Detective Jameson interviewed Tuesday personally. “So we meet again, Miss Tuesday. Have you always made it a habit to show up at crime scenes?”

  “Seriously, detective. I’m just a tasseomancer. I don’t know how I got involved in all this.”

  “And you want me to believe that you happened to see the broken cat in the trunk of an expensive car in an impound lot in Compton, miles away from this Café, and you were able to identify it after seeing the alleged remnants for, what? Two, three seconds?”

  “Detective, I don’t know. Maybe I have The Mulberry Cat on my brain. I was sure I saw it. That stuff sure looked like the glass in Victor’s sculpture. But I could be wrong. You’re right. I only saw it for a few seconds. But what you said? About contacting the lot?”

  She was rummaging in her bag to find the paperwork with the lot’s name on it. “They would have a record of her name and address and maybe you could check it out.”

  “Oh, we’ll check it out all right. Now where were you between the hours of eight and midnight last n
ight?”

  “I went to see Holley Wood and my mother about seven . . .”

  “Your mother is connected to another witness in this case? Is this a family affair for you?”

  Tuesday explained that her mother was Holley’s houseguest and that she had arrived back at her apartment at about eight p.m. and spent the rest of the evening by herself. “But why are you interested in my whereabouts?”

  “Look at it from my point of view, Miss Tuesday. I’m investigating three suspicious deaths and you are connected to each of them. Then you discover a piece of glass attached to your shoe, oh, and tell me why I should even believe that, and then a piece of the selfsame glass appears in the stomach contents of a victim. Tell me why I shouldn’t want to know where you were last night.”

  Tuesday looked over at the door to gather her thoughts and saw Victor, the cat creator, arrive. Natasha flew into his arms, burying her face in his neck. He stroked her shoulders while murmuring in her ear. Tuesday felt a stab of jealousy. She had no interest in Victor, but the marital intimacy raised a longing that surprised her. A reflex made her think about Clipper. She focused on Natasha’s tearstained face instead. She was whispering something to her husband and caught Tuesday’s eye. She raised her fist behind Victor’s back and shook it at Tuesday. The threatening gesture made conversation with the detective an inviting option and Tuesday turned her back on Natasha.

  And suddenly it hit her. “Detective, how did you know that piece of glass was from the cat? Am I right? You‘ve never actually seen the cat before.”

  Jameson turned and focused her eyes on Tuesday. “You’re boyfriend identified it. He was at the autopsy this morning. You know, Clipper.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Oops!

  “What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?”

  Even with the volume turned up on her cell phone, the traffic outside the restaurant made it hard to hear Clipper’s protestations. She had stepped outside to get away from Natasha’s wailing and Jameson’s ugly looks. But mostly to find out what Clipper was up to.