A Corpse in a Teacup

by Cassie Page

  “I’m not sure it’s enough to hold him, yet, but it sure is enough to bring him in for questioning.”

  “How about a warrant to search his premises.”

  Jameson had her iPad out. “I’m already on it.”

  Butel was on his phone sending a squad car to Holley’s house.

  Tuesday was texting Holley. “Don’t let Gregory into the house.”

  “Why,” was the reply.

  “JUST DON’T. I’ll explain later.”

  A few minutes later, Butel walked up to them. “No point bringing him in. Officers were close to the lily guy’s house. They questioned him and his alibi’s for the nights of the deaths are airtight. He was either conducting meetings at his garden club or away at conferences. We got corroboration.”

  Jameson and Clipper through up their hands. Clipper said, “That’s the crime fighting business. Mostly dead ends.”

  The detective rounded up her crew and left.

  Clipper walked Tuesday to her table in the corner. She didn’t have enough time to hurry to Holley’s house and give her and her mother a comforting hug before her first customer was due. She offered him tea, a glass of wine, but he said I’ll settle for a little time with you.”

  Tuesday took his hand. “Tell me what else you found in your investigations.”

  He sighed. Tuesday saw the strain of the investigation, the conflict between them and rubbed his shoulder. She imagined she looked just as stressed. He said, “There isn’t much to tell. Ariel had rented a little bungalow behind the owner’s house. They were out that evening, so they didn’t hear or see anything untoward. She was found in the living room in front of the TV. It was tuned to one of those rich housewives reality shows. Friends said she was addicted to them, so everything looked normal. She just seemed to have keeled over. Her last message on her phone was a text to the local pizza place. Nothing unusual there. Cops found a half eaten bowl of soup in the kitchen with not much in the refrigerator. Typical millennial’s kitchen, right. They always eat out.”

  “You mean like certain ex-detectives who have their own seat at the bar at Ozzie’s?”

  Clifford grinned. “Kinda.”

  “So they figured she got hungry, soup wasn’t doing it for her and she ordered a pizza, It was paid for so the pizza delivery guy left it on her doorstep when she didn’t answer the doorbell. The owners saw it when they pulled into the garage. They investigated because they thought she might have fallen asleep and were afraid the pizza would attract raccoons. They looked in the window and saw her face down on the coffee table.”

  Tuesday tucked her foot under her knees, her back against the door, studying Clipper’s face. “How do you know nothing was disturbed?”

  “I called in a chit. I still have a few friends on the force and they let me come along for the ride. Looked like cardiac arrest or a stroke to me at first. But something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, so I told Zeus there was reason to investigate.”

  Something was nagging in the back of Tuesday’s mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Did they check the soup for poison and stuff?”

  “First thing they did. No evidence of contamination and no poison in her system. They checked for electric shocks, minute pinpricks that might have been dosed with something. Nothing. But something about the way she fell bothered me. I saw the photos that the crime scene team took. She was face down on the coffee table. Had a mark on her head. If you weren’t looking for anything you’d have missed it. But something told me she was posed. A heart attack? She’d have fallen back into the couch. Why was she sitting on the edge of her seat?”

  He pulled out his phone and flipped through until he came to some pictures of a female taken at the coroner’s exam. “I’ve seen heart attacks before. The grab their chest or they fall sideways or backwards.”

  Clipper studied the photos but told her they were not for prime time. “I suppose anything can happen in that final moment. It’s not exactly scripted. But I don’t know. Something bugged me.”

  “What about Electra? What did you see at her place?” Tuesday had her elbows on the table now, chin in her palms.

  “Let me find her pictures. Here we go. Well, first of all, she was found in her garage. Seemed she just collapsed when she got out of her car. She’d come from having coffee with a friend. A neighbor got suspicious a few hours later because she never left her garage door open. Seems like she cracked her head when she fell. Could have had a heart attack from the shock, but the results aren’t in yet. No substances that they can detect, but it’s early yet. Still, it was ruled accidental. From the blow to the head when she fell, though the concussion was minor. Jameson and company took a closer look when they found out she was connected to the film, but didn’t find anything. That brings us to Zora.”

  Tuesday leaned forward, catching a glimpse of some of the photos, but Clipper scrolled through them so fast, she couldn’t identify anything. “Was she found at home?”

  Clipper shook his head. “Not this one. Which is a change in the MO. She was found in her office at Vitale’s studio. Head down on her desk. She’d been eating a burrito. Looks like she choked, but not on her lunch. Got that from a food truck. She didn’t have anything stuck in her windpipe. A real puzzle. The only link is that chef. Marco or whatever his name is. Didn’t you say he was caught with the rest of the busted cat?”

  Tuesday nodded. “I still don’t know what’s up with that. You walked in when they were slugging that one out. The thing is, Marco doesn’t hang with movie people. Not that I know of, anyway. He cares about three things. His kitchen, his garden and his women. Or so I’ve been told. And I don’t know his women.”

  “Could he have fed something to Zora that had a piece of the cat in it?”

  Tuesday sighed. “Two things wrong with that scenario. He doesn’t know Zora; at least that’s what I’ve heard. She certainly doesn’t come to the restaurant. None of the staff knew who she was when Jameson announced her death just now. And second, he has an alibi. He was at the restaurant all day yesterday and last night.”

  “Assuming he did it, he could have an accomplice.”

  Tuesday threw up her hands. “Why?” A jumble of thoughts banged around in her brain. What was it that she was trying to remember?

  Clipper found a picture on his phone. “Here’s one. Do you have a strong stomach?”

  “Why?”

  He held up the photo. It looked like a combination of raw meat and an unappetizing stew. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to focus on, then she saw it. The piece of glass from the cat.

  “Oh gross. Is that her stomach? Yuck.”

  “I know, but you can clearly identify the piece of the cat. This is our best clue.”

  He flipped through more photos. “I wasn’t invited to Electra’s crime scene, the costume lady, but they had pictures spread out at the autopsy and let me snap a few in case I might spot something. Do you want to see? They aren’t too bad.”

  Tuesday leaned over cautiously. She recognized Electra, though she’d only seen her at the memorial. She was probably in her forties and even in death she had good bone structure. “She just looks like she’s sleeping.”

  “Right. Nothing’s disturbed. Even her clothes are neat and tidy. Too tidy if you ask me.”

  He showed her more pictures, taken from different angles, focusing more on the surroundings than the body. Tuesday found them easier to look at. Her shoes, her skirt modestly covering her knees, a cardigan sweater half buttoned over a shell or camisole of some kind. Clipper kept flipping through the photos, pointing out details he found curious.

  Tuesday bolted upright. “Wait. Go back. No, not that one. There, no you passed it.” She grabbed the phone out of his hand and found the picture she was looking for and held it up for him. “See? There.” She pointed to an object.

  “Yeah, it’s an earring. They only found one, or that’s all that was listed on the sheet. So?”

  “Clipper. That’s not he
r earring. I know who the killer is. There is only one pair on the face of this earth and it doesn’t belong to Electra. Or didn’t.”

  She gave him a short version of seeing the butterfly earrings at Designer Consider’s.

  “Are you sure?”

  “When it comes to bling, you can trust me. I’d know those earrings anywhere. Brava must have dropped it without realizing it. She certainly wouldn’t have gifted them to her. They hated each other. They’re clip-ons.”

  Clipper gave a puzzled shrug. “Meaning?”

  “It doesn’t take much for them to fall off. If she was moving Electra’s body around, she might not have noticed that one came off. That’s why I hate them. Usually you don’t know you’ve lost one until hours later and can’t figure out where you dropped it.”

  She jerked her head up, frightened. “Did you say Ariel had been eating soup?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Soup. That’s it. That’s what I’ve been trying to remember. It all fits, now. The director’s wife. She’s a friend of Marco’s. She has his number on speed dial.”

  “So?”

  Tuesday held up her phone. “I got a text from Holley a few minutes ago. Brava’s bringing soup to Holley and my mother. Though she may not even know my mother is there. Soup at Ariel’s house. She’s clearly the killer and now she’s bringing soup to Holley. Oh my god. Marco made the soup. He’s famous for it.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would the director’s wife sabotage his film? Wouldn’t that hurt her if the project tanks?”

  “Yes, maybe. I don’t know,” she said, frantically digging for her phone. “You’re the investigator. You figure it out. I have to stop them from eating Brava’s soup.”

  “C’mon, c’mon,” she said. “Pick up, Holley girl. Please pick up.”

  She looked horror struck at Clipper. “She’s not answering. Hurry. We have to get to her house. We have to find them.”

  “Directions,” he said grimly, running out of the Café to his car. Tuesday gave him Holley’s address and he called it into his GPS.

  A patrol car was in front of Holley’s house when they got there. Clipper had alerted Jameson and she had sent a team. Tuesday burst out of the car and ran up the walkway. A uniformed officer stopped her. “Ma’am? Are you Holley Wood?”

  “No,” she said, pulling away from him and running to the front door. “My mother is with her. They’re missing.” Clipper was behind her as she began pounding on the door.

  Clipper said, “Officer, we have reason to suspect foul play.”

  “That’s all I need to know, sir.” He gave the high sign to his partner and they bashed open the door.

  They ran through house and found nothing, not even traces of the soup in in the kitchen. Tuesday ran next door and banged on Gregory’s door. “Open up,” she pleaded. “Please be home, Gregory.”

  A few seconds later Holley’s neighbor strolled down the path on the side of his house, a rusty, muddy gardening tool in his gloved hand. Surprise and then anger registered on his face when he saw the police and Tuesday bearing down on him. “Again? I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Mr. Gregory, I’m sorry about that. I’ll explain later. Where are they, Greg. Do you know? Have you seen them?”

  “Who? Holley and your lovely mother? I saw them earlier. Has something else happened?”

  Tuesday pointed to Holley’s Mercedes SUV parked in the driveway. “Her car is here, but they’re gone. Did you see anyone come to the house, go in the house?”

  She was shrieking, panicking. Clipper put is arms around her and led her away from Gregory’s front door. “Let the police question him. Stay out of this. Trust me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: The BOLO

  “I don’t even work for you. Why are you asking me to solve your problems?”

  Clipper reached over and lifted Tuesday’s phone from her hand. He mouthed, “Apologize and say goodbye,” and handed the phone back to her.

  He and Tuesday had settled in his SUV while they waited for an update from the officer. Natasha, at the other end of Tuesday’s call, was just as frantic as she was. “They’ve arrested Marco,” she bleated again. “Vat am I going to do?”

  Tuesday tried to calm her own voice. “Natasha. Relax. You have Rowena. No, she’s not Marco. But she’s his protégé. She can handle the kitchen. No, I can’t come in. I have my own problems. My mother is missing. So is Holley Wood. They may be in the hands of the killer. I have to go.”

  Tuesday’s voice cracked as she ended the call. “Why am I her BFF all of a sudden? Before Marco was arrested, she blamed me for everything. She has a husband. Let her lean on him.”

  Clipper stretched out his arm and pulled her to him. “Take it easy. They’re going to find them. Once they get a license plate they’ll put out a BOLO. She’d have to put the car underground to escape that.

  Tuesday would not let herself be consoled. She pulled away and leaned her head against the window. “What’s that?”

  Clipper mimed an incredulous look. “BOLO? I thought you watched NCIS. Be on the look out.”

  Tuesday nodded in recognition. “Why don’t we go into Holley’s house and turn on the TV. Maybe they’ll have them on that local channel that follows police chases.”

  Clipper stroked her hair, twirling his fingers through her curls. “Tuesday, there is no chase yet. They’re trying to contact Vitale to get the make and model of his wife’s car. They need the license plate number.”

  Tuesday sat up straight. “Goren? Maybe he’s in on it. Maybe they grabbed them together. After all, how could one woman overpower Holley and Tessa and force them into a car? He has to be with them. And maybe Roger as well.”

  “Slow down. You don’t know that any of that is true. Don’t upset yourself by imagining the worst. We don’t even know if the wife is guilty of anything yet. Lot’s of people drink soup. Doesn’t mean someone’s spiked it. The earring is circumstantial unless we know how it got on the floor of Electra’s garage and if the wife really does have the other one.”

  Tuesday slumped back, exhausted from the stress. “Natasha wanted me to come in and do my shift, but there’s no way I could focus on a reading.”

  “I figured that’s what she wanted. Listen. Let’s use that nervous energy of yours to do some brainstorming. Let’s say the wife is the culprit. She’s in on some scheme with the chef that involves the sculpture. No idea what it is but humor me. What would the motive be for killing three women that would seriously damage her husband’s reputation and future income? Anything come to mind?”

  Tuesday leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “All I know is this. When we were at the memorial, I heard bad things about all three victims. Well, I found out about Ariel’s past on the Internet, but there was no love lost between Zora and Electra and I’m not sure Mrs. Vitale liked either of them. Maybe she suspected Electra of fooling around with her husband. That one has a rep for playing around. Had a rep. But she’s old. Forty. Was forty. Why would he go for her with all the young talent available? Girls like Holley. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Just then the officer knocked on the window. Clipper got out of the car to speak to him, but left the door open so Tuesday could listen in.

  “Jameson just called. They got an ID on the car from the husband. He doesn’t believe she’s involved. I guess he’s got enough bad press and threatened to sue if any more stories were printed about them. So if he knows any more, we’re not going to get it from him, because by now I’m sure he’s lawyered up.”

  “Thanks, officer. Listen, I think we’ll go to the precinct and talk to Jameson. See if we can help in any way. Nothing for us to do here.”

  “You got it man.” They shook hands and Clipper got back in the car. “That okay with you, Tuesday?”

  She nodded and Clipper started the car. Tuesday stopped him and leaned across him to call out the window. “Officer? Listen, it’s a long shot, but would give us the ID on the car?” Tuesday entered the i
nfo into her phone and they took off.

  Clipper wolfed down his burger, but Tuesday picked at her fruit salad, anxious to get to the station for some news. He had talked her into a lunch break, because there wasn’t anything else they could do. He stopped at a diner that promised fast food, as in quick and greasy. The fruit was canned, but lunch had taken no more than ten minutes. They sat in a booth by the window, Tuesday perking up every time a black SUV drove by.

  She broke down and told him about Tessa, how she’d often imagined a bad end for her mother because of her lifestyle. “You know the story,” she said. “The drug overdose or alcoholic you find passed out or worse in an alley. Sometimes I’d almost wish for it. Get us both out of our misery. Not really, but you know how thoughts go through your head. But now that she is in real trouble. . .”

  Clipper broke in. “You don’t know that yet. Don’t go there.”

  “Okay. Let’s say if she’s in real trouble, I’d die if anything happened to her. She may not have been your average Betty Crocker type mother, but one thing I’ve always known.”

  Clipper pushed his plate to the side and took Tuesday’s hand. “What’s that, sweetness?”

  Tuesday sighed deeply and closed her eyes, said so softly Clipper could barely hear, “She loves me.”

  “Yeah, well. You can’t put a price on that.”

  Tuesday opened her eyes and returned his soulful stare. She broke away, looked out the window, afraid she was going to break down. Her jaw dropped and she pointed. “That’s them. Clipper. That’s the car. Look.”

  He half stood, following her finger, but the car had passed out of sight. Tuesday was digging for her phone, called up the sticky with the license plate number. “I’m sure that was it.”

  Clipper dumped the contents of his wallet on the table, counted the bills. “That’s it for me. Got a few bucks for a tip?”

  Tuesday threw a five on the table and they were out the door, hopping into Clipper’s SUV. “I don’t know where they are, Tuesday. I don’t know what I’m following.”