“Not to be indelicate,” Johnny said, “but are you in need of the facilities or is there some reason you think you might find something among perfume bottles?”
I fluttered my lashes. “Y’all are such—men. You’re looking in all the places men store things. Diamond definitely had a female mind and I’m using mine to play a hunch.”
“Meaning?” asked Gordon.
“Well, Johnny said indelicate, and it is to some extent, but there is no better hiding place for small valuables. Before I broke down and rented a safety deposit box for the two good rings I inherited from a great-aunt, I used to hide them in a carton of those objects men are terrified and embarrassed to buy at the drugstore even if they’ve been married for like twenty years.”
“Really?” Gordon eyes widened. “This is good to know for future reference when looking for murder weapons.”
I smiled. “I doubt you’d find a woman hiding a Glock that way. Maybe a knife or a small bottle of arsenic. Wait. Does arsenic come in bottles?”
Johnny winked at me. “This from superspy Vanessa? Doesn’t know a simple fact about arsenic?”
“Give me a break. All daytime dramas have ridiculous exotic crimes. Remember that case you solved with the mobster from Atlanta? The dude had a South American iguana named Hal who secreted a deadly toxin then scurried back under a rock to wait for forty years before the next fiend hauled him out for another secretion. Then there was your Olympic skiing case I didn't get to see since it was before I met you. You told me about those frozen bullets in guns that belong to Nazi spies left over from the thirties and early forties. Both the guns and the Nazis. Then there’s the ever-popular people dropped out of planes after parachutes are sabotaged which put you into one of those comas for like half a year."
“Well, Yolanda is slipping then. After all, you got shot today with a normal gun? What went wrong?”
Gordon whipped his head around to stare at Johnny. “Abby got shot?”
“No! No!” I quickly and emphatically exclaimed. “Thea Donovan, being played by Abby got shot. Abby is fine. And I suppose the reason for the simple shooting instead of a more exotic weapon was that the writers have at least five more murders to create for this series of Fontana Inn episodes, including another attempt to kill Thea Donovan since I barely survived the shooting plus the demise of Dennis Noone. I suppose they ran out of ideas. Can I go back to searching now?”
“Sure,” Gordon responded. “I don’t want to hunt through Ms. Richards’ private belongings in her bathroom anyway. If you believe you can find something, go for it. I’m heading for the kitchen freezer. That’s where my mother used to keep her jewelry. In a big stew pot. Terrible idea but lots of people still believe it’s the perfect hiding place. Every burglar on earth heads straight there but civilians don’t know it so they keep freezing the family jewels. So to speak.”
Johnny and I both grinned at that, then I walked down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Johnny diving into a very cool steamer trunk in Diamond’s living room. I had a feeling he was going to put dibs on it for me if at all possible since he knows I love that kind of stuff. I doubted anything worthwhile was inside that involved shootings or napkins with mysterious messages but there might be some photos of Diamond’s “gentleman callers” and who knew? Could lead us to someone we hadn’t even known existed who might have a stake in both murders.
Diamond Richards’ bathroom was surprisingly clean and uncluttered. I’m not sure why I expected something on the order of backstage in a burlesque house dressing room shared by fifteen strippers but I guess I was interpreting what I perceived to have been Diamond’s overall sluttiness as sloppy. But the items on the shelves were neatly placed. The toilet, sink and tub were sparkling and the floor looked recently mopped. I made a quick check of what was on the shelving next to the sink and found shampoo, astringent, moisturizer, cotton balls, razors and shaving cream and a few cosmetics. I assumed the rest were in her bedroom. No paper goods on any of the three shelves, so I opened the doors under the sink and hit pay dirt. Rolls of toilet paper. Two boxes of tissues. One giant bottle of body lotion—and two boxes of those embarrassing items euphemistically advertised as ‘feminine hygiene products’ that Johnny and Gordon hadn’t wanted to be reminded really existed.
That’s what I went for. One box was open and partially used. I dumped the contents onto the bathmat, squatted and began to dig. The first thing I found was a small box containing two very nice rings. One was a turquoise with diamonds circling. The other had obviously been Diamond’s wedding ring. Plain gold band. I put the rings back into the box and set them aside. These needed to be given to Omar. if I left them here they’d probably be thrown into the garbage by some unwitting cleanup crew. Not good.
Next to show up that was on the “what doesn’t belong in this box” multiple choice question was a wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band. I didn’t count it but I did glimpse more than one fifty-dollar bill in the lot when I did a quick flip through. Again, I set that aside for Omar.
I was after information and I finally found it when I carefully unfolded the squished notes Diamond had also crammed inside the carton. The one I held in my hand was a different texture from the others, which turned out to be addresses and times with a big K on them. Rendezvous with Kaleb? There were no dates on them so I couldn’t tell if Kaleb had spoken truthfully when he claimed his fling with Diamond was before his marriage took place. I didn’t really care. Then, amazingly, I found what I was actually looking for.
“Yo! Johnny! Gordon! I’ve got something.”
I met the guys in the hallway so we wouldn’t have a crowd in the bathroom and held up my prize.
“Unless I’m completely mistaken, I’d say this is the famous note."
“What’s it say?” came from Johnny, followed immediately by Gordon with, “Is that the napkin?”
“Yes to the latter. As to what it says? If you want to make a quick $1500, then find out what Colette’s last words were."
“Wait.” Johnny held up his hand to apparently motion for silence. “Fifteen-hundred? I thought Diamond said she was offered a hundred. And son Omar would get twenty.”
“She lied. Just as I’ll bet anything she knew quite well who gave her this napkin and the follow up note. Hang on. Let me check the rest of the paper she’d hidden and see if she kept that note too.”
I left Johnny and Gordon and headed back to the bathroom and scoured through the wads of paper. Nothing. Diamond had either hidden that someplace else or simply decided to keep the napkin as a souvenir of her night of crime. I grabbed all the notes and returned the regular contents of the carton to the carton, then scooped up the cash and the rings and rejoined the guys in the hall. “Let’s take this back to the living room, okay? I’m getting weirded out by the uber-clean bathroom.” I handed Gordon the cash, the ring box and all the notes.
“Thanks. If nothing else, you’ve found some things that could ease life for Omar and his dad a bit. So far, no word on a will and I doubt she had a life insurance policy tending bar at Off-Broadway theatre venues,” Gordon stated quietly.
“Well, I do wish one of these notes gave us more of a clue.”
Johnny took the napkin from me. “This seems pretty good.”
“How so?”
“Smells like Scotch. Diamond was fanatically neat, which means her bar was fanatically clean at the Cameo. She wouldn’t have wiped down a Scotch spill with this napkin. But the person who gave it to her might well have been drinking Scotch and wiped his hands if a little splashed. I doubt he was stupid enough to have used it on his mouth, but who knows?”
Gordon took the napkin from Johnny and dropped into a plastic baggie. “Quit messing with it. I’m taking this in to see if a little DNA might have attached itself. Or if we have any handwriting from any suspect that might match.”
“I hate to douse the whole Scotch drinker thing but I remember Diamond telling me she was cleaning up after a Scotch and soda so we already knew someo
ne had been drinking that before the napkin hit the table. Could be anyone. Then again could we get that lucky? Find DNA evidence.” I paused. “But even if there is any would it really matter? I mean, a few words on a napkin aren’t exactly bullets and the gun.”
Johnny frowned at me. “Such a pessimist. You’ve gone and uncovered a great clue and now you’re poo-pooing it. What’s the matter?”
I shuddered. “I’m trying to convince myself that will lead somewhere because I have this truly nasty feeling after seeing the lengths this person is going to shut people up, they’re not through with me. I’d prefer to get some answers before the next round of bullets comes my way but I’m trying to stay pragmatic at the same time. That made no sense, did it?”
Gordon, wisely, had tuned out my misgivings and ramblings. He now smiled at both Johnny and me. “I don’t know about the napkin but you did uncover something that could be a lot more important in the scheme of things.”
“I did?” I asked as Johnny simultaneously queried, “she did?”
“She did. That wad of fifties you found. I’ve been looking through them and two things are very striking. The first is—they’re new. And the second goes right along with that—the numbers are sequential.”
I caught on before Johnny did, probably because I did a stint of waitressing at a dinner theatre back in my college days for about a month before I came to my senses and discovered I was the world’s worst waitress. Friendly, chatty, warm but amazingly klutzy. Before the owners could fire me I quit, explaining that I didn’t want to hurt their reputation by dropping forks on people’s laps or spewing wine into hair through incorrect techniques in uncorking. At any rate, I remembered that because I’d been friendly, chatty and warm I’d done pretty well in tips. But those tips were all denominations beginning with ones and even if fifty dollars came from one patron, those bills were not sequential.
I looked at Johnny. “These were not gathered from Diamond’s tip jar. These came from a bank.”
He got it. “Blackmail money.”
Chapter 33
“I realize that I’m the one who suggested this expedition, but personally? I’d call the tour of Diamond Richards’ apartment a wash.”
Gordon stared at me. “Not totally. We’re now about ninety-nine per cent certain she was blackmailing someone.”
Johnny looked at me, then at Gordon. He shrugged his shoulders. “But we already knew that. And we still don’t know who the blackmailee was.”
I blinked. “You know what?”
Both men asked, “What?”
“I’m pretty sure I know who it wasn’t.”
Johnny spoke first. “Who and why?”
“It wasn’t Kaleb.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?” Johnny inquired.
“The red Corvette.”
Gordon’s eyebrows both lifted “You lost me. We’ve established that Kaleb owns one and that it was seen in front of the Cameo Theatre on more than one occasion and that Diamond either borrowed it from him the afternoon after Colette’s murder or took it without his permission.”
I shook my head. “Wasn’t his. Don’t y’all remember? Johnny checked it out later and discovered it came from some car rental place called Sullivan’s. Kaleb would have no reason to rent a red Corvette for Diamond. He had his own and he refused to lend it out. However, if Diamond liked Kaleb’s car, she might very well have called the note-leaver and said,’Yo! I’ve got some free time and I’d like to take a little joy ride in a spiffy sports car. This afternoon. Pretty please?’ And the blackmailee says, ‘Fine. Just don’t say anything about who gave you the napkin and you can have all the rides you want.”
Johnny looked at Gordon. Gordon looked at Johnny. The two of them looked at me. Johnny chuckled. “I hate to admit it because it sounds completely inane and stupidly convoluted, but it actually makes a helluva lot more sense than Kaleb renting the same make and model of his own car. I’m just wondering what else Diam . . .” He froze.
“Johnny? You okay?”
“It’s Madame Euphoria in all her glory . . .”
It was. Jane Doe was casually strolling down the street in her Euphoria medium-presiding-at-séance outfit. Casually strolling right in front of Diamond Richards' apartment building.
I ran over and hugged her. “So, what are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?” I asked. "Are you conducting a late afternoon reading?"
“Well, I'm actually doing a full séance later tonight. Midnight the witching hour about three blocks from here but I needed to see you."
"Oh uh. What now?"
"Aura Lee said she'd been talking to Shay's cousin Bobby. He and Aura Lee exchange recipes for things like spinach enchiladas all the time. Anyway, he mentioned something about using some Jethro Tull music for a gig he's doing and Aura Lee said to tell you to go back to Tull. Whatever that means."
I sighed. "I'll try to come up with some reason for that although other than revisiting Kensico Cemetery in Valhalla, I'm clueless. I do have a question. Why is she sending you as her messenger? Why doesn't she just call me direct?"
She snorted. "She's all into her mysterious psychic whoop-di-do. I personally think she believes it'll be spookier and therefore so much more startling if she sends cryptic tips whenever she knows I'm going to be out and about in my Euphoria persona."
"And you knew we'd be here, how?"
She smiled. "Ah. I have to keep some secrets about my abilities. No comment." She turned to Gordon, leaned over and gave him a huge smack right on the lips. “Gordon Clark! I haven’t seen you in years. Are you married yet? You should be. You're such a cutie!"
Gordon morphed from a tough homicide detective into a pre-pubescent boy being quizzed by a parent about the copy of Hustler found under his bed. He stammered, “I’m . . . I’m seeing . . someone.”
“About damn time! Who?”
Gordon stated, “Shay. Abby's roommate.”
I exclaimed once I was able to sneak in a word. “Wait! You two know each other?"
Euphoria (I couldn't think of her as Jane when she was in the caftan, turban, dreadlocks get-up) nodded. "I did a reading for Gordon and about five members of the Tenth Precinct a few years back. Bachelor party. Not Gordon's obviously. He just doesn't want to admit he's the one who invited me."
He ignored her. Gordon’s cell phone was ringing and Gordon was answering and Gordon was sighing and Gordon was taking off to check out a crime scene that appeared very basic and un-mysterious. He shook his head, hung up and commented, “Bar fight gone horribly wrong. At this point it’s assault unless the gentleman who got bopped on the head with a large bottle of very cheap wine doesn’t make it, in which case we’ve got manslaughter. Gotta go, ladies, mediums and gents. Oh. I’ll drop off that napkin in the lab and see if any trace evidence can be obtained. Don’t get your hopes up.”
He took off. Johnny and I stood in the street below Diamond’s apartment. Madam Euphoria grinned. "He's so cute. If I weren't about to marry Billy I'd grab him. You tell Shay to be sweet and not break his heart or I'll sic Aura Lee to haunt her the rest of her days. I'm off kiddies. I need to grab some food before my performance tonight."
She took off in the opposite direction. Johnny winked at me. “Speaking of dinner, let's hit a very prosaic Manhattan diner where the chances of running into anyone we know are slim to none. If we're up to it we can ponder why we need to revisit Jethro Tull songs. Then you, Ms. Fouchet, need to hit the road back to Jersey. Location tomorrow. I don't have to go because they shot that last sequence with me conked out."
“I like it. Not hitting the road without you but dinner. Why does investigating make one hungry?"
"Do you really want a response to you and hunger other than emotions that include happy, sad, angry, frustrated or simply dealing with angst?"
"Nah. Forget I mentioned anything Although, I’d say there was enough angst today to keep me ravenous for the next month. And besides, I need fuel for tomorrow's shoot."
"Thea's
second death scene."
“Or third. I'm losing count. At any rate, it appears I'm dying again. Or not."
Chapter 35
“Is she dead?” (Fredericka leans over Thea’s body.)
(Gilberto checks her breathing) “No. She’s still alive. We have to get her out of her. Someone could have heard those shots!”
The mischievous and possibly downright evil Ms. Yolanda Barrett had indeed added a novel twist to Thea Donovan’s death scene I’d so dramatically performed just yesterday. Thea couldn’t just expire on the floor of the room in Fontana Inn where she’d been having the tryst with Gilberto/Dusty and where Fredericka/Barbie had shot "her" before being tackled by Dennis Noone/Johnny. Nope, Yolanda had decided to be cute and take a page —or a line—from the song recorded by The Coasters in the 1950s called Along Came Jones. For anyone not familiar with this classic, the song tells the story of one man’s attempt to find something good on TV and ending up with melodramas involving Sweet Sue and Jones—the hero who rescues Sweet Sue on every channel from murderous plots by Salty Sam—including everyone’s all-time favorite—tied to the railroad tracks. It’s a really fun song with a great tune and thrillingly comic lyrics.
I’d been teasing a couple of weeks ago about being tied to railroad tracks in good silent-film heroine fashion but durned if the script didn’t call for me to do just that. Not only wasn’t I dead, but I was about to be tossed onto the tracks and then saved just in time by Norman Jones, my—that is Thea’s—lover. So here I was, bleeding and unconscious and ready to get into position to be hauled out of the Fontana Inn by the shooter Fredericka and her lover Gilberto who apparently had no qualms about aiding and abetting one mistress in finally bumping off his other mistress. If anyone's wondering, Dennis Noone had been bopped over the head by Gilberto so he couldn't save Thea from her fate. That was the scene Johnny shot yesterday. The worst thing about this shoot was that I’d had to put on the bloody clothes I’d worn when I got shot so we wouldn’t have to worry about continuity. The good news was that I didn’t have to bite down on another blood capsule. The make-up team had a still photo of me on the floor from the shooting and were able to reconstruct the blood dripping from my mouth fairly easily.
Cold Wind to Valhalla (Abby Fouchet Mysteries Book 3) Page 23
