Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

  “I’m sorry, Honey. We wouldn’t pick on you on purpose,” she said, passing the butter tub. “I was just asking. You should know about the salvation of your friends, dear.”

  I took the butter and began soaking a steaming hot Parker House roll in it. “I guess I’m not a very good Christian these days.”

  Tillie passed the peas swimming in pot liquor, and remained mute at my confessed religious failings.

  Aunt Nan, though, resolutely leaned the other way. “Maybe one day you’ll share your faith with your closest comrades,” she said, eyeing me. When I didn’t respond, she added, “Besides we don’t have to poke you for information, Shannon. We know more than enough just from what we get out of Herbert.”

  I tilted my head and gave her one of those oh really looks.

  “That’s right,” she went on, taking the basket of rolls from Aunt Tillie. “Herbert knows everything that goes on in this town. And some about Memphis, too. He’ll fill us in on Brad’s story soon enough.”

  I couldn’t argue. Herbert Magnum was a busy reporter for the Tribune, and with him being Aunt Nancy’s some time boyfriend, who knew what kind of pillow talk went on between them? I felt a twinge of guilt over not accepting her invitations to dinner on those occasions when he visited.

  “Hey, as long as you aren’t giving him information in return, that would be fine,” I said, taking a bite. “Do you think he would talk to me and Dwayne? About the murder, or this contest, or anything else relevant? I’ll never get the lowdown out of Sal.”

  Aunt Nancy grinned. “I’ll make sure of it. How about tomorrow?”

  “On Sunday?”

  “Honey, he goes in on Saturday, Sunday, and most holidays. That’s when he does his best work. I’ll fix you up.”

  “Great. I’ll round up Dwayne and we can go together.”

  “Er...Was Dwayne and Bradley...er...you know...?” Nancy’s face turned red.

  “I am like the military. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  She nodded quickly. “Gotcha. Let me just go call Herb. I need to call him anyway about our choir concert on Sunday. Let me just go do that right now.”

  She scooped up her tea glass and strolled over to the sugar maple roll-top desk in the alcove off the dining room where the phone resided—better enabled her to have a moment of privacy. Maybe even catch her breath over this latest round of embarrassing conversation between us.

  I sipped my tea, and thought about my luck to have family who could cook, had connections, and wanted to see justice served. All at the same time.

  ###

  Dwayne wore dark glasses when I picked him up on Sunday.

  “Lawd God. Don’t make any sudden moves and don’t speak above a whisper,” he warned as he eased into the seat.

  I peered at him closely. “Are you going to be sick? Because if you are, I’ll get a garbage bag.”

  He started to shake his head, but must have thought better of it when he winced in pain. “No. I’m fine. Drive on.”

  I backed out. As we headed out of the trailer park, I fired off a few questions about Rafe.

  “Where does he work?” I wanted to sound like I knew little to nothing about the man. Dwayne could be hoodwinked easily right now and maybe he wouldn’t suspect my recent activities of playing private investigator.

  “Car stereo place. Pretty decent installer.”

  “Oh, like the place where you got my stereo and speakers?”

  “Yeah. Same place.”

  We drove on, but I stored the information for future use along with a scheme to go to Bird’s and check it out. I could put some paper in my deck. Tell them it was on the fritz.

  Dwayne’s quizzical look warranted a shrug. “Just curious,” I lied.

  He moaned a little as the sun beamed down on us and straight into my car’s interior.

  The Tribune stood atop a hill on Power Road, over by the electric company. Its squat white brick building used to be a bank. I could never figure out what would make a bank or other lending institution move to a new location a few yards down the street when they were already established, but that was what happened.

  After parking in a slot, we got out. Dwayne’s exit from the car looked something between a climb and a crawl. I checked him out before we went in and was intensely glad he remembered to bring some breath mints.

  The only noise inside the newspaper office came from an old window unit pumping out air in frigid blasts. We stood at a front counter like a dry cleaning place would have and listened to voices.

  Two men spoke rapidly behind a partition dividing the front desk from the rest of the office. I leaned over the counter to see them. A frail-looking older man stood with one hand on his hip, listening to an olive-skinned younger.

  The older man had to be Herbert.

  Sensing a presence, he looked over and realized they were not alone. “Can I help you?” he asked, hurrying over.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Herbert Magnum. I have an appointment.”

  “I’m your man. You must be Nancy’s niece?”

  “Yes, that’s right. This is Dwayne Brown, my business partner.”

  He shook Dwayne’s hand and ushered us into a nearby cubicle. We sat and waited until he got comfy, then listened while he told us what he knew about Bubba Thames’ murder.

  “The cops have hardly anything to go on yet. They gave us the bare basics. Vic was stuffed in his flower cooler, been dead a minimum of four hours, maximum of twelve,” he read from a sheet of paper. “Cause still pending word from autopsy.”

  Dwayne shifted and crossed his legs. “Guess that ain’t gonna make the front page.”

  Herbert shrugged. “It’ll make ours. Murder’s big news in a small town paper, no matter how minute the details. That’s really all I can tell you, though. Until the cops have more they’re willing to share.”

  “Yeah, we get that a lot,” I said with a sigh.

  “I don’t know if Nancy told you, but all the flower companies and florists in the area got involved in a big contest. I heard through the vine Bubba was in it.”

  I nodded. “She did tell me that. So what do you think? Is there a connection to his death?”

  He scratched his cheek and gazed at me, trying to decide if he should talk about it. “Well, let me just say this, if I wanted to know something about what Bubba was doing his last few days and you know, who he was in the company of, well, that would be the starting point for me. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I nodded again, understanding the meaning in his half-way explanation. Glancing over at Dwayne, I noted his death grip on the chair. Was it from suffering a raging hangover, or from the reminder that his friend was dead?

  The young man who had been speaking to Herbert came over, and Herbert excused himself. I tried to listen to the conversation between the two men, but they were too far away for me to understand any of it.

  From the look on Herbert’s face when he returned, it hadn’t been good. “I’m sorry, guys, I’ll have to beat it. We have a deadline on a story.”

  We rose, shook his hand, and started out. He stopped us to apologize again for the interruption. “If it’s of any interest, there’s been a rash of violent crimes lately. I’m working an angle that might include the Thames case. If I get anything hot, I’ll get word to Nancy.”

  I thanked him, and we let ourselves out. In all the years of watching my unmarried aunts pick men, he seemed to be the very first one with any merit. I intended to tell Aunt Nan as soon as I saw her.

  ###

  As we slid into the car, I asked, “Are you up to going over to the funeral home? We need to talk to Jason and let him know what happened the other night at the cemetery. It’s only about three. He should be working.”

  Dwayne nodded. “Sure. Can’t be any worse than sitting with a damn reporter hearing how a contest entry could be what did poor Bubba in. Why in hell does everyone want to pick on Bubba’s friends, too? First Sal, and now this dude. So he was in the company of some other
guys. So?”

  I winced. That explained the death grip. I kept my mouth shut for once.

  Jason’s dark-blue Subaru glimmered from its place in the lot, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He told me he usually worked in his office on Sunday afternoons; apparently, the only time he could count on things being a little slow. If we were lucky, then we might get information on Bubba’s funeral if the family used Scott’s. Being that it was the biggest gig in the funeral biz, I figured they might.

  Jason Scott greeted us at the door.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling. “We have news.”

  He shook Dwayne’s hand and returned my smile. “Come in, come in. Let me introduce you to my new assistant and then we can get right to it.”

  He waved toward a short, oriental man who stood in front of a small table.

  “Theo Makamushi, this is Shannon Wallace and Dwayne Brown,” Jason said.

  Theo took my hand and kissed it, his short black mustache tickling the back of my knuckles. Then, he shook Dwayne’s hand with a fair amount of energy. He wore a dark gray wool suit that smacked of a designer label and looked like a member of Congress off to a meeting with the President. His shiny shoes could have been mirrors.

  Why anyone in this business would dress up for the clientele was beyond me. The deceased surely wouldn’t notice if your shoes were untied, unpolished, or off. But then again, the living, morose family likely would appreciate the effort. They were surely paying enough for you to look nice.

  “We’ll be in my office, Theo. Buzz me if you need anything,” Jason instructed the man.

  Small talk about business ensued as we walked through the place toward his offices, completely refurnished since the last time I had been inside the funeral home. Amazed, I paused as we walked through the large gathering room, which separated one set of viewing rooms from another.

  The rich golden oak furniture had been replaced with darker Asian-flavored stuff adorned in glossy matte and high lacquer finishes. Vases of robust reds, golds, and greens decorated tables and black lacquered screens filled in empty areas. Even the coffee pot seemed more ornate than the old drip style Scott formerly used. “What on earth have you done to your place here?” I asked.

  “Theo took over,” he said, smiling. “How do you like what he’s done?”

  Dwayne pulled his dark glasses to the end of his nose. “Very feng shui.”

  We continued on to his office, a dark cave of a room with brown blinds pulled closed against the afternoon sun, and seated ourselves in leather barrel chairs.

  “What do you have for me?” he asked.

  “You hear about the death over at The Delicate Petal?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Unfortunate.”

  “You handling that one here?”

  “Yes, I believe Mr. Thames is scheduled. You know how busy I’ve been. Theo has handled a lot of clients for me. What does this have to do with the job I hired you for?”

  Dwayne pulled his dark glasses off and put them in his shirt pocket. I figured he was coming awake, feeling better. “Sort of connected. We caught some people on screen for you. If one of them is who I think it is, he knew Bubba.”

  “So, I was right. It wasn’t kids.”

  “No, it’s not kids,” I answered.

  “When can I see the footage?” He was nearly drooling at the thought.

  “Well, that’s part of why I wanted to come by,” I said. “The footage from the other night is not very good. The vandals were running, and we were chasing them through the dark, and a number of other video nightmarish things. We’d like to come back and try again.” I glanced at Dwayne to get his approval. He didn’t interrupt so I went on. “If we can catch the vandals clearer than last time, it might help the cops. We want to film Bubba’s funeral, too.”

  Dwayne shifted and coughed. I peeked cautiously at him and watched as he looked toward the ceiling. He hated when I sprang this sort of thing on him. I rushed on. “It’s a known fact that killers sometimes go to their victim’s funerals. It could happen. You want the vandals punished and the killer or killers caught, right?”

  I wasn’t sure if I was saying this for Dwayne’s consent or Jason’s but after a moment, Jason agreed. “Of course. I see what you mean. The better case I build with your video, the better chance I have with the cops, and if you can catch the murderer in the process, well, good for you. I say, go for it.”

  “You want to sneak around and check out anything suspicious, right?” I asked Dwayne. He looked away and exhaled loudly.

  Jason pulled something out of his desk drawer and laid it before him—three seriously pointed stars like a Ninja might carry decorated with black and silver. “More protection make you feel better?” he asked.

  “What’s that?” Dwayne pointed at them.

  Jason put them on the small table to the left of his desk. “They’re called shuriken. Theo gave them to me. He’s got a lot of fun stuff like this. Handy man to have around.”

  Dwayne pursed his lips. “Okay then. Well, money talks, as they say. We think two hundred dollars more is in order for another night out in the dead zone.”

  I kept quiet. If more money would anchor Dwayne’s assistance, I was all for it.

  “Do I get all of the discs, or whatever?” Jason asked.

  We nodded at the same time.

  The funeral home director pushed the intercom button on his phone. “Theo, come in here and bring the checkbook.”

  Chapter Five

  We took the money, got the funeral details from Theo, and headed out. Bubba’s service took the Wednesday afternoon slot. I dropped Dwayne at his trailer with instructions to get the dough in the bank Monday before something bounced, and headed for the car stereo place where Rafe worked. If he was there, I could talk to him, pretend innocence of all knowledge. If not, I could ask around and see if anyone there knew him, or knew where to find him.

  Bird’s Tweeters and Woofers operated in a rundown building with paint peeling everywhere and plenty of cars in the lot. I wondered how many belonged to employees and how many to customers. The vehicles were nothing special. No Beemers, no fancy sports cars. So why did a guy who worked at a two-bit joint like this have several nice deposits that made him slightly more wealthy than all of his peers? Who paid the money?

  When I caught sight of the closed Sunday sign, disappointment filled me. I pulled into a slot in front of the glass doors and stepped out of Betsy to walk up and peer into the windows. No lights on anywhere, and no fancy anything inside that building, either. I sighed, overwhelmed with a bad feeling about this.

  Rafe didn’t work for some high-end, upscale place.

  I decided to go home to rest and think. On the ride home, Katie Henderson, my best friend and former roommate in college, called. She had been feeling left out since the start-up of Video Angels with Dwayne. On our last visit, she’d said the least I could do was plan on doing a video for her of her niece’s dance recital. I nearly agreed out of guilt, but fortunately she laughed and said she was just kidding. “Being around little girls dressed in pink frothy tutus, all squeals and loud laughter, makes your toes curl, I know,” she’d admitted.

  I answered her call now with a little trepidation in my voice.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Trying to understand criminals,” I explained.

  “Ooohkay,” she replied. “Ever work on spending time with sick friends?”

  “Who’s sick? You?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s a virus.”

  “You mean, like, vom-tastic?”

  “Baaad. But since you never spend time with me anymore, I thought it might massage your motherly side to know that I was ailing.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate. I’m meeting myself coming and going right now. Call me when you’re better,” I told her. “We’ll get together then, I promise.”

  “I’m warning you, when I feel better I am going to want some of your Aunt Tillie’s turnip greens, and since you are my greens connection, I
can get them for free.”

  “You got it, pal. Feel better soon.” We disconnected. My Aunt Tillie’s food healed all wounds and sicknesses it seemed.

  When I arrived home, I climbed out of Betsy and walked up to my apartment. I tossed my purse and keys on the kitchen counter and made a bee-line for the shower. Nothing refreshed my mind like water jetting down on my head. It wasn’t long before my gray matter pondered over Sal and his missing cousin.

  Did my cop friend know Rafe was gay? Did he even know the crowd Rafe spent time with was made up of mostly gay men? The way he discussed them, it seemed he thought they were all just hoodlums. Did he really even give a hoot about the gay aspect as Dwayne suggested? And what about Bubba? How did his relationship with Rafe play into this?

  If their lover’s quarrel had escalated, Rafe could be missing for a whole different reason. When I finished showering, I pulled on a comfortable pair of pajama pants and a raggedy tee shirt. I opened a container of strawberry yogurt and settled in front of the television to watch the Sunday night movie. Covered with a soft blanket and propped up on a cozy pillow, I had just begun to doze when my cell phone rang.

  Throwing the covers back with a growl, I sprinted to my purse. I had to dig and dig to find my phone and by then, the caller had disconnected. The digital display read one missed call from Sal Ramirez. I wanted to dial him up and scream obscenities for being yanked out of a good sleep, but I refrained.

  Instead, I hooked up my charger, turned the sound off, and mentally made a decision not to look at it again until I finished watching Gone with the Wind. All four hours of it. Just as I congratulated myself on being so tough with people who wanted to control my life with phone calls, the doorbell rang.

  “Oh my freaking God!” I threw the covers back, focused my anger on the visitor, and charged.

  I didn’t even bother to look out to see who was there. In my frame of mind, I could probably kill whoever it was with one eyeball honed in on them. That is, if they didn’t die from laughing at me in my current state of bed hair.

  I yanked the door open and stumbled to a stop when I saw it was Sal.