Before heading to the Gentleman Shoppe to be outfitted by Morris Mendelson, Oshansky stopped by the Hot Coffee Cafe for breakfast.
“Seems you have quite a crowd here this morning,” Oshansky said to the order cook as he picked up his plate of eggs, bacon and hash browns.
“Yeah, it’s the planning committee for that prom you guys are having,” he said. Oshansky thought he detected a smirk.
Looking around for an empty seat, Oshansky noticed the members of the planning committee were all sitting around three tables that were pushed together in the middle of the room. Al and Myra, along with 10 or 12 others, were listening intently to Marv who was going over the last minute details of the prom.
Myra looked up and, spotting Oshansky, gave him a quick smile and wave, then went back to taking notes.
Oshansky spotted an empty table in the back and as he made his way toward it, he nodded to Bea who was sitting at a table by the window. She was engaged in conversation with three other women dressed in tennis outfits.
As he was about to sit down, Brenda suddenly appeared. “Think you’re the cat’s pajamas, don’t you, Oshansky?” she screamed. “Tell me something,Oshansky! What gives you the right to come to my place with all kinds of accusations?”
“Look, Brenda, this isn’t the time or place…”
Brenda hair was in disarray and she didn’t have on her usual make-up. She was clearly out of control.
“How dare you come and try to get me in trouble. You just try to prove that I did anything wrong. If you want to make trouble I’ll make sure you pay for it.”
“Maybe you could tone your voice down a bit,” Oshansky suggested. He noticed that several people had turned up their hearing aids, undoubtedly to hear better.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she screamed even louder. Then moved in closer to him. “You’re crazy, Oshansky,” she screeched. “You’re not only insane, you’re pathetic. Just stay away from me.” She started to leave, then thinking better of it, turned back. “And if I hear you say one thing about me, or anything slanderous about those pills I’ll make sure you pay!”
“I’m not the one who’ll pay,” Oshansky responded angrily. “I’m having pills from that same batch tested and soon I’ll know exactly what you did to them.”
“What I did to Harry’s pills?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Are you nuts? Just stay away from me, Oshansky. Just stay away.” She walked away, muttering to herself.
Suddenly she stopped and turned back to face Oshansky.” The pills,” she said quietly. “I’ll bet that explains what I saw.” Without another word she turned and walked off.
Oshansky started to go after her when Marv rushed up and grabbed his arm. “Keep it down, Oshansky,” Marv scolded. “You’re a prom king nominee now. You can’t have these lover’s quarrels in public. Keep it classy.”
Oshansky pulled away. He needed to ask Brenda what she meant, what she’d seen—but she had already left.
He’d give her a call when he got back from shopping. Hopefully by then she’d have cooled down and be willing to talk.
“Hey, Oshanky, looks like you got an earful,” Francine said approaching him. “I see you’ve been screwing around with the ladies again.”
“Francine?” Oshansky nodded, his mind still on Brenda.
“I told you to leave those other women alone. Anyway, sorry I can’t sit and talk with you but I have a fitting for my prom gown in ten minutes.”
“What did you say?”
“Forget it. Your mind is obviously somewhere else. I’ll see you at the prom. Oh, and be sure to save a couple dances for me. Ta ta.”
Chapter 38
Brenda listened to Oshansky’s message on her answering machine. That made three messages in the last nine hours. He probably wanted to apologize, and well he should. But she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. After all, he’d practically accused her of murder.
Accusing her of stealing the damn pills was bad enough but was it really stealing? After all, Harry was already dead when she took his little pills. And you couldn’t call it stealing when it’s from a dead person, could you? No, you couldn’t! But still…she didn’t want it to get around. Which is why she’d gotten so upset when Oshansky confronted her about the pills at her house and she’d flushed them down the toilet.
But then…to find out that he thought she murdered Harry! It was ridiculous. After she’d invited him into her boudoir! And after they’d had such a good time!
But he had obviously realized his mistake. She could tell from the tone of his voice on her answering machine that he was having second thoughts and he now wanted to make up
And maybe she should let him. Maybe they could have a nice night of makeup sex—which was always the best kind. But she’d make him work for it.
The problem was, if Harry really had been murdered that night, she had a pretty good idea who did it. She’d seen the person entering Harry’s condo while she was walking by. Though it was dark, she had hidden behind a tree and watched as the person used a key and entered through Harry’s front door. But she never thought that person would murder Harry. Never. But now—now that Oshansky mentioned murder, everything made more sense.
Brenda decided that she should definitely talk to Oshansky about what she’d witnessed. After all, he was a private dick.
Perhaps she’d just stroll over to his condo before starting her nightly mile and half walk. That way her hair wouldn’t be all sweaty—she’d still look good.
Yes, telling him in person was definitely the way to go.
She was about to head out when she noticed her back sliding door was open.
Funny, she didn’t remember opening it. She went over to close it but heard a scraping sound outside. No doubt the gardeners had left the back gate open again and the wind was knocking it around.
Sighing with irritation, she went out to shut it but as she got closer, she saw the gate was already shut.
That’s when she noticed the black shoes near the date palm. It seemed strange to see a pair of abandoned shoes back there, until she realized there were feet in them. Attached to legs. Attached to…
‘You!’ Brenda said in shock. She was about to say more when the heavy metal angel that had previously stood among her beloved begonias, came crashing down upon her head with expert precision, knocking her to the ground. Dead.
The figure, all in black, looked at Brenda’s bloody corpse. Poor Brenda. But no time to mourn her now. The body had to be hidden at least for a while until it could be given a proper disposal.
The killer unfolded a blue tarp which had been brought for just this purpose and covered Brenda’s body with it.
Such a useless nosy cow. Always walking around, snooping and spying. And gossiping.
There. That was better. All covered up. No one would notice what was under the tarp. Unless they came looking for Brenda, which was unlikely. And the yard men weren’t coming for another week. The body would have to be disposed of before then—though with the way the men had been taking care of the yards lately, they’d probably just work around the body.
A rumor about Brenda’s going off to San Francisco to visit her gay husband for the weekend would be necessary now. It would spread with its usual alacrity and embellishment and would quell any suspicions about her lack of attendance at the prom.
And as to Oshansky—who was clearly too smart for his own good—well, he was next.
Chapter 39
Oshansky studied the gentleman staring back at him in the full length mirror. Calvin Klein black tux, satin lapel. Tuxedo shirt, spotless and freshly pressed for the occasion. Red silk cummerbund bought at Morris Mendelson’s insistence. Supposedly it would add just the right touch of color. For added panache, he sported a matching red bow tie and shiny new black shoes.
“A million dollars.” the elderly clerk announced in an accent that betrayed his Hungarian-by-way-of-New York origins. “A million dollars you look like. The ladies can’t resist
.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Oshansky said. A million dollars was what it felt like he’d spent. He hoped it was worth it.
******************
Oshansky gave the living room one last glance to make sure everything was in order before walking out the door. After a great amount of encouragement on his part, Bea had finally put aside her irritation and agreed to accompany him to the prom. She’d also agreed to come back to his condo afterwards for a drink. “But only for a drink,” she emphasized.
But no way, Oshansky thought, would she be able to resist a million dollar man.
As he walked to his car, he looked around hoping to see Brenda slinking around. Of course, she was probably busy getting ready for the prom.
He’d tried calling her the last few days but always got her answering machine.
The band was at extra loud volume, the ballroom packed with women dressed in coronation finery. Long gowns, professionally sprayed and teased hair, eye makeup spackled on with a heavy hand and enough jewelry to help bail the government out of its debt.
Everyone was in a festive mood. Even Oshansky found himself smiling and engaging in small talk.
“You’re almost unrecognizable, Oshansky,” Bea said staring at him. “You’re like a different person. What in the world has come over you?”
“The new model,” he winked. “Replacing that dour old Oshansky of the past. And all because I’m accompanied by the most beautiful lady at the prom.” Bea rolled her eyes as he took hold of her hand and led her to their table. “I mean it,” he said, admiring her figure in her red silk, one-shouldered gown that showed off her curves.
Now that he was almost positive that Bea had nothing to do with Harry’s death, he felt more open and romantic toward her. He couldn’t wait to get her back to his condo where they could finally consummate what they’d started.
Oshansky looked around the ballroom. “I wonder where Brenda is. Haven’t seen her around the last couple of days.
“Oh Brenda,” Bea said dismissively. “Larry Adler told Monique Simons who heard it from someone else that she went off to visit her ex in San Francisco. Lord only knows what goes on there.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bea said with a small smile, obviously still pleased with his compliment. “Drank too much water this afternoon trying to get rid of the puffiness so I could fit into my gown. I haven’t worn this thing for at least ten years.”
“Name your poison before you go,” Oshansky said.
“My what?” she looked at him in surprise.
“From the bar. What do you want from the bar?”
“Oh, anything with alcohol. Just make sure no one takes my place.” She put her purse on the chair before heading quickly to the ladies’ room.
“You’ve come a long way, baby.” Francine said, approaching Oshansky.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“Look at you. All dolled up. Mr. Uber-sexy. Too bad I’m with a date or I’d knock Bea off and take you home with me. Which gives me an idea. Why don’t you get rid of Bea early and invite me over later.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Francine, I was just on my way to the bar. And for your information, I have no intention of getting rid of Bea.”
“Ooh, don’t we sound all Mr. Ritzy,” she said sarcastically. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to dismiss me, Oshansky,” she said with a scowl as he walked away.
Marv motioned to the orchestra to stop. “Everybody, turn off your cell phones.” He paused to give them time to find their cell phones. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. There’ll be plenty of time to mingle later.” There was a swirl of excitement as everyone rushed to their seats.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Palm Springs Sun Villas and distinguished guests. Quiet. Please. Everybody, in your seats.” Marv waited for the last few stragglers to find their tables. “Welcome to the first annual Sun Villas Prom Night. We hope this will become a yearly event.” There were a few hoots amid polite applause.
Marv beamed with importance. “The time has come to crown our royal couple who will preside not only over the evening’s festivities, but over our beloved Sun Villas community for an entire year.”
A hush settled over the crowd. The tension was palpable. One could hear the proverbial pin drop, which, in this case,was Lou Adelstein’s cane.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you—though you probably know him already—Vern Williams!”
There were a few loud catcalls as Vern took his place at Marv’s side. “And now the nominees for Queen are—Maestro Vern, please.”
Vern raised an actual trumpet to his lips and sounded a few off-tune notes.
“The nominees for…” Marv began as Vern raised his trumpet and blew a note.
“Not now,” Marv hissed, “I’ll tell you when.”
Marv took a deep breath and continued. “The nominees for Queen are Hillary Thompson, Violet Edelman, and Myra Pfefeneuger. And the three nominees for king are…Rushmore Oshansky, Al Fortino, and me. Marv Aronson!”
Marv paused for effect and applause.
“And the winners are….” he motioned impatiently to Vern, whose trumpet notes set off loud whistling sounds from the various hearing aids.
“The winners are…” Marv repeated, motioning to Sal Viendi, a former mega-corporation lawyer, to come forward. Sal came on stage and handed Marv a large manilla envelope.
“The winners are Myra Pfefeneuger and…” Marv stopped and stared at the paper. “And…and Rushmore, Rushmore Oshansky?” he asked in a strangled whisper.
Bea looked at Oshansky. “You?” she asked with disbelief. “Okay,” she shrugged, “I guess I’m supposed to kiss you like they do at the Academy Awards.” She put on a fake Hollywood smile, leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.
“Will the Queen and King please come to the stage.”
Rushmore rose from his seat, adjusted his cummerbund, then walked proudly to take his place next to Myra who greeted him onstage with a kiss. “You and I, Rushmore, are the chosen ones.”
Marv placed a rhinestone crown on each of their heads, and with Vern’s help, draped the royal couple in long white matching faux ermine robes.
The band started up. Myra took Oshansky’s hand and led him to the dance floor.
“Any chance we can remove these dead animals?” he asked.
“Later. And perhaps we’ll remove even more,” she smiled coyly. “You know, Rushmore, it’s fitting that you are my king. It’s meant to be.” She snuggled in closer. “By the way, you’re not such a bad dancer.”
“Want to put that in writing? It’s been a source of embarrassment all my life. Probably one of the reasons my ex left me,” he said, only half jesting.
Myra’s expression turned serious. “Rushmore darling, I’ve been giving our relationship a lot of thought lately.”
“Which relationship is that?”
She kissed him. “Not now,” she said, affectionately stroking his cheek. “I’ll save that for when I come over later tonight. When we celebrate our coronation in style.” She kissed him again and walked quickly away.
Oshansky watched her disappear into the crowd. Later? Tonight? Perhaps he’d misunderstood. “Wait, Myra,” he called after her. He tried to push his way through the crowded dance floor after her but was stopped by folks offering their congratulations.
He shrugged them off along with his royal robe which he handed to the person nearest him. As he scanned the crowd hoping to catch sight of Myra he reached for his cell to call her. Damn, he’d left his cell at home figuring it somehow didn’t seem appropriate when wearing a tux.
“Looking for someone?” Bea appeared at his side.
“Uh, yes,” he said, flustered. “Why, you, of course.” He paused, “I was just wondering where you were.”
“Is that so?” Bea’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “In case you were looking for Queen Myra, I saw her standing by
our table with her date talking to the Murrays. And I must say, she and her very handsome, distinguished-looking date seemed quite cozy together. Anyway, let’s get out of here.” She started to walk back to the table with him. “But first I need to say hello to a couple of friends who just came down from Canada.”
“Okay if I borrow your cell?” Oshansky asked.
“You need to make a call now?” She looked at him suspiciously. “Oh, go ahead,” she shrugged. “It’s in my purse.” She motioned toward their table. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He quickly pushed his way through the crowd. He had to reach Myra to make certain that she understood that she wasn’t to come over this evening. Then hopefully, the rest of the evening would go smoothly.
And with any luck Bea would finally agree to spend the night with him.
He scanned the crowd hoping to spot Myra as he headed to his table.
Strange how his life had turned into a Shakespearian farce. Not that he was conversant with Shakespeare but he knew enough, thanks to high school senior lit class, to hope it was just that. A farce rather than a tragedy.
The lab report on Rosa’s pills would make the final determination which it was.
Bea’s evening purse was lying open on the chair where she’d left it. He’d be sure to remind her not to be so careless about leaving it open in the future. She had this almost childlike trust that at times he found charming and at other times, exasperating.
He looked in the purse and spotted her cell phone. But it was the pink envelope lying under the cell that caught his attention.
Another Bat Mitzvah invitation? How many Bat Mitzvahs was Bea invited to? He looked up and saw her approaching the table. He quickly slipped the pink envelope into his jacket pocket.
”Okay, Oshansky. Ready to take off?”
Oshansky hesitated. “Maybe you’re too tired to come back to my place,” he finally said.
Sylvia Selfman - Rushmore Oshansky 01 - Murder Never Retires Page 14
