by E. Joan Sims
“Mom, will you please hurry up!”
“Cassie, this can’t be Fatty. The hand is too small.” I looked more closely at the way the sheet draped over the still figure on table. “And so is the body.”
“Then it’s somebody else! So what! Clean up that mess and let’s get out of here. I’m not hungry anymore, but Wanda might be.”
A terrible thought began to form in the darkest recesses of my mind—the place where some of the ideas for Leonard’s stories came from. “Cassie, did you see Wanda when you took the food upstairs?”
“No. But I didn’t have a chance to look around. I rushed back down here to catch the bull in the china shop. She could have been sleeping, or been in the bathroom.”
“No,” I said quietly. “She’s right here.”
Wanda Blade looked as frightened in death as she had earlier in the afternoon when I had tried to enter her house. Her pupils were fixed, and her mouth was frozen in a silent, eternal scream. She was naked under the white cover and her marble white body was surprisingly slim and youthful. Wanda had indeed been the model for the lovely little statue in her garden. I was sure of it now.
Cassie suddenly appeared at my elbow. She clutched my arm tightly as we stared at the body. “What happened to her,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I don’t know.” I dropped the sheet and covered Wanda’s anguished face. “I didn’t see any marks on her.”
“Oh, Mom, what are we going to do?”
I gingerly moved the drinks off the table and wiped up the spill on the floor. My mind was working overtime but producing nothing. And my hands were shaking again. It took me a moment to realize why I was so scared.
“Cassie,” I whispered, “head straight to Horatio’s office as quickly as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”
She stared at me, her eyes as wide with fright as Wanda’s. My own fear increased exponentially.
“Move it!”
She turned and ran, bumping into things and stumbling as she fought to keep her balance. I was close behind her as we climbed the five steps up to the main floor and ran down the carpeted hallway to Horatio’s office. Cassie threw herself against the heavy mahogany door and jerked the handle.
“It’s locked!”
“What?” I cried in dismay.
“Locked, locked, locked!” she whispered loudly. “What will we do? You think whoever killed Wanda may still be here, don’t you, Mom?”
“Maybe, maybe,” I gasped. It had just occurred to me that we had each entered the funeral home through doors that would normally be locked at this time of night.
“Mom! We have to get to the car.”
“No!” I argued. “If the murderer’s still here that’s exactly what he would expect us to do. We have to think of something else. Follow me and try to be as quiet as you can.”
“Good grief! Do you think I‘m stupid or…”
“Cassie! Just do it.”
We crept down the hallway like two shadows. An image of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello in an old black and white film came to mind. I giggled nervously. Cassie pinched me.
“Ow!”
“Shhhh!”
We were almost at the end of the hall when we heard a door open and close. I froze and Cassie clung to my back like a barnacle.
“What door was that?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “We need to get to a window so we can see outside.”
“There’s one in the stairwell. Hurry!” urged Cassie as she brushed past me and took the stairs two at a time.
The window in the stairwell was large and oval and beautifully crafted in rippled stained glass.
“How in the hell are we supposed to see through this stuff?” I groaned.
“I thought I saw something when I first got here—someone running maybe, but it could have been a dog,” she whispered as she wiped the glass with her sleeve.
“Damn! Now we don’t know if it safe to leave or not.”
“I say let’s make a run for it, Mom. I want to go home.”
“Too bad you can’t click your heels together and make a wish.” I sat down on the steps. The night was catching up with me. My head ached and my legs felt like they were made of foam rubber. “What if someone is waiting in the parking lot for us to come out?”
“We’re fast. We can get in the car before they grab us.”
“You, maybe. I don’t think I could outrun a turtle right now.”
“We can’t just sit here and wait for the axe to fall, Mom. What if the opening door was just a ruse to make us think he left? Or even worse, what if he wasn’t leaving but coming back inside.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Cassie was right, we had to make a run for it. There is no place like home.
We ran.
Chapter Twenty-six
Cassis flew down the stairs on winged feet. I stumbled after her on rubbery legs and fell down the last three steps to sprawl head first on Horatio’s new carpet.
“Ompff!”
“Hurry, Mom!” Cassie cried as she flung open the door to the parking lot and ran smack dab into her grandmother.
They both screamed and Cassie fell backwards into the foyer on her butt. I couldn’t see what happened to Mother because the overhead lights came on abruptly, blinding me.
When I could open my eyes again, I saw Horatio standing on the bottom of the winding staircase with his hand on the light panel and his mouth open in astonishment.
“My, my!” he said as he surveyed the two of us lying on the floor. “That’s something you don’t see very often.”
“Horatio,” cried Cassie. “Thank God, it’s you!”
Mother pushed her way back into the foyer. Small tendrils of white hair had escaped from her elegant French twist, her pearls were askew, and there was a telltale white spot of dust and gravel on the back of her linen pantsuit. She stepped gingerly over her granddaughter and sank down onto one of the brocade loveseats.
“Oh, my!” she said as she tried to tuck her hair back in place.
“Gran! Are you all right?” gasped Cass. “I’m sorry I knocked you down.” She struggled to her knees and crawled over to her grandmother’s side. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, brushing ineffectively at the dirt on her slacks.
“Anna, my dear, are you hurt?” cried Horatio anxiously as her hurried to her side. I lay on the floor and watched as they tended to my mother like she was the
Queen of Sheba. My chin was stinging and my knee burned like crazy where I had skidded across the carpet.
“What about me?” I grumped angrily. “What am I? Dog meat?”
Cassie came over to help me up. “Oh, Mom! Your chin is bleeding.”
“Don’t get any blood on Horatio’s new carpet, dear,” cautioned Mother.
I jerked the tail of my tee shirt out of my jeans and angrily put it up to my chin.
“Horatio, I there’s something we need to tell…” I began.
“And I, you,” he interrupted. “We have quite a little mystery on our hands.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Cassie. “Wait till Mom shows you…”
“Plenty of time for show and tell, my dears. First we must help your grandmother upstairs. She’s had quite a tumble. She needs to sit down and get her bearings.”
“But…”
“Paisley, I left a couple of bottles of wine and a six pack of beer in the car. I thought perhaps our guest would enjoy some brew. Would you and Cassie mind?”
“But Wanda’s…” started Cassie.
“Been waiting long enough,” finished Horatio impatiently. “So be as quick as you can. We’ll see you upstairs in a minute.”
Cassie and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders simultaneously. She inspected my chin.
“No biggie, Mom. Just a carpet burn. How’s your knee?”
“Same thing, I guess. Mostly I’m just tired to the bone. This has been some night, and something tells me it’s not half over yet.”
�
�I think you’re right,” she called over her shoulder as she cautiously opened the door. I limped over and waited while she inspected the parking lot.
“I don’t see anything,” she said. “I think it’s safe. Just prop the door open so we don’t get locked out. Better still, wait here for me and I’ll bring the booze.”
“Can you carry it all by yourself?”
“I’ve carried twice this much—millions of times,” she laughed, then stopped suddenly. She turned back and looked at me. Her face was pale in the moonlight. “I mean when some of the guys had frat parties and I helped them get ready,” she added lamely.
“Never mind the cover up,” I told her. “Right now I could care less if you were a raging alcoholic with a heroin habit.”
“You don’t mean that, Mom,” she chided as she closed the door of the Bentley.
“I don’t,” I admitted ruefully. “I’m just pooped.”
“A glass of wine and a burger will fix you right up,” she said with a smile.
“I just dread telling Horatio he has an unexpected guest in his work room,” I sighed as I took the beer from her. “And I think I’ll hoist a glass in honor of the deceased. She was a nice lady.”
“You know, Mom,” sighed Cassie, her voice unusually solemn, “we should probably take care of Wanda ourselves, if we want to keep Horatio out of trouble, that is.”
“You mean, get rid of her body? How? And why, pray tell?” She didn’t answer right way, so I filled in the gaps as my mind whirled around her words. “Besides, Horatio is a big boy—probably the biggest boy we know, in terms of being smart and clever. Surely he can figure out what to do about Wanda.”
“Yeah, but he’ll do it the right and proper way, and that just might be his undoing.”
“You mean, playing hide and seek with dead bodies won’t do his business or his personal reputation any favors?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh, geez, Cassie! I don’t think I can do it alone. Just remembering how cold her and stiff her fingers…”
“You won’t have to do it alone, Mom. I can do my bit.”
“Over my dead, er…No!”
“Who else then? Andy? Gran? Aggie?”
Cassie backed the car into the driveway by the ambulance entrance while I got Wanda ready for transport. I managed to wrap a couple of extra sheets around her without touching her skin, but mine was crawling when I finished.
“We’ve got to hurry,” I whispered loudly when Cassie opened the double doors. “They think we just went out to the car for the drinks. Horatio will come looking for us in a minute.”
Together, we managed to carry our burden to the car and slide her into the back seat. It wasn’t easy. Wanda was a lot heavier than she looked in life or in death.
I closed the doors to the ambulance bay and Cassie got back behind the wheel.
“You’re driving? I think not! There must be an extra felony charge for the getaway driver. Move over.”
“Don’t be a goose, Mom, and close the car door.”
“I imagine her house would be the best place to leave her, don’t you think? If there’s no outward signs of violence, we can take her home and make it look like she died a natural death—until we find our what’s going on, then we can tell the authorities everything we know.”
“And if she has a big old bullet hole in her middle?” asked Cassie.
“Then we leave her in her house and let everyone think she was shot there.”
“What do we use for blood? We left all the ketchup with the burgers.”
“Very funny, Poirot!”
“Another one of your stupid movies?”
Wanda’s little cottage was all alone and empty. It was after ten o’clock and most good citizens were in bed. We hadn’t seen a soul, and I was practically positive no one had seen us. Even the parking lot of The Pelican had appeared almost deserted as we drove past.
“I guess someone at the restaurant will call the police tomorrow when they don’t hear from Wanda. She won’t have to be alone for long.”
“Good grief, Mom.”
“Sorry.”
Cassie backed silently down the dead woman’s driveway. Only the quick crunch of gravel heralded our arrival. I bit my lip when the memory of Wanda’s comments about her nightingale floor flashed through my mind. She hadn’t known when she made that remark that she would soon be as dead as those ancient emperors.
Cassie and I got out of the car quickly. She grabbed Wanda’s ankles and I held onto the dead woman’s shoulders. We carried her around to the back of the cottage, stumbling and lurching with the effort.
“She hid the key under a flower pot,” I whispered.
“Don’t need it, the door’s open.”
“What the hell? I saw her lock it, Cassie.” The hairs on the back of my neck were at full attention.
We stood awkwardly, holding the corpse, trying not to drop Wanda and run for the safety of the car.
“We can’t stand here all night holding a dead body. We’ll have to chance it,” I whispered. “Turn her around. I’ll go in first. If someone grabs me, you run for help.”
We maneuvered our burden clumsily around on the narrow steps. Once again, I was reminded of Abbott and Costello. It took my last reserves of discipline not to giggle.
“The coast is clear,” I called softly, as I peered intently around the darkened kitchen. “Come on in.”
I was exhausted and sweating profusely by the time we deposited Wanda carefully on her lipstick-red satin bedspread. A small bulb in the adjoining bath was the only light we had to go by. Cassie opened a drawer in the dresser searching for a nightgown. We decided along the way that we shouldn’t leave her naked. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.
“Aha!” she whispered as she held up a long nylon gown covered with big red and pink and green flowers. “How’s this?”
“A bit gaudy, but it’ll do.”
We carefully unwrapped the morgue sheets from the body, averting our eyes from Wanda’s nakedness as much as possible, but relieved nonetheless, to see no outward signs of violence.
Cassie slipped the gown over Wanda’s head and then stuck her arms through the shoulder straps. We both tugged and pulled at the slippery fabric until we got it down over her hips and past her knees to her bare feet.”
“There!” gasped Cassie. “Should we put her under the covers, or what?”
“Damn! I don’t know,” I answered biting my lip.
“Let’s go, Mom! Let’s get out of here. I’m coming down with a bad case of the heebie-geebies.”
I looked up to see my daughter’s body trembling in the faint light, suddenly realizing the insanity of our actions.
“Oh, my God! Of course, honey.” I grabbed Cassie’s cold hand with one of mine and the sheets with the other, and pulled her toward the kitchen. We were almost out the door when I noticed the pizza box with Horatio’s note on the inside—it was no longer in the garbage can but sitting open on the kitchen table. At least we knew how Wanda’s whereabouts had been discovered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We climbed the stairs slowly as I favored my knee. Cassie altered her gait and politely kept me company.
“Wanda was a very nice person,” she sighed. “I hope…”
“Well, where is she?” called Horatio from the top of the stairs.
So we sat in the pretty blue and yellow parlor and told Mother and Horatio what we had discovered earlier in the evening, and what we had done about it.
“What arrogance! To leave her body naked in my morgue!”
I agreed. “And we were even afraid that the killer might have stayed around to watch someone find her.”
“Oh, dear! Horatio, do you think he’s still here?” asked Mother. “Perhaps we should call…”
“No, Anna. The last person we should call is Chief Joiner. We’d have too much to explain ourselves. The first thing he would want to know is why Wanda’s not still here. That’s a question we would
have a hard time answering.” He pulled thoughtfully on his small white goatee.
“We’re already under somewhat of a cloud, Paisley, dear. Horatio’s right. We have to keep any more questions of…well, a suspicious nature from being asked.”
“Cloud? What kind of a cloud, Mother?” I grabbed a cold hamburger out of the sack. I needed some protein.
Horatio poured us each a glass of wine before I could open a beer. When he sat back down he told us where he and Mother had been.
“The emergency room is so dreary,” added Mother. “It’s too bad the poor man had to die there.”
“Poor Rudolfo,” moaned Cassie. “He was afraid, really afraid that he was getting too close.”
“Too close to what, Cassie?” I asked gently.
“I don’t know, Mom,” she snuffled. “He was just afraid, that’s all. He wouldn’t tell me much, just that he was looking for someone really evil.”
“Did he or any of the other Mexicans happen to mention anything about women being brought here with them to work?” I asked as I remembered Bruce’s query.
“Mr. Hawkins asked me that same question. He seemed a bit embarrassed. I guess he was thinking about prostitutes, and was too polite to say so.”
“What did you tell him? Did Rudolfo say anything about prostitutes?” I insisted.
“Not to me,” said Cass shaking her head. “But then he was far too polite. To him, I was la donita, the young lady of the house—delicate sensibilities, and all that nonsense.”
“Well, somebody certainly isn’t worried about sensibilities, or they wouldn’t have left a string of bodies behind,” said Horatio, his voice heavy with unaccustomed sarcasm.
“String?” Mother asked.
“I have to believe that Rudolfo was murdered by the same person who killed that man Andy Joiner brought here this morning. Their throats were cut in almost exactly the same manner. And,” he added excitedly as he suddenly put two and two together., “Tthe man who was found at the edge of the airport runway had the same vicious wounds. He must be victim number one!”
“Then, that makes four,” I observed over a mouthful of bread and meat.
“Why, Mom? Wanda’s throat wasn’t cut. You said there wasn’t a mark on her.”
