Movie Night Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  "Okay," I said. "She can bring it to the meeting on Wednesday."

  "Oh," Bobbi replied. "I think you should probably get it now."

  Okay, why not? Running by and picking whatever it was up would be a welcome distraction. I wrote down the address and hung up. My keys were on the counter, and I snagged them. In seconds, I was in my car heading toward Lauren's house. I blasted the radio to scramble my thoughts so I wouldn't obsess about Evelyn Trout, and ten minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of a nice, middle-class split-level house.

  People outside stopped working in their yards and stared at me. Way to make an entrance, Wrath. It must be the neon pink bangs. It didn't look like this neighborhood saw that very often. They probably had their pitchforks ready in case I turned out to be a witch.

  "Hello!" I shouted brightly, adding a wave that made me look ridiculous. I made my way up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

  Lauren answered, along with the biggest dog I've ever seen.

  "Hi, Mrs. Wrath! This is Clancy!" The girl opened the door, and I stepped inside.

  Clancy looked at me before sniffing my legs. I haven't had much experience with dogs. Not much with cats either, but I was starting to consider myself an expert. After Clancy decided I was not a threat, he wagged his tail and climbed me like Mount Everest. The dog stood on his hind legs, his front paws on my shoulders, his face looking down into mine.

  I froze. Was this dangerous, or was I supposed to dance with him? Was that even a thing? And if so, did the dog prefer the tango or rumba? How was I supposed to know this stuff? Clancy responded by licking my face. It was like being mopped by a large, wet bath towel.

  "Clancy!" Bobbi appeared and admonished the dog. "Down!"

  The beast let himself down and looked dejected as he took the stairs to the basement.

  "Sorry about that," Bobbie apologized. "He's rather friendly…"

  "No problem," I said as I wiped drool from my shoulders.

  The house was a typical split-level foyer. Just steps inside the house, you were confronted with the decision to go upstairs or down, as if the entryway was schizophrenic and couldn't make up its mind what level it wanted to be part of. Lauren and her mother opted for up, so I followed them.

  We walked into the living room, and I stopped in my tracks. Bobbi apparently had an obsession with snails. The walls were covered with shelves and cases, each displaying snail sculptures. There had to be hundreds…maybe thousands of slugs in every shape, size, and color.

  "You noticed my collection!" Bobbi clapped her hands together gleefully.

  How could I not notice thousands (I'd decided that was the number) of slugs on the walls in every form imaginable? I kind of wondered if she kept the live version in her basement.

  "I did." I nodded. "This is quite a collection."

  The woman smiled so widely I could see all of the teeth in her head—which was totally disturbing.

  "I have the largest snail collection in North America—the second largest in the world!"

  "That's impressive." That's a thing? "How did you find out yours was the second largest in the world?"

  Yes, I really wanted to know. What?

  "Well, according to Collectibles Weekly," Bobbi was super excited now and started rocking back and forth. "They did a study and found out that a collector in Japan has more than me. But I definitely came in second."

  Japan. That made sense. When I'd been stationed there, I'd seen some pretty weird stuff in people's homes. There's a magazine called Collectibles Weekly? And it's something that needs to come out every week?

  "Wow. Maybe we could have one of our meetings here sometime, and you can talk to the girls about it." I was pretty sure there was a badge on collecting stuff. Plus—it would get me out of planning a meeting, so yay!

  "I'd love to!" Bobbi squealed. She actually squealed. I made a mental note to wear ear plugs during the snail meeting.

  "So…" It was time to get back to the reason I was here. "You have something that isn't Lauren's?"

  "Oh yes! I almost forgot! Seriously—I could talk about snails all day long."

  Yet one more reason to get out of here.

  Bobbi pointed to the dining room table. Sitting in the middle of a field of snail printed placemats was a box the size of a deck of cards. I picked it up. It was made of dark wood, and there were some strange carvings on it—kind of a cross between hieroglyphs and runes.

  "Have you ever seen that before?" I asked Lauren. Maybe she knew who it belonged to.

  The little girl shook her head. "No. I'd remember something like this."

  "Okay," I said. "I'll bring it to our next meeting. Someone must've left it behind."

  I saw myself out in order to avoid seeing whatever was in the basement. I pictured a kind of snail hell—a slug version of purgatory—with Clancy as its Cerberus. And I didn't need to see that.

  I was home in minutes. Philby was not in the living room, but three kittens were about three quarters of the way up my curtains. They cried, seemingly stuck there. I guessed that Philby got tired of their whining and fled.

  "That's the eight millionth time this week!" I scolded as one by one, I detached the kittens from the drapes and plunked them on the couch.

  The three kittens responded by piling on top of each other and immediately falling asleep. They were kind of narcoleptic that way. One glance at the drapes told me I had to do something about it. My curtains were starting to look like Swiss cheese. Maybe I should consider having the kittens declawed. Philby was fine—she never so much as scratched me. But her children…

  I sat down beside the beasties and turned my attention to the box. It was missing a seam and hinge—in fact it was missing a way to open it all together. Shaking the box produced a rattling noise. Something was in there. Which meant a person (or after seeing Lauren's house—a snail) had put something inside. I wondered what it was.

  It seemed like a weird thing for one of the girls to take to the retreat, and I hoped it didn't belong to the church. Maybe it was like that old Rubik's Cube—or whatever puzzle the kids play with these days. That seemed like a good answer. Well, if they can do it, I can do it, right?

  For the better part of an hour, I worked on the box. After a few minutes I'd come to the conclusion that this was a puzzle box. Which sucked because I wasn't any good at puzzles. That didn't stop me, however, from wasting part of a day trying to figure it out.

  Finally, I pulled out my cell and took a picture of the carvings. Maybe there was something about them online. That would be nice. Since I've had a smart phone, I've been able to answer the great philosophical questions. Such as, who sings that song from that movie we saw? Or why do Mexican jumping beans jump? By the way, I know the answer. The beans have little larvae inside who are trying to get out. The song thing I never did figure out.

  I was just about to toss my phone on the coffee table when it buzzed.

  "Riley," I answered. "Did you make it back to DC okay?"

  "No," was my former handler's answer. "Because something came up."

  "So where are you?" I asked as I stood and went to peek through a kitten-induced hole in my curtains. I should be on my guard in case other women showed up dead.

  He didn't need to answer. Riley was on my front stoop.

  I let him in because what else was I going to do? Riley had spent a lot of time here lately. Too much time.

  "What came up?" I asked.

  Riley ignored me, walking into the kitchen. He opened up the fridge door and grimaced.

  "Why is it that every time I come over, you have the worst food ever in here?" He plucked a bottle of wine from the inside door and closed the fridge.

  I put down the puzzle box and handed him two wine glasses. "You haven't answered my question."

  Riley took a swig, emptying the wine glass in one swallow. Uh-oh. This was serious.

  "The Agency wants me to check on the murder you stumbled upon last night."

  "Does that mea
n you know who she is?" Maybe it wasn't so bad for him to be here.

  He nodded. "It's the woman from the DC trip. Right?"

  "That's right. Evelyn Trout."

  For a second there, I was going to blurt out what Maria had told me about her really being a CIA agent. But I didn't want to get her in trouble. I'd wait and see what Riley had. I didn't have any qualms about getting him into trouble.

  "Where's the body?" he asked.

  "Is that why you're here? To identify the body?" I asked. "You met the woman in DC. It's the same one who died yesterday."

  Riley shook his head. "No. I'm not here to identify the body."

  "Then why did you ask?"

  "Because I'm here to steal it."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Philby came into the room, and seeing Riley, jumped up on the counter and began rubbing her body all over him.

  "She's pink!" His mouth dropped open.

  "Yes she is. And so is my hair. You didn't even notice." I scowled.

  Riley didn't take his eyes off the cat, who was now head butting his arm to get his attention.

  "I already knew about your hair."

  I looked around. "Tell me you didn't wire up my house to spy on me."

  He shook his head. "No. Kelly told me."

  Kelly. She and Riley had hit it off when they first met a year ago. She was always ratting me out to him.

  "And she left out the part about the pink cat?"

  "She did." He touched Philby, then drew back his hand to inspect it. When he saw that the color wasn't coming off, he started scratching her ears.

  I told him about waking up to find the girls in the middle of dying my hair. Riley laughed. He really laughed. The bastard.

  "It's a good look for you," he said. "But not for Philby, I think."

  Philby purred in response, dropping onto her back and offering her belly to be rubbed. It was also pink. I had to admit—the girls were pretty good at this. And bonus—there wasn't any dye on the church carpets.

  "I think she'd agree with you," I replied. "Now say again what you said a minute ago. You know, the thing that I hope I misheard?"

  Riley poured another glass of wine. "You didn't mishear me. The Company sent me to retrieve the body."

  "Okay, so why are you in my house? I don't work for the CIA anymore."

  "I need your help." Riley gave me his most charming smile.

  "First things first—how are you going to get the corpse? You don't actually think you can just walk in there, flash your credentials, and make off with it, do you?"

  "Not at all."

  "Good, because it's undergoing an autopsy right now. You'll have to wait." I grimaced at the thought of taking charge of a body that was currently cut open. That would be messy. I didn't like messy.

  "And secondly," I continued. "I don't work for the Agency anymore. You seem to have trouble believing me on that." In the past year, I'd helped Riley like a million times. I was done. No more.

  "Well first of all—I'm not here to ask for the body. I'm here to steal it. And secondly, you should help me. It's in your own best interest."

  I folded my arms across my chest to process these two statements. My brain was fried, so I addressed the first point.

  "You can't steal the body." I stuck my chin out to show him I meant business. "The police will then investigate that. And since I'm involved, they'll come after me."

  Riley nodded. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

  And that's when I punched Riley in the arm. It was an excellent right hook, if I do say so myself. And it was very satisfying.

  Riley frowned and rubbed his arm, which was now turning red.

  "I am not a risk you are willing to take. You don't have that choice. It's my life. All mine and nobody else's. You can't tell me what to do anymore. Ever. I'm a civilian, and I'm not going to help you."

  Riley grabbed some ice from the fridge, wrapped it in a paper towel, and applied it to his arm. Philby scowled at me. Apparently she didn't approve of me attacking her personal kitty scratching valet.

  "I apologize," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. I really don't want to put you at risk. But I do have to say it is in your best interest to help me. Evelyn attached herself to you. She died in your proximity. The powers that be are scrutinizing you right now. Once I take the body back to Langley—that unwanted attention will end."

  "Great. Fantastic." The old saw was that when you left the CIA, you didn't really leave the CIA. I guess that was true.

  "Maybe with the Agency. But here, the police department will come here first. I'll be their main suspect. And I don't need that right now."

  "Hold on a sec." Riley held up one finger, then walked out the front door.

  He returned with a suitcase. I toyed with punching him in the nose again, this time with more force in order to break it.

  "No! You are not staying here!" I roared. "In addition to me not working for the CIA anymore, my house is not CIA property. You can't just commandeer it any time you want to!"

  Riley gave me a look that implied that I was an imbecile. "I can't stay at a hotel. I need to come under the radar on this assignment."

  "I'm serious, Riley! Rex lives just across the street! He'll know you're here. And when the body—the one that you are stealing all by yourself—goes missing, he'll know it was you."

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We could always brainwash him."

  I threw my hands in the air. "What 'we'? There is no 'we'!" I felt a vein throbbing in my neck.

  "We're a team. We do this together or…" Riley stopped talking and rolled his suitcase down the hall to my guest room.

  I followed. "Or what? What on earth do you think you have that will make me want to help you? I can't think of anything. Nothing."

  Riley began to unpack. "Or I won't tell you who she is."

  I started to say something, but closed my mouth. I opened it again. And closed it once more. I did want to know who Evelyn Trout really was. I wanted it so badly I could vomit. But did I want it bad enough to ruin my relationship with Rex?

  "You're bluffing," I said. "You don't know who she is either."

  He rolled his eyes again. "Then why am I here?"

  I thought about this for a second. There was no way I could tell him what Maria had told me—that Evelyn had been a spy for the Company. And acting like I didn't care was right out. Riley would never believe that.

  "I know who she is…or should I say, was?" Riley started to get undressed.

  "Stop that!" I shouted. "You can't stay here, and taking off your clothes won't change that!"

  The shirt came off. He looked good. Really good. Riley had an athletic body that, combined with his wavy blond hair and dazzling smile, was a deadly combination. In fact, it had worked on me a few years ago, when we actually were a team.

  "I'm going to change. You can stand there and watch me, or you can wait in the kitchen."

  My jaw dropped. I was about to tell him he wasn't intimidating me, until he took his pants off. I slammed the door behind me as I walked down the hallway, swearing. I couldn't remember being this angry, ever.

  Philby walked to the center of the hall ahead of me and sat down, blocking my retreat. What the hell was this? Now my cat is giving me attitude?

  I looked her in the eye and shouted, "Bob!"

  Philby hissed loudly, falling over onto her back. She got back to her feet and with her chin in the air, trotted off, deeply offended. I felt bad. What was wrong with me? Riley pushed all my buttons, making me so mad that I verbally assaulted my cat.

  I stomped off toward the kitchen, slammed my glass of wine and another glass before he came out and sat at the breakfast bar. Riley was partial to suits. He had them tailor-made in London. But now he was wearing a black polo shirt and khaki slacks. It was a good look on him. I looked down at my V-neck, T-shirt, and shorts and then poured another glass of wine.

  "Tell me one thing that you know about Evelyn, and I'll consider your proposal," I sai
d.

  I wasn't really going to help him steal a body. But I needed to hear from him that the woman worked for Langley. Then I wouldn't worry about inadvertently giving Maria up.

  "I'll tell you when you agree to help me."

  I shook my head. "Not gonna happen. You give me good enough intel and I'll think about it. That's all I'm going to promise. And it has to be really premium information, too."

  Riley looked at me then grabbed the phone book. I watched him as he pulled out his cell and ordered Chinese food to be delivered. He even remembered that I loved crab rangoons and sweet and sour chicken. The bastard.

  "You're paying for that," I said.

  He nodded, agreeing with me for the first time today…wait…tonight. It was night already. How had that happened?

  The kittens came running in, and Riley scooped up Martini. She purred as he stroked her.

  "They're big," he said.

  "Quit avoiding the subject," I said, taking my kitten from him. If he wasn't going to be up front with me, he didn't get a kitten.

  Riley had ordered from Ming's—the best Chinese place in town, and the fastest. Our dinner would be here soon. After he paid for it, I'd make him leave. I've kicked Riley's butt before. And I'd be more than happy to do it again. All he had to do was tell me Evelyn was a spy, and then I'd kick him out.

  "You're withholding kittens from me now?" The man was actually amused.

  I nodded. "That's right. No kittens for you. This isn't a petting zoo or a CIA safe house. This is my house. I make the rules."

  Okay, so I felt a little stupid saying that while playing keep away with a kitten who looked like Elvis. Especially when I was begging for information I already knew. The only thing I didn't know was why the CIA sent Riley here.

  "Why did they send you?" I asked, setting Martini on the floor. "Seems to me that if they really wanted this to be secret they would've sent someone no one here had ever seen before."

  Riley shrugged. "They knew I'd just been here for the baptism. They thought I could find a way to stick around without it being suspicious."