4 Yip/Tuck

by Sparkle Abbey

  “No. I knew her as Dr. Jack O’Doggle, the plastic surgeon. I didn’t know about his other life until just a couple of days ago. I heard he . . . she,” I quickly corrected, “was going to participate in your reality show.”

  He stirred his coffee. “Dr. 90210 meets RuPaul. Instant drama and conflict. It’s too bad she wasn’t murdered while we were shooting, that would have been a ratings gold mine.”

  Was my mouth open?

  “Now we’re stuck looking for a replacement. Have you talked to Jackie O’s drag family? Maybe they know someone.” He sipped his coffee, watching me over the paper cup.

  The body was barely cold, and they were already replacing Jackie O. I ignored his question to ask one of my own. “Did Jackie O have any enemies?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Where is the show set?”

  “Right here in L.A.” He gave an ironic laugh. “Funny how things work out. Originally we’d cast someone else, but then we met Jackie O and everything changed.”

  “So you fired the other performer?”

  He nodded. “We had planned on replacing her. She didn’t pass a psych test. Had a few personal problems that, even by our standards, might be too disruptive. We like ‘crazy,’ but only in a certain way.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  He gulped his coffee. “I can’t discuss that. Are you sure you don’t want to be on TV? I’ve got this new concept I’m pitching—”

  “Do you remember her name?”

  “Sure. It’s hardly forgettable. Ladasha. She spelled it—”

  “L, a, dash, a.”

  He looked surprised. “You know her?”

  “I met her recently. How did she take being fired?”

  “Not well. She threw a chair against the wall, pulled off her wig, and collapsed on the floor.” He shrugged. “Her histrionic fit was for nothing, since we weren’t filming. She made a few more wild threats then left. She tends to be over-dramatic. I never did tell her she didn’t pass her psych test.”

  In my limited experience, over-dramatic was a prerequisite for reality stars.

  He slid his business card across the table. “I have to get back. If you change your mind and want to give Hollywood a shot, give me a call. I’m sure I can find something for you. I mean, come on, you pamper the pets of the stars. That’s a good idea for a show, right there.”

  I tucked his card in my purse. I was sure Malone would want to talk to him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  After Danny left without taking the last of his coffee, I knew what I had to do. It was time to go back to the drag queens.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  LADASHA KILLED Jackie O.

  It all fit. She was already miffed about losing the reality show. When she’d learned she’d been replaced by Jackie O, a drag queen on training wheels, Ladasha flipped her eighties’ Cher wig and strangled poor Jack with a dog leash. It made perfect sense, in a drag queen sort of way. Especially considering Dr. Stolzman’s point about only a man being strong enough to commit the crime.

  I couldn’t prove any of it. That was Malone’s job. But I could help.

  Not to be deterred, I pointed my Jeep back to Laguna Beach. By the time I’d arrived at the Kitty Kat Club it was close to seven. The club lacked its glamorous appeal prior to show time. There was no pounding music seeping through the walls or flashing lights hypnotizing you to enter the garden of wickedness.

  In other words, the place was closed.

  I knocked for what seemed like forever. I was about to call it quits when a tall guy in jeans, a hoodie, and a knit beanie cap walked up behind me holding a key.

  “What are you doing here?” He slipped a pink backpack off his shoulder.

  I didn’t recognize his face, but his slightly feminine voice was familiar. “I came to see you. Do I still call you Ladasha?”

  Apparently, I’d asked a trick question because it took him a moment to answer. “David,” he finally replied. “I’m only Ladasha when I’m in drag.”

  Again, I learned something new. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”

  He unlocked the door and walked inside. I squeezed past the closing door, hot on his heels.

  “You ask a lot of questions. You’re sure you’re not with the police?” He eyed me suspiciously.

  “I’m not with the police.”

  He jangled his keys. He seemed nervous. That was good, right?

  “A private eye?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope. Just a . . . a . . . friend of Jack’s girlfriend.” Referring to Tova as a friend felt odd. I’d spent a lot of time this past year disliking her.

  “The lingerie model?” I could have sworn he snickered.

  “Yes. She didn’t know about Jack’s life here.”

  He slung the backpack on his shoulder. “I told him to tell her, but he thought he knew better. Obviously not.”

  Obviously. “Did he tell anyone?”

  He scoffed. “He was a coward.” He crossed his arms and cocked a hip. “I need to get ready. It takes time to create fabulousness.”

  Whatever. But I wasn’t giving up that easy. I had more questions, and he had plenty of time until the show started. “I talked to Danny Stone, the producer. He told me Jack took your spot on the show.”

  He shrugged. With an unconvincing laugh he said, “Jack wasn’t even interested. Until that bitch Gwen showed up one night and threatened to destroy his reputation and practice. Suddenly, Jack had to be on the show. It wasn’t his dream. It was my dream. My American dream,” he wailed, arms flailing. The drama queen was on her throne.

  It was hard not to get sidetracked by his performance. “Gwen, his office manager? She was here?”

  “A couple of weeks ago. She’s nosey, like you.”

  Why does everyone say that as if it’s a bad thing?

  “And they argued?” I asked. I knew Gwen was hiding something.

  “She went all kinds of crazy on him. Said he’d lose his practice if people found out. Then she told him she’d kill him before she’d be made a fool of.”

  Had she? Was anger enough to give her the strength to strangle Dr. O’Doggle?

  “Did you tell the police?” I asked.

  “Girl, why would I talk to the po-po if I didn’t have too? Okay, we’re done here. I got to get ready. Bringing extravaganza and elegance to this dump isn’t easy, you know. It takes work.”

  And with a snap, he was off. I followed him to the dressing room. It wasn’t very large, but was filled to capacity. A couple of rusty clothes racks full of wardrobes pieces were shoved in the corner. All three dressing stations were barely large enough to store hairpieces and multiple trays of makeup. Each station had its own wall-mirror framed with dirty light bulbs. In the middle of the room stood Bea Haven, Goldie Fawn, and a drag queen I didn’t recognize. All three were half-dressed. They were fighting.

  “I said, your hair needs to be bigger.” That was Bea Haven. She didn’t use as much padding as I’d previously thought. She was a naturally big girl. Tonight she was wrapped like a sausage in a black corset, boy-shorts, and go-go boots. She tried to grab the hair of the manly looking chick next to her.

  “Leave my wig along. I don’t style you, do I?” That dude’s voice was too deep to pass for a woman—ever. He was half-dressed in black pantyhose and a padded girdle. His bra sported cone-shaped boobs no woman in her right mind would ever want. “You don’t get it,” he purred. “I’m the future of drag.”

  A futuristic drag queen?

  David/Ladasha tossed her backpack onto the dressing table then strolled to the middle of the group, making it four drag queens. “Ladies, you need to get along.”

  When had she become the voice of reason?

  I was having flash backs to the Miss Texas competition. This was going to end poorly.

  “No one said we had to like each other,” Goldie said. She was dressed in a neon-blue cat suit, minus the cape.

  “You don�
�t like me?” Future Drag Queen turned pouty lips toward Goldie.

  “You can’t lip sync. And your makeup is hideous. First you “cook,” then you blend. Figure it out,” Goldie shouted.

  She was right. Beauty Queen 101: to achieve the smooth flawless look, foundation needed to set for at least ten minutes to allow the makeup to melt into the skin.

  Suddenly, Bea’s spider eyelash dropped on the floor. “Oh!” she yelped. “Nobody move.”

  Goldie shook her head so hard her long black locks slapped her face. “She’s not the only unpolished mess here.” He pointed an accusing finger in David/Ladasha’s direction.

  David struck a runway pose, still dressed in street clothes. “I call it homeless chic.”

  Goldie spun around and cornered Future Queen. “You have no rhythm. What are you even doing here? You need to leave before you embarrass yourself even more.”

  She refused to be bullied. “You’re so old you look like a man.”

  Everyone gasped. Including Bea, who was on her knees looking for her hairy eyelash.

  “No you didn’t. You did not just go there,” Bea said.

  Lord almighty. I was terrified, and they hadn’t even noticed me yet.

  “Take it back,” Goldie ordered.

  “No,” Future Drag Queen said with a head snap, just in case the others hadn’t caught her attitude. As if that was possible.

  “Take it back, or I’ll rip that cheap wig off your bald head,” Goldie threatened in a low, menacing voice.

  It was on.

  I had a front row seat to a drag fight. Surprisingly, it wasn’t much different than a behind-the-scenes catfight during a beauty pageant. Well, there was one difference. Here, the girly screaming came from grown men. Wigs, cutlets, padded underwear, and glitter flew everywhere. So did the curse words.

  I hid in the background, out of the fray. A padded girdle flew past me and hit the mirror. It was then I noticed the photos of David and Jack. In one photo they were in drag. It was the same picture in the clipping we’d found. The other one was a candid shot of them at the gym. The photo had been torn, removing what looked like a third person. All that was left was an elbow. Who was it, and why had Ladasha ripped that person out of his life?

  I pulled the photo off the mirror and slipped out the door to safety. Maybe I needed to check with Tova and find out if she’d ever heard of David.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  TOVA’S PAD WAS on the way to Grey’s place, which was handy since I was late for our dinner date. The night grew darker the closer I drove to Tova’s house in the hills. I pulled into her drive and parked next to her yellow Hummer.

  Funny thing about Tova’s place. The house itself looked like a multi-million dollar home, spacious and extravagant, but she’d never landscaped the front yard, which kept it from looking completely finished.

  The minute my boots hit the cement drive, I froze. See, not that long ago, I was in this exact spot for a totally different reason. I’d come to talk her out of her silly lawsuit about the fleas. She did finally drop it, but the whole experience tainted my already low opinion of Tova.

  Who would have thought such a short time later I’d be here again, only this time to help her? I never thought my feelings would have shifted, but they had. At least enough to believe she wasn’t capable of murder.

  My pulse sped up with each step. I took a deep breath then knocked on the double-doors. The right door swung open. A feeling of déjà vu washed over me.

  Tova’s expression transformed from surprise, to confusion, and finally settled on excitement. Okay, that last part was not déjà vu. Last time I was here, she’d practically kicked me out on my butt.

  “It’s you.” Her smile seemed a little too friendly, her eyes a little too unfocused. I quickly took in her oversized tunic and yoga pants. She looked disheveled.

  “Can we talk?” I asked, then shuddered. I think that’s what I’d said last time.

  Barefoot, she stumbled backwards as she opened the door allowing me inside her sanctuary. “Come on in.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Nope.” She squinted at me, leaning on the door for support. “Are you?”

  I leaned closer and sniffed. I didn’t smell alcohol on her breath. She continued to stand there staring at me. Something wasn’t right. She was barely upright.

  I closed the door behind me. “Are you alone?”

  She closed her eyes as she nodded. “Yessss.”

  I grabbed her by the elbow and started walking. This was my first time past the front door, and I had no idea where I was going. I guided her to what looked like a great room. A great, white room. Walls, carpet, furniture, even the art was void of color. Grey would say white is a color. Not me.

  I eased Tova onto the couch. She flopped to her side.

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “I haven’t been sleeping,” she answered with her eyes closed. “Ambien doesn’t work. I have something new. Something better. I want to tell you somethin’.” She struggled to open her eyes. Whatever she was taking now was strong. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out but a yawn.

  “Do you have a blanket?”

  “In my room,” she managed to get out between a couple more yawns. Her breathing started to change into a steady cadence meant for deep sleep.

  “I didn’t want to sue you. That was all Stacie’s idea.” Her small voice floated throughout the room.

  “Why would Stacie want you to sue me?”

  Tova looked at me through silted eyes. “I don’t remember now. You made me mad. You make me mad a lot. You think you’re better than me, but you’re not. I bought this house. I’m rich.”

  That sounded like the real Tova. “Where’s Kiki?”

  Tova’s eyes closed. “My precious Kiki. She loves me. She won’t leave me for wigs and formal wear.”

  I charged up the stairs looking for her dog and a blanket. I found both in Tova’s bedroom. Kiki was curled up in her princess bed snoozing away, oblivious to her owner’s state. When I yanked the blanket off the foot of the bed, I saw a bottle of pills on Tova’s nightstand.

  I walked over and picked them up. Valium. The prescription was in Stacie’s name. I looked at the number on the label then quickly counted the remaining pills. Only three were gone.

  I raced back to Tova and quickly covered her up.

  “Did Stacie give you these?” I held out the pills.

  Tova managed to open one eye halfway. “Isn’t she the best assistant? Except for wanting to sue you. Why would she want to do that?”

  I had no idea. “How many did you take?”

  “Stacie said to take only one. They’re very powerful.”

  Damn straight. “Where is she?”

  Tova snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. “Home.”

  I was losing her fast. “Tova, did Jack ever talk about a man named David?”

  She shook her head no. “Yes.”

  “Which is it? Yes or no?”

  “I’m sleepy. I want to go to bed now.”

  “In just a minute. Did Jack like Kiki?”

  “He liked big dogs. He was always afraid he’d step on her.”

  “How often did Jack work out at the gym?”

  Her brows furrowed as she tried to come up with an answer. “Every morning and every Saturday and Sunday night. He said it helped him unwind.” She yawned again. “I’m going to sleep now.”

  Jack was a naughty boy. He wasn’t at the gym Saturday and Sunday. Those were performance nights.

  LEAVING TOVA in her current state seemed unsafe. Once I was sure snoring and drooling was all the reaction she’d experience for the night, I pocketed the pills and headed for Grey’s. I couldn’t take the chance Tova would wake up and down more pills.

  When I got to Grey’s and explained what happened, he called in a favor and asked a local doctor to check on Sleeping Beauty. After all was said and done, our fancy dinner at the restaurant ended up being a meal that neith
er of us enjoyed.

  We agreed to take a drive north past Newport Beach, feeling subdued in our glamorous outfits—Grey in his Tom Ford suit and me in a new Carolina Herrera dress and Stuart Weitzman ankle-strap shoes.

  The stars were bright, the moon full. But the tension between us shadowed everything.

  On our way home, Grey’s Mercedes floated along south on highway one, taking the corners effortlessly. I cracked the window so I could smell the ocean and hear the waves. The last hour of silence had worn me down.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked, looking out the window at the ocean.

  “You won’t like it.”

  “I don’t like the silence either,” I muttered.

  “I understood why you felt the need to help Darby. But Tova? That I don’t get.” His voice was tight.

  I sighed. “What does it feel like when you capture a bad guy?”

  “Now you’re changing the subject.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not. Just answer the question.”

  When he didn’t respond, I worried he was finished talking to me. I couldn’t blame him.

  “I’ve righted a wrong,” he finally said.

  I turned in my seat and stared at him. “Do you get an adrenaline rush? Does your heart race? Do you feel alive? Do you feel like you’re contributing to the greater good?”

  He glanced at me. “Are you telling me that is how you feel?”

  I honestly thought about it, wanting to be truthful, but wanting him to understand. “Not exactly, but on some level. It’s an adventure. And I’m good at it.”

  “You’re good at sticking your nose in other people’s business—”

  We both heard it at the same time. A blaring horn in the distance. Grey slowed down. What seemed like a hundred yards of skid marks stained the road before us. Grey followed them and pulled over. A white Lexus sedan had driven off the side of the road and down an embankment.

  “Stay here.” He jumped out to offer assistance.

  Of course, I followed. The salty air mixed with the smell of burnt rubber, turning my stomach.