Full Bodied Murder

by Christine E. Blum

One of them nodded and the other tried to kiss my hand. I quickly pulled it away and looked for Ashton Kutcher. Clearly I was being punked.

  Aimee linked my arm and we headed into her shop.

  “Okay, what are their real names? Cheech and Chong?”

  “Those are their real names, Halsey, I swear.”

  “Show me their birth certificates! Wow, this is really cute,” I said, looking around.

  “Welcome to my humble café. I’m sorry if it isn’t in shipshape, we were just getting ready to do a major clean. Halsey, meet Kimberly my assistant. She’s the best.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Kimberly. And I don’t know what you are talking about—the place looks fantastic.”

  And it did. Bright neon-colored chairs and tables gave a whimsical, fun mood to the place. Too bad people had to go through the scary outside mall first. And it smelled delicious. They say that you eat with your eyes, but in the case of Chill Out, it is the organ between them that does all the work.

  “What would you like, Halsey?”

  “I want a cup of every flavor you have.”

  “Aw hell, Kimberly, sounds like she needs you to make her the Special, Special.”

  * * *

  We sat down at a window table and in the dawn light, I was able to get a good look at Aimee. She has such a pretty, fresh face. And her chameleon cheeks are fun to watch. When she speaks her eyes animate, although she is often looking into neutral space rather than right at you. I knew little of her life except that she put everyone else before herself. That takes a toll.

  “This is such a treat, thank you both,” I said, as Kimberly set a boat of delicious yogurt scoops and toppings in front of me. “What have we here?”

  “This is cinnamon bun, that’s blood orange, maple bacon donut, and apple pie.”

  “Did you say ‘bacon’? I may need some privacy here,” I said, making Aimee laugh.

  “Delicious, you must love your job,” I said, letting a little taste of heaven melt in my mouth.

  “I do, but sometimes it’s tough.” Aimee sighed. “I work my tail off to survive understaffed and on a meager budget. Luckily, every day at noon, the teens from the school behind us swarm the place like Black Friday shoppers to a Walmart. For an hour or so, Kimberly and I dole out enough fat free soft serve and toppings to keep us going. Barely.”

  There was the flat out honesty I’d come to expect from Aimee, followed by the signature tears.

  I glanced out the window at the two guys on the patio. The one who tried to kiss my hand was holding a wildly animated conversation with the other one. He just sat there kind of stoically.

  The shop’s phone rang.

  “Sorry, Halsey,” Aimee said, seeing Kimberly wave the receiver at her.

  “No problem, take your time.”

  Kimberly opened the front door for business and I was seated close enough to it to pick up the guys’ conversation.

  “That some good shit we got in,” said the one I think was Ali Baba. He was nodding his head and bouncing one knee up and down rapidly. As he took out his wallet to check his cash situation, his body rocked back and forth to imaginary music. Ali Baba seemed to be a perpetual motion machine.

  “Keep it down, you fool,” spat Zeke, looking over both shoulders. I quickly pretended to study the menu but saw that he had no concern for me. He bit nervously at an already chewed-down fingernail, I’ll bet this one’s the worrier. Unlike his partner, Zeke’s five foot ten frame was dressed in muted grays and blacks, his hair was short, he wore no jewelry, making him totally forgettable.

  “I’m just sayin’, should bring in some nice scratch. Pops is not gettin’ any younger and I need to go see him one more time,” Ali Baba said, clutching an oversized gold cross that hung from his neck.

  He walked into the shop and placed ten dollars into the tip jar on the counter. Aimee waved, still on the phone and he blew her a kiss as he left. He nodded at me warily. When he returned to the table, Zeke stood and they headed back to their store.

  She’s awfully chummy with the resident drug dealers.

  I overheard Aimee saying into the phone something about “payments next week,” and I decided to give her some privacy and stepped outside to take in the start of the day at the mall. I watched as the shopkeepers were getting ready to ply whichever trade kept them in strip mall business. The check-cashing store remained shut; I’m guessing that the owners were inside, putting the cash they had withdrawn from the bank into a safe.

  Ingredients for breakfast burritos had started frying on the flat top grill of the Taquería next door. I smelled bell peppers, onions, and diced potatoes sizzling in bacon grease and margarine, and figured a large bowl of eggs was being whisked. The exhaust kicked in, causing the Mexican flag pennant banner overhead to flutter. The spicy odors spilled out onto the sidewalk and transported me to a white sand beach south of the border.

  The only place open for business at this hour besides Aimee’s was the liquor store on the corner. If it was like the ones in New York, it provided the three essentials for living: booze, cigarettes, and lottery tickets. A post office and a drug store completed the strip mall biosphere that could sustain life if necessary.

  A black Escalade pulled into a space near the vacuum store. It had that just-detailed look and the must-have custom rims that are in Chapter 1 of the Cool Escalade Owners’ handbook.

  The man who stepped down from the glorified pickup truck also filled the bill: tall, dark hair slicked back and tied in a man-bun, headphones tuning everyone out, and dressed all in denim. A Benicio del Toro wannabe riding in on three miles per gallon of chrome and muscle.

  “Here comes Ray,” said Zeke as they stood outside their door. “You keep your mouth shut. You want money to go see your daddy? We gonna need to make this guy happy.”

  You could almost hear the dark, wistful western music as the lanky, strip mall outlaw approached. When he reached them, he slung the headphones down around his neck and just stood there, looking around slowly.

  “Goooood morning, Ray,” said Zeke, extending his hand, which was ignored. In an awkward move he quickly ran it over the back of his scalp to try and save face. His tone of voice had changed to a respectful singsong. “Wonderful day.” He smiled, and with a side-glance saw Ali Baba do the same, and raise his hands to the heavens.

  Ray was still silent, forcing Zeke to bear the burden of having to entertain or report something of great value.

  Before he could, Ali Baba chimed in, “Got some really high quality product in last night, Raymundo.” His head bounced up and down and he grinned like he’d tapped an underground platinum vein.

  Zeke closed his eyes and cringed.

  “What have I told you about talking about business in public?” sneered Ray, looking in my direction. “If you want to see another day, get inside.” His face was less than an inch from Ali Baba’s.

  That was my cue to head back inside. I’d probably eavesdropped for ten seconds too long, this guy Ray had definitely caught me in the act. I didn’t think that I wanted to get on his bad side.

  Aimee had gotten off the phone and was giving Kimberly instructions for picking up the supplies at Costco, crossing some items off the list saying that they could “make do.”

  Hmm, is this because of the budget problems she’d referred to?

  Aimee refilled her coffee cup and joined me at the table.

  “Sorry about that.” She turned red and shook her head.

  “So, how’s Tom doing with med school?” I asked, thinking that we were moving onto a much cheerier topic.

  “He’s working so hard, Halsey. It’s easy for him to get discouraged, everyone else is ten years younger or more. If his mom hadn’t gotten sick, he’d be practicing by now. It is tough on the both of us,” she said, looking away and getting misty-eyed.

  “That’s not good, Aimee, and you are here all the time.”

  “I have to be, we don’t sell enough for me to bring on another person unless it is part
time for a catering gig.”

  “You make a better margin on catering?”

  “Absolutely, but it’s offset by the fact that I have to close the shop when we are onsite.”

  “Sounds like you need to get the word out,” I said, considering licking my bowl again. “You need a web presence, some social media. I mean this is incredible and healthy for you. Right? It is diet?” I asked, praying for a nod.

  Aimee complied and I let out my breath.

  “So let me help. I can build you a simple site, get you a fan page, and start spreading the news about Chill Out. We can deliver samples to radio stations for the deejays to talk up, and pass out coupons and free yogurt to the office buildings around here. You’ll be expanding your staff in no time.”

  “That all sounds great, Halsey, but my marketing budget is very small,” she said, looking nervous.

  “Honey, you just gave me a down payment,” I said, waving my hand over the empty, clean yogurt bowl. “And Tom can pay the balance when he becomes my doctor.”

  “I’m not sure about this. You need to be paid for your time.”

  “This is what friends do for one another.”

  We hugged and she sent me home with a pint of yogurt for Bardot.

  When I’d arrived I’d thought that some of the freedom of Aimee’s fresh honesty would rub off on me and I could forget for a moment about my troubles. But there was a lot going on in this tiny mall a few miles from home. I thought about Aimee’s struggles with work and home life and her drug-dealing friends. They made for strange bedfellows.

  Chapter 7

  If I don’t buckle down to work soon, I thought, I’m going to have to consider selling a kidney to keep up with my mortgage payments. But when you have frozen yogurt for breakfast I reasoned, bacon-flavored no less, then the natural progression is to move onto wine in the afternoon. Even if you do have a murder hanging over your head.

  Everyone was seated out back on Sally’s patio when I joined them. She has a cozy set of wicker chairs and sofas with soft cushions protected by a pastel palette of sun umbrellas. A Koi pond with a fountain is nestled in one corner and the soft sounds of running water complete the pastoral picture. An African brass Nsoromma star hangs on the back wall, reminding us that we are all “children of the heavens.”

  “There she is!” said Sally. “Those cuckoo-rama-mama cops finally leaving you alone?”

  This was the perfect segue so I recounted my Italian neighbor story for the Wine Club, which was a Spanish themed event with a nice Rioja and tapas. When I finished, a cacophony of noise erupted as they all started talking over each other with stories about the car dealer of Rose Avenue. It seems that both Sally’s husband and Cassie’s husband Carl had been drive-by victims of the spraying hose.

  “I’ve seen them loading cars onto a flatbed truck at two a.m.,” said Peggy, breaking through the clutter. “I couldn’t sleep and wondered what the commotion outside was all about. Strange goings on for Rose Avenue in the middle of the night.”

  “There must be a simple explanation,” I baited them, hoping for clues to nail him.

  “He’s been here for quite a few years,” Sally supplied. “Didn’t have that horrible girlfriend then. He seemed nice enough, I used to see Rosa and him talking together quite often at her fence.”

  Aimee passed around a beautifully laid out tray of manchego served with sobrasada, quince paste, and little toasts, brought courtesy of Cassie. The sweet of the paste offset the strong cheese giving each bite a heavenly umami taste. Cassie also had Serrano ham wrapped around figs, some amazing looking mixed olives, and empanadas stuffed with goat cheese and chorizo. And a beautiful set of serving knives for each item.

  Cassie has quite a collection of knives. I wonder if there is an empty slot in her wood block where a chef’s knife once rested.

  The first wine we tasted was a Vina Bujanda Crianza, a perfect pairing with the appetizers as it is fairly low in acidity, and with age contains flavors of rich cherry and spice. It is made 100 percent from Spain’s native grapes, Tempranillo. I quickly snapped a photo of the label for our wine album. I gave my glass a deep inhale and took a sip. I swallowed slowly, letting the crisp fruit flavors transition to something like mom’s cherry pie and then finish with a slightly earthy descent. I closed my eyes and dreamt of Pamplona.

  “Last week Carl and I were walking after dinner,” said Cassie, making an intended spectacle of herself, sucking every last bit of olive meat off its pit, “and some guys were carrying wooden boxes off a truck and into his house. Of course Carl had to snap their picture, seems he doesn’t leave the house without that camera anymore.”

  I would love to get my hands on those photos. . . . Today Cassie was in one of those built-in bra maxi dresses and her hair was in a loose bun. Very Anna Nicole Smith.

  “I know him, that’s Mussolini,” Aimee announced. Her cheeks were vermillion. “Never says much, but has come in the shop on several occasions.”

  “Who names their kid Mussolini?” I asked.

  “I don’t think that’s his real name,” suggested Sally.

  Ya think?

  “It is, everyone calls him that, or Musso,” explained naive Aimee. “He’s never bothered me, he always orders strawberry shortcake. Leaves a nice tip, unlike the majority of people.”

  Oops.

  “You seem to hang out with some questionable characters, Aimee, including those creepy guys who own the store a few doors down.” Peggy said this with a concerned frown. “You should be more careful since you’re all by yourself.”

  “If you mean Zeke and Ali Baba, they are decent guys too. A lot of times when I lock up at night Ali Baba waits and makes sure I get to my car safely.”

  A considerate druggie, that’s what I look for in a friend.

  “C’mon, anyone can see that they are dealing.” Peggy was disgusted.

  “I’m still waiting on those birth certificates, Aimee,” I said only half joking. “I’ve sipped a tad of wine, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why Musso would come into a yogurt shop. No offense.”

  Sally shrugged her shoulders and refilled my glass.

  “And I don’t believe it’s for your strawberry shortcake,” I added, taking a sip, “not after being weaned on gelato.”

  “It’s true, I swear, he comes at a quiet time and pours over some spreadsheets and a big calendar,” said Aimee, placing her hand over her heart.

  “Maybe he just needs some time away from his annoying girlfriend. I’m guessing he doesn’t have an office anywhere?” I asked.

  “She may be a be-atch, but she did something good for him. Since she’s arrived on the scene the house got repainted, the used cars were replaced with luxury ones, and he is MUCH better dressed. He’d be kind of fun to dress. . . .” Cassie trailed off, imagining.

  “Musso and Marisol get into it a lot,” added Sally. “Well more his girlfriend than him. She’s very protective of Musso and does not cotton to Marisol’s snooping.”

  “Who does?” I asked.

  “Maybe she’s being protective because he’s got something to hide,” Peggy mused.

  I made a mental note to do some computer research on Peggy as well. She’s got an awfully calculating mind for a fleeced granny.

  We had moved on to a slightly chilled Lustau Dry Amontillado Los Arcos Solera Sherry Reserva that brought out the nutty, smoky taste of the cheeses and ham. This golden honeyed pour tossed my fuddy-duddy preconceptions of sherry straight out the window. And God love Sally for serving it in a grown-up-sized copita glass.

  “This car business has got Carl and me suspicious. He tells me to stay out of it, but I don’t like this happening on Rose Avenue.” Cassie was now expertly wielding a knife, slicing the ham-wrapped figs into more manageable bites.

  “Then that is where I start. I’ve got to see what he is up to at night and bring some real evidence to the cops.” I said this while watching Cassie work.

  “What’s up with all those security
cameras around Musso’s house?” I asked, remembering.

  “I have no idea,” replied Cassie. “Never saw them being put up. Lance, our security guy, says they are top of the line.”

  The girls all looked at her.

  “With everything that is going on we’re having a major security system installed,” Cassie explained.

  “Well, I’ll bet those cameras are all networked and uploading whatever they capture to a server so that Mussolini can watch his house from anywhere,” I explained.

  God I feel stupid saying “Mussolini.”

  “And if he’s not using traffic encryption, then I should be able to monitor his ISP gateway and intercept his data packet.”

  Yes, I was showing off, but hell, I was the only one among them still paying a mortgage, except for poor Aimee. I needed something.

  “Wait, what again do you do?” asked Sally, utterly confused.

  I tried to explain in simpler terms.

  “You lost me at ‘traffic,’ ” Peggy said, looking bewildered. I wondered if that was true. I’d seen quite the computer setup at her house, including a camera and speaker system. She’d said that it was to talk to her grandkids, but she’d still need to know how to operate everything. I tucked the thought into the back of my mind.

  “Sounds dirty.” Cassie giggled, pulling up the bodice of her dress and creating quite the cleavage.

  “Godspeed,” Sally said, putting her hand on my shoulder.

  Chapter 8

  I hung up the phone and thought seriously about putting the house back on the market.

  Thank you, Detective Marquez.

  I guess that wouldn’t do much good, what I really needed to do was think about getting a lawyer. The detective had said that they’d found my fingerprints all over Rosa’s house and on the knife in her back. I explained why my prints were found in the hallway and pointed out that they would not find them anywhere else. As for the knife, I was pretty sure that I’d never touched it, although much of that period is a fog to me. Detective Marquez conceded that my prints were only found in that one section of the house, but didn’t budge on the knife. He said they were doing more testing. He also said that no one else’s prints besides Rosa’s were found.