The Big Kill

by Elise Sax

  Spencer took a couple steps toward the kitchen. That’s when he noticed Steve’s legs sticking out of the refrigerator. He sucked air and said a bad word. “Why are Gladie and Lucy standing in the crime scene?” Spencer asked Remington.

  “That’s how I found them,” Remington answered.

  “Lucy, why are you in the crime scene?” Spencer asked her.

  She looked at me. It was the first time she had been chastised by Spencer. Normally, I was the center of that kind of attention. And normally, I was the one to pass out in a puddle of blood, or at least the equivalent kind of mishap.

  “It’s not my fault,” she said, tidying her hair, which was sticky with blood. “I think I’ll go home now.”

  She was Scarlett O’Hara, a class act, Southern belle, who always remained calm, cool, and collected. Covered in blood and half in shock, she stood up straight with total dignity. A regal queen. It was amazing that she was my friend. She was foie gras, and I was corned beef hash. She was a Mercedes Benz SL, and I was an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. She was the one-percent, and I was percent-less.

  “Gladie, I trust that you’ll drive me home.”

  “Of course I will,” I said, sneering at Spencer.

  “Spencer Bolton, I can assure you that I haven’t messed up your crime scene,” Lucy said. “I’ve been completely professional. I didn’t touch a hair on the dead insurance salesman. Neither did Gladie. She was perfectly behaved from start to finish. She was just like CSI Miami. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just take my shovel and get out of here.”

  I was touched that she had come to my defense, and I felt bad that she had been traumatized and humiliated. “I’ll get it for you, Lucy,” I told her. “And then I’ll take you home. She’s right, Spencer. We didn’t touch the body. We kept your crime scene completely clean, except for the blood on the floor. Without us, you wouldn’t have known that Steve was murdered. You should thank us.”

  I leaned over to get her shovel, but it was stuck in the sticky blood, and when I tried to pick it up, I slipped on the slick floor. I swung my arms like propellers, trying to catch my balance, but I knew I was going down.

  Damn it. Served me right, trying to help.

  Spencer and Remington bolted forward to try and catch me, but my fall happened too fast. Right before I was going to hit the tile floor, I grabbed the kitchen towel that had been used by the killer to partially close the refrigerator door. The move slowed down my fall, so instead of hitting the tile with a thump, I hit it relatively softly, landing on my back, lying in the pool of blood, just like Lucy a few moments before. Unfortunately, I took the kitchen towel with me when I fell. Without the towel, the refrigerator door opened, and poor, murdered Steve fell out of the fridge and landed on top of me.

  It wasn’t the first time I had had dead person on me, but this was the most intimate. I had the world’s biggest case of cooties. Steve smelled like dead person and a ham sandwich. The sandwich must have been in the refrigerator next to his body, I thought. “Help,” I said, my voice muffled. “Help. Dead. Help.”

  Spencer and Remington lifted the body off of me. “You contaminated the scene,” Spencer insisted.

  “I have dead person in my mouth,” I complained. “I have dead person in my hair.”

  “Pinky, you make police work a bitch.”

  The sad thing was that it wasn’t even close to the first time that I had a dead person on me.

  Lucy insisted that we get tetanus shots. I didn’t argue.

  The paramedics gave us the shots, wrapped us in blankets and afterward on Lucy’s orders, Margie drove us to Lucy’s favorite spa, which was just outside of Cannes, next to the apple orchards. Lucy called ahead and ordered the Emergency Deluxe Everything package.

  “We’re going to erase this day, Gladie,” Lucy told me in the backseat of Margie’s police car.

  “That sounds good.”

  “We’ll spend the night, and by the time we wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll have dewy, taut skin, and no sign of corpse.”

  “Or dragon?”

  “Or dragon,” Lucy assured me. Money sure came in handy.

  I called my grandmother to check up on her and let her know that I wouldn’t be back until the morning. She told me that she was fine and that she had already called Spencer to ask him to bring home sub sandwiches and barbecue chips when he returned. I felt guilty that she was still in bed because I hadn’t given her closure about my father and his possible killer. In fact, I was no closer to solving the mystery. Instead, I was just accumulating more mysteries.

  But if I was right at all about my father’s friends being the suspects, I was now down to two. I didn’t know why they would have killed my father, Adam, and Steve. It didn’t make sense.

  “Roman and Joy have everything,” I said in the car. “Why would they take a knife and kill their friends?”

  “Rich people are weird,” Margie said, as she drove. “No offense, Ms. Smythe.”

  “No offense taken,” Lucy said. “I became rich. I didn’t start that way.”

  As far as I knew, Roman and Joy became rich, too. None of my father’s friends had any money when he was alive. They had been happy in their poverty, content to center their lives around their creativity and art. It was very romantic, and it seemed that my father was the linchpin that kept it all together. When he was gone, it fell apart.

  Or did it begin to fall apart when Rachel Knight killed herself the year before?

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that Rachel’s suicide was key to this whole mystery. I also couldn’t shake the feeling that if everyone connected to my father was dying, there was a chance that I could be next.

  I also couldn’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t tell Spencer about my feeling. He would lock me up, if he thought I was in danger.

  “Look at what Spot is doing. She’s the sweetest dog!” Margie exclaimed, laughing. She had quickly adopted Lady Philomena and changed her name. The dog was thrilled to ride in the front seat, next to her new mom with the window open.

  “She wasn’t so sweet when she was humping my leg, while she walked around in her master’s blood,” Lucy muttered out of the side of her mouth.

  She had a point.

  “Look at that,” Margie said, pointing outside. “That car just went through the red light in front of this police car.”

  “Are you going to give him a ticket?” Lucy asked.

  “Nope. That’s the area’s only red-light camera. He’ll get his justice, all right. He’ll get a big, fat ticket in the mail.”

  The light turned green, and we drove through the intersection, passing the other car. I recognized the driver. It was the guy who had come to my grandmother’s house and picked up Draco’s license plates. I turned around and watched him pull to the side and put another license plate on his car.

  It was Phase Three of the resistance against DICK. I had a suspicion of whose license plates he was putting on his car before he ran the red light again. I was impressed with the cleverness of Draco’s generation.

  Lucy was half-right about the spa erasing the day. I was treated like Dorothy in the Emerald City. I was buffed and polished. In the end, I did have dewy skin and soft, silky hair, just like Lucy had promised. They dressed me in a cashmere track suit, and Lucy and I ate a heavenly meal. But even though the bed they provided was two feet thick with some miracle material that ensured a good night’s sleep, I didn’t sleep a wink.

  All night, I went round and round in my mind, trying to put the puzzle pieces of the murders together. But I was missing crucial pieces of the puzzle and couldn’t put it together. Early the next morning, Lucy hired a limo to take me home. I was anxious to check on my grandmother and to grill Spencer on his investigation into Steve’s murder.

  There were a bunch of cars and three television news vans parked in front of Grandma’s house. I ran inside, worried that something had happened to my grandmother, but inside, it was all smiles. The mayor was there with his arm around Spenc
er, smiling for the cameras.

  “Hey there, Gladie.” Meryl greeted me, standing at my right, taking in the action. “It’s been a madhouse here.”

  “How’s Grandma?”

  “Sleeping. She said she’s going to be in bed for a while longer.”

  “Did she give a hint about how much longer?”

  “No. She’s not saying much. I read through most of my books, so I thought I’d give my eyes a rest and come down here. You’re just in time. Your love bunny is getting a medal.”

  “A medal?”

  “For the dragon thing. I should get a medal for saving the First Amendment. People’s priorities are all turned around. Have you noticed?”

  “Quiet, please, newspeople and people of note,” the mayor announced. The reporters got into position around the mayor and Spencer. Big lights had been turned on. Spencer looked like a movie star but slightly nervous and sheepish about the attention. The mayor looked dapper, as usual, but he still sounded like an idiot.

  “I’ve gathered you all here today to witness the medal-pinning ceremony. This is the first medal the mayor of Cannes has awarded since Frankie the Bull saved a little girl from the Mighty Frighty Gang in 1899. I have to tell you that it wasn’t easy to find where the mayor hid his collection of medals from over one hundred years ago. My secretary was looking everywhere. Under the desk…nope. Secret panels in the walls…nope. Behind the toilet…nope. She didn’t find the medals, but she did a spring cleaning like nobody’s business. You could eat off the bathroom floor now. Believe you me. I’m not just saying that. Anybody want to come back with me after this, and we’ll eat off the bathroom floor together? I could go for a brisket sandwich. Yum.”

  He held up a bronze medal with a green ribbon. “Old man O’Malley gave us his Bronze Star from his participation in the Battle of the Bulge in World War II. I hear that was a real doozy of a battle. Lots of tanks. O’Malley told me that Patton could fart the National Anthem. You can quote me on that. Anyway, we added the green ribbon because we thought it looked reptilian.”

  The mayor turned toward Spencer. “Chief Bolton, this medal is awarded to you for your valor in the face of a Komodo dragon, which was let loose on our beloved town, threatening its very survival.” He gave me a pointed look, as if I was to blame for letting the dragon loose. “With little thought to your own safety, you captured the dragon and without hurting it, delivered it to the San Diego Zoo, which I hear has wonderful, humane exhibits and also sells very tasty churros. Spencer Bolton, the city of Cannes thanks you for making our beloved town a safer place, you know, except for the ten-thousand-fold increase in murders since you moved into town.” He looked at me again. Then, he pinned the medal onto Spencer’s chest and kissed him on both cheeks, French-style, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

  The reporters asked Spencer some questions, and he was good at side-stepping the actual details of the dragon’s capture so that he wouldn’t bring me into the mess while not taking sole credit.

  Remington appeared at my left. “Hey, Gladie. How are you feeling? You okay after the fridge thing?”

  “Whoa, Nelly,” Meryl said, taking a gander at Remington. “Do you work out?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I still train in MMA. I have a fight next week, if you’re interested.”

  “I’d love that!” Meryl announced, perking up. “Will you be half naked?”

  “And barefoot.”

  “That sounds invigorating.”

  Remington winked at me. “How about you? Are you invigorated?”

  Everything about Remington was invigorating. I was tempted to reach out and touch his muscles, but the truth was that Remington was instant pudding and Spencer was a steak dinner.

  “What did you find out about Steve? Was he killed like Adam?” I asked him.

  “Stabbed, but this time with a smaller knife. Not his. We’ve been running down his schedule, leading up to his murder. We discovered that he had a side gig in insurance fraud. There might be a few people who wanted him dead. He did a lot of double-dealing, as far as we can tell.”

  Steve might have been into some bad stuff, but that wouldn’t explain why he was killed in exactly the same way as Adam. It was obvious that they were killed by the same person.

  The newspeople and onlookers applauded and filed out of Grandma’s house.

  Spencer shot a look at Remington and then at me. “That’s my cue,” Remington told me and left, too.

  “Congratulations,” I told Spencer.

  “I have a used Bronze Star. I’m going to be on three entertainment shows for my part in capturing a reptile. This is not my finest moment, Pinky.” He smelled my hair. “You smell good. Not a hint of decomp anywhere on you.”

  “They let me keep the track suit. It’s cashmere.”

  “I like it. I can tell you’re not wearing a bra.” He leaned in and grazed a knuckle over my breast.

  “Is this how you make yourself feel better?” I asked. “I use chocolate to make me feel better. Is there any chocolate?”

  “C’mon, Pinky. Give a guy a break. I had to sleep alone last night.”

  “You can’t go one night without sex?”

  “No. Well, what’s your definition of sex? I need at least a hand job. How about it, Pinky?”

  “I’d rather eat a Hershey bar.”

  Spencer looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve got to remember to carry Hershey bars with me. I would get so much more action.”

  The truth was that sex with Spencer was better than a Hershey bar, but I was preoccupied. The murders were getting closer to me, and I had a feeling of dread. And fear.

  “Remington said that Steve was stabbed to death, just like Adam.”

  “But with another knife. Not his. Are you okay, Pinky? You don’t look so good. Did Remington bother you?”

  “No, of course not. Why would he?”

  Spencer smirked. “He wouldn’t.”

  “He wouldn’t? What did you do to him?”

  He put his hands up. “I’m a gentleman, Gladie. I didn’t lay hands on him. I might have told him that I would disembowel him if he ever got near you again, but I didn’t lay hands on him.”

  “You threatened him?”

  Spencer put his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Maybe a smidge.” He smirked his normal smirk.

  “You seem very happy today, Spencer.”

  “Well, the medal aside, the tabloids have left, and now DICK is on its way out.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Yesterday they each got ten tickets for running red lights. The one and only red light camera caught them. Fred spent the past couple hours, tracking them down and suspending their licenses. They said they were innocent, but red light cameras don’t lie.”

  I bit my lip. Red light cameras might not lie, but they didn’t recognize that the different license plates were all attached to the same car. A perfect person would have exonerated the DICK people so that they could get their licenses back, but I was slightly less than perfect, and the DICK people annoyed me. It was fitting justice that they would have to take the bus for six months. So, I kept my mouth shut and didn’t tell Spencer about Phase Three.

  “Now I just have to catch a killer,” Spencer said, still smirking. “Notice that I said ‘I.’ There’s no ‘you’ in ‘I.’”

  “I’m done,” I lied. “I don’t want any more dead people on me.”

  Spencer took my hand and walked into the kitchen. “Sit down,” he ordered. I sat down, and he stood over me. “I don’t want to scare you.”

  “You’re not scary when you remember to use mouthwash.”

  “I’m going to ignore that comment for now.” He blew into his hand and sniffed to check his breath. “Minty fresh. Listen, Pinky, I want you to stay at home. Fred’s coming over, and I’ll be home at around three because our couch is being delivered today.”

  “Why do I need to stay home?”

  “Because ever since you started butting your nose in, a killer has been slic
ing and dicing your father’s friends and stuffing them into refrigerators.”

  So, I wasn’t the only one who was scared. “I’m not scared,” I said.

  He knocked gently on my forehead. “Knock. Knock. Anyone home? There’s a killer out there, and you might be next. Stay home until I get back. Okay?”

  “Did you talk to Roman and Joy, again?”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  I stuck three fingers up in the air. “Scout’s Honor,” I said.

  For once, I wasn’t lying. I didn’t have a handle on who did what and why, and I felt like I was flying blind with a big target painted on my braless chest.

  “I mean it, Pinky. Stay here with Fred, Meryl, and Zelda.”

  “Cross my heart, and I don’t hope to die.”

  Spencer studied my face for a minute, probably trying to determine if I was lying. “Pinky, I swear to God, if I find you stuffed in our new refrigerator, I’ll be so pissed off.”

  “We have a new refrigerator?”

  I looked over at Grandma’s refrigerator. As far as I knew, she had bought it in the 1950s. I was going to miss it. Ditto her table and chairs and linoleum countertops. I was pretty sure there were no linoleum countertops at Spencer’s new house.

  I mean, our new house.

  “Our fridge has a special beer section that keeps the beer at the perfect temperature,” Spencer said, giddy as a school boy. “The ice cube dispenser has five settings.”

  It sounded scary, like I wouldn’t be able to figure out my own refrigerator. I plastered a phony smile on my face. “Sounds exciting.”

  Once Fred showed up, Spencer left to return the Bronze Star to old man O’Malley and then to go to work. I installed Fred in the kitchen and gave him a can of cream soda and went upstairs to check on Grandma.

  I could hear Good Morning America blasting on the television in my grandmother’s room through her closed door. I opened it and walked in.

  “There you are, girl. Took you long enough.” It was Ruth. She was standing next to my grandmother’s bed with her hands on her hips. She was wearing her usual no nonsense men’s trousers and women’s blue button-down shirt. She didn’t get along with my grandmother, so I was shocked that she was in her room.