“Upstairs, there’s a locked door. It’s my own private bathroom.” She pressed a key into Binky’s hands. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” Binky uttered with more feeling than she had ever given to those words before. She stole up the stairs to Eleanor’s secret potty.
She had no sooner shut and locked the door than she was grabbed from behind. A strong, foul-smelling hand clamped over her mouth while the other twisted her arm behind her back. “Shit!” a voice said.
Although she couldn’t actually see him, she had no doubt who her assailant was: Charles Ambermere, who had realized it was not his intended victim he’d accosted but a stranger. “Well, I can make use of you anyway. I’m going to uncover your mouth, but you’re not to make a sound, you hear?” he added.
Later she thought it a half mad thought, but Binky was desperate to ask him if he’d been in the Castro earlier, but didn’t dare. Charles opened the door and maneuvered her in front of him. Binky thought fast, trying to fight through her panic to come up with some idea. “You can’t go out that way,” she said, indicating the main stairs. “There are too many people.”
“And why are you being so helpful?” he sneered, pushing her toward the stairs.
From below she heard a gasp, then a cry of “Hey, watch it!” In a second she knew what to do. When the trumpets blared downstairs, announcing the arrival of the Empress Theodosia, Charles jumped in his skin, Binky reached into her basket, pulled out the gardening shears, and stabbed Charles’s hand. Then she whipped around as he howled, holding his hand, and kicked him in the privates, then, after he bent over double, she dropped the shears, grabbed his shirt collar with both hands, and threw him headlong down the stairs.
Charles tumbled again and again, the sound drowned out by the imperial procession. He lay at the bottom of the stairs, his head at an unnatural angle, and Binky sat down on the steps and began to sob.
Below her, Luke, a glass of champagne in hand, turned instantly from suitor to cop. “Quiet, everybody. Move back. There’s been an accident.” Luke calmed the panicked guests. He sent someone to find Captain Fisher.
Another guest approached the bottom of the stairs. “Eleanor’s hairdresser said he and his boyfriend were coming as the killers from In Cold Blood. Maybe he meant after the hanging.”
“Binky?” Luke said, hearing the sobbing from above. “Is that you?” Binky sobbed acknowledgment.
He raced up the stairs two at a time. “What happened?”
“Ambermere,” she sputtered. “Abduction. Nuts. Stairs.” With Luke’s help, she shakily descended.
Doan, eager to kill the person who had upstaged his entrance, was not displeased to find that somebody had already done the killing for him. Then he started. “Why, that’s Charles Ambermere! What’s he doing here?”
“From what I can tell,” Luke said, “he was here to kidnap Binky.”
“That doesn’t sound right. He doesn’t even know who she is.”
“No!” Binky said, now feeling up to managing more complete sentences. “He was hiding in Eleanor’s private bathroom, waiting for her to come in. Then he was going to ... I feel faint.” She felt entirely too close to the late Charles Ambermere.
“Oh my god, you’re Martha Stewart!” Doan screamed. “Now you’re Martha Stewart, deranged murderess! I love it!”
Binky’s eyes rolled up in her head; Luke and Doan caught her just in time.
“Let’s get her out of here, get her some fresh air,” Doan suggested.
“Air,” she agreed. “Drink. Must have cocktail.”
Luke protested, but while his attention was taken by Captain Fisher, Doan whisked Binky through the crowd. “Coming through!” he shouted, elbowing his way to the bar. “She’s very ill; she needs water to take her pills. Two Tanqueray martinis,” he commanded when he finally make it to the bar, ignoring the glares of those he’d pushed aside. “Here you go, dear. Liquid sedative.”
They retreated to the quietest corner they could find. They both tossed their cocktails back and Doan nabbed two more from a passing tray. “Well, at least that’s the end of Charles,” Binky said. “Did he even know who I was? He seemed to - ”
“He must have seen you earlier with Luke, eh?”
She shuddered. “God. Dating a policeman may be more dangerous than being one.”
“Well, Martha, your Connecticut estate will never lack for excitement again.”
“And just yesterday I thought that finally knowing what KC stood for would be the thrill of the week.”
“NO! He told you? He still won’t tell me.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go through his drawers, looking for bills and checks with his name on them.”
“Of course I did. That is, I tried, but he keeps all his papers locked up - surely just to spite me.”
“I’ll tell you, on one condition.”
“Name it, and then we’ll see.”
“You tell me how you got a name like Doan.”
Doan laughed. “My mother is a woman with a sense of humor. To say the least. Carrying me put a strain on her back so bad she was in screaming pain for nine months. Suffice it to say the result is that I am an only child. When the little beast was finally out, to quote directly, she thought it was all over, but no! She had to think of a name. Percy, one aunt suggested. Cecil, said the next. Not for mother, thank you. No, she chose the one name that had been with her for nine months, a name that every time she called it would remind her never to do this again, the name on the bottle of pills that never left her sight.”
Binky started laughing and was soon unable to stop. “And if you ever tell anyone, especially KC, I shall have your head,” he concluded. “Really, with a name like Binky, you should talk!”
“And one day, Doan, I’ll let you know how I got my name.”
“Tell me now!”
“No. Maybe at the end of our next adventure, should we again be so discomposed by events.”
Just then, what seemed like an entire battalion of San Francisco police burst into the party. Binky knew the press would not be far behind. “You know, life will never be this exciting again. There are no second acts in American lives, etc., etc.”
Doan drained his martini and signaled for two more. “So true, darling, but you forget: In America, there may be no second acts, but there’s no limit on sequels!”
THE END
Doan was right about sequels! Don’t miss Binky and Doan’s other adventures on Kindle!
Death Wore a Fabulous New Fragrance
The second of Orland Outland’s hilarious Binky and Doan comedy mysteries finds our intrepid heroine (and hero in a dress) caught up in the glamour of Hollywood. Binky’s killing time before our heroes’ detective license comes through, and why not make a little champagne money working as a perfume spritzer at the launch of superstar Jeff Breeze’s new cologne? But when Jeff drops dead from a whiff of his own fresh, woodsy scent, and all the evidence points at Doan’s friend Kenny, persistent outer of closeted gay movie stars, it’s time to put on their sleuthing hats and descend on Hollywood. The shopping’s good, the men are hot, so what could possibly go wrong?
Death Wore the Emperor’s New Clothes
Binky and Doan are rich after solving their latest case, but what's a girl and a girlish guy to do when you've bought everything up to and including platinum vegetable peelers and time hangs heavy on the hands? Why, take jobs in New York City with an eccentric gay billionaire, just in time to defend him after he's accused of murdering right-wing media mogul Herbert Kildare! Throw in a couple of insane, possibly homicidal fashion designers and a motivational speaker who promises that "You Can Rationalize Anything," and our intrepid duo will have their hands full!
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Death Wore a Smart Little Outfit Page 16
