by M. Z. Kelly
“Did anything of interest come up in Mr. Aster’s legal defense of Maddie Cross?” I asked. “Maybe something on the victim, Derek Shaw?”
“The files are confidential,” Carly Lucia answered, even though I’d looked at Quinton when I asked the question. “The case will have to be reassigned and the files turned over to the new attorney.”
I had the impression that Clay Aster’s secretary had made an instantaneous decision to hate me. I had no problem returning the favor. “We’ll see about that. This is a homicide investigation, Ms. Lucia. If there is information pertinent…”
“Nothing came up out of the ordinary,” Quinton said, apparently trying to take the edge off what the secretary had said and deflect any confrontation. “Ms. Cross’s parents had just retained us as legal counsel. Clay barely had a chance to review the petition and prepare for the minor’s detention hearing.” He smiled at me, blinking away.
“What about other cases, maybe someone else he was currently defending?” Buck asked, holding his Stetson between his knees.
“I’ll take a look,” Quinton said after a glance over at Carly. It gave me the impression a message was being sent. I just wasn’t sure what the message was.
Lucia shifted her body, exposing more leg as she addressed my new partner. “I’d be happy to give you a list of his clients, maybe we could go over it together.” She smiled.
Now it was my turn to exchange glances, this time with Buck. After a half-smile, he went on for a few minutes, exchanging information about recent cases with Lucia.
I excused myself to get a drink of water. At Quinton’s direction I found a dispenser behind the reception desk. After I got the water I took a moment glancing at several more photographs of Clay Aster on the walls behind the reception area. It looked like our decedent knew everyone who was anyone on the island, including a couple of politicians and actors from the mainland that I recognized.
As I finished my drink I noticed there was a photograph of Aster, apparently taken years ago with a much younger man and a boy. I decided they were probably relatives of the lawyer as I walked back to the lobby where Carly Lucia was still laying it on thick for my new partner.
“Maybe you could come by this evening, after work,” Lucia suggested. “It would give us some private time to go over things.”
Buck smiled, threw me a look. My brows went up but I kept quiet, deciding to stay out of the discussion since he clearly had influence over Lucia that I lacked.
After Buck had agreed to the meeting, the conversation lagged and I turned my attention to the human owl. “Mr. Quinton, is there anyone you can think of in Mr. Aster’s personal life, maybe in his past relationships, who might be a person of interest?
“You might want to talk to his ex,” Lucia said, again answering for Quinton and annoying the hell out of me. “She’s the bitch of the century who probably wanted him dead."
“Why do you say that?”
It was the owl’s turn to answer for Lucia. “Their divorce was…you might say less than amicable. There was a considerable financial settlement involved but it never seemed to appease Marlena.”
“Does she live here on the island?” Buck asked.
Quinton nodded. “I’ll see if I can get you an address.”
After another half hour of forced chit chat that revealed nothing, we left and I let Bernie tend to the median between the sidewalk and street in front of Aster’s office.
“I think you’ve got an admirer,” I said, looking over at Buck.
He put his hat on, did a little eye roll. “There’s nothing like a pretty little liar.”
“My impression also. What do you think she knows?”
He shrugged. “Maybe somebody besides Aster’s ex who wanted him out of the picture.”
I thought about what he said for a moment. “It still doesn’t explain the kidnappings.”
He nodded. “Maybe I’ll get something out of Carly this evening.”
I fixed my eyes on him. “I’d say that’s more than likely.” I felt something surfacing, maybe jealousy, but tried to push it down. “Just watch out for her fangs.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
After Bernie and I left the station I decided to stop by and see if Sissy’s attorney was in.
In criminal cases where the public defender is already assigned to one defendant and the charges include another defendant who can’t afford legal representation, the court appoints what in some jurisdictions is called a conflict defense attorney. In Sissy’s case Peter Roth was that attorney. I hate attorneys and, from what I’d seen in court of Mr. Roth, Mo’s niece had drawn what Buck McCade would have called a dead man’s hand.
After Googling Roth’s address and taking a ten minute drive through the city I pulled the car that I’d borrowed from Mo’s sister to the curb. We were in a poorer section of Avalon a few blocks west of Clay Aster’s office.
I looked at the sign in front of the residence and read it aloud to Bernie. “Clowney’s Funeral Home.” I looked at my dog who’d poked his big nose over to me from the back seat. “A lawyer who works out of a funeral parlor. Really?”
Bernie whined, shook his head, maybe in confusion.
The funeral-law office was a gray and white single story with peeling paint. It had a driveway on the side portico that was probably used to deliver and remove bodies. As we made our way to the front door I saw that the yard needed mowing and the hedges were untrimmed. There was a cluster of unread newspapers on the porch.
A light was burning in the front widow, so I knocked and went in. An elderly woman sat in a small office off the main entrance. She wore a black dress, her white hair was in a bun, and her ashen-gray skin approximated the color of the dead. It probably wouldn’t be long before the receptionist would be able to avail herself of the services the home offered.
I looked down and noticed her name placard. The Clowney’s, whoever they were, had the unfortunate luck of hiring a receptionist with the last name of Butcher. Mildred Butcher had a book open in front of her that she quickly covered up with her hand as I’d entered the office. Mildred was a little slow on the draw because I saw the title: Fifty Shades of Gray.
“May I help you?” She lifted up her reading glasses and then looked down at Bernie. Before I could answer she said, “We’re about to close for the day and no dogs are allowed.”
“He’s a police dog.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She made a twisting motion with her head like we both needed to leave.
“I’m here to see Mr. Roth. Is his office somewhere inside?”
“He’s indisposed.” Another head crank. “Out.”
I pulled out my police credentials, showed them to her. “This is a police matter.”
“Doesn’t matter what the matter is. No dogs. That’s the rule. Period.”
At that moment I realized a combination of the day’s events involving Julie Spencer, Carly Lucia, and Mildred Butcher had used up my entire quota of impulse control.
I leaned forward, my gaze drilling into the dead eyes of the receptionist. “I’m only going to ask this one more time. I don’t care about your rules. I don’t care if Mr. Roth is indisposed. And I don’t care if you’re in a hurry to get home so you can finish reading about bondage and kinky sex. Where the hell is Mr. Roth?”
Mildred blinked and her shoulders shrugged. She gave me another head twist, this time in the opposite direction from the front door. “He’s in the back with the models, but he’s probably asleep.” She looked down, opened her book, and began reading, apparently unabashed now that she’d been discovered.
I had no idea what she meant by models, but after what I’d seen in court yesterday it wouldn’t surprise me if Roth was indisposed with several women. I pushed away thoughts about the attorney having an orgy in a funeral home as Bernie and I walked down the hallway. We came to a waiting room with several brochures describing the Clowney’s services. Across from that room there was an open area in what had probably once been a liv
ing room. I realized it was a showroom full of caskets.
I looked down at my big dog. “If a zombie pops up I want you to bite first and ask questions later.”
The room had a large assortment of caskets, each with a description and a price. Someone had crossed out the original inflated price on each coffin and written a discounted amount below in red ink. Somehow the marketing strategy didn’t make anything I saw look more appealing. I realized these might be the “models” that Mildred was referring to.
Bernie and I were at the back of the room, approaching a casket referred to as the Belvedere. The sales placard announced that it was made of bronze, was resistant to rust and mildew, and had a velvet interior with an adjustable bed. Apparently, even in death, there are certain pleasures and status that are desirable.
As we moved closer to the coffin’s open lid I heard a groan. I gasped, jumping back at the same time Bernie growled.
“What the hell,” I said, my hand resting on the gun in my purse. Maybe there were zombies in the room.
I took a couple of steps closer, came around to the front of the coffin, and saw there was a man inside. Then I realized it was Peter Roth. He was sound asleep.
I looked down at Bernie, scratching my head. “This might be a first. I’m going to try and wake the dead.” I turned back to the snoring attorney. “Mr. Roth, I need to speak to you.”
Roth grunted, turned over and resumed his nap. I reached out and shook him. “I’m with the police. We need to talk.” He snorted but otherwise there was no response. A thought occurred to me. Maybe Roth was a vampire.
I let out a breath in frustration, again realizing that my impulse control tank was on empty. I walked over to the waiting area, got a cup of water from a dispenser, and came back to the snoring man in the coffin. I tossed the water on his face and yelled, “Wake up!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Roth screeched, suddenly sitting up in his coffin like something out of a scary movie.
“Waking the dead.” I tugged on Bernie’s leash. He came up growling and put his front paws on Roth’s funeral bed.
“Don’t let him scratch it,” Roth said. “The Belvedere is our most expensive model.”
I pulled Bernie down, at the same time realizing that Roth smelled of alcohol. “And I suppose you’re just breaking it in.”
He smiled and it struck me again that the attorney was handsome, even if he was half drunk and in a coffin.
“Would you like to get something to eat, maybe have a drink?” Roth asked.
“Let’s see, we just met, you’re lying in a coffin, and asking me out.” I shook my head. “I have a rule against dating vampires and I think maybe you’ve had enough to drink. I’ll give you a minute to pull yourself together. We can talk in the waiting area.”
Roth appeared five minutes later with his hair combed and smelling of Listerine. He seemed unfazed, as though sleeping in a coffin at five o’clock in the afternoon was a completely normal activity.
“I’m so terribly sorry about your loss,” Roth said, taking a seat across from me. “I hope it wasn’t entirely unexpected. These things can be so…”
I showed him my credentials, introduced myself. “I’m here about your client, Sissy Maddox.”
He pushed a hand through his combed hair, mussing it, and sighed. “Oh…so…I guess you’re not going to buy anything?”
I smiled. “I’ll be back in about fifty years if you can put something on layaway.”
He smiled, pointed a finger at me. “I like that. Sure you don’t want to get something to drink? There’s a little place…”
“I’m sure.”
Mildred Butcher then popped into the room and told Roth she was leaving for the day. She gave me the Butcher death stare before turning to leave.
“Have a nice evening, Aunt Mildred,” Roth said.
I couldn’t resist the opening as she began walking away. “Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my handcuffs?” I asked, saying it loud enough for her to hear.
She turned, gave me a humph, and slammed the door on the way out. Roth gave me a questioning look. I told him, “Your auntie has a kinky side.”
He smiled. “I guess I come by it naturally then.” His phone rang, playing the same Sex and the City tune that I’d heard in court yesterday. He pulled the phone out, saying to me, “This will just take a sec.”
I only heard one side of the conversation that included: I’ll see what I can do, I’m good for it, and give me a couple of days.
“Problems?” I asked after he ended the call.
He grinned, tucked the phone away. “Just an investor with a bit of a cash flow situation.”
“Sounds like your investor’s out for blood.”
He shook his head. “It might cost me a finger or two. Nothing too serious.”
I looked at his hands, saw that all the fingers were there, but something about the way he said it made me think he wasn’t kidding. I changed the subject. “Let’s talked about Sissy Maddox. Any thoughts on why someone kidnapped her and her friends?”
“I have no idea. I only talked to her once before the hearing.”
“Did she say anything about the victim, what she and the other girls did?”
“Just pretty much what’s in the police reports. It was a date rape attempt, Maddie wasn’t going for it. Shaw pulled out his gun but Maddie got it away from him and it went off. As you know, Sissy and her friend helped dispose of the body.”
“Did you believe her explanation?”
“Everyone I represent says their innocent…umm Detective…”
“Kate Sexton.”
“Kate. Nice name. Strong. Can I call you Kate?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, yes, I believe what happened went down just as Sissy told me. She was very innocent, credible.”
“Did Sissy happen to mention any friends she hung out with, maybe someone she confided in?”
He shook his head and went over to pour himself a cup of water.
“What about Clay Aster? Did you know him?”
He hesitated, dragged a hand through his hair again. After gulping down the water, he said, “Not really. I mean, everyone knew Aster the Asshole but he wasn’t an asshole I was intimately familiar with, if you get my drift.” He met my eyes, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that I’m gay. By the way, the ringtone on my phone was someone playing a joke on me. Just haven’t had a chance to change it.”
“If you say so. Back to Aster. What can you tell me about him?”
“Just that he was an arrogant jerk. Probably had lots of enemies.” He came back over to me and smiled. “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, Kate.”
“Any thoughts on who would take the girls?”
He shook his head. “It must somehow be related to what happened to Aster but for the life of me I can’t figure it out.”
I stood up, gave him my card. “Call me if you think of anything I should know about.”
I took a step toward the hallway and then turned back to him. “I know I probably shouldn’t ask but the funeral home, a coffin?”
“I was born in Transylvania, prowl the streets as soon as the sun goes down. He glanced out the window, smiled, and then looked back at me. “You could be in trouble.”
“Never mind.” I turned away again.
“Jess Clowney was my cousin. He lived at the Stardust before passing away last year and I inherited the home.
“Small world. I’m staying there if you need to reach me.” I turned away again.
“The Stardust?” I turned back, nodded as he added, “You seem a little young.”
“Sissy Maddox’s mother works there. She’s a friend of a friend and gave us rooms for a few weeks.”
“I need to stop by there. Maybe you could give me a lift?”
I shrugged. “I’ll give you a ride on one condition.”
He took a step closer, used his best pick-up smile on me. “Don’t tell me. You want to stop for a drink
on the way.”
I shook my head. “I want you to go by Sissy’s school with me as soon as I can work it into my schedule. Maybe we can find one of her friends who knows something.”
“It’s a date,” Roth said, grabbing a coat off the rack.
“I told you I don’t date the dead, but on the way to the Stardust maybe you can explain why a lawyer sleeps in a coffin.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m just breaking in the Belvedere for one of the residents of the Stardust,” Roth said as I drove to the retirement home. “It’s really quite spacious and comfy.”
“I can only imagine.” I felt Bernie’s hot breath on my neck behind me and cracked the window.
“Top of the line, semi-precious metal, sealed gasket, guaranteed to survive the zombie apocalypse.” He smiled and finger-combed his unruly hair. “Keep me in mind if the need ever arises. I can always deliver to the mainland.” He studied me for a moment. “By the way, why’s a cop from Hollywood working on a murder case in Catalina.”
“I was on vacation, offered to help out.”
He went on for a moment, telling me there wasn’t much crime on the island and that most of his law practice involved civil cases. I then changed the subject back to the Stardust. “So who’s getting the Belvedere?”
“Guy named Sal Walsh. You’ve probably seen him there.”
“Cock of the walk. Struts around, delivering lines from one of his old movies.”
“That’s the guy. By the way, I should warn you, the Stardust is full of perverts. Might wanna watch your back…” He smiled. “…and your front.”
I glanced at him as I turned the corner on the street to the retirement home. “I imagine you’re an expert on perverts.”
“Actually I’m an expert in several areas, perversion being only one of them. I’m also a sommelier. I can pick the perfect wine for a first date if you’d care to stop for a drink and let me demonstrate.”
