by M. Z. Kelly
Natalie, who was the Farah Fawcett of the group in a short, tight sequined blue dress, said, “I had me a friend once who said that sleeping with her husband was like necrophilia.”
“Why is that?” I asked, feeling like a fool in my Jacklyn Smith TV persona.
“She said she’d be dead before she ever had an orgasm.”
While the others laughed over Natalie’s comment, I caught a reflection of myself in the limo’s window. I’d done what I could with my hair, trying to curl it in the way the actress from the hit TV show had done, but my do looked more tangled and mangled than Jacklyn’s soft, curly locks.
My dress was another story. I’d worn a little black dress that Natalie had picked out for me but it was a little too tight and short for the character I was portraying. When I told her about my concerns, Natalie tried to cheer me up by saying, “Get over it, Kate. Nobody but you will think you look like a slut.”
Thanks, Natalie.
Going to the ball as Charlie’s Angels had, of course, been Natalie’s idea. She told us that we all had enough snoop in us to pull it off in spectacular fashion. We’d left Bernie and Bubba back at the Stardust with the night staff where father and son were probably busy cleaning out the kitchen.
Roth pulled out a complimentary bottle of champagne that came with the limo. “Shall we?”
“Why not,” Mo said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t even wanna be here with what’s happened to my niece, but I decided to go and work the crowd, see if somebody knows something ‘bout that Jackson Caldwell asshole.”
As Roth served up the drinks I turned to her in disbelief, “How do you know about Caldwell?” We’d purposely kept his involvement on the down low, out of the press.”
“Sammy’s got sources on the inside,” Natalie said. “Mo and me are gonna set up on that biker bar where he hangs, put his meat in the fridge if he doesn’t tell us where Sissy is.”
I accepted the champagne from Roth and took a drink out of frustration over Sammy and my friends knowing what was going on almost before I did. “The police are already watching the bar. Jackson Caldwell is dangerous. You need to stay out of it.”
“I’m gonna get my own blue hood,” Mo said. “Then I’m gonna lay the biggest can of whoop ass on Caldwell the world’s ever seen.”
“Excuse me,” Roth said, already pouring himself a second glass of champagne. “Did you say Jackson Caldwell?”
“You know him, Bosley?” Mo asked.
Roth nodded, looked over at me. “Clay Aster represented him on a drug charge about the same time he defended Hopkins. Not a very nice fellow. He was into a motorcycle club, as I recall.”
What he’d said likely confirmed what we’d speculated, that Caldwell was working with Aster and Brill to frame Hopkins. I thought about again warning my friends to stay out of things but decided it would be like asking Peter Roth to give up drinking.
When we arrived at the Catalina Casino, the building was everything I’d imagined the combination theater and ballroom would be. I’d read somewhere that the circular art deco building was twelve stories high. The lower level was built to serve as a theater for the first talking motion pictures during the era it was built. The upper level consisted of the world’s largest circular ballroom. It was a grand venue for an event that I was told raised funds for a host of charitable causes supported by the sheriff’s department.
As we entered the Casino we were met by Marlena Aster and several of her high society friends who had organized the event. Rather than a costume, Aster had chosen a flowing black gown that was low cut, revealing surgically enhanced breasts. Her short, perfectly coifed hair, looked like polished silver.
“I’m so pleased that you could attend our event,” the society matron said, greeting me.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said, taking a hand that displayed what looked like a two carat diamond ring.
I saw that she was examining my outfit, those of my friends and Roth, her brows knitting together. “Let me guess,” she said. “You’re supposed to be some sort of street people?” She looked over at Roth. “And you’re the pimp.” She laughed.
Mo planted her hands on her wide hips and glared at Marlena Aster. “Don’t you know nuthin’ ‘bout TV shows?” The alcohol was apparently already working in my friend’s system. “We’re Charlie’s Angels, lady.”
Natalie, never one to shy away from a confrontation, stepped up and wagged a finger at Aster. “And if you’re looking ‘round for a ho, you might wanna go find a mirror.”
I apologized, briefly explained about our costumes, and pushed Natalie and Mo up the circular stairway trying to keep them from making a further scene. I left my friends and Roth in the ballroom, telling them all to go easy on the alcohol. I ran into Morty as they were all headed for the bar.
“You look lovely tonight,” Morty said. His gaze slid over me, my dress. I could tell he didn’t have a clue about the character I was trying to portray, but at least he didn’t say I looked like a prostitute.
“I’m supposed to be someone from an old TV show,” I explained, at the same time examining his suit, overcoat, and hat that looked like something Humphrey Bogart might have worn.
“Floyd Dane,” Morty said, explaining the outfit and puffing out invisible smoke. “I was the best dressed, best looking cop in Chicago back in the 1940’s.”
“You still are,” I said as I glanced over and saw Buck leaving a cluster of brass behind and heading in our direction.
I remembered that if you decided not to come to the ball in costume, the affair was considered to be black tie. In his tailored tuxedo Buck looked like he could audition for a James Bond role. My throat went dry as he came over, looking good enough to eat.
“Wow,” Buck said to me. “You look…like…” He seemed to be at a loss for words.
“If you say prostitute, I’m going to leave right now,” I said.
“No. You look…amazing.” He blushed.
“And you…ah, nice job washing behind the ears.” As I’d said it I realized that my own cheeks were turning red.
Buck and Morty exchanged hellos before I motioned to the brass and asked, “How are things with the bigwigs.” I’d asked the question partially to deflect my embarrassment over my dress.
“Sloan looks like he could keel over at any moment. The brass is on him like fleas on a dog about our case going nowhere. It’s pretty bad.”
I took him aside for a moment and mentioned what Roth had said about Clay Aster defending Jackson Caldwell on a drug charge at the same time he’d represented Hopkins.
“That would seem to fit with what we thought,” Buck said.
“Maybe we should check out Caldwell’s role in the motorcycle club tomorrow morning. Some of the other club members might be able to fill in some blanks for us.”
Buck said he thought it was a good idea as a man wearing a toga and a crown came over to Morty. At first I didn’t recognize him but then said to Buck in disbelief, “It’s Sal Walsh, the recluse from the Stardust.” It didn’t take long for Morty and Walsh to get into it.
“It’s about time you finally got out and about,” Morty said to Walsh. He looked at the crazy actor’s outfit. “What’d you do, just get out of the shower?”
“I’ll have you skewered and served to the lions for dessert,” Walsh bellowed in a dramatic baritone.
“At my age I’d just give them a bad case of indigestion,” Morty said, walking away from Walsh.
Buck and I stood there, staring at Walsh, unsure what to say. As it turned out we were saved, if you want to call it that, by Julie Spencer. She wore an outfit that showed a lot of leg, portraying a flapper from the roaring twenties.
She must have seen me staring at her costume. When she opened her mouth to explain her dress, I realized that she’d already taken full advantage of the open bar. “I’m ss…suppposed to be…Mary…Pick…fford, in case you were wo…wonder…ing. America’s s…sweetheart from the 1920’s…about the same era as
this…place was bbuilt.”
Before she could call me a prostitute and embarrass me further, I explained my own outfit, “Jaclyn Smith. Charlie’s Angels. It was my friend’s idea.”
“Really?” Her eyes were fixed on my short, tight dress. I suddenly felt naked. “I would have guessed…something else…like a…”
This time I was saved by Loretta Swanson, who had crept up behind us and began tugging on my arm. She was dressed like the nurse she’d portrayed in an old soap opera, but in her case it looked like the nurse belonged in the hospital—a convalescent hospital.
“You both need to stay away from Morty,” Loretta said, placing her hands on her hips and giving us a death stare. “He’s promised me every dance.” She farted, stormed off, and then grabbed Morty’s arm, pulling him onto the dance floor.
It was apparently Julie Spencer’s cue to do the same with Buck, except for the fart. She yanked him away from me and over to the center of the ballroom. He turned and smiled at me with a shrug as she forced him to dance. I just shook my head and walked away.
I spent the next hour mingling and trying to keep an eye on my friends and Roth as they continued taking full advantage of the open bar. After several attempts, Roth finally coaxed Natalie out onto the dance floor. All eyes were on my beautiful friend as she did a rhumba, looking like one of those dancers from the TV show, Dancing with the Stars, while Roth nearly tripped and fell over his tongue, or maybe it was his penis.
“It looks like they’re having a good time.” I turned and saw Tom Kincaid was laughing at Natalie and Roth.
“I’m surprised you’re not out there.”
“Dancing’s never been my thing. Two left feet.” He smiled and turned to me. Perfect white teeth. Blonde hair cut much shorter than when I’d last seen him in court. His eyes were the color of a deep forest. I thought they’d been blue before and I wondered if he wore contacts. I had no doubt that he and Natalie had made quite the pair when they were dating, but my friend hadn’t mentioned seeing him in a while.
“How is your case going?” Kincaid asked, changing the subject.
I didn’t see any harm in sharing information with someone who would possibly prosecute the killer, if we ever found him. “We found evidence in the home of a young man named Jackson Caldwell this morning. It ties him directly to the murders of the women we found on the Garrett Ranch. We think he’s one of maybe several men holding the kidnap victims somewhere—if they’re still alive.”
“Caldwell.” He paused, his gaze drifting off for a moment. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, just can’t place it.”
“He lives with his mother here in Avalon. He’s a member of a local motorcycle gang called, The League.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been involved in prosecuting some of the gang members in the past, a couple of assaults and a drug case. It’s possible his name came up at the time but I can’t be sure.”
“What can you tell me about the gang?”
“They’re loosely organized, hang out at a local bar on the island. Most of the members are involved in low level drug activity, occasionally some violence. Pretty typical stuff.” Kincaid waved at someone across the dance floor and excused himself.
When Natalie and Roth’s dance ended the band began a rendition of the Righteous Brother’s song, Unchained Melody. I felt someone tap on my shoulder from behind, turned, and saw Buck standing there.
He took my hand. “May I have this dance?”
I followed him to the dance floor, my heart beating against my ribcage. “I wasn’t sure if you survived the Spencer attack,” I said, just to make small talk.
He smiled, those eyes killing me again, as he took me in his arms. “Barely. Got a few scars to prove it.”
I don’t remember much about the next few minutes. In fact, I don’t remember anything. Between the romantic song and being wrapped up in Buck’s arms, I felt like a giddy teenager, in love for the first time. I completely lost myself in the melody and the moment. When the music finally ended, I realized I was still holding onto him.
“Sorry,” I finally said, coming out of my daze and pulling away. I brushed my hair back and breathed, trying to regain some control.
He started to say something to me when Lieutenant Sloan came over to us. “We just got a tip that Jackson Caldwell is staying with a guy over in Two Harbors. We’re heading over there now.”
I told Buck I would meet up with him in a couple of minutes. I then excused myself and headed for the restroom that was located by the circular stairway that led from the main ballroom.
I found Natalie and Mo in the lobby outside the restroom with Julie Spencer. My friends had probably had too much to drink and were laughing, apparently at Spencer’s expense.
“What’s so…god ddamn…ff...fu…nny,” Spencer stammered, coming over to them. She was not only drunker now, but hostile and angry.
“It’s nuth’in,” Natalie said. “Just looks like you squeezed the Charmin a bit too hard.” She and Mo broke into another fit of laughter.
“Wh…what…are you…ta…talking about?” Spencer demanded.
“You’ve been TP’d lady,” Mo said, the mirth in her voice going away as she pointed to what I now saw. Spencer had a stream of toilet paper dangling from the rear of her short flapper dress.
“Shit,” Spencer said, stomping and swaying her way toward the restroom.
“That would pretty well sum up the problem,” Mo agreed, looking over at me.
I briefly explained to my friends that I had to leave, then entered the restroom. I came around a corner at the same time Julie Spencer came out of a stall. I tried to excuse myself and move past her, but she blocked my path.
Spencer’s red eyes glared at me. “You need to stay away from him.”
“What? I don’t know…”
“Buck. He’s mm…mine.”
I laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not…”
She came closer, spitting fire. “What mm…makes you th…think it’s ri…ridicu…lous? We’ve had a th..thing going on ff…for months.”
I laughed, but at the same time wondered if it could be true. I tried to move past her. She came even closer, not letting me pass.
I gave her a slight push. “Don’t make a scene, Julie.”
“You’re the one mm…making a scene.”
She pushed me hard. I returned the shove and she lost her balance, stumbling backward toward the stall she’d just left. My eyes widened in horror as she landed on the toilet and made a splashing sound.
I was about to go over to her when I heard screaming from somewhere outside the restroom. I rushed out and over to the lobby where I saw Natalie and Mo looking over a railing.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“Somebody musta pushed her,” Natalie said. “Her head looks like a squashed melon.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty damned ugly,” Mo agreed. “Don’t hardly recognize her now.”
I looked over the railing and saw there was woman in a black dress lying on the lower floor of the Casino, blood streaming from her head. There was something vaguely familiar about her.
“Any idea who she is?” I asked, turning back to my friends.
“That nasty woman who called us a bunch of ho’s,” Mo said, looking over at me. “I think you know her.”
I looked back over the railing again and realized who she was. I was looking at the dead body of Marlena Aster.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“Anybody see what happened?” Lieutenant Sloan asked, coming over with Buck to examine the body with me and my friends on the lower floor of the Casino. A large crowd had gathered around the upstairs railing, news of what had happened spreading rapidly through the ballroom.
“You want my opinion, somebody pushed her,” Mo said.
“Yeah, somebody did a beat down on the be-atch,” Natalie agreed.
“She fell from the mezzanine level,” I said to Sloan and Buck. “As far as I can tell no one saw it happen.”
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“Damn,” Sloan said. “Okay, let me get Spencer on this so we can head out, look for Caldwell.”
I looked around, seeing no sign of Sloan’s drunken detective. “I think you’re going to have to find somebody else. She’s…a little…indisposed.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed on me. “You mean she’s drunk.” I nodded. “Okay. Let me see what I can set up, then let’s hit the road.”
Buck and I took his car to Two Harbors, followed by Lieutenant Sloan, and a couple of uniforms in a marked car. The sleepy little resort town was located on an isthmus less than twenty miles from Avalon. We were told the information about Jackson Caldwell being at a campground in the area had come from a confidential informant who had connections to The League motorcycle gang. As we drove, Buck and I discussed Marlena Aster’s death.
“There’s no way she just leaned over the railing and fell without some help,” I said. “She had to know something about what’s been going on and paid the price.”
My partner was still wearing his tuxedo. As he glanced over at me, I pushed away explicit fantasies of pulling off his bowtie, unbuttoning his shirt, and then his…
“She had an expensive lifestyle,” he said, ending the reverie. “Maybe she was blackmailing someone who was at the party and they decided they’d had enough.” I saw his eyes drift down, taking in my black dress that when I’d sat down showed more leg than dress.
I adjusted the dress and tried to focus on the case, rather than on Buck. “You mean like a cop?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. There were a few high rollers, island big shots there tonight also. Could have been someone else.”
Hal Quinton came to mind again, how he’d originally withheld information before admitting that Clay Aster was afraid of someone and giving up the key to his safe deposit box. “Maybe we should go back to Quinton in the morning. I think he’s still holding back on what he knows.”
“First light, he’ll be first on our list.”
