Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery

by Marika Christian

  “I work in the accounting department. News travels slow when you work in administration. There was more going on. They were keeping his departure quiet.”

  I pushed a little more. “Still, it seems like there would’ve been some kinda buzz.”

  He nodded. “Well, after they fished his body out of the bay, there were rumors. There was some talk about embezzling. It makes sense now. He probably was planning to take off to some place without extradition. He might’ve been leaving his whole life behind. Maybe that’s why he did all this to Rachel-Ann. He was just going to leave her holding the bag for everything.”

  It sure sounded like Jim.

  “So how long have you and Rachel…” His startled look stopped me dead in my tracks. Surely he didn’t think he was fooling anyone. I hadn’t needed to hear them fornicating on a dead man’s desk to understand they were doing it.

  “I’ve always cared for Rachel-Ann. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her. Maybe once she’s settled and over Jim’s death, we can pursue a relationship.”

  Oh, no, he’d just lied to me in Dr.-Phil-speak. He was denying the whole thing. Nothing would’ve pleased me more than to tell him I watched his little game of “where’s the bratwurst” at the visitation, but then I’d have to explain why I was in the closet.

  I just smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you two were involved.”

  He stared at me for a few tense moments. “She was a married woman until a week ago.”

  Right, beauty queens are known for their virtue.

  “I guess it’s because you seem so close.”

  “Rachel-Ann and I are soul mates.” If it weren’t for his rumpled Margaritaville attire, I might’ve mistaken him for Lord Byron. Love was a powerful motive. One soul mate would kill for the other.

  “Like I said, I’m coming back later to do the interview. I really want it to be positive for Rachel-Ann, so maybe I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  He nodded his head slowly. “That sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

  I watched as he headed down the street towards the shop.

  I knew who the killer was. At first I thought it was Rachel-Ann, but the sob-fest in her store made me think otherwise. Rachel-Ann was mourning Jim’s money, not the man. If there’d been a little cash in the kitty for her, she’d be happy he was gone. But there was no way she could’ve dumped his body, complete with cinderblock or something similar, in the bay without completely losing her mind. Of course, she could’ve been in on a plan to do away with him and had someone else do the dirty work, but she didn’t seem capable of ringing up something on the register without exploding into tears. There was no way she could’ve been cool enough to pull off a murder plot. Her partner probably would’ve had to kill her, too, by now. Unless he was in love with her.

  Brant killed Jim, and I was pretty sure he’d done it on his own. He was sneaky and sly, nothing like Jimmy Buffett. Jimmy Buffett wouldn’t kill a man to get his wife. I was sure Brant thought there was going to be some money involved, but the real prize was Rachel-Ann. One thing was for certain: he was going to see me again before I went back for the faux-interview.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sitting in my history class gave me a chance to mull over my next action. How does a girl ask “where were you at the time of the murder?” in a subtle, casual way? I knew what Peyton would do; she’d take off all her clothes, sit in Brant’s lap, and “coax” a confession out of him. Not an option for me. Brant wasn’t the kind of man I would “coax” even if he were the last man on earth and I was out of batteries.

  “I tried calling you all day,” Rick whispered as he plopped into the seat next to me.

  He must’ve come into class while I was grossing myself out with thoughts of confession-coaxing.

  “I wasn’t home.” I could feel a goofy smile starting to emerge on my face.

  “So why don’t you have voice-mail or an answering machine?”

  Because Rick, if I had voice-mail or an answering machine, I’d have to listen to forty grunting self-gratification messages before I got to the one you left. There’s no way I’m listening to that—unless I’m getting paid, of course.

  I was going to bluff my way out of this one. “I’ve never been real good at voice-mail and answering machines. It’s a lot of pressure.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Returning my phone call is pressure?”

  “Well, not yours, but other people’s. They get mad if I don’t get all the numbers, they want to know why I didn’t call them back, or why it took so long, then they want to know where I was… It’s too much, and frankly, I don’t want the cable company trying to sell me something, and they always do. Basic cable comes with my apartment. I don’t need anymore than that.”

  “So basically, you’re just avoiding the cable man?”

  “They’re very pushy.”

  “So what do I have to do to get your cell phone number? I’m willing to pay.” That seared my ears. I forced my inner self to whisper, he’s flirting, he’s flirting, and not HE’S ONTO YOU.

  “As much as I‘d love for you to bribe me, I don’t have a cell phone.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “The cable man wouldn’t have your cell number unless you gave it to him. Are you playing hard to get?”

  “Please. I’m a waitress putting herself through school. I don’t have enough money for a cell phone. You have to pay for the phone, the calling plan—it’s crazy, and no one would call me anyway.”

  He leaned over and whispered to me as our teacher walked into the classroom, “I’d call you.”

  I’m glad I took good notes, because it was hard for me to focus on anything else. It was like he’d passed me a note in gym class. I felt as giddy as a schoolgirl, which I sorta was.

  After class, Rick walked me to my car. “Seriously, Emily, you need to think about getting a cell phone in case of an emergency. You can get one for about fifty bucks and prepay the minutes. I really want you to have one, just in case you get stuck somewhere or something happens. We’ll go out and find one, okay?” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “So let’s go to Wal-Mart on Saturday.”

  “Wal-Mart? I don’t know, Rick. It’s all so sudden.” I teased.

  “Have you been to Wal-Mart on a Saturday? If I’m willing to do that, I’m crazy about you.”

  It was still hard for me to take a compliment. I didn’t want to brush it off, but I didn’t really know what to say either, so I changed the subject. “Why were you calling me?”

  “Just to say hi and tell you I missed you.” He kissed me right there in the school parking lot where everyone could see. When our lips parted, I caught my breath while he pushed the hair from my eyes. “Baby, I’ve got to get to work.”

  Work. So where was he going exactly? Would he be serving behind the bar, or dancing on the bar? The stripper thing was making more and more sense. He didn’t want to talk about his job any more than I wanted to talk about mine. Maybe I could tell him about the phone sex thing. Surely a guy who let people stuff dollar bills into his G-string wasn’t going to have an issue with a girl that groaned for a living.

  “If I call you tonight, do you think you can pick up for me?”

  “I could do that.”

  I could feel my toes blushing when he walked back to his car. I loved the effect Rick had on me.

  My phone rang almost immediately when I got inside my apartment. It was one of my freaks. I didn’t call him freak because he was into anything particularly vile or horrific. He was just different, a little odd—freaky.

  The call always started the same way. In fact, everything in the call was the same. He never deviated from his script. There was no room for me to stretch out creatively, to improvise, or explore new themes. He wanted one thing and one thing only.

  “Hey, Peyton, do you like candy?” His voice was barely audible, but again, it wasn’t like I didn’t know what he was saying (or doing for that matter).

  I whispered back, “You kn
ow I love candy.”

  “Peyton, do you like hard candy?” He asked.

  No, I don’t like hard candy. My grandma managed to carry five pounds of those little butterscotches in her purse. Each one of them was half open and covered in old lady lint. I learned at a young age that having a hard candy was like sucking a sweater.

  “I love hard candy.” Peyton and I obviously had different grandmothers.

  “Come suck my hard candy.” Candy Man said.

  He always moaned and groaned and told me he wanted to hear how much I loved his hard candy, and that was what he wanted me to call it. Hard Candy, nothing else.

  I try to work the lyrics to the Sammy Davis song into the conversation. “Satisfying and delicious” was too easy; my goal was to get “you can even eat the dishes” into our dialogue. A phone thespian needs a challenge.

  Most of the night was pretty typical stuff, and when I wasn’t on a call, I tried to focus on my homework or on my pilfered funeral guestbook. Rick kept seeping into my head, though. I guess it was natural. There’d never been a man who made my toes blush before.

  I went to bed early; I had a big day coming up. I was hoping to find Montgomery Davis and talk to him about Kaz. I could do the reporter thing again. I decided to tell him I was doing a fun little “ten questions” thing for the business section of the paper. I was looking for something a little quirky to give the section men a fun, snappy face. How that was going to lead to his relationship with Kaz, I had no idea. I was going to wing it. From there, I would find Kaz, and there would be more winging it.

  When I closed my eyes, I thought of Rick; I’d never believed Wal-Mart was romantic until today. I couldn’t wait until Saturday.

  Chapter Twenty

  Google has to be a gold digger’s best friend. In an hour, I had more information on Montgomery Davis than an aspiring black widow would ever need. I had his work address and the charities he chaired.

  I had two options. I could call him and try to get an appointment, or I could hang out in the lobby of his office building and stalk him. I never thought stalking would be something I could do. Not because I had so much dignity, but because I had a fear of being caught. However, since Jim’s death, I’d learned I was capable of anything, as long as I pretended I was Peyton. I wondered if that was something that would carry over into my sex life, should I develop one.

  I printed out his picture just in case stalking became my only option; then I picked up the phone and dialed his office number. I was transferred from one receptionist to another and finally put through to his assistant. One had to go through channels to get to Montgomery. He was definitely a muckety muck.

  His assistant was a man. It might be easier than I’d thought. After all, I gave good phone.

  I let Peyton do her thing. “Hi, I’m Emily Summers, from the St Pete Times.

  “Hello Emily, This is Ted Willig. How can I help you today?”

  This boy was putty in my hands. I could hear it in his voice.

  Sometimes a good dumb act is the smartest thing a girl can do. I giggled. “You can do me a really big favor.”

  “I might like that.”

  I giggled some more. He was falling for the whole routine. “I made a big mistake and I was hoping you could help me. You see, I’m a copy clerk here at the paper, but I really want to write. One of the editors gave me a little assignment: ask ten questions of one of the area’s most prominent businessmen. Only, I thought I had like two weeks to do it. It’s not a big story; it’s just a tiny thing in the business section. A funny little thing we’re starting. So many people think the business section is stuffy.”

  “Let me guess, you need it sooner than you thought.”

  “Way sooner. My boss, Mr. Jackson, said Montgomery Davis just seemed to be the perfect person to interview. If I don’t come through on this, they’ll never ask me to do anything again.”

  “You’re lucky. His two o’clock just cancelled. It doesn’t sound like it will take too much time. Can you make it?”

  Give a man a chance to be a hero to a damsel in distress and he was usually going to do it, especially if he thinks she’s a hottie and he might get laid.

  “It’ll hardly take any time at all. Thank you so much, I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll give your name to the security guard downstairs. I can’t wait to meet you.”

  Yeah, we’d see about that. I wasn’t the girl he was expecting. He’d be expecting a vixen like Peyton, not schleppy Emily. I felt bad using my phone voice on an unsuspecting victim. It wasn’t my usual practice, unless I was trying to weasel extra breadsticks out of the pizza guy, but this investigation called for underhanded measures.

  While I put on my girl reporter disguise, I tried to think of ten questions I was going to ask Davis and how they going to get the right information out of him. So could you tell me about your wife’s affair with your recently deceased neighbor? would not cut it.

  I wanted to create a little good will with the assistant. If there was one thing I learned at the paper, it was that the best way to get to the corporate bigwigs was through their assistants. They knew their schedules and determined who and what was important and deserved some time. An assistant was the best ally anyone could have. In case I ever had to go back, I wanted to be on the important list. Being the chubby girl with the hot voice wasn’t going to do the trick, but maybe a gift certificate from Le Bel Age would.

  The place was packed and I could tell passing Craig a twenty was going to have to wait for a few minutes. He smiled when he saw me. “Thank God. Emmie. Do you mind taking these over to the two guys by the window? They’re in a rush.”

  I took two plates from him and got them over to the table. For the next hour, I was waitressing. I put my purse behind the counter, pulled out my reporter’s notebook, and took orders. I also did a lot of praying. When it came to food—mine and other people’s—I was hazardous. I was pretty sure Craig’s special Caesar sauce wouldn’t look appealing all over my girl reporter sweater. Every chance I got, I recommended the cinnamon chips with fruit salsa, the least messy special on the menu. If I hadn’t been so worried about possible spillage, I would’ve enjoyed myself. It was busy. Frank Sinatra was singing on the stereo, and Craig and I worked well together. I also made twenty-six dollars in tips. I was satisfied that I could honestly say that I was a waitress. I was no longer lying.

  When everything slowed down, Craig collapsed at one of the tables. “Thanks, Emmie, you saved my ass.”

  “Where’s Patty?”

  How did Patty annoy me? Let me count the ways. She was addicted to cauliflower the way some people were addicted to crack. She was always carrying. Patty had a Ziploc of raw cauliflower on her at all times. I’d never seen her eat anything else. A waifish girl with blond hair and big brown eyes, Patty fancied herself a witch, which probably bugged real witches as much as it did me. She was always scribbling “spells” and incantations in a notebook she kept stored in her Hello Kitty backpack. On more than one occasion, she “fairy dusted” me with glitter, closing her eyes, whispering something, and dancing away, leaving me to pick sparkles out of my hair for days afterward. She was also devoted to Tim Burton; she could reenact all of his movies and often did. As Dennis said, Patty was “unwell.”

  “You mean Lily? She isn’t going by Patty anymore. Patty is the name her parents chose for her as a child; Lily is the name she’s chosen now that she’s a woman.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  He sighed. “I wish I was. She called me and told me she couldn’t come in. She said she and Ras broke up last night, and she was weeping too hard to come in. Weeping was her word. Then she quoted something by Edgar Allan Poe and hung up.”

  “Wow, she quoted Poe?”

  “I think so. It was dark and brooding, love lost and all that crap, so I assumed it was Poe. It could’ve been Morrissey or The Cure.”

  “So she’s home writing in her spell book.”

  He nodded. “On tear-stained p
ages, no doubt.”

  “Was she even dating Ras?”

  “I‘m sure Ras has a different name for it.”

  Ras was short for Rasputin. He was the lead singer for Strange Angels, a band that played at Le Bel Age. I could see why Patty/Lily fell for Ras. He looked like one of those dapper Satans. He had dark, perfectly coiffed hair, and the same little beard and mustache Lucifer always sported in the movies. I’m sure his fans would say something like, his eyes gleamed like obsidian. He was gorgeous, had a great voice, and was an excellent artist. He could draw, paint, and sing. Patty/Lily was just one in a pack of sallow-skinned groupies who made the mistake of falling for his charms. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, either. Primarily because I knew him from high school, when he was plain old Danny Murphy, the fair-haired artist, who was constantly getting shoved inside his own locker. The jocks weren’t kind to Danny. I wondered about his eyes, though; they had to be colored contacts. The Danny I grew up with had brown eyes that looked like dirty dishwater, not obsidian.

  “I’m glad I was able to help out, then.” I said to Craig.

  “Me too. I was losing control. Emmie, if you want a job here, you know you have it, right? God knows I need someone a little more responsible around here. The rest of my staff can be a little—” he signed heavily “dramatic.”

  “Dennis says they’re freaks.”

  “I try not to use that word when describing my employees. So, why’d you come by?”

  “I need your help.” I handed him the twenty-six dollars I’d earned. “I was hoping to get a gift certificate.”

  “Is this for the case?” he asked.

  “Yup. I hope to find out about one of Jim’s affairs this afternoon. The gift certificate is for the person who‘s going to help me.”

  Craig went to the counter and started filling out the gift certificate. “I’m not supposed to help you with the case. Don’t tell Dennis.”

  As if it was even a possibility.