by Kieran York
“That’s good of them,” I spoke with amazement.
Hanna smirked, “The woman did save the life of the company’s owner. And injury occurred when she was in their employment. So, the gesture isn’t purely altruistic. It will all be taken care of.”
“I just want Rachel well again,” I said.
The doctor tipped her head. There was direct, probing eye contact. “This isn’t going to be an easy road to recovery. But I have no doubt that she’ll make it. She’s one strong, determined woman. I can honestly say that I’ve never had a patient with more fight. I work hard to resuscitate all my patients. When they so strongly participate, as she did, I can feel it. I’m not letting go of her.”
As we left the office, we all knew exactly where we stood. Doctor’s orders were to make certain Rachel had a stress-free recovery. Summer and I agreed to allowing a slow comeback for our partner. And encourage Rachel’s cooperation. The probable area of contention would more likely be Rachel’s refusal to acquiesce.
Seated in the waiting room, I asked, “Shall we flip for who stays over tonight?”
“Hanna told me that she was going to be with Rachel, and she insisted that we go home to get some shuteye. We’re only ten minutes away. She’ll call if we’re needed.”
“One of us needs to return to the yacht to feed Pluma.” Our pet parrot would be squawking the ship down after having been ignored the entire day. “Why don’t we both go home, I’ll fix us something to eat? We can decide from there.”
We walked to our separate vehicles. Suddenly, Summer walked back to where I was getting into my car. “Are you okay, Summer?”
Nervously, she said, “Remember how we always considered our dangerous profession a sport?”
“Almost a joke,” I braved the words that now made me want to sob.
“There was that time, after a close call, and we were making light of it.” Summer’s face began to crease. “We picked songs to be played at our own services. I picked Lennon’s ‘Imagine.’” Summer leaned back against the fender.
Reminiscing, I added, “I’d thought about ‘Somewhere Up There.’ Not sure why. I guess I loved the melody.”
“Rach had said she’d want Willie Nelson’s ‘To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before’ to be played at her memorial service. Then we all laughed. Well, I remembered that, and I recall hearing the song today. I know you talk about your hunches, and premonitions. And I scoff? It wasn’t like that exactly. But it spooked me a little when I was thinking about it later.”
Watching, I saw tears drizzling from her eyes. “Summer, she’s going to recover.”
My own eyes began to slowly leak. Once seated inside my car, I paused to watch in the rearview mirror as Summer return to her vehicle. I muttered, “Tough dyke.”
Separately we drove back to the marina. I hated the thought of boarding The Radclyffe. Rachel would not be there. A chill came over me. It had been a day of thinking about a murder case that nearly cost us a life. The many close calls we’d had over the years paled next to this. Today was an actuality.
Gazing at our home, I knew that The Radclyffe-Hull was a nautical dream. With a plush fly bridge, pilothouse, and sky lounge, she was a tall lady of a ship. Equipped with the latest communications and navigational apparatus, she maneuvered beautifully. She housed all the accoutrements, and a plethora of lavish features.
The upper level housed office, client conference room, and galley. I was a gourmet chef at heart. The galley was my favorite room. A childhood of poverty encouraged my interests in cooking. I wanted to make food taste as elegant as I could. There was also a formal dining area.
The lower level began forward with my full-beam mistress suite. The other three staterooms and a guestroom had similar amenities to my own area.
Behind the staterooms were crew’s quarters. Since we were the crew, we had converted that area into our gymnasium with steam bath, whirlpool tub, and rec area. Far aft was the engine room, generators, digital center, and machinery areas.
Our ship was elegant, yet homey.
I wondered what was taking Summer so long, as I fixed a makeshift, healthy meal. When Summer arrived, I knew. She had been driving along the beach, perhaps weeping. The Amazonian young woman hated to share her tears. Rarely and briefly, had she wept in the past. This morning, as we waited for information, we both neared, then repressed crying. For ourselves, and for one another. But when she now approached, I knew she had been crying.
Age-wise, one would assume that being oldest, I was the most stoical. Yet, perhaps I was the least. In fact, the three of us were each a decade apart. Summer was in her early twenties, Rachel in her thirties, and I’d just approached forty.
Conversely, Summer was softest deep down, and I was the most hardened. My arms gathered her near, as she unwound herself. “I’m starving.”
“Summer, I fixed surf and turf. A little lobster, a little steak. Salad. Salad, to keep my washboard tummy. Why don’t you feed Pluma while I finish up with dinner?”
“What’s wrong with Pluma? She’s hiding in the corner of her cage?”
I inspected the cursing lime parrot. “She’s not coming to where we usually feed her. She keeps going to the corner as if she’s hiding. Maybe she misses Rachel.” She’d never gone to the opposite side of the cage away from us. She usually wanted to get right up in our faces and scream obscenities. The bird did not want to be misunderstood when telling us what we should do to ourselves.
After dinner, Summer and I called to check on Rachel’s progress. She was sleeping, and needed her sleep was the report. So, Summer decided that some of the recognizant work could be done tomorrow via phone, and etcetera. She listed the calls of potential information. Forensics, pester the Chief, check for reports, and her street snitches. While doing that from the hospital, where she could be with Rachel, I could be doing the gumshoe routine. I had a growing list of possible suspects.
We tended to make a division of labor that would best use our individual attributes. Summer’s street-smart ways, having lived them when she was an early teen, produced her calculating cool manner. She truly could knock an unhelpful interviewee’s teeth out. And wouldn’t mind doing it, if she had time. They understood her safety zone. She wasn’t out for sport. It was all a turbulent plot for information.
Some interrogation took a defter diplomacy. That was my unique quality. In court, I was known to have a lullaby-the-jury way with witnesses. Sew it with a needle, and then stick the final argument with a saber. I was usually very mellow and soft with my words. I could have sung my questions. Answers were tenderly invited from witness’s memories. And then sometimes it was a battery and assault of the judicial vocabulary. I was going for them with brass knuckles.
I took the list of those needing to be questioned. Summer hated losing her cool, so she was fine with the way in which our agenda was completed.
Glancing down, I saw a return callback on my phone from an earlier call I’d placed to Mandy Jewel. Mandy had laughed when I asked about an appointment with her in the morning. She reminded me she liked evenings and nights best. Mornings were for sleeping. Night life was for everything. It was only ten o’clock. She had guessed what I wanted to talk with her about. She was always fond of Rachel. And without my asking, she offered to help.
I drove to her enchanting apartment. Although she’d moved to the apartment after her retirement, it had displays of sensual women in every corner shelf, and on every table. Color designs were red. Great quantities of red. And irresistible women with their well-designed bodies seemed to come alive from their photographs. Her lighting was low, sensual. The apartment, and the woman, were not made for canasta.
Mandy was high-quality fashion. Her silver, short-styled hair was carefully clipped. It once had been a high tower of blonde hair. Her makeup was tamed over the years from the surplus color and design of her working years. She insisted that she was a retired business woman and very glad she wasn’t some aging mistress.
In a long, f
lowing silver-metallic and blue robe, she answered the door. “Come in, darling.” She handed me a goblet that was filled with a fancy drink. “A raspberry delight. Sit, Beryl. I hope I can help you. I’m putting feelers out to everyone I know.” She was in a talkative mood, but she never babbled, only related.
“Please be careful, Mandy,” I cautioned. “This killer isn’t timid about killing.”
A flash of concern covered her face. “I’ll take care. However, I’ve been intimate with killers. In my youth, I can think of several that I knew. No telling how many I didn’t know.” She giggled a chaining musical opera. “I’ll let you know if I come up with any scuttlebutt. The moneyed usually don’t say much about what they hear. Some of the gossips yack, but it isn’t as reliable if you get the skinny from someone trying to climb the social ladder.”
“What would the Perraults be considered?”
“Wendell is old, old money. Even the cosmetic corporation was old. They must have made money, but cosmetics were only a branch. I think Wendell’s father might have given each of the children two or three companies. If I recall correctly, Wendell disbursed a construction company to pay off his first wife. But he certainly improved the cosmetic company with his new products. Some say he thieved his way to the top in the glamour industry.”
“I’d heard that he stiffed Curtis Rhodes.”
“Yes. Dr. Rhodes. I’ve met him. He is a truly pathetic little man. No pleasing him,” Mandy mocked. “And I know of what I speak. I sent him a variety of women. Finally, I just stopped taking his calls. Cheapskate. His wife was browbeaten throughout the marriage. She dumped him. It was no secret that he feels Wendell screwed him.”
“What about any antagonism with Wendell’s first wife?”
“She was bought off. Handsomely. She got the takings from the construction company? So, she picked up her boobs and left. I’m not aware that it was a particularly ugly divorce.”
“Usually with that much money involved, there are a few ruffled feathers,” I prodded.
“No, as I recall, they parted amicably. Peggy, his first wife, remarried immediately after leaving Wendell. She had wanted the house and one of the businesses. Sold the business and rented the home. Got what she wanted, as I recall. After getting half of the assets, she moved. Then about a decade ago, there was a kerfuffle when she decided to sell the house. It had some liens or something. She insisted Wendell pay off the liens or be sued. He must have done just that. Then everything was hunky-dory. As far as I know, it remained so.”
“Then there would be no motive for her to kill him. And how about Glenda? Has she got any old money ties?”
“None at all. Glenda was just getting started on her bankroll by being the face of Perrault Cosmetics. That’s when Glenda and Wendell became enamored, and the rest is history.”
“Any ideas about an enemies list for Wendell?”
“There’s always a motive where money is concerned.” She topped off my glass.
“I’m searching for someone that hated Wendell. Someone he hurt, owed, or slighted in some way. Someone with shooting skills, or who could hire a hitman.”
“Beryl, I haven’t heard anything about a gangster gun in the town. Only a lot of little gangsters shooting up any target. Do you truly think it was definitely a professional hit?”
“Looked like it to me. It was a get in, make your Z, and get out, deal,” I answered.
“In my former trade, those kinds of deals were what we called money in the cash register.” Her upper right eyebrow lifted as her lips curled. “I miss having a stable of girls. I know, you think its objectifying woman and all that, but I saved some of those women. Dolled them up. I encouraged them to improve themselves. Stand up for themselves. Some married into good arrangements. Some educated themselves and became upwardly mobile. Learned the tricks and made themselves better. Improved themselves and found good homes. I took some off the street. I did look after them.”
“Learned the tricks,” I said as I shook my head. Amused, I commented, “Sounds as if you might be talking about an animal rescue service.”
Playfully, she tossed one of the pillows at me. She knew I wouldn’t change my opinion of women being objectified, and purchased. We chatted on about some of the women I’d represented in court. Her ladies did get picked up by the cops once in a great while. She always sorted it out, or had a knowledgeable attorney sort it out. Often it was me. Night court was rarely pleasant.
Then I finished my razzle-dazzle raspberry cocktail, and left Mandy Jewel’s apartment.
Under a slathering of stars, I drove slowly back to the yacht. The drink was making me sleepy, yet I knew I couldn’t get restful sleep. I’d face a fitful few hours trying. Rachel was not out of danger. And there was a free-range killer out there.
Pluma greeted me with a chain of curse words. “Chingada!”
She must have thought that translated into ‘goodnight.’
I looked in to check on Summer. Sleeping, probably lightly, but sleeping. She needed to get rest, I thought. She was our detective agency’s brawn.
This case was personal. We would bring the killer to justice, no matter what it might cost.
“Chingada!” Pluma squealed.
I replied, in a parental correction kind of way, “Pluma, that would be a simple buenas noches.”
Pluma was definitely missing Rachel. The parrot’s swearing was not up to snuff.
Chapter 3
Morning didn’t seem as hectic as I’d imagined it might be. Summer had written a note saying she wanted to spend the morning at Rachel’s side. She had gone to the hospital, and would be making the phone calls I’d written down on the back of a scrap of paper. I would be paying a visit to Dr. Curtis Rhodes. While at the Perrault Cosmetic Corporate Offices and Lab, I would scrounge for dissatisfied employees. When people believe that they’ve been done wrong, they usually tend to become more loquacious.
This seemed not to be the case with Doc Rhodes. He was portly, somewhere in his mid-fifties, and his face was smooth as a baby’s backside. He was a lower deck vice-president of Perrault Cosmetics, and probably felt his ‘takings’ were not adequate compensation for having created the secret ingredients in the face cream and lotion.
He met with me in one of the small interior offices. Nothing I had to say would meet with his approval. His grumble told me that he had very little to say. His chin was held high. As he walked, he gave his full weight to the balls of his feet. It might well have made him feel taller, but it appeared to be a tippy-toe walk.
Only one way to handle this interview, I figured. “Doctor Rhodes, so nice to meet the creator of Perrault’s brilliant products.”
He waved me into my chair, across from the desk. “And you’re a bodyguard?”
“Yes, we were providing guard service for Glenda Perrault. My partner protected Glenda from the crime.”
“I heard all about it on TV. Too bad about Wendell, but it was bound to happen someday.”
I leaned forward, “And what do you mean?”
“The way he treated people.” His hands continued to clench and unclench. It created an edgy twitchiness.
“I’ve heard that you’re a part owner in the company. And I’ve also heard you aren’t a big fan of the Perraults.”
“Don’t consider me a suspect.” His shoulders lifted. “I wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“Right now, I’m attempting to sift through suspects and eliminate anyone I can.”
“I’ve already spoken with the police. I’ve got an alibi.” His gray eyes squinted. “And I don’t own a rifle.”
“I’ll be upfront with you. By now you’ve probably guessed that it was probably a contract killing. A hired gun. I don’t suppose you know any sharpshooters?”
His face flushed. “Of course not, I’m a doctor.”
“If you’re eliminated, do you have a guess as to who might want Wendell and Glenda killed? Angry clients, employees?”
“Perrault has had a couple ugly lawsu
its. Recently, one of the litigants was a woman named Olga Carleton.” Glancing down with an expression of disdain, he muttered his afterthought. “If I poured bleach in my eyes, after being told bleach doesn’t belong in an eye, whose fault would it be?”
“I heard Olga wanted to cash in big.”
“Our earnings dived when she made her accusation. Corporations shouldn’t be responsible for silly, brainless women.” His teeth seemed to grind for several seconds. “After that we put an even larger disclaimer on the side of the jar. Common sense. I’m thinking that the Carleton woman did it on purpose.”
“Blinding an eye doesn’t sound like a great idea. And she didn’t walk away with the twenty-five million she wanted. A hundred-grand probably went mostly to legal bills.”
“She was livid.” The first hint of a smile drew his lips up slightly. “Some people sue for legitimate damages. I don’t think she was one of them. A firm like this should not be robbed. My product is a safe product, and has been for years. Stupid woman.”
As the Bard says, he was protesting way too much. “Any other people you think might be implicated in the murder?” I quizzed.
“Ross Milton is our publicity man. He claims to be so smart. He’s in marketing. He’s always had a thing for Glenda.”
“If he had the hots for Glenda, why would he kill her? Or have someone kill her?”
“Maybe he realized that even with Wendell dead, he didn’t have prayer.” Smirking, he added, “All I know is that Ross never got along with Wendell. Glenda worked more closely with Ross, and insisted that he continue with Perrault.”
“That puts him on my suspect list,” I fabricated for his benefit. That was new information. Not logical information, but all the same, I filed it away in the safe storage of my mind. “Anyone else you can think of?”
“Look around. Glenda always said this is a family. We’ve got many, many dissatisfied family members. Wages aren’t keeping up.”
Sitting back in the chair, I assumed a relaxed poise. “And tell me again why you shouldn’t be high on my suspect list?”
