Sweet Cream Ladies, Ltd.

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  The three of us sat in silence for a few moments. A very young waitress who was amazingly cheerful for being at work on a Christmas Day came by and took orders. Three scones. Three hot chocolates with freshly whipped cream. Whether our new buddy really wanted that or not, the fact that he asked for it softened my view that he was a serial killing maniac.

  We waited again in silence for the scones and cocoa. The instant they were set in front of us, I burst out with, “Why are you stalking us? Or me?”

  “I’m not stalking you. I was waiting for what seemed to be a good opportunity to chat with you both and I must also admit I was curious as to how the women who murdered my sister acted when not in police custody.”

  His voice was rich and deep and pretty damned sexy. I nearly spat out my first sip of cocoa. And not because it was scalding hot. Sister?

  “Say what?”

  He nodded. “My name is Howard Krempowsky. Minerva Krempowsky was my baby sister.”

  “Well, holy shit,” was Babs astonished response. I couldn’t frame one for a moment or two, and then it hit me. “Wait. Murdered your sister? You think I’m the one who pushed her off the roof?”

  He nodded. “You had motive and opportunity. I’m well aware of your feelings for Minerva since I’m also well aware how much money she received from you and Todd during counseling.’

  I snorted. “Counseling. Yeah. Right. Counseling me to ‘let him go’ so I’d be free to charge into my new wonderful life as a single middle-aged woman with no money.”

  Howard delicately bit into his scone. “I admit that Minerva did not use the best judgment when dealing with you. However, the person you should be truly angry at is your ex-husband.”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly send him a Christmas card this year,” I growled.

  “Of course not. I also am quite cognizant of the fact that Minerva should not have been seeing Todd’s girlfriend as a client at the same time she was helping you with the marriage.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Howard. “Helping is not exactly how I’d put what she was doing.”

  “Perhaps not. Although she did once tell me that she thought you were better off without Todd Kittredge. She said in all her years of readings and counseling she’d never met anyone who was so charming a manipulative liar.”

  Babs nodded. “True that.”

  Howie shot her a quick look, then continued. “What you may not know is that Todd convinced Minerva to help him in his quest for Karalynn’s affections while —excuse the term—dumping you.”

  I sat up straight. “How?”

  “According to my sister, both Todd and Karalynn were her clients. Recommended by a mutual friend. Karalynn told Minerva about a married man she’d fallen for. She did not want to break up your marriage but had been told you were basically a nagging bitch who had no real interest in Todd outside of whatever money he provided since you, his wife, was too lazy to work. Todd told Minerva he was in love with Karalynn and wanted out of his horrible marriage to a woman who—let me quote my sister quoting your ex husband—was ‘incapable of standing up for herself, clinging, possessive, incapable of getting a job and uninterested in sex.’ “

  My stomach lurched. The once tasty scone turned to garbage in my mouth hearing Todd’s slanderously horrible description of me. Howard went on, “Minerva felt sorry for them both. Todd, the emotionally bereft spouse and Karalynn the idealist dreamer who’d found her Romeo and only needed to get the shrew out of the picture so she wouldn’t feel guilty. Todd was the one who suggested marriage counseling with you and made it very worth Minerva’s time to quietly remove you from the love nest shared by Todd and Karalynn. Minerva began to feel a tad guilty after meeting you but Todd added a spot of blackmail to his entreaties. There were a few incidents in Minervas’s past she had no desire to read about in the tabloids and yes, some bribery as to future clients who could pay for her services. All to keep her from spilling the fact that Todd wanted out and he wanted out without giving you a penny.”

  I quietly and bitterly stated, “And so it came to pass. It worked. I took the blame, I took the fall for every bad thing that ever happened while he and Karalynn went off into the sunset together and Minerva got rich. I knew Todd was a slimey bastard but I never knew he hated me that much. And I still don’t know why.”

  Howard leaned forward. “Nothing to do with you, Bootsie. From what Minerva told me, Todd has the mindset of a five-year old in the sandbox with nice trucks. Content to play with them until a new kid with a new toy comes along. The trucks are discarded. The new kid is the new best friend and the new toy is Todd’s.”

  “Sheer narcissism,” Babs was muttering.

  Howard nodded. “Precisely. Which is why Minerva, for all her faults, was not the one who should have been given a shove off a six-story roof.”

  “But why do you assume I did that?”

  “Because it was obvious Todd couldn’t have managed it since he was asleep and being systematically stripped down to his skivvies by those little boys. You and your good buddy Ms. Harrison here were questioned by the police concerning Minerva’s murder. Seemed reasonable to me. I merely wanted to be sure you were the ones before I did anything about it myself.”

  I gulped. “Did anything about it?”

  “The person who killed Minerva Krempowsky should meet an equally ridiculous fate.”

  “So why am I not lying in the snow somewhere?” I croaked.

  “Because I’m not convinced that either you or your friend were the actual perpetrators of the crime. And I’d hate to make a mistake and discover someone else needs to pay the ultimate price. I plan to keep an eye on the two of you and if I discover that my original suspicions are correct then you will indeed find yourself flying off a rooftop onto the pavement below. Any other questions?”

  I had no powers of speech left. My brain had ceased to function as well. I could only stare numbly at a man who was planning to murder my best friend and me should he decide we’d killed his schemingly sly sister.

  Babs was peppier and faster to respond and come back with something moderately sane. Possibly because she wasn’t also in the process of absorbing another shock about her ex and how truly abominable a rat he was.

  “I have a question.”

  Howard lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, Ms. Harrison?”

  “Why the outfit? Bootsie and I have been referring to it—and don’t take this the wrong way but it’s —well, the mix of Fred Astaire and Jack the Ripper.”

  He smiled. It was such a normal, pleasant smile it almost made one forget he was threatening to kill us if he found proof we’d bumped off his nasty sibling. “Simple. I’m a magician. I have an act I perform over at The White Dove on John Street. It’s easier to simply wear the top hat and cape rather than leave them at the theatre for others to dig through to discover possible secrets or to cart them in a bag around town. Good promo as well. People stop me in the streets to ask 'why the get-up' and I tell them and encourage them to come see me perform."

  He stood, donned that cape and top hat and buttoned his overcoat. “And, that being said, ladies, I have forty minutes before my Christmas show so I must leave you. Don’t worry about the check. I’ll get it on the way out.”

  Chapter 1 9

  “He needs to die.”

  “Who? Howard?” Babs inquired. “I agree—and soon, before he gets us first. I hope he’s not waiting outside to do us in. I must admit, though I’d love to see his magic show before we bump him off or vice versa. I’ll bet he’s quite good. And you know what else? All these people on our hit list are simply not making us any money. Too many freebies. That would include Howard if we decide to put him on the list.”

  “No, no. Not Howard. Well, not yet. Perhaps not ever. It appears that Howard is too busy working or stalking to actually kill us and besides, I don’t think he really believes we’re the ones who tossed Minerva off Chuck’s roof. He doesn’t want to make a mistake and risk jail for killing the wrong people. Then again, if Mr. Kre
mpowsky keeps following me around I might stick him back on the list merely on principle. I dislike being tailed by someone who looks ready for a night on the town in a horse and buggy with medical implements that could autopsy live ladies.”

  “So? Whom are you referring to? Who needs to die?”

  “Todd. Todd Kittredge needs to be sharing space with Clayton Harrison the Third in the Shades of Peaceful Harmony while dozens of red squirrels perform hip-hop routines on top of their graves. I’ll be happy to provide music pumping across the grounds so the squirrels never lose rhythm.”

  “Yep.” Babs finished her scone and washed it down with cocoa that was probably still hot. We hadn’t really been in this café that long. Howard Krempowsky had barely touched his scone or hot chocolate. He’d been too busy talking. I’d barely touched mine because it tasted like sawdust the instant Howard had started in on the details of Todd’s deliberate destruction of a marriage I’d believed was worth saving.

  “It needs to be really brilliant though. Like feed him puffer fish to render him paralyzed while being fed to the fishes in the East River.” I paused. “Nah. That’s mean to the fishes. They don’t deserve anything that polluted beside them. By the way, semi-off topic but did I ever say thanks for being the only person not to say ‘oh he’ll come back; they always do’?”

  Babs quietly stated. “I knew he wouldn’t. You knew he wouldn’t. Anyone that cold and determined to eradicate someone from his life wasn’t going to crawl back and ask for forgiveness. Hmm. Crawl. Wish there was a way to get him into a subway on his hands and knees trying to reach a platform before the F train came barreling around the corner. Wait. Forget crawling. Let’s go with heights. Tie him to the crystal ball for New Year’s Eve and let him drop at midnight in Times Square?”

  I chuckled. “Not fair to the city. Might be a serious deterrent to tourism for a while. Although having him swinging across Time Square in anticipation of the fall is a nice image. The other problem is that ball doesn’t hit the ground so it might not kill him. The New Year’s theme is good, though. Maybe tie him to a set of large firecrackers that get set off over the harbor? No one would ever know and he’d go out as the New Year was coming in with a bang! So to speak.”

  Babs beamed. “I like it although I imagine it would be hard to pull off. The logistics of grabbing him and tying his butt to the firecrackers before he wriggles loose sound very tricky.

  “True.”

  “Okay. Uh. Send him free tickets to a hot air balloon ride? And pay off the driver or whatever the hell they call the dude who actually does the wizard thing in the air to casually give Todd a boost over the top when they’re about six miles high?”

  “Marvelous in theory. Could be difficult in practice. Have to find someone willing to do the boosting and we’re both poor. God! That sounds like fun! I don’t mean throwing Todd over although that’s a perk. I’d love to do a hot air balloon ride sometime!”

  “Next birthday, Bootsie. I’ll save up.”

  “Well, save for two, because you’re going with me.”

  “Well, duh. That’s a given.” She closed her eyes for a second. “Got it. When’s the next time he’s onstage with the Met? Or is he?”

  “I’m not sure. I honestly don’t know if he’s given up his chorus work for the corporate life in Westchester or if he has to go back onstage wearing Viking horns and carrying a shield now that Karalynn’s folks have seen those lovely photos of Toddy in the paper with the boys.”

  Babs sighed. “I hate to tell you this but last I heard, they were more upset with the paper for printing slanderous pics. They’re blaming you and me and the media.”

  “Where do you hear these things?” I demanded.

  “Joey. Via the illustrious Vertigo Valentine. Apparently being well-connected in that —family—means knowing pretty much every thing that goes on in Manhattan, its boroughs and the entire tri-state area.”

  “Ah. Okay. That reminds me. Are you going to the bash at the Carmosina’s for New Year’s Eve?’

  “Oh crap. I don’t know. I mean, I originally turned it down since I thought I’d be in Atlanta with Bree but now that flights are in disarray for the next week until the weather calms down, it looks like I may be in the city after all.”

  “Do you want to go?” I asked.

  “Yes and no. Hell, I love being around Joey. But to meet la Don Carmosina is a bit . . .”

  “Intimidating? Scary? Exciting? Beyond fictional? Seventies mob movie worthy?”

  Babs snickered. “All of the above. Honestly, I’m not sure if I want Daddy C to like me or I should be the one encouraging Joey to be seeing someone a helluva younger who can contribute another Carmosina to the family.”

  “Well, if nothing else it could be good for a character study. Is there still a Mama Carmosina?”

  “No. Well, not in town. She's alive and well but far away. Joey’s mom threw caution and safety to the winds and lit out when Joey was about twelve.”

  “Witness protection?”

  Babs bit her lower lip. “No. Not that bad. She’s from Sweden, believe it or not. She quietly moved back there. No divorce. Simply no contact with the New York Carmosina crew for the last thirty years or so. Joey visits her at least one a year and they have a great time skiing and eating ice cream and doing Swedish things. I gather that the subject of Staten Island and anything involving business and Joey’s dad does not get discussed. By either of them, since Joey is also not thrilled about the family enterprises.”

  She sat up and beamed at me. “Wanna go with me?”

  “What? For New Year’s Eve?”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s harder to dispose of a body when there’s a witness.”

  “Whose body?”

  “Mine,” she stated solemnly. “Then again, the wiseguys could make it two for one and the witness and the original body would end up with those fishes in the East River. Hmm. I’m starting to get worried. Witness protection might be a thought after all. For us both.

  “Let me think about it,” I said. “The party—not witness protection. I have no desire to live on a salmon farm in Alaska. Meantime, you’d better find out if Daddy C would mind the best buddy of baby boy’s girlfriend crashing their soiree with the guest of honor.”

  She snorted. “I’m not sure I’d classify me as guest of honor. But yeah, I’ll check if I decide to grace this bash with my loveliness. I doubt there’s a problem. It's supposed to be a huge party.”

  “Fine. Okay. Back to the original discussion, what were the means involved with Todd and the opera?”

  “Ah. I was thinking something simple, like poison on the end of one of the Viking horns. He stabs himself with it as he puts it on and whammo! Bye, bye, bass-baritone.”

  “There’s another problem with that, Babs.”

  “Yes?”

  “I think the Met is done with Wagner for the season. No more horned singers for awhile.”

  “Ah. What are they doing next? Do you know?”

  I grinned at her. “Carmen. Sword and knife fights. Todd fancies himself a master of stage combat. Substitute a real sword or knife for the prop?”

  “Very nice. Of course, that leaves us with the original problem about the Times Square ball.”

  I nodded. “Don’t want to upset the audience.”

  I cautiously sipped my chocolate again. My taste buds had returned. Of course, the brew was now cold, so I waved at our waitress for another. She cheerfully complied and asked if we wanted anything else. Apparently this little restaurant made the best goulash in Manhattan. What the heck. Scones weren’t going to do it. Babs and I each ordered a steaming cup of goulash, which apparently came with the best sour dough rolls in Manhattan and a side salad and changed the beverage to white wine. Not the most traditional Christmas dinner I’ve ever had, but then, this wasn’t the most traditional Christmas I’d ever experienced.

  “A little ricin in his rice and beans?”

  “What?”

  Babs continued musing. �
��Ricin. The poison. Castor beans although I have no idea what castor beans really are or where we’d get them or how we’d then put the dregs into Todd’s rice and beans. But I like the rhythm of it. Ricin. Rice in the rice n’beans.”

  I ignored her. She was clearly becoming delusional. The waitress brought our food and we chowed down on what truly was one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life.

  “She gets a great tip,” I said. “Do we have enough?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m loaded with cash for airport goodies I can’t enjoy now. I was even going to buy a little New York stuffie of the Statue of Liberty for Bree and the shops at JFK charge double what you can find midtown for the same thing. Hey, that’s a thought. Send Todd a stuffie that’s loaded with a ticking bomb.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to a defenseless stuffie!” I exclaimed.

  She grinned at me. “You’re making this difficult, you know.”

  I grinned back. “Sorry.” I took a sip of wine. “Nice.” I sat back and eyed the glass. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “It could be time to forego subtlety and machinations and brilliance. Go with simple. Shoot the bastard. Infinitely more satisfying than hearing about some poor chorus girl finding his bloody body on stage a the end of the Habenera.”

  “Which doesn’t call for a knife fight anyway,” Babs added.

  “Yeah, there’s that too.”

  She lifted her glass. I lifted mine. “Let’s shoot him.”

  We clinked. We toasted. We drank. I set my glass down. “I do, unfortunately, foresee a large difficulty.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t own a gun. You don’t own a gun.”

  A huge grin spread across the pixie-like features of Babs Harrison. “Bootsie, my pal, use your imagination. Ponder the possibilities. I’ve been invited to spend New Year’s Eve with the Carmosina family. Doubtless there will be more weaponry lying around than cheese balls and crackers. We scoop one up. We head to Todd’s. Wham! Bam! Simple. And we could wrap some poor mobster’s hand around the thing before we abscond with it so he’d get the blame.”