Sweet Cream Ladies, Ltd.

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  “They were very nice,” I stated. “Came up with a great plan for Babs and me to make money too. Need a couple of C.I.s?”

  “Crazy idiots?” asked Sebastian. He held his hand up before I had a chance to speak. “I know, I know. Confidential informants. Great. Who are you going to rat out? The waitress at Maria’s for not reporting tips on her tax statement?”

  Babs fluttered her lashes. “Think about it. We’re buddies with the Carmosinas now. If Vertigo and Jean get Mr. C off we could go undercover and give you guys the heads up on the next illegal activity planned.”

  Sebastian groaned and I poked Babs. “I don’t think we’re in favor, Babs. Either with Mr. C or with Detective Laramie. Vertigo took off without a word to us, who are also supposed to be his clients, and Sebastian does not seem to appreciate our attempts at job creation or humor.” I glared at Sebastian. “By the way, since I work at the museum and Babs has been known to drop by on more than one occasion, I’m not sure it matters a damn if someone identifies us. Not to mention, don’t you have to wait for our lawyer or lawyers, as the case may be, to get here before dragging us into a line-up?”

  “Vertigo gave permission,” Sebastian stated.

  “What?”

  “As we were all leaving the diner. I asked since I knew he’d be dealing with Carmosina’s troubles. He said yes. Said he’d be sending someone over from his firm.”

  “Wait. Can’t we fire him?” Babs inquired. “Not that we really hired him in the first place and I think he’s trying very hard to get us in prison so son Joey doesn’t end up there instead. Of course, we could always add him to our list.”

  Sebastian didn’t exactly answer the hiring question and wisely avoided any mention of lists. Instead he looked to the heavens for a little guidance. Then, as he steered us both into some kind of holding area, he remarked, “Didn’t I tell you? There are three line-ups today. The witness also identified a man who bears a striking resemblance to Joey Carmichael. Who, incidentally, won trophies twenty-five years ago as a member of his college skeet shooting team.”

  Chapter 30

  “Joey Carmichael was a champion skeet shooter?” I asked. “Well, no wonder the family Carmosina didn’t want him to stray from the fold. That could come in handy.”

  Sebastian groaned. “Will you be serious? Do you not understand that you’re about an hour away from being arrested for Todd Kittredge’s shooting?”

  “I personally can’t get too serious about anything to do with Todd Kittredge’s large ass,” I stated.

  Babs shook her head in agreement. “It is a large ass. I mean, that’s fitting, since he himself is a large ass but really, that’s where his weight seems to go, doesn’t it? Safer for future heart attacks than a beer belly but not terribly attractive. Wait a few years. Karalynn may find she’s the one doing the dumping this time.”

  Sebastian stopped dead in the hallway leading to whatever room Babs and I were to model our numbers for some supposed witness.

  “Stop! Both of you. Even if no one can place you at the murders of Monica Travers, Clayton Harrison and Minerva Krempowsky, you can still be sent away for some major prison time if you’re found guilty for shooting Kittredge.”

  “Sebastian, I couldn’t pitch a bloody baseball to a catcher twenty feet away. And Babs is worse than I am. Neither of us owns a handgun, much less some kind of super-scope rifle thingeee. How did we neatly hit Todd in the butt in a room that I assume was pretty damned dark since the museum had closed? It’s not exactly lit to the hilt during working hours anyway since they like to retain some spooky atmospheric effects. So—hmm?”

  “Let me repeat. Giuseppe Carmosina Junior, otherwise known as Joey Carmichael, is a crack shot. Joey is enamored of Ms. Barbara, aka Babs, Harrison who is loyal to her best friend, Mary Katherine, aka Bootsie, Donovan Kittredge. So the prevailing theory is that Bootsie strongly hinted to Babs that the Sweet Cream Ladies . . .”

  “Limited,” I tossed in absently.

  “I was going to add that but thought I’d give you the chance first. I know you love saying it.”

  “Thanks. Do continue, won’t you?” I suggested politely.

  “Thank you. I shall. So, Bootsie to Babs to Joey, ‘let’s take a shot at Bootsie’s ex but don’t kill him because he hasn’t been humiliated enough and this is good for another tabloid piece since behinds and butts are so much fun in stories.’”

  Babs nodded. “He’s good. Brilliant theory, Detective. Except that Joey has been out of town in Ohio for the last couple of weeks so that rifle would have had to have been one major sniper scope long distance sucker for this plan to work.”

  “He’s back.”

  “What?” Babs stared at Sebastian. “That rat! He didn’t call me! When did he get back? And how do you know this?”

  “He got back yesterday afternoon and I know this because that’s what he told us when we picked him up a block from the museum last night ten minutes after Todd Kittredge dialed 9 1 1. But if makes your romantic little heart feel better, Babs, Joey has been in custody ever since we escorted him here.”

  “Well, duh. Why didn’t he call me to bail him out?”

  “Because he fell asleep before he could take advantage of his phone call.”

  “Oh good. But really, Laramie—how dumb do you think Joey is? Hanging around a place where he’s shot someone? I'm sure he was there to surprise me since he knows I’ve been meeting Bootsie at the museum ever since she and Todd had that confrontation in front of the well. Hell, everyone knows that. Which is why first of all, we’ll doubtless be identified by your witness because we’ve been there museum late at night and secondly of all, which isn’t grammatically correct but I don’t care, why late at night would have been a perfect time to frame us.”

  Sebastian glared at me. “So you admit the three of you were there last night after hours?”

  I interjected. “Depends on what you mean by after hours. The museum closed at eleven. Babs came by at eleven-twenty after I’d had time to gather my junk from my locker. And since we didn’t know Joey was there we have no idea what time he arrived. And you haven’t told us when Todd and the bullet united other than your cryptic ‘after hours’ b.s. jargon.”

  “Eleven twenty-five. And honestly, Bootsie, as a detective I’m thrilled the two of you are chatting it up about your timelines. As your—friend, I wish you’d take your lawyers’ advice and shut up.”

  That did it. He was right. The more Babs or I talked the worse trouble we were getting into. I figured this line-up thing was no biggie. We’d admitted we were in the vicinity in the general time referenced and we had good reasons to be there. So did Joey. I simply didn’t like the idea of somebody pointed at me and saying, “That’s her! That’s the one. The broad with the wrinkled shirt and yoga pants and the hair that needs styling. Can she step forward and say,’ it’s your ass Todd, one way or another'? Which I’d never said in my life, but that’s the kind of thing I always saw on TV, which was my only experience with line ups and witness I.Ds.

  “Hey! Who is this so-called witness anyway?” I demanded.

  “Can’t tell you that, Bootsie. You’re the television crime show expert. You know that’s a no-no.”

  “Well, I’m sorry but that just doesn’t seem kosher to me. Some clown can come in here and jerk my life around and I don’t get to know whom? Doesn’t the accused have that constitutional right to face the accuser?”

  Babs nudged me. “Only in court. Remember that big battle on Court TV back when it was still Court TV with the attorneys arguing about the danger to the accuser if the accused confronted them in during the trial?”

  “Was that Court TV? I thought that was Law and Order?”

  “Oh. Could be. They had several episodes with that theme. Usually dealing with the Russian mob or blackmail victims.”

  I nodded. “I remember a really cool one that dealt with the whole 'can we televise the court proceedings' thing and witnesses testifying in front of the accused on a g
reat Law and Order from like 2004 or so. I miss that show. I mean I loved the spin-offs but I miss the original.”

  Sebastian put his hands out in front of him like a traffic cop signaling Stop. “Stop! God! It’s like running a day care for demented toddlers addicted to television. Bootsie. Go with the security officer into that door to the left. You’ll be given a number and told where to stand once you’re in the viewing room. Stay with Officer Gomez for now.”

  “Can’t I go in there too? I wanna watch.” Babs beamed.

  “No!”

  That was the last I heard from either Sebastian or Babs. I was in the room with folks I figured were the fake Bootsies. All things considered, they’d done a good job cloning me. I didn’t think I was as fat as at least two of the “fillers” but on the whole the five other moderately strawberry blondes dressed in yoga pants and a long shirt very similar to what I was wearing today and had been wearing last night could have passed for my sister in a darkened alley if I’d had a sister and she’d been dumb enough to enter an alley at night.

  Then we were in the viewing room. Or I guess the witness was in the viewing room. I didn’t know the name for the room I was in but I immediately began referring to it as the sauna. I was in a room with five women who were either better actresses than I or didn’t possess sweat glands. I was perspiring like I’d been dancing in a show in an un-air-conditioned theatre for three hours. We’d all been told none of us was supposed to gesture or make a face or a comment. Which was very tough to maintain because I had the most compelling desire to do a rerun of Love is a Battlefield. I stayed silent and tried to go with a bored expression although I felt that ‘rabbit being chased by large panting Labrador retriever’ was a better description of my look.

  I wasn’t sure if I was more upset knowing that someone was pointing at me and yelling, “that’s her! She’s the one who shot Kittredge!” and the events that might transpire after that exclamation or knowing that Sebastian Laramie was in that viewing room staring at me and wondering if I was a criminal, a scapegoat, or a complete fool. And I really hated the fact that that two of the other women in there looked pretty damned pudgy. Time for me to lose weight. Which might not be a choice. I’d always heard jail food wasn’t exactly gourmet quality. This could work. I wondered how long setting up someone to be shot in the derriére was worth in terms of jail time. I could hang out in the prison library, go on an enforced diet, teach the other inmates aerobics to help with my "good behavior" time.

  I was rambling in my own mind trying to forget that I was currently enduring the worst humiliation of my fifty-five years on this earth. Well, except for the time in first grade when I’d had that accident but that had been because the stinking nun hadn’t let me go to the little girl’s room during prayers even though my hand had been frantically waving and I knew the look on my face had been screaming, “Emergency!” She’d been a young nun but her views were pre-Vatican One and she’d had no business teaching six-year olds who had urgent biological needs. She was probably still teaching somewhere torturing other tiny children. Babs and I should look her up and add her to our list.

  Then it was over. I was back in the line-up room. No one was talking. I figured the fillers weren’t supposed to know who was a filler and who wasn’t. I was the only one who knew I was the real deal. The suspect. The policeman who’d shepherded us announced, “Everyone wait about ten minutes, then we’ll take each person out individually. You’ll either go home or to a holding cell. Meanwhile, please do not speak to one another.”

  So we all avoided each other although I really wanted to ask a lady in black pants and a long linen-colored shirt what brand of mascara she used because she had great lashes. But I was good. Quiet. Dying inside.

  Then suddenly, the door opened and two officers motioned for two of the women to accompany them. I waited. This happened another three times until I was alone. The next time the door opened I spotted Sebastian in the hallway. Officer Gomez led me to him and Sebastian silently led me back to an interrogation room. He didn’t say a word and I suddenly began to shake all over. This was it. Next stop—fingerprints and a strip search and a mug shot. I wondered how bad I looked after singing and dancing all morning with hookers, then pretending to be emotionless while on display.

  The door opened. Sebastian walked inside. With him were two people. Babs and Joey.

  “You’re all free to go,” he stated. “The line up was inconclusive and at this point we have nothing to hold you on.”

  I ran over and hugged him. His eyes lifted to the heavens. “You can’t keep doing this, Bootsie.”

  “What? I can’t hug you now that I’m a free woman? Show me in the rule book where that’s a crime?’

  He smiled. “I didn’t mean the hug. I’ll take those from you, my favorite jailbird. I just meant that you and Babs— and now Joey— have got to quit getting yourselves into situations where people are being murdered or shot.”

  “Well, Sebastian, it might have occurred to you that the reasons we’re in these situations is that someone is doing a bang-up job of framing us?” Joey growled.

  “Yes, it has. Which is why I’m sending you all home with a caveat to be wary and to stay safe. Because if, and I emphasize if, you’re not the guilty parties and someone is going to the trouble to frame you by killing three people and shooting another, then that someone may have one major hate on for one or all of you and if framing doesn’t work then you may well find yourselves the next targets.”

  Chapter 3 1

  Joey’s cell phone started ringing the instant the three of us hit the sidewalk outside the 10th Precinct. The melodious sounds of Swan Lake (specifically those opening measures everyone, even non-music lovers, recognize) filled the evening air. Babs and I didn’t hesitate for a moment. We began leaping and spinning and executing ballet moves with great abandon to the even greater delight of folks passing by, including three uniformed police officers towing three rough-looking possible felons in handcuffs.

  Joey snapped his phone shut. “Shit.”

  We stopped our ballet recital. Babs ran to his side and squeezed his arm. “What?”

  “That was Vertigo. He’s at the family mansion with an extremely angry Giuseppe who is out on a sizable bail, minus the passport someone in a judges office, or wherever the hell they surrender the things, grabbed it after the bail hearing.”

  Babs said soothingly, “At least he’s out. Didn’t have to spend the night in jail. So why is Vertigo calling? Was he being reassuring about your father or was he at all interested in whether our trio was let go after the great line-up?”

  “Both. Neither. I don’t know,” Joey grumbled. “All I know is that after telling me Joe Senior is resting comfortably at home with a large glass of vino and a huge plate of pasta, he asked what our situation was, then said Joe Senior thinks its time for a pow-wow at the family home.”

  “Who’s pow-wowing?” I asked.

  “All the usual suspects. That would be you two ladies and me. I told him there were others involved in the goings on which have been going on and he needed to add them to the list. Mr. Valentine actually agreed and said he’d get right on it so I have no idea who's on the guest list."

  “When is the big get-together?” Babs inquired. “And is this going to be a big Agatha Christie Hercules Poirot style bash with the killer or killers confessing?”

  “The when was not specified,” Joey answered. “However, knowing how dramatic everyone involved in my family business, not to mention you guys, me and our buddies who may or may not have had something to do with three deaths and a shot in the ass to Todd—well, I’d give the confession angle a big yes.”

  Babs winked at me. “We need to get our stories straight.”

  I growled, “We also need to send Sebastian Laramie an invitation. I don’t want anyone deciding he or she knows best and start shooting at this soiree before any confessing or alibi-ing gets going.”

  Joey glared at me. “Seriously? You want the man who r
an us in today listening to whatever stories are being told at my house?”

  I vigorously nodded my head. “I do. If nothing else, I want Sebastian around because I’m serious about the danger. If Laramie is there I can’t see folks pulling pistols out and making wild accusations followed by live bullets.”

  Babs added, “Aside from that, it would be nice for Laramie to be there to arrest the confessor and get him or her out of our hair.” She smiled. “Unless of course, he decides that Bootsie and I are the true culprits and makes a real live arrest this time. Which could very well happen.”

  Joey put his hand up. “I don’t care who’s invited and who isn’t. It’s been a damned long day and I think the three of us need a diversion. Any ideas?”

  “Trés Fabulous!” I stated.

  “Say what?”

  “The show. Remember? The drag queens are doing it down in the Village. One of the hookers mentioned it while we were singing and dancing in our cell which reminded me that Babs and I still haven’t seen it and really—we should, since we owe those guys a favor for getting their picture snapped with Todd in such a lovely, compromising setting.”

  Babs immediately chimed in with a big, “Yes! Let’s get cleaned up and grab some dinner and hit the late show. Bootsie doesn’t have to work tomorrow and Joey’s right. We need a diversion. This could be fun.”

  We agreed to meet Joey at the club at nine forty-five to take in the ten o’clock show. Joey gave Babs a quick hug and kiss, hailed a cab and took off to shower at his own place. We walked to ours, since it was only about twenty blocks from the precinct and the fresh air felt nice after hours cooped up in rooms scented with gardenia, sweat and cigarettes. Chinese take-out beckoned at the corner of 10th Avenue and 43rd Street so we succumbed to temptation and loaded up on spicy chicken dishes and crab rangoons and shrimp rolls.