by John Clement
Elba Kramer was slumped in the near corner of the white leather sofa, still dressed in the linen slacks and gauzy blouse she’d worn when I first met her, although now there was a rust-colored smear on her right cuff. I realized with a shiver it was probably dried blood. On the floor between the sofa and the coffee table was a wineglass next to an almost empty bottle of red wine.
As I stepped closer, she opened her eyes.
“Hello, Dixie.”
I let out a sigh of relief and sat down in one of the chairs opposite her. “Hi, Ms. Kramer. How are you doing?”
She nodded. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Sorry. Dumb question, I know. I came over to talk to you because … well, I was speaking with Detective Carthage, and there was something he wanted me to ask you.”
She let her head fall back against the sofa, and I noticed there were watery trails of mascara running down her cheeks. “They’re trying to get rid of me, I know. I just needed a little more time here. This was our home for so long, Albert and me. It’s hard to imagine walking away without him. There were so many things we still wanted to do. So many plans…” Tears sprung to her eyes. “I still can’t believe it.”
I leaned forward. “Elba, I wish there was something I could tell you that would help.”
She shook her head and smiled. “You’re so sweet. But don’t worry about me. I’m pretty good at dealing with this kind of stuff … I’ve been through hard times before. I’ll survive. I just wanted to sit here a little while longer, in the home we built together. I have a feeling once I leave I’ll never come back. Although I get it. I really do. I’m just in the way here. And the sooner I’m gone, the sooner the detectives can figure out what happened … why anyone would want to hurt us.”
I hesitated, “… yeah.”
She studied me for a moment, and then something softened in her face. “How much do you know?”
I figured there was no point trying to keep anything from her. I said, “I know you and your husband were in the witness protection program and that some very bad people were looking for you…”
“So, you’re not really a cat sitter are you?” She nodded slowly. “I suspected as much.”
“Huh?”
“Believe me, I’m not surprised.” She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her blouse. “You seem a little too smart for that. You’re a U.S. marshal then?”
“No, no. Ms. Kramer, I really am a cat sitter.”
She frowned. “Then … how do you know about Albert and me?”
I said, “Last night, after I left here, a man followed me to a friend’s house. The cops found him hiding in my car with a butcher knife. He planned on killing me, just like he killed those other two women … just like he killed your husband.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she shook her head. “Wait. I don’t understand.”
“The woman that was found next door at Caroline’s house, Sara Potts, and the woman that was found in my driveway, Edith Reed, they were murdered to make it look like your husband’s death was part of a plan to kill me.”
Her lips parted slightly as her hands went to the center of her chest. “No … No, that’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is. They were hoping it would throw the detectives off their track.”
“But…” She brought her hands together and pressed them to her lips, suddenly looking like a young girl praying at the side of her bed. “I’m sorry … I’m just speechless…”
I said, “That’s understandable. The thing is … Elba, why did you hire me?”
“To take care of Jane, of course.”
“Yes, that’s what you said, but why? I mean, were you planning on going somewhere?”
She sat forward. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting I had something to do with all this?”
I could feel my heart racing. “I am. Ms. Kramer, you knew that gunman was coming, didn’t you?”
“No … that’s completely ridiculous.”
“And you wanted me here when it happened. That way, when they found my dead body in that front room, they’d think I was the target, and they’d think your husband was just collateral damage … especially when they found that note.”
“Note? What note?”
“The note the gunman planned to leave on my body after I was dead. They found it in his pocket when they caught him hiding in my car. It was written on the same paper as the notes they found on those two other women, pinned to their bodies with a pearl-tipped hat pin, which I would guess probably came from your shop. It said, ‘Goodbye, Dixie,’ but you probably already knew that.”
“Wait a minute…” She stopped, trying to find the right words, her mouth open, her eyes searching my face. I had to hand it to her. She was pretty convincing. If her career as a murderous, gold-digging model hadn’t panned out, she could very well have been a successful actress. “Dixie, I swear to you, I have no idea what this is about.”
I shook my head. “I think you do. And I think you’re the one who told those mobsters where they could find your husband.”
“No. That’s insane. Why would I do something so stupid?”
“I imagine you probably cut some kind of deal with them to spare your life … in exchange for the location of your husband.”
She stiffened. “Who in the world gave you that idea? One of those detectives?”
I looked down at Jane, who had hopped up on her perch and was bobbing her head back and forth as if she somehow sensed the tension in the room.
“No,” I said. “Jane did.”
Ms. Kramer stood up and pointed at the door. “You’re crazy. I want you out of this house. Now.”
I said, “No. You intentionally put my life in danger. I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth.”
She said, “I am telling you the truth! I don’t know anything about those two other women. I don’t know about any notes. I don’t know about any man hiding in your car. And I certainly don’t know about any crazy plot involving you. I just lost my husband! Does that mean nothing?” She picked up the birdcage and hugged it to her chest as Jane fluttered to keep her balance inside. “Get out of my house now, or I’ll have those cops throw you out!”
My legs were trembling. I took another deep breath and tried to maintain my composure. I said, “Ms. Kramer, this whole time I thought it was a miracle Jane made it out of that room alive—there were so many bullets—but then I saw where her cage was, and it all made sense…”
She said, “It was a miracle. I don’t know what I would have done if…”
“No,” I interrupted. “I mean the other cage. The one in the guest bedroom … the one Jane was in when that gunman opened fire.”
She shook her head. “Jane wasn’t in that cage. She was in this one. You saw me carry her out of my husband’s study yourself.”
“I did. And to be honest, with all the confusion at the time, I barely noticed the door to the guest room. I specifically remember it was closed when you showed me into the house. But after the gunfire, when you came out of the study carrying Jane, that guest room door was wide open. Elba … you forgot to close it.”
She stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, and then something broke in her expression, something almost undetectable—just the slightest shift in the muscles of her face. All the fire that had shone in her eyes was gone now, and she seemed utterly deflated.
She lowered herself back down on the couch and balanced the cage in her lap, staring at Jane as she spoke. “Miss Hemingway, I’m very tired. Maybe Rajinder opened that door, or the gardener, or, for that matter, maybe Albert opened it himself. We may never know. But, by all means, if you think I ratted out my own husband, if you think I’m responsible for his murder—all because you saw a goddamn open door—then, please, run and tell your detective friends right now. But leave me in peace. I’m done talking.”
I wanted to get out of there as much as she wanted me out, but I couldn’t go. Not yet. This woman had pulled me into a tr
ap, like a spider lures its victim into a web, and I needed to hear her say it.
I said, “It wasn’t the door that got me thinking. It was something else. After we heard those gunshots, you ran away from me as fast as you could. You ran right into the house, and you went straight to the guest bedroom. You took Jane out of that extra cage, and then you went across the hall into your husband’s office, where you put her in the cage she’s in now, the one that was hanging in front of that window. Then you took the cage down and rushed back out, completely ignoring your husband’s dying body only a few feet away. I’d guess you were in that room no more than ten seconds.”
While I spoke, Elba had dropped her chin. I could see tears rolling down her cheeks, forming wet circles where they fell on the front of her blouse. Staring at Jane, she shrugged slightly. “Oh, really? And why is that?”
I said, “Ms. Kramer, all birds are sensitive creatures, but a bird like Jane is especially vulnerable. I’m sure you know there are all kinds of things that could make her respiratory system shut down. Things like gas from a barbecue grill, or car exhaust, or even seemingly harmless things, like fumes from household cleaners, or, in large enough amounts…”
She nodded slowly. “Perfume.”
“Yes. Perfume. It would have been a miracle if Jane had survived that gunfire, but to have lived more than ten seconds with all that perfume in the air … Elba, it’s impossible.”
She looked up, her lips parted slightly. “Well, I said you were smart, didn’t I? But you’re wrong about one thing: I didn’t ignore my husband’s body. It was the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me…”
There was a tiny wisp of yellow down clinging to the arm of the sofa next to her. She picked it up between her thumb and forefinger and studied it closely. “It had to be done, though. It was only a matter of time. Those men were after him … but they would have killed us both. The only way I could save myself was to help them find him.”
I could barely believe she’d changed her tune so quickly, without even a moment’s hesitation. For a split second, I thought perhaps she was mocking me.
I said, “So … it’s true?”
She looked down at her hands. “Albert’s always in his study, so I knew that was where he’d be that afternoon, and they promised it would be fast … and painless. I just didn’t plan on that shipment. I sent Rajinder to the pharmacy to get him out of the house. I didn’t want poor Raji to get hurt too.”
I said, “Lucky him. I’m guessing the gunman showed up a little early, or otherwise you’d have already sent me into that office with your husband.”
She raised her eyes and stared at me imploringly. “Dixie, I swear I don’t know a thing about any kind of plot involving you or those two other women. Think about it. If I’d meant for you to be killed, why would I have brought you over here to the pool house?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea. But then, why did you bring me here at all, when you knew those gunmen were on their way?”
She looked at Jane and sighed. “I needed a witness.”
“A witness?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I really am, but I didn’t have a choice. I knew they’d suspect me first. Who else? Other than a handful of U.S. marshals, I’m the only person alive who could’ve told Albert’s enemies where he was, so I had to do everything I could to look innocent. For one, I knew I had to be here when it happened. It would’ve looked suspicious if I’d left the house right before. And I knew I had to act as if it was just another regular day.”
I put my hands on my hips. “So you brought me over here so I could tell everyone how normal you seemed right before the murder…”
She nodded.
“… and how shocked you were after.”
“That was the idea, yes. Pretending to have Jane in the room with Albert was just an extra precaution on my part. I figured no one would think I’d leave her in there if I’d known what was about to happen. Everyone knows how much I love her.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something about her story that just didn’t add up. I said, “No. You’re lying. You planned on sending me into that room to be killed with your husband, and you knew they were going to put that note on my body after. I can see it in your eyes. I think you chickened out at the last minute and didn’t want the blood of one more innocent victim on your hands, or maybe that gunman arrived earlier than planned. Either way, it doesn’t matter—in the eyes of the law, you’ve conspired to commit murder. I’m sorry, Elba, but you’re going to jail.”
She took a deep breath and then smiled sadly. “No. I’m not going anywhere. Nobody saw me come out of that room but you, Dixie. I was already standing in the hallway when that deputy burst through the front door. I’ll just tell everyone you got it wrong, that Jane’s cage wasn’t hanging in Albert’s office at all. It was in the guest room the whole time.”
I shook my head. “No. There was blood on that cage. I saw it when you came out, and I’m sure the deputy saw it too. How will you explain that?”
She tilted her head to one side. “Good point. Oh, I just remembered! I ran into Albert’s office first and grabbed his arm to see if he was alive, and then I ran into the guest room. When I grabbed Jane’s cage, I realized there was blood on my hands…” Her eyes traveled down my body and then back up again, as if she was judging a piece of cheap furniture. “See how that works? Trust me, honey. I’ll win. There’s no one on earth who would take a cat sitter’s word over mine.”
Her words stung, even though, at that point, I had a pretty good reason to think she was wrong. My voice low, I said, “How can you possibly live with yourself after this?”
She flicked her hand dismissively and then slid Jane’s cage closer. “Oh my God, you’re so judgmental. Walk a mile in my shoes and then let’s talk. And, anyway, I learned a long time ago, the best way to enjoy this world is to lower your standards.” She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “You should try it. You’d be a lot more fun if you did.”
I took a deep breath. There are a lot of things I could have said at that point, like, “No one will believe you,” or “You’ll never get away with this,” but in a strange way, I felt sorry for the woman, despite the fact that she’d had a hand in two murders, three if you counted her husband, four if you factored in how close I’d come to …
But I didn’t want to think about that.
Instead, I turned away without saying another word and went to the door. Before I left, I took one last look at the Scarlet Woman of Siesta Key. She was slumped in the couch again, except now Jane’s cage was in her lap, and she was pulling her hair down in strings over her face. I figured she probably wanted to look as pitiful as possible when Detective Carthage came in to talk to her.
He was waiting outside by the pool with his hands thrust down in his jean pockets and his long blond bangs pushed to one side. There were creases in the space between his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before, and I wondered if he had any idea how much this job would age him.
He said, “What happened?”
I shrugged slightly. “She told me no one would take my word over hers, so…”
I reached into the side pocket of my cargo shorts and carefully pulled out his phone, which still had the cartoon image of a microphone on its screen, along with the little red timer underneath … counting off the minutes it had been recording.
29
By the time I poured myself into the driver’s seat of the Bronco and headed home, it was almost five o’clock in the afternoon. I stared at the road in a kind of stupor, practically letting the car drive herself. Hung low in the pale blue sky to the east was a daytime moon—or what my grandmother always called a child’s moon, since kids should be fast asleep when the moon is usually out. To the west, the sun had stained the clouds crimson, while ribbons of tangerine and yellow ochre burned like embers along the ocean’s horizon.
I switched on the radio and sped through all the classic rock and
Christian talk shows until I landed on one of our only remaining local stations, WULB. Officially, their broadcast range doesn’t extend much farther than six or seven miles—the length of Long Boat Key, their home island north of here—but on a clear day, even the Bronco’s finicky old antenna can pick it up loud and clear. Billie Holiday was on, reaching out through the airwaves with her glimmering voice, singing directly to me. Or, at least, that’s how it felt …
The way your smile just beams,
the way you sing off key.
The way you haunt my dreams …
No, no! They can’t take that away from me!
Just then, I looked down and saw something in the space between the center console and the passenger seat … It was yellow. At first, I thought it was one of Jane’s feathers, which would have been perfectly reasonable since Jane was in the backseat, fluttering to balance herself inside her cheap purple birdcage. I’d strapped it in good and snug with the seat belt, but I think the ride was still a little too bumpy for her liking. Every once in a while she’d catch my eye in the rearview mirror and give me a haughty, indignant look.
At the first stoplight, I put the car in park and felt around under the passenger seat. Just as my fingers closed on something, my feeble brain sat up and shouted, Watch out! That gunman had been hiding in my car not much more than twenty-four hours earlier. There was no telling what he might have left behind …
My rational self whispered, It might be another note!
My inner child added, Or a snake!
Luckily for me, we were all wrong. As carefully as possible, I pulled it out and held it up in front of me.
It was Charlie’s yellow giraffe, the one he’d brought with him that fateful evening we’d discovered Sara Potts’s body. Immediately, my mind pitched back. I saw myself sitting in the Bronco in Caroline’s driveway before I went into her house, when I still thought I was having just another perfectly normal day. I could see Charlie too, curled up in the seat next to me with his giraffe between his paws.
While I was thinking about how much he probably missed it (and how happy he’d be when I brought it back), the light turned green and the car behind me honked, scaring me so bad I let out a yelp not unlike the high-pitched yodel of a mountain goat. I threw the Bronco in gear and lurched forward, clutching the steering wheel with both hands while still holding on to Charlie’s giraffe. Something about the whole situation struck a chord in me, and I started giggling like a schoolgirl.
