Death by Lotto

by Abigail Keam

  “Heavens no. I’ve got enough on my plate without setting up a cat fight between the two of you, but since he’s here, you can beat the crap out of him.” I pushed Franklin towards Matt. “Go for it!”

  I do not believe in zero tolerance towards violence.

  Sometimes two people just had to duke it out. Besides, I thought Matt had it coming. There stood Franklin trembling with his hands balled into fists facing a much taller and heavier Matt leaning against the door jamb. However, a scrawny cat can whip a much bigger dog if it’s determined.

  “Didn’t come here to fight you or Franklin. I heard what the judge did and came to offer help, but if neither of you wants it . . .” he began walking away.

  “Why did you do it, Matt?” blurted out Franklin.

  Matt whipped around, facing Franklin. “I never said our arrangement was permanent. I wanted to stay friends, but you declined. You broke up our friendship.”

  “You said you loved me. Were you lying?”

  “I did love you and still do, but I want what most men want. A family. I don’t want to do the bar scene anymore or be around neurotic screaming fags.”

  Franklin gasped. “Is that what you think I am? Just one of those effeminate gay men who are divas. You’re the diva, Matt.

  “I accepted everything you threw at me. You were never faithful. A cat in heat is more discriminating than you are and it didn’t make any difference if they were men or women, as long as they could help you get something. But I never said a word, even when you hooked up with Josiah.”

  Matt’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing.

  I should have defended Matt then, but I didn’t. Our being together was my fault – not his. I was afraid if I said something on behalf of Matt that Franklin would turn on me. I can be such a little shit.

  “Oh, you thought I didn’t know about that little indiscretion. You’re nothing but a hound. Please don’t bother to deny it,” accused Franklin.

  “We never had an agreement about being exclusive.”

  “But that didn’t keep you from using me. Since I’ve met you, I’ve been shot. Then as soon as I could hold a rake, you had me working on this forsaken farm.”

  “You could have said no. You’re blaming me for decisions you made,” defended Matt.

  “Cut the lawyer crap please. You knew I would to please you. I did everything you asked. You said – go to Key West and take Baby, so I dropped everything and went to Key West. You wouldn’t move into town, so I helped you remodel that shack you live in. But all the fine details, the workmanship in that little hovel are due to me because you have no imagination. When it comes to clothes, colors, picking out a hot car, remodeling a house, books, landscaping – you are as dull as dishwater. You just buy whatever other people have or the most expensive, because you have no taste of your own – no imagination.

  “And conversation? You know a little about art and wine. That’s it. If a book hasn’t been on Oprah’s list, you are a totally clueless.

  “Dull, dull, dull. You’re not the all-to-be-all, Matt. You’re good-looking; that’s it.”

  “Then why are you so mad, Franklin? You don’t return my calls or emails. I have tried many times to contact you, but you refuse and yet you stand accusing me of being a creep. Why all the energy if I’m so stupid?”

  “Because you can’t control with whom you fall in love. Believe me, I would have chosen someone more dynamic, someone with more ooomph. The truth is that you’re boring, sweetie.”

  Matt’s face fell flat. The thought that someone deemed him to be less than perfect was a surprise. He was so used to being catered to. A big surprise.

  Franklin flopped dramatically on the bed. “I really wish I could love someone else. I really do. I knew when I met you that you would not be the joy of my life, but the undoing.”

  “Christ Almighty,” muttered Matt, stunned. “I never knew you felt that way. Am I really boring?” Matt glanced at me.

  I just shrugged.

  “Believe me, I have prayed and prayed that God would take away these feelings for you, but it hasn’t happened. I’m stuck,” complained Franklin.

  “Franklin, I had no idea. I don’t know what to say. I told you from the get-go that I wanted a family of my own and that I was struggling. I took it for granted that someday I would move on, but always thought we’d still be friends. I didn’t realize that you were so invested in our relationship.”

  “You broke my heart, Matt. You simply undid me.”

  Matt struggled for words. His eyes looked moist and conveyed a worried look as though he had suddenly realized something important.

  “Tell me something, Matt. If you had married, would you have been faithful?”

  “Yes. I would have tried to be so.”

  “There’s that word – tried. You know men with homosexual tendencies can’t be faithful to their wives. They’ll always come back to their own kind.”

  “That’s rubbish, Franklin. I don’t know that and neither do you.”

  “Matt, we don’t get to pick who we are, whom we love or who loves us. We can only cope as best we can with what we’re given.

  “It’s different for each of us. For Josiah, it’s her leg pain and the loss of her husband. For me, it’s you. Those are our crosses to bear and we bear them as best we can – not always perfect, but still forward.”

  “You’ve always been a proud gay man,” countered Matt. “But who are you to tell me that I won’t be able to live a life with a wife and kids? People are not tied to fate or labels. We each make our own decisions on how we want to live our lives.”

  “Man, are you drunk? What planet do you live on? You are what you are,” accused Franklin. “You need to make peace with it.” Sighing, he rose from the bed. “Whatever happened to Miss Mystery Writer anyway?”

  “You know damned well Meriah hightailed it back to California without so much a fare-thee-well,” snarled Matt.

  Franklin smirked. “Awww, that’s too bad. Isn’t that awful, Josiah?”

  I wiped my tearing eyes with a pair of ripped panties. All I could say was, “You guys!” and gave Franklin a big hug and then Matt, leaving them alone.

  I had to admit it.

  Franklin had just won the first round.

  It was just what the doctor ordered for Matt.

  10

  Matt and Franklin were rummaging through my freezer looking for dinner. They had talked quietly for over an hour and now were famished.

  I didn’t know if they had made up or what the outcome was with them when the doorbell rang.

  “Make sure you check the security monitor before you let someone in,” I yelled from my office.

  I heard murmurs and then the front door closed. Matt poked his head in my office. “There is a Walter Neff to see you. Has he seen Double Indemnity with Barbara Stanwyck?”

  “Don’t know,” I replied. “I’ll come out.”

  Entering the great room, I found Neff admiring my art collection. “Do you like art, Mr. Neff?”

  “The closest I’ve ever come is putting a poster of Starry Night over my toilet.”

  “How charming.”

  “It covered a hole in the wall.”

  “Utilitarian, I see.”

  “Grab your coat, Toots.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve done a background check on the housekeeper and the nephew. It’s the relative that turns up stinky. I want to go where he bought that lotto ticket and smooze around.”

  “Why do you need me?”

  “The cashier is a woman. She’ll be more likely to gossip with a another skirt rather than someone like me.”

  “You mean someone sleazy like you?”

  “Toots, you cut me to the quick.”

  “I wonder if you even give a damn.”

  “I wonder if you wonder.”

  I scrunched up my nose. Neff had just said another famous quote from the movie dialogue of Double Indemnity. This was getting ridiculous
. “Okay, but I can’t do a long outing. I’ve got about two hours in me.”

  “That’s enough time.”

  Matt came up behind me and helped put on my coat and handed me my cane and cell phone. “Yes, I was eavesdropping. Call me before you head home. Don’t make me worry, please.”

  “Make sure you lock the house up tight when you leave.”

  “Stop by my house on the way home and I’ll come back in with you. I don’t like you coming back into an empty house by yourself.”

  “Jeez, what are you? Her father?” He turned towards Matt. “I’ll get her back in one piece, Buster.”

  “See that you do, Shamus.” (Shamus is a nickname for a private detective.) “Everybody’s thinks he’s a wise guy. Come on, Toots. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Intent on having the last word, Neff strode down the hallway and, throwing open the front door, made for his car which was . . . a 1963 fire engine red Avanti with white detailing and lots and lots of mid-century polished chrome.

  I caught my breath. I love beautiful things and this Avanti was made when America knew how to make great cars.

  She had a white leather interior with red piping, red carpet and a red dashboard. To make a final statement, she had whitewall tires. She was so clean it looked like she had just come off the assembly line.

  Fewer than five thousand Avantis were made in 1963. They were the first cars to offer disc brakes and a fiberglass body. This was the same type of fiberglass that had been used for panels on the Chevrolet Corvette in 1953.

  The problem was that the factory couldn’t keep up with demand and the Avanti had to be discontinued.

  He opened the car door for me before heading to the driver’s side of the car. It was an unexpected gesture. Maybe Neff wasn’t such a jerk after all.

  “Franklin, come look at this,” yelled Matt. “This knucklehead’s got an Avanti.”

  “You lie!” cried Franklin from inside the house. I heard a chair scoot back.

  Before we would be caught up in male adulation of American cars, I hurried into the Avanti. “Make tracks, daddeo,” I commanded.

  Neff grinned while leaving an opened-mouthed Franklin and Matt standing in the dust of my gravel driveway.

  Laugher bubbled up from my throat until Neff swerved around one of my peacocks. “Man, if you hit one of my animals, I’m gonna knock you upside the head,” I warned.

  “Dig it,” was all Neff replied as he sped out onto Route 169 heading towards Nicholasville. We then turned left onto Route 68, heading towards the Kentucky River.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, enjoying the ride. Neff seemed to be a competent driver once out of my driveway.

  “It turns out that Jubal Bradley is Ethel Bradley’s only living relative. He’s her husband’s brother’s boy. Both parents have been dead over ten years and Ethel has, from time to time, loaned him money.”

  “I see.” I didn’t remind him that I already knew this.

  “He works in Versailles at the Sylvania plant and his boss told me that he was a good worker. Rarely took a sick day off, but there are rumors that Jubal was in hot water. His boss’s secretary told me that Jubal loved to play the ponies, and ran into trouble, having to borrow from a loan shark.”

  “When Ethel dies, everything goes to Jubal?”

  “Bull’s-eye. That’s enough for motive. She may not have a lot, but there is a paid-for house, some savings and a car. Maybe enough to satisfy Jubal’s loan shark.”

  “If that story has legs to it.”

  “Exactly,” Neff agreed.

  “So why do you need me again?”

  “It was that story about her house being searched. Now why was Jubal searching her house?”

  “Looking for cash?”

  “Ethel’s strictly a bank gal. She writes checks and uses debit cards. At the most, she has a hundred at the house for emergencies.”

  “Maybe a druggie got into her house.”

  “Then he would have turned it upside down looking for cash or drugs. Whoever went into her house didn’t want her to know it was searched. He didn’t buy on the old lady being so astute.” Neff searched around his catchall and pulled out a pair of vintage aviator Ray-Bans. “Clean these off for me, will ya?”

  I wiped them off with my skirt and handed them back.

  “It was that her Bible had been moved. That’s what’s piqued my interest. Why look in her Bible?”

  “Because that’s where she kept her lotto tickets,” I replied.

  Neff snapped his fingers. “Bingo. I’m thinking the lotto ticket wasn’t in her Bible and he had to search the rest of the house.”

  “But then . . . why cut the brake line to her car?”

  “I bet the intention was not to kill Ethel since she doesn’t drive over forty miles an hour. Two possible explanations. Number one – to scare her into revealing the location of the lotto ticket or number two – the loan shark did it as a warning to Jubal.”

  “But Ethel said she didn’t win. So what’s the point?”

  “I found out at the tea interview that you set up with Ethel that she didn’t examine the ticket. She assumed the numbers were the ones she had dictated to Jubal. What if he bought two tickets and switched them accidentally, with his ticket winning the lotto?”

  “Or that he put down the wrong numbers to begin with, but still won.”

  “Yeah. That’s what you’re going to find out. We’re going to the store where Ethel gets her lotto tickets.” Neff handed me a piece of paper. “These are the numbers that she plays every week and directions to the store. You’re going into the store and say that you are getting a ticket for Miss Ethel. Just talk it up and see what you can find out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Come on. Women talk to women. The clerk might be guarded with me – a stranger and all.”

  “How do you know it’s a woman?”

  Neff rolled his eyes. “Because I asked Ethel. Now are you going to help me or not?”

  “If you say please,” I cooed.

  “Good. Just do what I say. I can’t stand all these questions. Yak. Yak. Yak.”

  “Ummm, you didn’t say please.”

  “Really?”

  “I must insist.”

  “Please will you help me? Pretty please with sugar on top.”

  “I would be delighted, Mr. Neff. There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

  “I don’t remember shamuses using please when telling their dolls what to do. They did it or got their noses mussed.”

  “My nose is fine as it is, thank you, and you are not in a Raymond Chandler lead role.”

  “You’d look swanky with your hair in a French twist wearing a black hat with a veil. You know, those hats from the ’40s. Nothing sexier that watching a dame fold up her veil to put on some lipstick. Gives her an air of mystery.”

  “Oh really. I’ll bite. What kind of dress?”

  “A black dress accentuated with Joan Crawford shoulder pads and a low v-neckline, cinched in at the waist with a sparkling belt. A great dress for accenting a woman’s breasts and hips. Then Dragon-red lipstick. Open-toed shoes with toes painted the same color.”

  “Shall I smoke as well?”

  “Can’t stand kissing dames with smoke on their breath. They should taste sweet like strawberries.”

  “I see. Would you like me to tell you what I like in a man?” I asked.

  Neff gave me a cheeky grin before turning his attention back to the road. We were now on a very curvy stretch along the palisades, which needed his concentration.

  “Cut the hair off. I mean all of it. Especially that ridiculous ponytail.”

  Neff started to protest.

  “Shut up. You have had your turn. Again, cut the entire head. Your hair is not worth saving and bald men can be sexy. Shave. I mean every day and put on cologne. Wear clothes from this decade. Get rid of the jewelry except for a ring, and wax that obnoxious hair from your back and neck. It peeks out from your clothes. It’s a wonder that
you don’t walk on all fours.”

  “Hey!”

  “Women do not like overly hairy men. It reminds us too much of the cave era when we were chattel.”

  “You’re not now? When did that change?”

  “Cut your nails. Use mouthwash and lots of it. Wear clean underwear – every day. Do this and you might have a fighting chance with a female homo sapiens.

  “Not an overly bright female. But someone lower on the pay grade who is easily fooled.”

  Neff shook his head. “Naw. I’m too much as it is.”

  “I don’t know how I keep my hands from wandering.”

  “I told you not to stifle yourself. Let go, baby. Explore the Neffman.”

  “The Neffman?”

  “All yours for the taking, Toots.”

  “However shall I stand it?”

  “You want me. You know you do.” He put his hand on my knee. “Let’s say we do the nasty after we visit that old biddy at the store. I’ll get a hotel room. Even pay for it.”

  “What a gentleman!”

  His hand started inching up my thigh. “What are you looking for?”

  “My taser and pepper spray,” I replied, rummaging through my purse. “Ahh, there it is.” I pulled out my taser and kissed it.

  Neff pulled his hand away. “Very funny.”

  “You’re all talk, anyway.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Let me put it this way. If you were the last man on earth, this time I wouldn’t have to be pushed off a cliff. I would jump of my own accord. Now you’re wearing me out with your constant drivel. Shall we concentrate on the case?”

  Walter Neff pursed his lips and popped some gum into his mouth.

  After that, I refused to talk to him although he mumbled frequently. I would catch a few words here and there like “think she is” and “stuck-up female.” You know that bunch of cliché crap men spout when they don’t get their way.

  As I cracked open my window to let in some fresh air, I wondered if Neff was really serious or just yanking my chain. I wondered if he knew.

  I wondered if he wondered.

  11

  We coasted into Harrodsburg, a small southern town of eight thousand souls. It was the first city founded in Kentucky and its fort was built even earlier than Fort Boonesborough, its more famous counterpart, by one year – 1774. But nobody remembers its founder, James Harrod, while everyone knows of Daniel Boone, the founder of Boonesborough. Daniel Boone just had a better PR posse.