Death is Semisweet (17 page)

Even Sal was here. Mona Kirk had insisted that they come together and had told him she would make the ultimate sacrifice and go north of the river to pick him up as she knew he didn’t like to drive in the dark. Even though no one openly talked about it, forty years of squinting to cut hair had taken a toll on Sal’s eyesight.

Heaven had whipped up several versions of mole sauce over the last several days, soaking chilies and roasting and grinding spices together with almonds and Mexican chocolate. One sauce was a golden color, one a dark orange, and one the color of burnt sugar. In the state of Oaxaca, turkey with mole was the traditional holiday combination so today she and Iris had roasted a big turkey plus a pork roast. Her kitchen crew had made
tamales in their spare time over the last couple of weeks, freezing them as they were steamed. Tonight they were serving tamales filled with sweet corn, others with pork, and a third version with raisins, nuts and cinnamon.

Iris had peeled and mashed avocados to make a big batch of guacamole. Heaven had soaked and cooked a big pot of black beans and she’d made some salsas, but she’d bought freshly fried tortilla chips from La Posada, a grocery and café down on Southwest Boulevard. She didn’t want to fry them at home and have the place smell like grease. While she was there she’d picked up a case of religious candles in tall glasses with saints’ pictures on them, and they now flickered on the big serving table that was covered with Mexican oilcloth printed with flowers and fruit all over it. It was a festive table.

“Come and get it,” Heaven yelled as she put down a cactus salad. “I think that’s everything.”

“You’ve done it again,” Hank said and he kissed her on the cheek.

“Well, it’s a bit different than most of us will have tomorrow, dry turkey and soggy dressing,” Bonnie said as she scooped up some guacamole with a chip. “The dry turkey is my specialty. My kids won’t recognize this juicy meat right here.”

“But you make a mean bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich as I recall,” Heaven said as she gave her friend a hug. “Dig in.”

“Good tree,” Dale Traver said.

“Hank got it. Oh, Bonnie, here’s my friend from the condo on the Plaza. Just ask him about the Santa, go ahead,” Heaven said.

Bonnie winked at Dale. “We’re old friends. We spent the day together, yesterday, as
ol’
Dale went around his building with me, talking to all the neighbors. He’s a
good recruit for your team of volunteer investigators, I must admit.”

“She told me to never help you again without calling her first,” Dale said, his eyes glowing with the enjoyment of being in on something.

“Well, did you find anyone who had hired a Santa photographer?” Heaven said, confident of the answer.

“No,” Bonnie said as she spooned some of the orange-colored mole over a big piece of dark turkey meat, then unwrapped a pork tamale. “And I tend to agree with you and Dale. That could be our shooter. Too bad we don’t have a better description.”

Dale ducked his head. “I’m so sorry. Everyone looks the same in a Santa suit. And I was in a hurry to get to the ballet in time so I really didn’t pay attention. It just registered that it was a Santa with cameras. Now, of course, I know the camera around his neck was probably just a prop and the camera case had a gun in it.”

Bonnie threw an arm around Dale. “That’s more info than I had before, Dale ol’ buddy. Come meet my family,” she said and led the older man away.

“Nice tree,” Sal said, unlit cigar in his mouth as usual.

“Better than last year,” Mona remarked as they both took an empty plate and looked over the spread of food.

Heaven looked over at the beautiful tree. “Hank got it. It’s the best tree I’ve had in years. Hank taught me to appreciate a good tree and not to feel guilty about it.”

“I guess you’re pretty happy to have your girl home,” Sal muttered as he stabbed a chunk of pork roast.

“Ecstatic,” Heaven said. “I’ve been corny beyond belief, having her here for the holidays, crying and laughing at all the wrong times. Are you going to your daughter’s tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sal said, grumbling. “Christmas is a bunch of hooey but the grandkids like it.”

Mona gave him an elbow. “I went in over at Sal’s and there were about three hundred presents all wrapped and under the cutest little tree. For someone who says Christmas is hooey you went all out.”

Sal blushed, the top of his almost bald head turning red. “Mona, put a lid on it. I’m gonna go sit down by Murray,” he said as he shambled away.

“I wonder if Sal can eat with that cigar still in place,” Heaven said as she felt her eyes fill up with tears.

Mona looked at her friend with concern. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Nothing. This is just what I was talking about. I’m happy. Iris and I had a wonderful time together today. It’s great having her home. And here I am with a beautiful Christmas tree and my house full of friends. How did I get so lucky?”

“Don’t worry,” Murray said as he grabbed a plate and started filling it. “Something will happen soon that’ll bring you back to the real world. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Murray’s wife had been killed by a car full of teenagers as she walked across a street in New York City so Murray was talking from experience. Heaven hit him lightly on the arm with her fist. “Don’t be a spoiler. I know it won’t last long. Stuart Watts will be back on Friday,” she said and they all laughed.

Luckily, Iris and Joe Long sidled up beside Heaven after she made the smart crack about Stuart so Iris didn’t know her mother was getting laughs at her boyfriend’s expense.

“Joe,” Heaven said looking around, “did you invite your body building friend, Kathy?”

“Yes, and I could tell she was touched that you included
her. But she was going pheasant hunting in Nebraska.”

“There’s no accounting for what people do in their spare time,” Heaven said. “My first husband loved to pheasant hunt. Quail, too.”

“Mom, I’m going to hit a few gay bars with the guys,” Iris said.

“But first, I think we have to dance a little here to get ready for the madness at the Dixie Bell,” Joe Long said. “Can we put on Aretha?”

“We can. And James Brown. And then some Barry White to get you really prepared for the disco,” Heaven said as she went over to the Bose CD player. “Let’s dance,” she yelled.

And they did. Mona and Sal even hit the dance floor for “Chain of Fools.”

F
inally Hank and Heaven were alone. The crowd had cleared out between eleven and midnight and two of Hank’s friends from the neighborhood, a nice married couple Hank’s age, had stayed and helped bus everything into piles. Hank and his friend had emptied the trash outside in the Dumpster so the house wouldn’t smell like stale beer and wine in the morning. Then Heaven and Hank had loaded the dishwasher and turned it on, Heaven had poured herself one more glass of Veuve Clicquot, and they were now cuddling on the couch.

“How many people do you think were here during the evening?” Hank asked as he pulled off Heaven’s cowboy boots.

“Seventy-five or eighty, I bet. We have great friends.
And I’m glad some of Iris’s high-school friends showed up. They seemed to have a nice time.”

“Even if Iris is part of European rock society, she’s still a down-to-earth Midwestern American at heart. She and her friends seemed to pick up right where they left off. You did a good job with your daughter, Heaven.”

“Stop saying nice things. I’ve already cried about ten times today, I’ve been so happy and sappy.”

Hank went over to the tree and found a small package. He brought it back over to the couch and sat down, handing it to her. “I was going to put this in your stocking but I think you should open it now.”

“You know I don’t approve of opening presents on Christmas Eve,” Heaven said, shaking the package.

“When you see this, you’ll understand. And for your information, it’s one in the morning. Christmas morning. Open it.”

Heaven tore the package open and found two paintbrushes tied on two jars. The labels on the jars read, “Dark Chocolate Body Paint” and “Milk Chocolate Body Paint.” She knew she was blushing. The room was dark but for the lights on the tree. She took Hank’s hand and kissed it. “Come to think of it, I didn’t have dessert tonight. Maybe we should put Barry White on and go upstairs. Iris won’t be home for an hour or so.”

“Merry Christmas, Heaven,” Hank said as he picked up the jars of body paint and led her toward the stairs.

I
’m sorry Hank couldn’t come with us,” Iris said.

They were driving west on 1-70, headed toward Heaven’s childhood home in Kansas.

“Hank is used to not having weekends and holidays free and with all the hours I work at the restaurant, it
isn’t much of a problem for us. I’m just glad he got Christmas Eve off, and that he was able to spend the morning with his mother.”

“How’s that going?” Iris asked.

“She still hates me. She’s a mother who managed to get her two children out of Vietnam just in time. Her husband was killed. She wanted something, wants something for Hank that doesn’t include a girlfriend twenty years older than him.”

Iris kept silent. It was snowing, not a lot, but big wet flakes were fluttering down, melting on the road when they hit.

Heaven looked over at her daughter. “I know what you’re thinking and there’s no doubt there’s a karmic lesson in this for me. I don’t like you being with Stuart, Mrs. Wing doesn’t like me being with Hank. But I’ve been good this week, about Stuart I mean.”

“Yes, you have. You’ve been polite and hospitable. Only someone who knew you would see how difficult it’s been. Unfortunately, Stuart knows you. He knows you’re acting.”

“It’s better than me throwing a fit, not letting him sleep with you, being boring and having a big talk with him and several other things I wanted to do,” Heaven said defensively.

“Musicians are strange, aren’t they?” Iris said, serious now.

“Well, as someone who has not only been married to one, but also was involved in managing and representing them, I certainly agree,” Heaven said. “Musicians are strange. One of the things I find so interesting about them is that their creative activity is done with other creative people.”

“Why does that interest you so much?”

“Think about it. A writer writes a book alone. A painter paints alone. Even a film director, it’s his vision and only his vision that all the other crew members and actors are trying to get down on film. But a band is made up of five or six people who are all being creative at the same time. It’s amazing that any song makes sense.”

“No wonder bands are always fighting and breaking up, when you think about it that way,” Iris said. “Something else that you taught me about musicians is that their art disappears every time they play. Of course, sometimes they’re being recorded, but when they play a song that isn’t being recorded and the notes hover in the air and then disappear, that version of the song is gone forever.”

Heaven turned off the highway on an exit so familiar to her she did it automatically. “When you think about musicians like this, it’s no wonder we both fell in love with one. It’s so romantic, what with the creative collaboration and the songs lost in the universe’s atmosphere forever. But listen, can we talk about the Foster situation before we get to Del’s?”

“Why before we get there? Aren’t you going to tell Uncle Del what’s been going on?”

“Yes, but the short version. I don’t want to bore everyone with all the gory details. What do you really think?”

“Well, it’s hard to imagine two different murders that don’t have anything to do with each other just happened to occur in the same week at the same company. Then there’s the bugs and stuff. And I think Stephanie’s Uncle David is a little creepy. I know he doesn’t live in Kansas City and wasn’t around for most of the trouble but he definitely has a grudge against his brothers. Maybe he paid someone to shoot down the blimp.”

“And also kill Oliver Bodden and frame his brother for the murder? That sure would be good revenge, all right. And I do agree that he’s still pissed, but that would take a ton of planning and what’s in it for him, beside revenge? If he was going to inherit the company or millions of dollars, then I’d be all over him.”

“Didn’t you tell me once that most people are murdered by a loved one?”

Heaven turned into the driveway of her family farm. The dusting of snow was picture perfect over the barns and tractors. The house was outlined in colored lights and they were turned on, even though it was eleven in the morning. It was so corny Heaven thought she was going to cry right then. She couldn’t, not after all the times she’d teared up the day before. Iris would think she was losing it. She exhaled air instead. “Yes, that used to be true. I’m not sure it is anymore, now that terrorist tactics have become so popular. Everyone likes to destroy buildings full of strangers to make their point nowadays. We’re here,” she said and honked the horn a couple of times.

“You always honked like that when I was a kid and we pulled in this drive. I love it out here,” Iris said, then wagged her finger at her mother as they started to unload the van. “Don’t you start crying yet.”

Heaven pulled out a crate of champagne. “I’ll try to wait until we get in the house at least. A white Christmas, honey. Aren’t we lucky?”

S
tephanie checked her watch again. How much longer did she have to stay? She was so exhausted from the last two weeks and she knew that the store would be busy
again tomorrow. People were still giving each other chocolates for the holidays and now they’d be buying them for New Year’s Eve parties. She watched her mom, dad, Aunt Carol and Uncle David playing gin rummy. Her other uncle, Carol’s husband, was sleeping in her dad’s recliner.

It had been a tough Christmas for Stephanie, her first since the divorce had been final. She’d been estranged last year, but she and her husband had seen each other on Christmas Day. Now it was real. She had almost asked Heaven if she could stay all night down on 5th Street, that’s how much she didn’t want to face Christmas morning alone. Instead she’d gone home and downed several belts of brandy, on top of the margarita and glasses of wine she’d consumed at the party. Getting out of bed had been difficult. Luckily she didn’t have to cook anything. She’d just shown up with gifts and chocolate desserts. Now it was evening and she wanted so badly to go home and get in bed, she didn’t even care if she’d be alone and pitiful.