Some Like It Hot (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

When Uncle Joey was gone, I sat in the kitchen with the earrings and the crime scene photos. Alan Mitchell was dressed in the usual black tie fundraiser garb. Not designer label, but decent quality. An ugly brown-red stain covered most of Alan Mitchell’s white shirt. He’d taken a hit in the chest that propelled him backwards. He lay sprawled on his back, legs twisted as if they’d crumbled beneath him. The earrings aligned with an outstretched hand.

There were no visible signs of struggle. Chairs were in place. Tierney’s glass and the bottle of Jameson remained undisturbed on the table. Not a drop had been spilled in the violent exchange that ended Mitchell’s life.

I brushed the crumbs from the table and piled our dishes in the dishwasher. I grabbed my Alfani slate-colored jacket and Tignanello tote again.

I stepped outside and locked the door behind me. I beeped the alarm on Tino’s Buick.

Half way down my steps, there was a sound. A horrible sound that mimicked fingernails on chalkboard came drifting around the side of my house.

“Hey! Open up.”

I winced. “Sylvia?”

The red-head flounced around and met me at the front. I was relieved she left her fox friends behind.

“I had to look up your website,” she said. “Your address wasn’t on your card.”

“My address isn’t on my website, either.”

She sniffed disapprovingly. “I don’t know how you expect to get business.”

The omission of my address isn’t an oversight. I piss off too many people to hang out a welcome mat. Especially with my office attached to my home. I get enough uninvited guests as it is.

I heard my teeth grind. “You apparently skipped the part about calling for an appointment.”

She shrugged. “I saw it.”

I forced the edges of my mouth to curve. “Well then how’d you find me?”

“What can I say? I’ve got the gift.”

“Like a stalker.” I unlocked the door. “There should be a cup left in the pot. Come on in.”

Sylvia followed me to the kitchen, and I poured her a mug of coffee.

“Eeeuw!” she said standing over the crime photos. “Is that guy dead?”

“Deader than Elvis.”

I shuffled the pictures into a pile and put them back in the box. “This is for a case I’m working on.”

Sylvia twirled the earrings in her hand. “Are these real?”

“They’re copies of the real ones.” I scooped them from her palm, tossed them in the box, and dropped the box on the floor with the others.

Sylvia plopped on a chair and leaned forward. Her boobs, and the butterfly tattoo, nearly spilled out on the table. She gave a conspiratorial wink.

“Whatcha gonna do when you find the real ones?”

I massaged my temples. “What makes you think I’m looking for the real diamonds.”

“Well duh! You’re a detective, aren’t cha?”

“Sylvia,” I said, now rubbing my temples. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I need to use your can.”

Lovely
. “It’s down the—”

She waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I saw it when I came in.”

She trotted off and I downed a glass of water with a couple Excedrin. Sylvia was going through a rough time, I told myself. She’d been played by the man she loved. Her wedding was off. The gossip vultures that she called friends would be circling. In time, if she’s smart, she would be doing the happy dance. Sylvia was lucky to get out before she had to split her hard-earned grieving cash with that money whore.

She emerged from the bathroom with tears in her eyes.

“What’s going on, Sylvia?”

She pressed her lips together. “Garret is a madman. He’s pissed I cancelled the wedding, and I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Has he threatened you in any way?”

“I’d kick his ass. But he spilled red wine on my white carpet for God’s sake. The man is a maniac. Who knows what he will do next.”

“I know this is hard. But you’ll get through this.”

“You’re the one who told me not to marry him. This is all your fault. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“I—what?”

Sylvia blew her nose hard, fully activating the fog horn.

“The man was built like a god. Not that Howie was a slouch, mind you.”

“Okay. But for the record, I did not…”

“But Garret was a gorgeous hunk of man meat. I know someday he’ll get over me. He’ll forget me and find someone else.”

Her words threw her in torrential sobs.

“I am sure you are right.” From what I’d seen and heard of Garret Swearingen, forgetting and finding wouldn’t be a problem.

“I mean, my God, Cat, you practically entrapped the poor man.”

I went to my office for another box of tissues and fought the urge to duck out the door. I whispered a few choice words to Billy, trudged back to the kitchen, and waited for Sylvia to pull it together.

She sniffed. “You—you never gave Garrett a chance. You were against him from the start.”

I opened my mouth and no sound came out.

In a blink her eyes were dry and she regarded me with distaste.

“Don’t you dare bill me for your services. I paid Billy in full.”

“I understand.”

“Bill was supposed to handle my case. I’ve a good mind to stop payment on my check.”

If I knew Billy, he dashed to the bank before the ink was dry.

I said, “Good luck with that.”

Sylvia slapped her hands on the table and rose to her feet. She leaned in toward me. I felt her coffee breath on my face.

“What Garrett and I had was special. We understood each other. But a woman like you, Cat DeLuca, will always be alone.”

Whack-job!

My head did a double-take and my eyes flashed on the boobs in my face. I pulled back and wagged a finger left and then right.

“Wasn’t that butterfly on the other boob yesterday?”

Sylvia snorted. “Tattoos don’t fly, Cat. Everybody knows that.”

Chapter Twenty

The first boy I kissed was a vampire. His pasty face gave me a white mustache but I didn’t care. I was a warrior princess and I was wearing the shit out of Mama’s make-up.

It was Halloween night. For two whole hours our south-side gang owned the streets of Bridgeport. When our sacks got heavy, Billy and I hung back and shone a flashlight in our bags.

There was soooo much candy.

That’s when he kissed me. Billy couldn’t help himself. He loved candy.

The wax vampire fangs tickled my mouth. The quick, full-on smooch tasted like cinnamon.

Billy Bonham was delicious.

“You’re going to marry me someday, Cat DeLuca,” he said.

We were eight.

***

Billy told me the women who beat him in strip poker lived across the street from the ghost house.

He was talking about a Halloween night when vampires and ninjas ruled the streets. It was the first year Mama didn’t hover over us from the sidewalk. We took down Bridgeport block after block until our bags bulged, and we were tired and cold.

“My taffeta is scratchy,” Sophie said. “I want to go home.

My switched-at-birth sister was the only glittery-pink princess in our South Chicago gang that year.

I checked my bag. I had enough Jawbreakers and Jolly Ranchers to seriously bond with my dentist and his torture devices.

“I’m ready,” I said.

The others agreed. Billy was the last holdout. He screwed up his face and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I ain’t got no Hot Tamales,” he said.

“We all got red hots,” Rocco said.

Rocco beamed his flashlight on Billy’s face. His lips were red. He sniffed.
Cinnamon.

Rocco frowned. “You ate the Hot Tamales. You’re supposed to wait until your Papa checks it.”

“I ain’t afraid of no razor blades.”

Rocco signaled the gang. “We’re going home.”

Billy’s gaze cut to the next house. It was dark and spooky. I was pretty sure Jason Vorhees was waiting for us inside the door.

Billy flapped his vampire cape. He howled. “One more score!”

I shuddered. “Not that house. It’s…creepy.”

“It’s Halloween, you big chickens!”

I called to my brother, “Rocco, wait! We’re supposed to stick together.”

I turned back and the blood-sucking vampire was gone. I tore after him.

“Stop, Billy. I don’t like it here.”

“Cluck cluck cluck!” He tromped up the dark steps and banged on the door.

I caught up on the porch and tugged at his sleeve. “Nobody’s home.”

“There’s a light on in back.”

“If they’re home, they’re outta candy. And I’m pretty sure they eat kids.”

I felt my stomach clench. There was the sound of bushes parting and a zombie emerged from the shadows. He did the creepy death that known zombies do—their outstretched arms devour small children.

We screamed. My legs turned to cement. Not Billy’s. He was all about saving the candy. Boots pounded the pavement and Billy jetted past the others. He didn’t stop until he was home.

Billy didn’t hear the old man laughing. Or his wife scold him from the porch.

The old woman wrapped two fat slices of pumpkin bread and added them to my bag. There were chocolate chips and yellow raisins. And they were still warm.

A big brown bear in a Chicago football jersey waited for me down the block.

“Are you okay, Sis?” Rocco said.

My brother flashed a light and growled at the white face-paint mustache where Billy kissed me. Rocco didn’t leave me alone with Billy Bonham after that.

I saved a slice of pumpkin bread for Billy. I never had the heart to tell him where it came from.

I smiled at the memory and pulled Tino’s car in front of the pumpkin bread house. It had a fresh coat of paint. The old man and old woman would be long gone. But the street hadn’t changed much since we were kids. People move away. Young families replace some of the faces we knew. Other people stay. Like my parents.

Mama’s feet are firmly entrenched in Bridgeport. She plans to die surrounded by her grandchildren. She says if I want her to die happy, I’ll call Father Timothy and reserve the church.

“You should marry that nice FBI agent,” Mama says. “The one with good insurance. I can’t promise your Aunt Francesca will be there. Not after the FBI snubbed your cousin Frankie. But at your age…”

Mama’s eyes drag to the grandfather clock her papa brought over from Italy.

Tick tock.

I studied four houses across the street. Billy’s St. Christopher necklace had to be inside one of them. A. B. C. Or D. And if it wasn’t, the women who conned Billy would know where it was.

I moved the plush leather seat back, kicked off my shoes, and opened the latest Laura Caldwell novel. Izzy McNeil is my kind of woman. She’s Chicago tough. Street smart. And she always gets her man.

A short fifteen minutes passed and a muted blue Nissan Altima pulled up in front of House C. I watched the suit get out of his car, enter the house, and turn on lights. He was followed ten minutes later by a second suit bearing a key and bearing Chinese Takeout. I whipped out my binoculars. My gaydar screamed before he made it to the door. The men kissed briefly and sat at the table. I took House C off my list, put away my spy eyes, and made a mental note to order Chinese food for dinner.

I opened my surveillance cooler and sliced up an apple. I smelled Inga’s sausages. I missed my partner.

I eliminated House A before I finished my apple. Mom came home in a minivan with three kids under five and four bags of groceries. I couldn’t imagine her having the energy to seduce Billy or ever wanting to see him naked.

That left houses B and D. I flipped a coin and went with B. The morning paper was still on the porch. They either left early, before it was delivered, didn’t come home last night, or hadn’t stepped onto the porch today.

At least I could scratch one possibility off my list. I checked the mirror and wiped a smudge of mascara from under my eye. I wet my lips with Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker.

Crossing the street, my eye caught a window on the side of the house. The screen was off, propped against the building. My heartbeat quickened. I’d found the house. And the window the women pushed Billy out of. I jabbed a hand in my pocket and fingered my lock picks. If no one answered, I had my own keys. I would be going in.

The door was new. Big, expensive, and possibly reinforced with steel. More than enough to keep a guy like Billy from kicking it down to recover his stuff. The lock was a Masterlock. Not impossible to pick but a little tricky.

I climbed the steps and a voice shouted over the whirr of a vacuum cleaner.

“Shut it off, babe. I’m talkin’ on the phone here.”

Cheery.

The vacuum stopped and I rang the bell. No answer. I pounded the door with my fist and rang again. The door opened a crack, revealing half a face. The chain was on.

“We don’t want nothing you’re selling,” the blond said. “So get off my property.”

Charming.

“I’m here for Bill. Remember him? The guy you screwed over.”

“Listen you psycho bitch, I don’t know who you’re talking about, but—”

“I am not here for an argument. I only care about his St. Christopher necklace. You can keep the rest.”

“Leave now,” she said in an eerily calm voice.

She started to slam the door in my face and I blocked it with my foot.

“Look,” I said with as much politeness as I could muster. “Just give me the necklace. I’ll go away, no questions asked. You’ll never hear from me again.”

A big tough-looking ogre sporting a gold tooth came to the door. “You heard the lady. Bounce.”

“Look, I get it. He was drunk and an easy score.” I batted my eyelashes. “All I am asking for is a lame St. Christopher’s medal that has sentimental meaning to the family. You can give me that, can’t you?”

He stared at me like I spoke Klingon. “Yo, little lady, I got no beef with ya’s. It’s like she says. We don’t know what you’s are talkin’ bout.”

I smiled, and breathed. “Okay, well it was worth a shot. My friend was so wasted he had no idea where he was. I’ve been up and down these blocks. I’ve struck out a dozen times. I give up.”

“Just go buy his mom another St. Christopher necklace. She won’t know da difference, ya know?”

The blond stood behind him, eyes focused. “See, now that’s a good idea.”

“What a fabulous idea!” I did the head conk thing with my hand. “Why didn’t I think of that? Okay well, sorry to bother you,” I said doing my best parade wave, as I scooted my butt to Tino’s Buick feeling their eyes on my back. I dropped my head on the steering wheel and breathed a huge sigh as soon as I heard the front door slam.

Oh, I will be back.