Some Like It Hot (16 page)

“She’s already out,” Max said. “She can’t feel that.”

“She will.” Cleo wrestled her pocket and whipped out a stun gun at Cristina.

Zzzzzzzzzzap

Cristina moaned and opened panicked eyes.

Cleo lifted the taser to her lips and blew. “That’s for messing with my gun.”

Cleo looked at Cristina. She looked down at the hole.

I said, “No.”

“Bummer,” Cleo said.

Cristina sat up and cradled her head. There was an angry red mark on her forehead and a sticky trickle of blood down the side of her face.

“I need to get a few band aids in my bag,” Cristina said.

“Move and I’ll cap your sorry ass. Band aids won’t do you much good then.” Frankie’s cheerful voice was terrifying.

I said a prayer for Alan Mitchell and tossed the flowers I bought at the Flower Cottage in his grave. We refilled the hole and rolled the sod back over the dirt.

Cleo packed away her moonlit supper. We stashed the shovels in the back with the bolt cutters and the padlock from the cemetery gate. Cristina climbed into the backseat. Cleo jerked her out.

“Uh uh, crazy cakes. You walk.”

“Don’t look at me,” Frankie said. “Lunatic Barbie ain’t ridin’ with me.”

Cristina threw her big doe eyes at Max. “
Please
, Max
.
” Blink blink.

“Really?” I said.

“Nobody steals my Hummer and expects a ride.”

“Cat!
Help!
” she whimpered.

“You should walk to California,” I said reasonably. “But the adults here have to think about Halah Rose.”

“Who?” Cleo said.

“Dammit,” Max said. “All right. Cristina rides in the Hummer.
But she goes home tomorrow.”

Cristina tapped her chin. “I’ll need a couple days to put some things together.”

“Can’t we just shoot her?” Cleo said.

“Yes,” I said.

We all loaded in the Hummer and cruised to the gate. Cristina was quiet in the back between Cleo and Frankie. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Cleo’s taser was on her lap. And her fingers were twitching.

Max drove to the entrance and stepped outside to open the big, black iron gate.

I swirled the diamonds in the palm of my hand and watched them catch the moon.

There was a scuffle by the gate. Instinctively I dropped the earrings in a pocket. A man emerged from the shadows, looming up suddenly and charging at Max. The figure went at him head-down, bull-like, ramming into his back. They hit the ground hard. Max recovered quickly and with a few angry twists and slugs, was on top of his attacker. Max punched him in the solar plexus. The air went out of his lungs with a loud whoosh.

Max dragged him to his feet and snapped him around into a choke hold. The man made strangled, gasping sounds, like a wounded animal.

I shot out of the Hummer and rubbed my eyes. “Garret?”

“You know this creep?”

I blinked, stunned. “He’s the ex-fiancé I was telling you about—”

A pistol jammed against my head.

“And here’s the fox-killing dramapocaylpse now,” I said.

“Watch yourself,” Sylvia said. “Let him go. Or I’ll blow her pretty little brain into itty bitty bits.”

Max released Garret’s throat. Garret pulled a Beretta from his shoulder holster and trained it on Max.

“Stay where you are, Rambo,” Garret choked.

“Pussy,” Max spat. “I should’ve broken your neck.”

Garret walked around the Hummer and loosened the valve core on all four tires. The air whistled, and the tires went flat.

“Now you pissed me off,” Max said.

“You’ll regret that,” I smiled.

“Bite me.” Garret growled.

“I’ll take those earrings now,” Sylvia said.

“Give them to her, Kitten,” Max said.

I dropped a hand in my pocket.

“No!
”
Cristina screamed. “Don’t do it!”

“Seriously?”

Sylvia said, “You got five seconds. Earrings in my hand or I shoot the big mouth in the backseat.”

“Would you?” Cleo said.

I pulled the baubles from my pocket and threw them at her. She scooped them off the ground, laughing.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Go to hell,” Cleo said.

“How did you know we’d be here?” I said.

“They’ve been following us for days,” Cleo said.

Sylvia gave a hard laugh. “We didn’t have to.”

I mentally backtracked. “When you came to my house, you planted a bug, didn’t you?”

“That’s creepy,” Cleo said.

“You’re a monster,” Cristina shrieked. “You got no heart.”

Sylvia laughed. “Now that’s something I used to hear every day.”

They scooted out the gate backward, wielding their pistols like Bonny and Clyde. Max jerked his door open and would have torn after them, but I pulled him back.

“Wait,” I whispered.

“You’re not going to let them get away with this?” Cleo demanded indignantly.

“Cowards,” Cristina screamed into the night.

Frankie and Cleo brandished weapons. “What are we waiting for?”

On the other side of the gate, a motorcycle kicked into gear and roared into the night.

“Let them go,” I said. “They got nothin’.”

“My diamonds,” Cristina wailed.

“Shut up,” Cleo said and zapped her.

I ducked my hand in a pocket and pulled out Marilyn’s earrings.

Cleo stammered. “But you gave her—”

“The ones from the crime photos. They’re a perfect costume copy. But worthless. Mitchell pulled a switch on Tierney. It got him killed.”

Cleo smacked my shoulder with unabashed admiration. “You
stole
those from police evidence?”

“Borrowed.
I can buy a replacement online for under a hundred dollars.”

“You’ll get your money back,” Max said grimly. “I’ll take a lot more out of that dirtbag’s hide when I find him.”

“I parked behind the bike when I came in,” Frankie said.

“Did you get the license?”

“No, dammit. But the plates were out of state.”

Max fired up the Hummer and coaxed the flattened tires through the iron gate. He parked on the street behind Frankie’s Pontiac.

I heard Max’s teeth grind. “I’ll find that dumbshit. He left fingerprints all over my rig when he flattened the tires.”

“Yeah,” Frankie growled all macho. “We’ll hunt his sorry ass down.”

I kissed Max’s cheek. “That won’t be necessary. Sylvia told us who she is.”

Max rubbernecked. “What did I miss?”

“She said she has no heart. She’s the Tin Woman.”

“Tin Woman?”

Cleo gave a hoot. “She’s Nicole Bonham. Billy’s bitch--of--a-wife.”

I smiled broadly. “And the plates were Kansas.”

Chapter Thirty

It should’ve been embarrassing having to call Chance to Al Capone’s burial place in the middle of the night for a ride. We were a motley bunch. Filthy, sweaty, all dressed in black—me draped in Billy’s honkin’ huge Philip Marlowe coat. Frankly, I was too tired to care.

We were huddled outside the Hummer when Chance’s Toyota Highlander pulled up.

He climbed out, saw Max. His brow rose.

“Max?”

“Chance,” Max said, and climbed into the backseat.

Chance frowned. “What’s he doing here?”

I shrugged.

Cleo threw her arms around Chance. “I could kiss you,” she said and did. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“
Muchas gracias
,” Cristina said and climbed in the car with Max.

Chance said, “That must be Cristina from California. Why’s she bleeding.”

“I know, huh?” Cleo said. “I wanted to stuff her in the coffin. But no!”

Chance’s jaw dropped. “Coffin?”

I drew a circle in the air, pointing at my ear. Like Cleo was crazy. It’s not a hard sell.

“Yo, thanks for the lift, man,” Frankie said. “I dropped my keys in the casket.”

Chance shot me a look.

“All right,” I admitted. “But there was just the one.”

Frankie climbed into the backseat and Cleo wriggled onto his lap. She giggled.

Chance smiled. “That’s a new look for you, Inspector Clouseau.”

“It’s Phyllis Marlowe. I’ve been channeling Billy a lot.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Yep.”

“Tell me it wasn’t when we were making love.” Our eyes locked for a brief moment.

I ran my fingers around the back of his neck, leaned in, and whispered softly in his ear. “Take me home, big boy. You’re going to love the reindeer boxers.”

***

Chance was due in court early. When the phone woke me at eight, he was gone and I smelled coffee.

I could get used to this.

I reached for the phone without opening my eyes. Uncle Joey didn’t wait for me to speak.

“Tell me.”

“Yes.”

He laughed.

“Uncle Joey? Uh, hello?”

He was gone.

I padded to the kitchen and opened the secret compartment behind the pantry. Marilyn’s diamonds sparkled beside some dusty bottles of moonshine left over from Prohibition. I cupped the earrings in my hand and sat at the table with my coffee and the morning paper. Even the editorial about political unrest in Washington seemed cheerier with the dazzling diamonds in the corner of my eye.

I called Cleo and asked her to meet me at my house. “There’s something I want to check out.”

“You’re not gonna wear Billy’s coat again, are you? Cuz every time I see it, I wanna zap Cristina.”

“No coat. Where is she now?”

“In bed.”

Probably hiding from the taser.

“Bring her with you.”

Cleo snorted. “Well, duh. I’m not leaving psycho-belle here with the silver.”

“Mama’s taking Halah and Inga and Beau to a concert at Archer Park. She’ll drop them at my house later.”

“I’m pulling pastries from the oven,” Cleo said. “We’ll eat them at your house.”

“No rat poison in Cristina,” I reminded her. “She has a daughter.”

“I know, dammit.”

Uncle Joey burst through the door out of breath. “Where are they?”

“Gotta go,” I said and disconnected.

I kissed his cheek and dropped the diamonds in his hand. Uncle Joey closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“I can smell her.”

I laughed. “You and your obsession with Marilyn.”

His eyes began to twinkle. “What man isn’t?”

He fondled the earrings at the table, and I poured coffee in his favorite mug. Cleo and Cristina arrived a few minutes later with a platter of warm Crostatas. She had filled the dense, buttery crusts with sour cherry and apricot jam.

Already in a weakened state, Uncle Joey almost dropped to his knees.

Cristina had pancaked on the makeup. Her bruises from last night’s unfortunate encounter with a tombstone were still visible. She seemed anxious to make amends. She did up the dishes.

Cristina talked about Bridgeport and her time working at the Irish Pub.

“I hope you can stick around a while,” Uncle Joey said. “Linda’s parents are friends with a guy who plays bass in the symphony. I know he’d take Halah to a rehearsal and introduce her to—”

“No!” I fairly screamed and checked the panic from my voice. “Uhm, they’re going home tomorrow. Halah’s hoping to make her school concert.”

Uncle Joey said, “Where do you live?”

“Far, far away,” I said.

Uncle Joey gave me a strange look I pretended not to notice.

After a while he said, “I contacted the studio and the insurance company this morning. I informed them the
Some Like It Hot
earrings have been found.”

Cristina sniffed. “They were happy?”

Cleo snorted. “As happy as you were the thirty seconds you held them in your back-stabbing hand.”

Cristina stomped off in a huff. I suspected she wanted distance from Cleo and her zap-happy taser.

Joey looked as if he was going to ask what that was about and then decided he didn’t care. He brought the earrings to his face again and smelled the ghost of Marilyn. He set them down gently.

He said, “They cudda kissed me through the phone. The studio is sending a courier out tomorrow. The reward from the studio and the check from the insurance company will be issued once the earrings are authenticated.”

Cleo looked giddy. “You’re rich, Cat.”

“Not exactly. The check from the insurance company will go to Mrs. Bonham. Billy would like that.”

“Dammit, Cat,” Cleo said. “You’re giving it all away? What’s wrong with you?”

Uncle Joey groaned. “You’re tough on the outside. But inside you’re all soft and gooey like this crostata.”

“There are worse things to be,” I smiled over my coffee cup.

Uncle Joey said, “There’s still the reward from the studios. A hundred thousand smackaroos.”

I caught my breath. “That’s a lot of roo.”

Cleo said, “So whatcha gonna do with it?”

“I dunno. I might take a road trip. I’m thinking of going to Kansas. And I might buy a new car.”

Joey said, “You love the Silver Bullet.”

“Yeah. But Cristina’s Subaru will never make it to California. If I don’t give her my car, she’ll never leave. If she stays, one day I’ll flip out and choke the life out of her. I’ll have to stuff her body in the trunk and push my car off a pier. Then, I’ll have to go to confession. I’ll lose my car either way. At least the Silver Bullet has a future in California.”

“The winters are nice there,” Cleo said.

“That’s what I thought.”

Uncle Joey winked. “You may want to hold off on the Silver Bullet a while. I might have a car for her.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say I know a guy.”

I smiled. “You always do.”

***

Cleo parked down the street from the house where Billy had lost his last game of strip poker. We were in her Camry. I had questions, and I needed some answers soon. I was running out of cars they wouldn’t recognize.

“You think it’s a good idea to leave Cristina alone at your house?” Cleo asked.

“Nope. But her Subaru is out of gas and on its last cylinder. Whatever she takes, she’ll have to hide under her coat. I hid Marilyn’s earrings, my jewelry, my Chihuly vase, my pair of Gucci pumps, and my fav pair of jeans behind the pantry. Anything else I can live without.”

“What about that half angel-half devil statuette your sister gave you last Christmas.”

I made a face. “It’s hideous, isn’t it? I taped a $20 dollar bill to it and left it by the door. If Cristina has any compassion, she’ll take it.”

Cleo lowered the visor and checked her make-up. “You got the St. Christopher. What are we doing here?”

“I think the three of them were spying on Billy.”

“Spying on Billy?” Cleo laughed. She stopped when she saw my face. “You’re serious.”

“Rocco didn’t believe me either.”

“Because it’s a dumb idea.”

“Call it a hunch.”

“I call it dumb.” She freshened her lipstick and closed the visor. “So, what are we looking for.”

“I need their names.”

“There are easier ways to find out who lives here.”

I flashed a smile. “But they’re not as much fun. Take the camera. Photograph anything that’ll help Joey Jr. with background and financials.”

My cousin Joey Jr. is a computer genius. He’s also my personal hacker. Joey’s in his first year at Harvard. My Uncle Joey is almost done pouting. He could be the only parent in history who’s disappointed his son has a full scholarship to Harvard.

I tell him to get over himself.

“Harvard can’t beat Notre Dame,” Uncle Joey says. “They play in the Ivy league.”

“Shut up,” I tell him.

He snorts. “There’s only two good reasons to go to college. Football and spring break in Cabo.”

Cleo pulled her .454 Casull, checked it, and stuffed it back in her shoulder holster.

“You brought a freakishly large gun,” I said.

She opened her door. “Yeah, I had this shoulder holster made especially for this big boy. The other one was a bitch on my back. Come on, girlfriend. It’s a good day to blast somebody.”

***

The living room was different. The oil painting above the fireplace was a Charles Russell. The scene was an Indian buffalo hunt. Thundering horses, flying arrows, and buffalo stampeding the hell out of Dodge. You don’t often see a Charles Russell east of the Mississippi. It was a curious choice for a guy with a Chicago accent and a stack of Judas Priest CDs in his room. Maybe he won it in a poker game. I suspected he wouldn’t know buffalo dung if he was standing in it.

Cleo put on her gloves and began to search through cupboards and drawers. She got the names of the women who pushed Billy out a window. Linda Daily and Tasha Blume. They appeared to work for separate insurance companies. Jay Pruitt was the guy who played the husband. There was a picture of him at a White Sox game with friends. Cleo said he looked like Shrek.

I looked for anything that would give more information about the three roommates. The computer files were password protected. I downloaded them all and sent a copy to my email. There was a bag by the door I didn’t remember seeing the other day. It was packed for a workout at the gym with one extra feature. A fully loaded .32 magnum tucked in an inside pocket.

I found Cleo in the kitchen drinking chocolate milk. She wiped her lipstick from the carton and offered me a spoon.

“Try the chicken almond casserole. It’s amazing.”

“Nope, I’m good.”

She opened the freezer and poked around. “Cool, dude. This guy has a box of Choco Frozen Puffs. They were the best ever.”

“You gonna have one?”

She was eating everything else anyway.

“Nah. They’re old. Choco Frozen Puffs went out of business last year. Maybe he’s gonna sell that box on eBay.”

“Or he never cleans his refrigerator.”

The answering machine flashed the number three. I pushed
play
.

The first message was for Linda. She’d neglected to pick up her dry cleaning.

The next voice was Jay’s mother, wondering what time to expect him Saturday.

The last message was a puzzle. A man’s voice, and he didn’t waste words. “Got your message. Let’s see what you got. One-thirty.” Click.

I replayed the message.

“What is it?”

I gnawed a lip. “That voice.”

Her brow tilted. “Friend or foe?”

“I dunno. But I recognize it. I’ve heard it recently.”

“Think.”

I wrinkled my nose and tapped my forehead. “I got nothing.” I said, “I wonder what he meant, ‘I want to see what you got.’”

“It’s a code. Jay Pruitt is a dirty rotten drug dealer.”

“And you know this how?”

“I know codes,” she said wisely.

“You don’t know codes.”

Drug dealer? Actually, it made perfect, twisted sense. The spendy furniture, oil paintings, spanking new stainless steel appliances. And the guarded, paranoid behavior when I knocked on their door.

“I almost forgot.” Cleo pulled a picture from her pocket and slapped it on the table.

Bill Bonham in his private dick coat, scrunched behind a red maple tree. It was a picture of Billy photographing Coochie, and Will Peterson, and the gold-toothed ogre in the park. My throat went dry.

“Where did you find this?”

“In the closet. In the inside coat pocket.”

“They were watching him.”

Cleo said, “Here’s what happened. The women pick up Billy for a game of strip poker. They steal his wallet. When they discover he’s a regular Philip Marlowe, they get worried. Like maybe he’s investigating them.” She took another spoonful of casserole. “Poor ol’ Billy just wanted to get laid.”

“So they follow him?”

“I agree they’d have to have some big freakin’ secrets.”

“Well, Phyllis Marlowe. There’s a problem with your theory.”

I scooted the photo across the table. She brought it close to her face and scrunched her nose. When the light bulb went on, she got bug-eyed.

“The St. Christopher. He’s wearing it.”

“Excellent, Watson. The photograph was taken
before
they played strip poker.”

“So the women didn’t randomly pick him up at the bar.”

“No. They followed him there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet. But it has something to do with a nasty divorce, two men in a park, and a little white dog.”

Cleo stared hard at the photo. “And you’re getting all that from
this
photograph?”

A key rattled the lock, and Cleo whipped out her alarmingly large gun. I shook my head and pointed toward the back door. She dropped the spoon on the counter. I snagged Billy’s picture off the table and escaped behind her.

A few minutes later we were back in the Camry staring down Jay Pruitt’s front door.

“They’re drug dealers.” Cleo checked her gun. “Pruitt’s going down.”

“This is recon, chica. We observe from a distance. If he’s a dealer, we pass it on. I have a cousin in the drug unit.”

“Of course you do. So, what’s your point?”