by Elaine Viets
“I know you will, Bud.” She thanked him, gave Hero a last pat, and went home to have dinner with Katie, hoping to learn more about Luther’s fiery death.
CHAPTER 9
Day two
Dark-green spinach leaves dotted with fresh red strawberries and smooth, creamy goat cheese. Warm, crusty French bread slathered with butter. Katie’s salad banished the blackened, ashy horror of Luther’s investigation. Angela couldn’t wait to dig in.
Katie had left her lab coat at the office and wore her usual subdued outfit: a light-gray shell and a darker pantsuit, sensible shoes, and no makeup. With her short, practical brown hair and freckled face, she should have been plain. But Katie’s quick intelligence gave her a brisk, competent beauty.
She demolished her salad while she discussed Luther. But first, she checked Angela, eyeballing her friend until she was uncomfortable.
“It’s hard to eat when you’re staring at me.”
“You’re looking pale, but not as bad as I expected.” Katie looked at her carefully. “You don’t have a migraine, do you?”
“I’m fine,” Angela said. “I’m not going to have any more strokes. I know the signs now. I’m almost fully recovered. I hardly need this.” She held up her cane.
Angela could see her friend studying her face for signs of a relapse and hoped she didn’t look too pale. Long bangs hid the scars from her emergency brain surgery, and her dark hair was long enough now for a high ponytail. She’d gained back most of the weight she’d lost during her three months in the hospital.
“You’re still recovering,” Katie said. “You scared the crap out of us. You’re not as strong as you think.”
“I’m okay. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Did you go hang with the horses when you got home?”
“Yep. Horse therapy works every time. Eecie was asleep, but I spent time with old Bud and Hero.”
“Ever think about riding Hero?” Katie asked.
“I just like being with the horses.”
“You’d like riding them even more. Gives you a whole new perspective on life. Think about it.”
Angela thought she’d be too scared to get on those huge animals and changed the subject. “What did Evarts say about Luther?”
“You really want to talk about this at dinner?” Katie chomped a healthy bite of spinach.
“I’ve already seen—and smelled—the worst. Might as well tell me the facts.”
She was sorry as soon as Katie started talking. “There wasn’t much of Luther left to autopsy. I felt sorry for the poor bastard. Last night, he was slapping ass and raising hell. This morning . . . well, what happened to him shouldn’t happen to anyone. Damn, he died bad: hair burned off, eyeballs cooked so bad Evarts couldn’t tell his eye color. Evarts said he had trouble getting a blood sample because the body was so roasted. Fortunately, he found a part where Luther wasn’t totally cooked.”
“So the tests said Luther was drunk?” Angela said.
“Like a sophomore on spring break. I’m surprised the alcohol didn’t kill him before the fire got him. Evarts checked with his internist. Doc Bartlett confirmed he had a bad heart and he’d been taking Viagra. She’d refused to prescribe it and put the notes in his chart. Guess she knew he’d sneak around her and get it from India or someplace.”
“Do you think the Viagra killed him?”
“I don’t know what killed him,” Katie said. “I think Evarts did a half-assed job so he could go play golf.”
“I think I caught him practice putting at the office. He looked eager to get out on the course.”
“Too eager. Greiman came in early this morning and told Evarts that Kendra did it. That’s all Evarts needed to hear. He whipped through that post so fast he broke the fuckin’ slice-and-dice record. Evarts hates working on burn victims anyway.” She stopped for another bite of salad.
“The Forest has already convicted her, Katie. I was there last night and heard them condemn her. It was ugly.”
“Do you think she did it?”
“No, but the facts look bad,” Angela said. “Doug Hachette, the fire investigator, found a gasoline trail on the bedroom carpet, and a firefighter found a half-melted gas can at the scene. There were significant areas of large, shiny char blisters—alligator char—on parts of the wood bed frame, which means an ignitable liquid had been used. The question is: did Kendra pour the gasoline on Luther?”
“You know Kendra better than I do.”
“I know her as well as anyone who holds my hands every couple of weeks. She’s pretty and hardworking. She seems ambitious. She never mentioned Luther or wore her giant engagement ring to the salon.”
“She’s not stupid,” Katie said. “The Forest ladies would boycott Killer Cuts. They thought she was a money-grubber and a home wrecker. No point in waving the proof in their faces. Not that Luther had much of a marriage to break up.”
“Really?” Angela leaned in and forked a plump strawberry. “You have gossip?”
“Juicy gossip.” Katie lowered her voice even though it was just the two of them. “Priscilla’s ex-housekeeper works at SOS now. Connie—Consuelo—had the nerve to ask for a ten-cent raise after working three years, and Luther’s wife let her go. Connie said Luther and Priscilla used to argue in front of her like she was wallpaper, and her club-women friends treated the housekeeper the same way. None of them knew Spanish, so if they wanted anything from Connie, they’d say it louder. They’d point to their cups and shout, ‘More coffee-ah. Coffee-ah.’ Connie would make her English sound worse than it really was, so the gringos talked freely around her. Connie says Priscilla was a real beauty when she was young.”
“You’re joking. That sour old lady?”
“Connie personally dusted Priscilla’s portrait that was painted when she came out as a Daughter of Versailles. It was hanging in the main living room, or whatever rich people call it.”
“Portrait painters are kind to rich clients,” Angela said.
“Photos don’t lie. Well, not too much. Priscilla also kept photos of herself as a deb in silver frames on her dressing table. Connie says your sour old lady was a sweet little honey with big brown eyes, a gorgeous figure, and a dress that showed every asset and then some.”
“What freeze-dried her?” Angela asked.
“Clawing her way up to the presidency of the Chouteau Forest Women’s Club, the power place for old-school wives. To get elected, Priscilla let her waist thicken, her lips thin, and her hair go gray. The hottie turned into an ice queen and became the most powerful woman in the Forest.”
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody. I figured it out. My spies at the Women’s Club say that during the ladies’ lunches, the old guard make it clear that some of the newer, sexier members are ‘too good-looking’ and ‘need to mature.’ That means get old. Priscilla’s whole life became the Women’s Club and debates about whether the chef should serve cucumber bisque or chicken consommé for lunch.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I shit you not. Laugh all you want, Angela, but the ladies who decree that the chef should serve chicken consommé only on Wednesdays run the Forest, when they’re not running their husbands. They’re the reason the Forest never changes. Their grandmothers sipped consommé on Wednesdays, and so did their mothers—who donated Grandma’s Sevres vases to the club for a fat tax write-off. They want their daughters to have the same life and the same menu. They’ve kept time standing still.
“Don’t get me wrong. The ladies do good works. They even sponsor an annual scholarship for a Toonerville kid. But their lives revolve around the club, and Priscilla dragged Luther along to its silly events. The last straw was when she insisted Luther go to the annual Halloween ball. He wanted to dress as a cowboy.”
“He wouldn’t even need to buy a costume,” Angela said.
“Luther might have had fun, but Priscilla nagged him into wearing her daddy’s 1920s Sitting Bull costume, with a real Nat
ive American war bonnet that reached the floor.”
“I saw the photo in the Chouteau Forest Chronicle,” Angela said. “He looked so miserable I couldn’t stop laughing.”
“You and everyone else. His Forest pals started calling him Big Chief Thunder Cloud. Shortly after that, he took up with Kendra.”
“Why?” Angela said. “Why would that beautiful young woman go out with Luther?”
“Revenge.”
“On who—herself?”
“On Bunny Hobart and Luther’s daughter, Eve.”
“They’re an item?”
“Of course not, Angela.” Katie was losing patience. Angela concentrated on her salad while Katie talked. “Kendra’s mother, Gracie, has a housecleaning business with a crew of ten. Like her husband, Jose, Gracie is good at business, and her cleaning service is a real success. She cleaned Eve’s house, even though she’d heard Eve joke she’d ‘always wanted a BMW.’”
“What’s wrong with that?” Angela asked.
“BMW is short for Big Mexican Woman in the wrong circles, and Gracie is on the chunky side. Eve insisted that Gracie herself clean her home, rather than the crew, and she did—until Eve’s diamond pendant went missing. She accused Gracie of stealing it.”
“When in doubt, blame the help,” Angela said.
“Exactly. Eve fired her. Made a big deal out of saying she wouldn’t press charges.”
“Never mind that she didn’t have any proof,” Angela said.
“Proof is beside the point in the Forest. Turned out that dear Aunt Eudora Hobart had swiped the necklace when she came to lunch with her caregiver. The caregiver brought it back, along with a note from the Hobarts asking Eve to forgive Eudora, who’s become attracted to sparkly objects now that she’s ninety. Of course, Eve did. Then she tried to get Gracie back. But Gracie refused. She said someone else had Eve’s cleaning day. She had her pride.”
“Kendra never worked for her mother.”
“Of course not.” Katie stabbed a strawberry. “Her parents didn’t want their daughter doing hard labor. They tried to send her to college, but she insisted on beauty school. They were disappointed, but thought she’d meet a respectable class of people when she worked at Killer Cuts. Too bad she met Bunny. Kendra liked that she was dating a doctor.”
“Huh,” Angela said. “If she was going out with Bunny, she still wasn’t dating a doctor.”
“I forgot,” Katie said. “You had an encounter with that jerk-off when you were sick. Your pal Dr. Tritt got so mad he threw the incompetent asshole out of your room.”
“I remember,” Angela said, and laughed. “I remember the look on Bunny’s face, too. No one had ever talked to him that way.”
“Bunny dated Kendra. She was beautiful and far too smart for him. I think he was Kendra’s first real lover. She thought he would marry her.”
“No way he’d walk down the aisle with a Mexican American, no matter how good-looking she was.”
“I know. But fairy tales have a powerful pull, and Kendra saw herself as Cinderella. Bunny fobbed her off, saying he still had to complete his residency. But when that ended, Kendra wanted her prince. She popped the question again: when were they going to marry? Something happened. I’m not sure what—it was hushed up. But Bunny hurt Kendra so badly she didn’t date for months. That’s when Luther came sniffing around. The old geezer knew how to treat her—at least at first. He was kind and respectful. He said he was divorcing his wife. He took Kendra to fancy dinners in Saint Louis and then expensive weekends in Chicago and even New York. He bought her pretty clothes. Kendra was dazzled. She started sleeping with him, and when her parents objected, she said she was nineteen and could do as she pleased. He gave her an engagement ring and two million dollars and promised her another two mil when they got married. Meanwhile, he wanted her to move in with him. He got used to lots of sex and wanted it night and day. At his age, chemical boners wouldn’t wait.
“Kendra wanted to be married. I don’t think she loved Luther, but she still had that Cinderella fantasy. She rented an apartment in Toonerville and said she’d move into his house after they walked down the aisle. By then, Luther was drinking heavily and pressuring his wife to divorce him. He tried to bribe Eve, but his daughter hated the old goat. Then, after his drunken scene at Gringo Daze, it all blew up.”
“Or caught fire,” Angela said. “I still can’t see Kendra pouring gasoline on Luther. But I think Eve or Priscilla could. And they were both at Olympia that night.”
“How would they get in Luther’s house?” Katie asked. “Do they have keys?”
“Don’t need them. It’s a gated community. Nobody locks their doors.”
“How did they get in his room? Kendra was right there in bed next to him. If they poured gasoline on Luther, wouldn’t some of it get on Kendra? Wouldn’t she smell it and wake up?”
“Not if she had a couple of drinks before bed,” Angela said. “She may have needed some booze to put up with getting groped by Luther. Maybe she was exhausted after dealing with the old coot. Greiman’s refusing to even question them. Instead, he got Evarts to lie and delivered the verdict the Forest wanted.”
“Hey, I don’t like our boss any better than you do, but I don’t think Evarts lied. He just didn’t look for anything that didn’t fit Greiman’s conclusions. His report said Luther had a high blood alcohol level and he’d been doused with gasoline before he burned to death, just the way Greiman explained it to him. He said there were traces of gasoline on Luther’s body and concluded he’d been set on fire by ‘person or persons unknown.’”
“Meaning Kendra.”
Katie nodded. “It gets worse. Greiman convinced Evarts that Kendra’s the Forest arsonist.”
CHAPTER 10
Day two
Angela had planned to sleep in the next morning, but Katie called at 7:00 a.m. “Wake up! I have news! Someone videoed Luther the other night.”
“You mean the fire?” Angela was too groggy to figure out what Katie was saying.
“No, someone caught him on a cell phone when he ‘misbehaved’ at Gringo Daze. The old boy was on a tear, and the video has gone viral on YouTube. I’ll be right over, bringing breakfast. It’s the shitstorm of the year.”
Angela still wasn’t sure what Katie was talking about, but she dressed quickly and used her cane as she made her way downstairs to put on the coffee and set the table for breakfast. By the time the coffee was ready, Katie’s red pickup screeched into Angela’s drive, and the assistant medical examiner rushed in with a bag of quiche and fresh fruit.
Angela quickly plated their ham quiche and divided the container of cut strawberries into two bowls. “Who recorded it? When?”
“I don’t know, but the video hit the Internet last night. I’ve got it on my iPad.”
The video had a slightly yellowish cast, but Angela could clearly see the interior of the bar in the crowded Mexican restaurant. The sound was slightly tinny, but she could hear the splashing Spanish-tile fountain and the soft guitar music. There was scrawny-legged Luther in his black Stetson with the diamond hatband and his handmade Lucchese boots. He swung his arms in the exaggerated moves of a drunk and slurred his words when he yelled, “Kendra is the best piece of ass in Chouteau Forest.” A polo-shirted pack of patricians egged on the drunken Luther, applauding his crude comment.
“Oh my god,” Angela said. She dropped her fork.
“Someone sold this video of his drunken rampage to cable news,” Katie said. “Priscilla’s fucking head is gonna explode. Her randy old goat is all over the Net. Damn! The Gringo Daze scene is on the website of every news station I can find.” Katie flipped from site to site while she gave Angela a play-by-play.
“Ha! Here he is grabbing Kendra’s ass on CNN! You can see his schnockered pals laughing and slapping his back. Bet those dumb fucks are living in shit city now—all their wives belong to the Women’s Club. Hey, here he is on Fox News!”
“What a pig,” Angela said. “Luther cal
led his fiancée a piece of ass.”
“With big tits,” Katie said. “Listen up.” A loaded Luther shouted, “Look at those massive mammaries, boys. How’d you like to wake up to that mountain view?”
Angela had abandoned her breakfast to watch the Internet sensation. Katie said, “Here’s HLN.”
“Is Luther that famous? I know he’s rich, but this is a Mexican restaurant in Nowhere, Missouri.”
“Ever hear of Warren Buffet in—where is it—Nebraska? Don’t sell Missouri short. We have our share of major money—the Pulitzers, the Busch beer barons, a Walmart heiress. Everyone knows Luther’s payday loan slogan ‘You get more with Delor.’ They’re really getting an eyeful now. Kendra’s a natural for TV. Even in this amateur video she looks like a million bucks.”
“Two million. To be exact.”
“Luther looks older than God,” Katie said. “You’d think he was ninety instead of seventy.”
“His rhinestones and diamonds sure sparkle,” Angela said. “Almost as much as her engagement ring. Look at that rock. It’s bigger than a doorknob. Who took the video? One of Luther’s pals?”
“You kidding? No matter how drunk those old boys were, they knew they looked like assholes. Spilling Forest secrets is a death sentence. I’m guessing some waiter or dishwasher took the video and cashed in. I hope they got paid a mint. This is real fuckin’ reality TV. Look! Here’s a close-up of Kendra’s backside as she tries to drag Luther out.”
Kendra was haloed in the bar light, her form-fitting white dress a beacon. Angela heard Luther’s fiancée say, “You’re tired, sweetie. Let’s go home.”