by Elaine Viets
“This early?” howled a hanger-on. “You’re losing it, Luther.”
“Losing it? I can go all night long.” Luther’s leer showed obviously false teeth.
“Kendra’s frantic to get him out of there,” Katie said. “Watch this. He’s grabbing her ass on CBS and air-fucking.”
“God, I love this heart-shaped ass. I’m up for anything. And I do mean up.” Luther bucked his hips suggestively, and his dog pack sniggered. “It’s magnificent. Any of you fucking anything this good? Kendra has the hottest ass in Chouteau County. In Saint Louis. No . . .”—Luther flung his arms wide—“the whole state of Missouri. Hell, the United States and Mexico.”
“She should have punched him and walked out,” Angela said.
“Sh! Here’s where he insults Priscilla. I hope she had a stiff drink at the club before she saw Luther say this.”
“Let me tell you, this little greaser gal is one hot tamale. Not like my dead-ass wife.”
“I almost feel sorry for Priscilla,” Angela said.
“Me, too, except I know she’s a major shit disturber. Just when she thought it was safe to shovel Luther six feet under, Luther insults her from beyond the grave. Look at Kendra, still trying to get him to leave, pulling his arm.”
On the video, Luther slapped Kendra’s round rump. “She knows how to dress to please a man.” He extended his pinkie and minced his words. “No lady would dare wear anything that tight. Kendra’s so deliciously low-class. That’s why I’m getting the best sex of my life.”
“Please, Luther, let’s go home,” Kendra said. But his friends howled like demons, and their bawdy comments encouraged him. Luther bragged, “She even lets me smoke in my house. She furnished it herself, too. Stuff you can enjoy. No pansy-ass decorators. No antiques.”
“Except for you, Luther,” someone yelled over the hoots.
“Our great room really is a great room, where I kick back in a big, fat recliner, watch my sixty-inch flat screen, and smoke cigars. In the house. Any of you do that? She doesn’t mind a few cigar burns, not even after I accidentally set a chair on fire. And it wasn’t the first fire in that house. Won’t be the last, either.”
“Why didn’t she dump him and walk out?” Angela asked.
“Who knows? Here’s the last part.”
Kendra said, “Please, sweetie, let’s go home.”
This time, he looked at her face instead of grabbing her body. “You’re right, love bug. Boys, I’m going home for a sweet piece of Mexican ass. This,”—he gulped down what Angela guessed was Viagra with the rest of his Dos Equis beer—“and this”—he grabbed Kendra’s backside again—“guarantee hot sex. Expect to hear about another fire tonight. The flames will be in my bedroom.”
The manicurist’s face was scarlet, though Angela couldn’t tell if Kendra’s deep-red color was caused by shame or anger. Eduardo, the restaurant owner, arrived and guided Luther toward the door. The video followed Luther’s black shirt. Then it was over.
Angela sat in stunned silence and then said, “What a pig.”
“That video will poison the jury pool,” Katie said. “They’ll say he predicted his own death. Anyone who sees this will assume Kendra had a good reason to kill him.”
“So did Priscilla. And his daughter, Eve.”
“And Jose, Kendra’s father.” Katie returned to her quiche.
“Did Luther ever do anything but make sleazy money?” Angela took a sip of strong coffee. She needed it.
“He gave money to underprivileged children’s programs. He seemed to feel sorry for them—at least sorry enough to write an occasional check.”
“You’re telling me that perv was a good guy,” Angela said.
“No, I’m not. But he’s got a few redeeming qualities, which is more than I can say for the brainless boobs in the bar. Luther even read, which made the others suspicious, but it was mostly military history. They forgave him because he was so rich.”
“I can see he had money,” Angela said. “And he wasn’t afraid to wear it.”
“Those cowboy boots are handmade American alligator tail. I saw a pair online for thirteen thousand dollars.”
“Why did he dress like that?” Angela finally managed a forkful of quiche.
“That’s how Luther rebelled. Cowboy clothes may not seem like much of a rebellion, but they’re radical for the tight-asses who run the Forest. I kinda felt sorry for the old boy. His life was mapped out at birth. There was only one place for him to go to school, one way to dress, and one career—running his family’s payday-loan scam. He didn’t want to do it but didn’t have the guts to tell his rich family to go to hell.”
“How do you know so much about Luther?”
“He’s friends with our boss. You’re hardly ever in the office, but Luther was there all the time. He’d kick back in Evarts’s office and leave the door open. Once those two started shooting the shit, I was the invisible woman.”
“With big ears.”
“Not my fault they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. In the ’70s, Luther knuckled under and married Priscilla Du Pres, from the finest Forest old money, and settled into the family business. I’m surprised Luther’s dick wasn’t too frostbitten to screw Kendra.” Angela choked on a bite of her quiche. Katie was forthright and foulmouthed. “Last year, Luther’s father died and left him in charge of the company. Luther had money to burn.”
“Katie!”
“Okay, Luther had no one to rein him in. He went off the rails and took up with his manicurist—and yours.”
“Kendra delivers the best gossip.”
“Now she’s the best gossip,” Katie said. “Kendra refused to shack up with him, and Luther liked that. Gave him a chance to fuck with his well-bred wife. Didn’t matter how important she was—Priscilla was a joke when her soon-to-be ex was nailing a nail technician, and a Mexican one at that. When Luther married Kendra, he’d be barred from Forest society. He couldn’t wait.”
“No more stupid fancy dress parties at the Women’s Club,” Angela said.
“Yep. Luther moved out of their mansion and exiled himself in Olympia Forest Estates. Too bad he didn’t get to live happily ever after. Thanks to this video, he’s still screwing with Priscilla from beyond the grave.”
There was a moment of silence while they pondered the enormity of Luther’s social sins. Angela finished her strawberries. “Have you found any interviews with the Forest creatures?”
“They wouldn’t dare. They’re all running for cover and bolting their doors. The Toonerville folks are another matter. They can’t wait to talk to the national media. They hit town two hours after this hit YouTube. Here’s part of an interview with Luther’s former driver.” She called it up on her iPhone.
A thin, gray-haired man somewhere in his seventies was shaking his head and telling a reporter, “I can’t believe the old boy’s dead. He was a force of nature. Generous, too. When I retired, he gave me a nice chunk of change and said, ‘Go have some fun while you still can.’ The old boy lived life the way he wanted and went out with a bang. What more could a man want?”
Katie glanced up from her phone. “That’s all I can find. You know no one in the Forest will say a word to the press. They’ve got their drawbridges up and the boiling oil ready if any reporters land on their doorsteps.”
“What about The Scoop?” Angela asked.
“Damn, I must be brain dead. How could I forget that scandal rag? Let me call it up.”
“Any idea who writes that blog?”
“Not a clue,” Katie said. “But if you want to make a quick ten thou, Old Man Du Pres is offering ten large for that information. No takers, so far. We’re all having too much fun reading it. Ah, here it is. Read it carefully, Angela, and then keep your ears open. The Scoop has poured more gasoline on this fire, and we’re going to have to work hard if we want to save Kendra.”
There was the website’s distinctive header: The Chouteau Forest Scoop in curly script above a row of horses’ rear e
nds. Under the horses was this slogan: THE SCOOP ON THE HORSES’ ASSES WHO RUN THE FOREST—AND WE MEAN NO DISRESPECT TO OUR EQUINE FRIENDS.
It was a sad day when pedigreed horndog and notable barfly Luther Ridley Delor burned to death in his Olympia Forest Estates mansion. Flames twenty feet high shot out of the roof. Did the devil come to fetch his soul? We at The Scoop have good sources, but they’re not that good. Before he went for the final roundup, Luther gave us some infernally good entertainment his last night at Forest hangout Gringo Daze.
“The Scoop was at Gringo Daze?” Angela said. “The blogger has to be one of the local bigwigs.”
“What? Nobody in Toonerville knows how to write? Go back to reading.”
The Scoop happened to be on the scene to witness Luther’s last performance, and we give it five stars. Never in Forest history has there been so much public ass slapping (and what a firm, young ass it is) and spouse dissing. Luther basically called his wife, Priscilla, a lousy lay. Don’t look so shocked. Priscilla is a new widow, but we don’t think she’s crying in her beer over Luther’s loss. Excuse us, in her manhattan. Our friends at the Chouteau Forest Women’s Club say Pris likes a stiff one in the afternoon, but not from Luther.
“Now that’s a low blow,” Angela said.
“Shut up and read.”
Luther died in a blaze of glory. (Hey, we couldn’t resist.) So who killed Luther? We’re seeing more horseshit than a stable hand. The Forest is divided on whether “the Mexicans”—the Salvatos, father and daughter—had help. Some witnesses say they actually saw another dastardly evildoer. The dastard was a mysterious black man. You know, the dude who commits all the crimes against white folks. We find ourselves agreeing—maybe for the first time—with two local grandees: Ann Burris and Dr. Bryan Berry. Yes, they’re rich and connected, but those two refuse to follow the crowd. The Forest’s glamour couple believe all the fires were started by the Forest arsonist. And, they say there’s more than one arsonist. But wait, there’s more! Ann and Bryan say the arsonist is a local Thoroughbred. Hard to believe, right? The whole Forest knows Toonerville kids are setting the fires because Our Kind would never do that.
CHAPTER 11
Day two
Later that same morning, a tentative knock at Angela’s door dragged her away from her housecleaning.
“Ms. Richman?” A man’s voice.
More knocking. Angela peeked out her kitchen window and saw a sparkling white truck and trailer emblazoned with crossed flags and PROUD AMERICAN LAWN SERVICE in red, white, and blue.
Jose Salvato’s lawn service. Kendra’s father was at the front door.
Angela set down her dust rag and grabbed her cane. She’d seen Jose around the Forest but had never formally met him. Up close, she could see where Kendra got her beauty: Jose was a lean, tanned man with a chiseled face and black hair lightly silvered with gray. He was neatly dressed in a clean, dark-blue work uniform with his company’s logo.
He spoke formal English with a slight Spanish accent. “Forgive me, Ms. Richman. You don’t know me, but my daughter says you are always nice to her at Killer Cuts. I am here to see you. She needs help.”
“Come in. Let’s sit in the living room and talk. I’m sorry Kendra’s having problems. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Ice water? Beer or wine?”
“Nothing, thank you. I’m not going to stay long.” Jose glanced around the book-lined living room, then perched on the leather couch as if he were about to bolt for the door. “I understand you’re investigating the death of Luther Delor, my daughter’s fiancé.”
“I did investigate Luther’s death, Mr. Salvato, but—”
“Jose, please.”
“And I’m Angela. My investigation was at the death scene. I did the body actualization—I photographed and noted the damage to his body, and then I investigated the room where he died. I’ve turned in my report to the medical examiner. Dr. Evans will release his autopsy findings today, but the actual investigation is being done by the fire department’s Doug Hachette and police detective Ray Greiman.”
“I know, Ms. Richman, but they’ve already made up their minds that my daughter is guilty. She’s living with us now. She was afraid to go to her apartment because of the press. She cannot work. Everyone canceled their manicures, except you. You must believe she’s innocent.”
“I have a hard time believing Kendra could set a man on fire. But—”
Jose rushed in with “See, I knew it. Everyone else says she killed Luther.”
“Unfortunately, there’s evidence against her, Jose. Physical evidence. And what happened at Gringo Daze the night Luther died didn’t help. The whole Forest was there, and someone recorded his drunken rampage.”
Jose winced and studied his calloused hands. “That’s another reason why Kendra is living with us. She can hardly bear to leave home after that terrible video. My beautiful daughter has been shamed all over the country. The world! The names people call her! The e-mail! It’s disgusting. I admit I never liked Luther, but he was her fiancé. Not the best choice, maybe, but she wanted to marry him.”
“Why?” Angela knew it was rude, but she had to ask.
Jose sighed and settled back into the couch. “She’d been badly hurt by another man. The people here in the Forest, they seem nice and polite, but they can be mean to outsiders. Her mother and I weren’t born in the United States, but we became citizens. We are proud to be Americans. You can succeed here if you work hard. We did everything to help Kendra fit in. I wanted to name my daughter Graciela after her mother, but Gracie insisted her daughter have a modern, American name. We sent her to the high school where the best families go. It was a sacrifice, but she’s a smart girl and we wanted to give her every opportunity.”
Jose and Gracie must be doing well, Angela thought. The Chouteau Forest Academy was thirty grand a year.
“Her mother and I wanted Kendra to go to college. She made good grades, and we wanted her to work with her brain. But Kendra refused. She wanted to go to beauty college, which is not the same. Still, it was an honorable living. She was hired at Killer Cuts right after graduation. Her mother and I thought she would meet good people. She started dating Bunny Hobart. He’s a doctor.”
“I met him at the hospital.” Angela’s voice was flat.
Jose picked up her guarded tone. “Bunny! What kind of name is that for a man? Gracie said we should be glad our daughter was going out with a young man who had a good job and a future. Kendra was sure he would marry her, but he didn’t propose. She never told me what happened, but she was very upset. Her mother said I should leave her alone—losing your first love was painful. I followed her advice. Kendra started dating Luther.
“Now my beautiful daughter is shamed all over the country and branded a killer. If she was going to kill anyone, it would have been Bunny. She didn’t care enough about Luther to murder him. She’s going to be arrested any day now. Her mother and I will give all we have to save her. Kendra is rich and can pay you more.”
He handed Angela a check. Her eyes bulged when she saw the zeros—$20,000. She handed him back the check.
“That’s very generous, Jose, but I can’t investigate on Kendra’s behalf. It’s not my job. You need a good lawyer. You should call Montgomery Bryant. Monty’s a respected attorney who dates Dr. Katie Kelly Stern. Do you know him?”
“Yes, I cut his grass.”
Angela had one chance to clear up a mystery about Luther’s death. “The fire department found one of your gasoline containers at Luther’s house. Did you leave one behind?”
“I don’t know. Renaldo, the new man, is careless. He could have lost it. Who cares?”
“It could make you a suspect. There are witnesses who said they saw you at Luther’s house.”
“I was there. Like I said, I didn’t kill Luther, but I would sacrifice my life to save my daughter.”
Jose shook her hand and left. She watched him back his rig out of her driveway. Would Jose be railroaded for Luthe
r’s murder? Worse, would he confess to a crime he didn’t commit to save his daughter?
CHAPTER 12
Day two
As soon as Jose left, Angela called Katie and was grateful her friend picked up her phone on the third ring. “Jose just tried to hire me to investigate Luther’s death. He told me a little bit about why Kendra took up with Luther. He says she was in love with Bunny Hobart, and he broke her heart.”
“Could be. I heard fuckface was dating one of the Du Pres girls—what was her name? Emmy? No, Esme. That’s it. He was using Kendra as a fuck buddy while Esme was away at school.”
“Poor Kendra thought he was serious.”
“So the dickhead sweet-talked her into bed. He’s the lowest of the low.”
“Snake’s-basement low. I don’t think Jose knows the whole story about what happened between Kendra and Bunny. She’s living at home now, and the media have the house under siege. Know anyone I can talk to?”
“Yeah, Mario at Killer Cuts. Women tell their hairdressers everything—they hear more confessions than priests. He was her boss. Talk to him. And Connie. Consuelo. She’s working here at SOS now. Used to work for Luther and Priscilla. Connie’s good friends with the family, and Kendra calls her Aunt Connie. I usually see her outside about noon. I’ll ask her. If you don’t hear from me, that means the meeting is on. Stop by the picnic area at noon and I’ll introduce you.”
At noon, Angela was outside at the SOS employee picnic area behind the medical examiner’s office, waiting for Katie. The small concrete pad was used mostly by low-level hospital staff. Angela rarely went there. The place gave her the creeps. The only view was of the mortuary and funeral-home vans loading and unloading bodies. Two women wearing the maroon scrubs of the hospital laundry department munched sandwiches at one table. At another, two cleaners in dark-blue scrubs picked at salads. Angela took an open table and watched a black body bag being wheeled into a funeral home’s black van. Katie came out the ME’s door and waved. “Connie will be right out. She’s nuking her lunch. I have to work.”