Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven

by Robin Ray

CHAPTER 25

  Strolling down the narrow dirt road that cuts a swath right through the efficiently planted grounds of Exotic Roots, Gregory read the names of a few plants he encountered – Wild Klip Dagga, Sacha Peanut, Jicama, White Leaf Hibiscus, Awapuhi Ginger, and several others. Being the curious PI that he was, he paused to smell some of the flora, half of which had odors so pungent they made homeless bum drawers smell like potpourri. Eww, he thought, I’d rather smell rhino farts than this. As he neared the 5th greenhouse, he could hear world instrumental music coming from inside. The jumpy rhythms reminded him of the jazz he usually enjoyed, although this one with its heavy reliance on a mandolin-type stringed instrument made it all the more fascinating. Opening the glass door, he entered and, immediately, was bombarded with the cornucopia of sweet and unique scents from the various flowering shrubs in the house.

  Gazing around, he absorbed as much of the greenhouse as he could. Plants of varying shapes and sizes sprouted everywhere, some just knee high, some as tall as mango trees. Rows of narrow pipes across the ceiling misted the foliage every minute. A few customers were sampling some of the edible flowers while others were reading manuals or informational tags about the unusual plants. Towards the back, the good PI spotted an employee who was busy pulling off the dead leaves from several botanical specimens. The clerk, he noticed, was very colorful with her psychedelic bamboo slippers, purplish pants, flowery blue and white tunic, rows of bangles on each wrist, several beaded chains around her neck, and a pink strip of cloth enmeshed in her long brown hair. As Gregory neared her, he could hear her humming along to the music playing over the virtual speakers high up in the corners of the center.

  “Excuse me,” he introduced himself, “I was told Janis Joplin works back here.”

  The employee turned and glanced at him. “You found her, babe.”

  “Hi, Janis,” the PI introduced himself. “I’m Gregory Angelicus. And…”

  “Oh, Lord,” she moaned, flinging the twigs in her hand down. “Another angel. What’d I do now?”

  “Oh, no,” he stated quickly, “I’m not an angel. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?” she asked, eyeing the intruder with suspicion through her circular yellow sunglasses.

  Gregory looked around momentarily. “Is there some place we can talk?”

  “Sure,” she answered, crossing her arms. “You’re standing in it.”

  “It’s about Amy Winehouse,” he explained.

  The legendary blues singer turned and went back to pruning the plants as if she was never interrupted, resuming the tune she was humming before.

  “You’ve got me wrong, Ms. Joplin,” Gregory insisted. “I didn’t want to get saddled with this investigation, but the fact that one of us is dead because of a stolen soul, that creates a lot of trouble through all the heavens.”

  “Wait,” the singer said, peering at the PI. “Did you just say ‘stolen soul?’

  “Stolen, ripped off, extracted, removed, stripped, whatever,” he elucidated. “Ms. Winehouse’s soul is gone.”

  “Really?” Janis started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I always thought she had no soul to begin with,” the singer gargled.

  Gregory shook his head. “I take it you two didn’t get along.”

  “Listen, man,” she said, “it’s one thing to want to be a good singer; takes a lot of work, you know what I mean. But when you’re just copping me to make a few bucks, that’s bad, man.”

  “You didn’t think she was original?”

  “Didn’t have an original bone in her body,” Janis swore.

  “Some people would beg to differ.”

  “They can get on their knees and beg all they want,” she insisted. “I don’t care. I’ll tell you what, man. All these cats come around, throw a few notes across some chords, you know, kinda just slide over the top of the music, but they’re not in it, you know what I mean? They don’t feel it. The way they sing, it don’t grab me, man. It just don’t.”

  “Maybe she has a different style,” the detective suggested.

  “You ever heard her sing?” Joplin asked.

  “No,” he professed. “I’ve actually never heard of her till I got here.”

  “How long you been here?” she wondered.

  “One week,” he replied, pride buried in his voice.

  “How’s it working out so far?” she asked.

  “A lot of people to interview, that’s for sure,” he admitted. “I had a young partner but, I don’t know, kinda got sucked up into this place.”

  Janis shrugged, resuming her work. “That ain’t unusual.”

  “He’s been missing for over a day now,” the PI pleaded, “and for a tiny town like this, that would seem fairly difficult.”

  “Did you check the hospital?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have thought…”

  “Hey, man,” she said, stopping to look at him, “you haven’t caught on yet, huh? This is paradise. Let your freak flag fly, you know what I mean? The sky’s the limit. Throw everything to the wind. That’s the first lesson you learn. The second one is all that partying comes with a price. Check the hospital.”

  “Thanks,” he promised. “I’ll do that.”

  “I’m gonna take a break, Gregory,” she said abruptly. “You want something to drink?”

  Ten minutes later, Janis and the PI were sitting at a pine table in the small café towards the back of Exotic Roots. A pitcher of wheat ale sat on the table between them as well as a large bowl of Calico corn chips and salsa. Customers and workers strolled past intermittently, some pushing shopping carts, others simply checking out the goods on display all around the store.

  “How was your relationship with Ms. Winehouse?” Gregory asked her, scooping a chip in the jalapeno and cilantro-soaked dip.

  Janis, smoking a cigarette, laid it aside to answer the PI’s question. “What’s that word they use – tepid?”

  “Were you jealous of her?”

  “Amy Winehouse?” Janis winced. “Oh, hell no. She ain’t got nothing I want.”

  “But maybe she wanted something you got?”

  “Like what?” the blues singer asked, helping herself to the appetizer.

  “Well,” Gregory noted, “there aren’t too many young women around. It would make sense that a looker like you would get all the attention.”

  “Oh, I’ve been here for years,” she explained. “I’ve seen all the tramps come and go. They’re not all that, man. Just groupies, you know? These guys don’t take ‘em seriously. It ain’t about love; more like pride and satisfaction, that’s it.”

  “It’s said Amy specifically requested to come here just to meet you, her hero.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet,” Janis said, faux blushing through the ordeal.

  “You don’t sound like you believe that,” the PI doubted.

  “Man, I’m not a palm reader, you know?” she insisted. “What do they call those cats with the cards?”

  “Tarot readers?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Don’t have the gift. Just a singer in a rock and roll band.”

  “As with everyone else,” the PI requested, “Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, would you mind taking a polygraph test?”

  Janis took a deep drag of her cigarette and exhaled. “I did already.”

  Gregory softened his tone a bit. “I do have a different approach.”

  “Then put it out of your mind,” the blues singer barked. “I ain’t going through that shit again. All them wires across my chest makes me, ugh, claustrophobic.”

  “So, you refuse the polygraph?” he asked her.

  “Hey,” she submitted, “I know no one has the authority to force a lie test on me, so I’ll make a statement if it’ll make y’all happy. You can even write it down, but I ain’t going through that shit again. They didn’t learn anything the last time. I barely made their needles move.
You’d think I had no heartbeat or something. Check the papers. It should all be there somewhere.”

  “I will,” Gregory promised, sipping his drink. “Did you go to the rally?”

  “I’m all about love, man, not politics.” She started singing with her raspy voice.

  “Summertime, time, time, child, the livin’s easy.

  Fish are jumpin’ out and the cotton, Lord, cotton’s high, Lord, so high.

  Your daddy’s rich an’ your ma is so good lookin’, baby. She’s lookin’ good now.

  Hush baby, baby, baby, baby, baby. No, no, no, no, don’t you cry.”

  “Gorgeous,” Gregory applauded her as well as some customers who were sitting by.

  “I try,” she conceded, bowing. “It’s all I can do.”

  “Have any plans for the future?” he asked.

  “The future?” The blues singer started laughing again. “Man, there ain’t no future. You kinda, just, sail on through, like a cloud in the sky.”

  “Or you can move up,” Gregory said, pointing to the ceiling.

  “What you’re suggesting is I become a nun,” Janis said, drinking some beer.

  “Nah, that ain’t me,” the ex-cop insisted. “That would be proselytizing. Not my thing.”

  “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, though,” she stated. “You know, I’m just a simple down home girl from Port Arthur, Texas. Mama scheduled classes in college, papa was a Texaco man. I sang in a choir and went to the Church of Christ. I wasn’t all that faithful, though. Once I started listening to Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith, Billie Holliday, Odetta, Big Mama Thornton…all I wanted to do was sing the blues, you know? Pop was okay, but the blues, you can feel that right here,” she said, tapping the spot above her heart. “So, yeah, me becoming a nun won’t be that much of a stretch, but at this point, ain’t no redemption for Janis Lyn Joplin.”

  The PI shook his head. “You’re selling yourself short.”

  “See?” she asked, puffing out a lungful of smoke. “Now it sounds like you’re preaching.”

  “Sorry, Janis,” Gregory apologized. “I don’t mean to sound that way. I’d never go against you like the angels.”

  “I don’t hate the angels.”

  “No?”

  “No, man,” she explained. “You must’ve met a lot of disgruntled babies who can’t stand the angels breathing down their necks. That ain’t me. We get along fine.”

  “I just noticed that some people don’t trust ‘em.”

  “They’re just doing their job, man,” Janis promised. “Nothing more. Everybody got a job to do, don’t we? I think that’s how the universe stays balanced.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Say, Gregory, hate to bust up this party an’ all, but I gotta get back to the plants.”

  “That’s fine, Janis,” the PI said. “I learned a lot today.”

  “Well, I’m much obliged,” she responded after which they stood up and shook hands.

  “I’m gonna take your advice and head over to the hospital,” the PI promised.

  “Hey man,” she said, “if there’s anything I can do to help your stay up here be a pleasant one, feel free to drop by the 27 Club before it turns into a Bed & Breakfast.”

  “A Bed & Breakfast?”

  “Yeah,” she stated. “Amy’s idea. She had this idea about killing two birds with one stone – work part-time in the water company and convert the house into a bed & breakfast. At least part of it anyway.”

  “What do the others at 27 say about that?”

  “We like the idea,” she answered. “It’ll keep our blue cards filled up, but I don’t think all of us were as keen on the idea as Amy was. And it’s surprising, really, since she had no plans to stay in this heaven at all. But the boys went for it; who am I to complain?”

  “I see,” Gregory nodded. “That’s my first time hearing about that plan.”

  “Well, it really wasn’t a plan,” Janis mused. “Just some idea she was throwing around. I really don’t think anybody took her seriously because they thought her heart was in the music.”

  “Did she ever mention putting her singing behind her for the new venture?”

  “A few times, actually,” Janis recollected. “Probably why she was so hell bent on it.”

  “Thanks, Janis,” Gregory shook her hand again. “You’ve been helpful.”

  “Anytime,” she winked. “Look me up. Don’t be a stranger.”