by Elise Sax
I knew what he meant, but I was hoping he was idiot enough to do just that.
“You hated the bastard?” I asked.
“Did I say that?”
“You mentioned it.”
“Well, between you and me, I might have been in a small business venture with him last year, and it didn’t go so well.”
I remembered the look on Ford’s face when he realized that Brad was in his shop. “And he had come back to be a bastard to you? Something about your small business venture?”
“I don’t know why he was here. I didn’t have a chance to ask him.”
That could have been true or a lie. While I had been stuck in the crowd, I didn’t see where Ford was. He could have snuck to the back room or not.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you killed him,” I said, trying to get him to confess.
“You would like that? Does that turn you on?”
Ew. I didn’t know how to answer. If I said, yes, I was afraid where the conversation would lead, but if I said, no, I wouldn’t get any further in getting him to spill the beans.
“You know, Liz and I are having our weekly key party tonight at seven. We would love to have you join us. You can bring your significant other, if you have one.”
My thumb touched the ring on my finger, and I remembered that I did have a significant other. “Sure,” I said. If Spencer went with me, I wouldn’t have to worry about being murdered or raped. Ford gave me his address. “I’m so happy you’ll be joining us,” he said, and leered at me.
Blech.
I hadn’t gotten him to confess, but maybe at a party after a few drinks, he would spill his guts.
“What the hell is going on in here? Did you kidnap her?” Ruth demanded, storming into the room like a geriatric bulldog. She looked me over, as if she was searching for damage.
“We were just getting to know each other,” Ford told her. “You don’t mind staying out front where we can see you, do you? We don’t want a replay of what you did to our back door.”
“I was just going for a whiz. My bladder’s older than Mount Rushmore, you know.”
“I’ll make sure she behaves,” I told Ford.
“Just make sure you don’t,” he whispered to me and touched my chin. Ruth and I watched him leave the room.
“That man is walking herpes,” Ruth said. “He’s toe fungus. He’s a booger that just won’t go away.”
“I think he might have killed Brad, but I can’t prove it,” I said. “He invited me to his key party tonight, and I’m going to grill him there.”
“His key party? You’re going to a key party?”
“Why is that so crazy? I have keys, you know, Ruth. I have a key to my grandmother’s house and one to my car and one on my key ring that I have no idea what it goes to but I’m afraid to throw away.”
Ruth crossed her arms in front of her. “Do you know what a key party is, girl?”
“A party with keys?” It did sound strange. I had no idea why keys made a party.
“The sixties, Gladie. The sixties. Each woman drops their key into a bowl, and later each man fishes one out, blindly, and goes home with the owner of the key. This explains so much. The Essexes are swingers.”
“Swingers?”
“Swingers. His Donkey Kong is climbing every woman’s Empire State, and her Happy as a Clam is saying how do you do to every man’s Eiffel Tower.”
“I’m so confused, Ruth. I was never good at geography.”
She ignored me and snapped her fingers, as if she was Benjamin Franklin and had discovered electricity. “No wonder I was getting a stink off of them. Their whosits and whatsits are doing the cha-cha all over town. No wonder their coffee tastes like ass.”
“The Essexes are swingers?” I asked, again.
“And they want to swing with you and Spencer, Gladie,” Ruth continued. “Key party. Your key. He wants your key in his keyhole or vice versa. You want that? A little Ford Essex action in your keyhole?”
I shuddered. “Gross,” I said. “I don’t want to swing. I just got the ring. I’m very definitely not a swinger. My Happy as a Clam is happily monogamous. I’m only climbing Spencer’s Eiffel Tower. Are you sure about them? They don’t look like swingers. They look like insurance salesmen from the seventies.”
“Pay attention. This makes complete sense. People coming and going at all hours at this place. The dead body under the floor. Those two are up to no good. I wouldn’t be surprised if they killed Bradford Blythe and someone else besides. I mean, have you heard from Ethel since she sold this place to them?”
“No,” I breathed, even though I had never spoken to Ethel in my life. If I could prove they killed Ethel, it would shine a light on them and away from Bridget.
“We have to dig up that body, Gladie.”
“We have to dig up that body,” I agreed. “Wait a minute. You drank coffee here?”
Ruth pursed her lips and nodded, curtly. “I’m lulling them into a false sense of security.”
“That’s taking one for the team.”
“You’re telling me.”
Then, I saw it. Cradled in the grout between the floor tiles, there was a fingernail. I squatted down and looked more closely. It was an acrylic nail that was painted white, but there was a splash of red on it. Blood.
I picked it up and showed it to Ruth. “It’s Liz Essex’s fingernail,” I said. “I would bet money on it.” But it wasn’t proof of anything. Even if it was Brad’s blood on the nail and Liz was the murderer, she could have explained it away saying she had cleaned the room.
“Meet me at Tea Time at seven,” Ruth instructed me. “I have a way in here. We’ll dig up the body, and those corporate devils will get their due.”
“Seven tonight?”
“Either that, or you can go to your wife swapping party.”
“I’ll see you at seven, Ruth.”
Luckily, Spencer was working late, and Grandma had a friend staying with her. The egg people were in their homes, boiling, and my two matches were on dates. I was free to break and enter and break, again. But I didn’t want to be alone with Ruth, especially since she had a personal vendetta against Buckstars and its owners and probably had access to noxious chemicals. So, I called Lucy and asked her to meet me at Tea Time at seven.
“Should I wear my black outfit, again, darlin’? Is it one of those kinds of meetings?”
“Yes,” I said. “And bring all the night vision goggles you can find.”
When six-thirty came around, I left the house and walked to Tea Time. I was dressed all in black, and I made it to the tea shop without anyone seeing me. Tea Time was dark, and the door was locked. I knocked, and Ruth opened it, immediately, letting me in. She was dressed in black, too.
“I can’t wait until that Buckstars is dead and gone,” she said, smiling wide.
“I hope we can clear Bridget’s name.”
“Yeah, that too,” she said, vaguely.
The door opened, again, and Lucy walked in with her husband, Uncle Harry. Lucy was back in her black, designer outfit, and Harry was in a pinstripe suit. “Hey there, Legs,” he said to me. “I hear we’re robbing a bank.”
“We’re digging up a body,” Ruth said. “But you weren’t invited.”
“I invited him, Ruth,” Lucy said. “So, jump back.”
“Fine. I guess we could use some more muscle.”
“Oh, I brought muscle. Don’t worry about that.” Uncle Harry said.
“And I brought enough night vision goggles,” Lucy said and handed them out.
Ruth slipped hers on over her head. “Good thinking. Someone help me with the jackhammer.”
“You have a jackhammer?” I asked.
“Never robbed a bank with a jackhammer before,” Harry said.
“We’re digging up a body,” I said.
“Never done that, either.”
Ruth signaled to Harry to help her with her jackhammer, which was leaning against a table.
“Rut
h, we can’t use a jackhammer,” Lucy explained in her patient Southern belle voice. “We’ll wake the dead with that thing. We need to get this done on the sly. You don’t want the police showing up, do you?”
“She has a point,” I said and looked at my ring. Spencer wouldn’t take kindly to me breaking and entering and searching for dead bodies in a coffee shop. “We should try to be quiet.”
“You mean I stole this jackhammer from their contractor for nothing?” Ruth said. “No way. Do you know what it takes to steal a jackhammer without getting caught? It weighs more than me. I had to sneak it away from Urijah while his back was turned. I pulled three discs in my back, and I’m pretty sure my belly button is no longer in the same place, if you know what I mean.”
I had no idea what she meant. “Urijah is the contractor for Buckstars?” I asked. The whole thing was becoming incestuous. The Essexes were swinging with God knew who, Ford had done business with Brad, who had met with Urijah, who was Ford and Liz’s contractor. And by the way, also Spencer’s contractor, which meant that he was my contractor. What the hell was going on?
“We need to get under that floor,” I said. It was my only lead to solve the murder and save Bridget from having her baby in jail.
“That’s what I want to hear. Grab the jackhammer,” Ruth ordered Lucy.
“Hold the phone. What’s that?” she asked, pointing. I froze.
“What? Have we been found out?” I asked, looking around with my night vision goggles.
“No,” Lucy said, sounding annoyed. “What’s that on your hand?”
“Oh, this.”
“It’s an engagement ring, of course,” Ruth said. “What do you think it is? Spencer and Gladie are getting married.”
“Wait a second. Wait a second,” Lucy said, putting her arms out, as if she was walking the high wire without a net. “You told Ruth that you got engaged, but you didn’t tell me?”
“She sort of guessed. I was going to tell you, but then all of this happened, and Bridget’s in trouble.”
Lucy looked ashen, even through the lens of the night vision goggles. I had broken the best friend code. I should have called her the first moment that Spencer showed me the ring.
“It just happened,” I said. “Last night.”
“Twenty-four hours?”
“Twenty-five, tops,” I said. “Can you forgive me?”
A smile grew on her face, slowly. “You’re getting married to Spencer! True love has conquered the day! I knew it would happen!”
“The cop is finally settling down,” Uncle Harry said, lighting up a cigar. “It’s like you tagged Bigfoot. Congratulations, Legs. When’s the wedding?”
“The wedding?” I asked. I hadn’t actually thought of the wedding. I didn’t want to be the center of attention and walk down the aisle with Wagner playing.
“Can we focus, people?” Ruth asked. “We have a dead body to dig up. You can figure out bridesmaids’ dresses at another time.”
“Bridesmaids’ dresses, Gladie. You hear that?” Lucy asked.
Oh, God. Bridesmaids’ dresses. What had I done?
“We’re standing around like morons in night vision goggles. We have to be serious. There’s a dead body to dig up before the swingers come back from their orgy party.”
“Who’s a swinger at an orgy party?” Lucy asked.
“The Buckstars owners,” I explained. “They’re swingers.”
Lucy slammed her hand down on a table. “There are swingers in this little town? Nobody ever tells me anything!”
“Tick, tock,” Ruth said. “Are we doing this or what?”
We were doing it. Ruth agreed to leave her stolen jackhammer behind because it would be too noisy. Uncle Harry had brought two of his “assistants” with him, plus a couple shovels. Along with the jackhammer, Ruth had stolen the alarm key, and she pushed the code into the keypad. Our criminal group walked inside. It was already a miracle that we hadn’t been spotted by someone, but thankfully, the town was either boiling eggs or bonking strangers.
“This is going to be hard without a jackhammer,” Ruth grumbled.
“I told you that I brought muscle,” Harry insisted, and he signaled to his two men, who put their shovels aside and pulled out guns from their jackets.
“What the hell?” I said.
They shot a flurry of bullets into the floor. The tile went flying. When they were done, I slapped my hands on my ears, which were ringing. “That’s not quieter than a jackhammer!” Ruth yelled. The guns were loud enough to wake the dead. We froze and waited for the police to come.
But nobody came. It was a miracle.
“All right. Start digging,” Harry ordered his men.
“I can’t believe they shot up the floor,” Ruth grumbled. “And you guys acted like I was stupid for stealing a jackhammer.”
The two men made quick work of the floor. They ripped up every inch of the store, trying to find a dead person. Buckstars looked like it had been bombed. There was tile and dirt everywhere. The tables and chairs were piled high in the corner. We had to stand at the doorway in order not to fall into the deep holes. The men dug down six feet before we found something.
“What is it?” Ruth asked.
“It’s a body part,” Lucy said. “Maybe an arm?’
“That ain’t no arm,” Harry said.
“It’s not a body,” I said. “I don’t even think that’s human.”
One of Uncle Harry’s men picked it up and raised it over his head. “It’s a dildo. They killed a dildo!”
“They buried a dildo?” Ruth said. “What kind of sick people are they?”
Since we were standing in what looked a battlefield in World War One, I didn’t feel right talking about the sickness of other people.
“Holy crap,” Lucy breathed. “They really are swingers.”
“Where’s the body? There was supposed to be a body,” I said.
“We could bust through the walls,” one of Uncle Harry’s men suggested. “Walls are good for hiding bodies.”
“What have we done?” I asked, taking stock of the rubble that once was Buckstars.
“Right?” Ruth said. “This is better than flooding the bathrooms. What should we do with the dildo? I have some Superglue. We could stick it to the front door.”
“I’m a bad person,” I breathed. “I’ve destroyed a business.” I had turned into a criminal, all because I didn’t want Bridget to be accused of being a criminal. I had gone over to the dark side. “I can’t even afford to make it right. I’m not an expert, but I bet that a new floor costs more than twenty-seven bucks and a five-dollar gift card to Barnes & Noble.”
“Who gave you a gift card to Barnes & Noble?” Lucy asked me.
“Okay, fine. Just twenty-seven bucks.”
“I don’t know what’s eating you, Gladie,” Ruth said. “I’ve never felt happier. I’ve got cocaine-level endorphins running through me. These Buckstars people are bad.”
I had been hoping that they were murderers. Burying a dildo was not on the same level as murder. “I’m a criminal. I’m a vandal.”
Uncle Harry put his arm around my shoulders. “You’re just in a slump. Normally, you peg the killer right off. This time you were off a little. Everyone hits a rough patch. Would it make you feel better if I leave some cash for the dildo people? Enough so that they can rebuild or buy more dildos, whichever they prefer?”
“Would you?”
“Sure.”
I was relieved that the Essexes would be reimbursed for our vandalism, but I was worried that Harry was right about my slump. I wasn’t any closer to solving the mystery of Brad’s murder, and now I wasn’t sure I would ever prove Bridget’s innocence.
CHAPTER 13
Nothing good happens after midnight. If your matches aren’t home in bed by then, they’re only asking for trouble. You ever hear of Cinderella? That was just the tip of the iceberg, dolly.
Lesson 104, Matchmaking advice from your
Gr
andma Zelda
I slept the sleep of the deeply ashamed, which ironically meant that I slept like a rock. I didn’t even hear Spencer when he came to bed in the middle of the night. It was the kind of sleep without dreams, which was out of the ordinary for me.
A little before six in the morning, I woke up with a start when the doorbell rang. Spencer was still asleep next to me, snoring up a storm. Who could be at the door before six? I thought back to the shootout at Buckstars and was sure that the cops had come to get me. But not the regular cops.
The vandalism cops.
“Oh, my God. The vandalism cops are after me,” I whispered.
I didn’t want to go to jail. The doorbell rang, again. Spencer stirred. It wouldn’t be good for me if Spencer knew the vandalism cops were after me. It also wouldn’t be good to wake my grandmother, because she was still recovering and needed her sleep. I hopped out of bed and put on a pair of sweats.
After closing the door to my bedroom, I took the stairs two and a time and answered the door. The entire Easter egg hunt committee was there. They pushed past me and stormed into the parlor.
“It’s a disaster,” Josephine complained, throwing her hands up. It was the first time I had seen her without makeup. Her hair was frizzy and tied back in a ponytail. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
“I’ve boiled fifteen thousand eggs,” Griffin moaned. He was wearing pajama bottoms and a UCLA sweatshirt. “All for nothing.”
“The horror! The horror!” the mayor bellowed. Normally dapper and well-dressed, he was wearing the same thing I was, sweats and a t-shirt. The whole committee looked like they had been pulled out of their beds. The only one wearing real clothes was the world record man, who had on a suit with a half-buttoned shirt, no tie, and his briefcase clutched to his chest, as if he was worried that someone was going to steal it. He had the unmistakable look of a visitor thrust into the bizarro world of Cannes.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Alice.
“It looks like the hunt is being called off on account of murderers and drug dealers.”