“Did he say Anita shot him?”
An angry snort. “No, but of course it was Anita. I begged him to let me take him to the E.R. but he refused. I should have called the police, I know, but Mel was the sort of man who insisted on having his way in everything. I got him out of that bloody shirt and pressed a towel against the wound.” The shaking hand reached for her wineglass. I handed it to her; she drank it dry.
“I cleaned the wound, smeared on some Neosporin, put on a bandage. Not an easy thing to do—Mel kept squirming. Then I gave him some clean clothes to put on.”
“A Hawaiian shirt and shorts,” I said.
“Yes, they’d belonged to my late husband.”
“And then?”
Gigi eyed the empty wine bottle and sighed. “Then I went to bed. I left Mel on the couch. I told him he could stay the night, but when I woke the next morning he was gone. Later I learned he was dead.”
“What did you do with Mel’s old clothes?”
A flurry of blinks. “At first I put them in the hamper, but when I heard that Mel had been murdered, I got scared and threw them away. That was wrong, I know, but I was frightened. And I know I should have called the police, even though Mel didn’t want me to. But Mel was used to having his way and I was used to giving it to him. Maybe...maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
“What time did Mel leave your house?” I asked.
“I don’t know, probably not long after I went to bed—he was in a fever to leave. I should have stayed up with him, but I was so tired. And nothing I could say would make him stay, once he had a mind to go.”
“Why was he so desperate to leave?”
A manic grin split her face and the green eyes fixed on me. Her chest heaved, the smooth face contorted, and the wrinkled hands worked in her lap. She was in the grip of some strong emotion, but I needed answers.
“Talk to me, Gigi!”
Gigi popped to her feet like a jack-in-the-box and pointed at my feet. Jinks, who had been curled there, raised his head and stared at the accusing finger, ears pricked.
“You want to know why Mel left? I’ll tell you.” Gigi said, spittle flying. “During the fight with Anita, Jinks had run off, and so naturally Mel had to find him. He left me to look for that stupid fucking dog!”
The stupid fucking dog sprang to his feet, stout body taut, clouded eyes focused on Gigi.
I scooped him into my lap, held tight. “Gigi, there’s no need to get excited.” But she didn’t hear me, and Jinks rumbled like a hot rod.
“If Mel hadn’t left me that night, nothing bad would have happened.”
A peal of frantic yaps and Jinks squirmed from my hands, lunging at the hysterical woman. “Jinks, settle.” I reached for the collar, but too late.
“If it weren’t for fucking Mr. Jinks, Mel would be alive!”
And then a roiling scream as Jinks’s sharp teeth sank into the soft flesh of Gigi Tajani’s crimson-painted big toe.
* * *
Thirty minutes later Gigi Tajani reclined on her lavender divan like Goya’s Maja, propped with pillows and purring like a kitten on Valium. To complete the scene I placed a fresh bottle of chardonnay and remote control within reach. From within the bathroom Mr. Jinks kept up his yapping. Gigi glanced at the closed bathroom door and shivered delicately.
“If you change your mind and decide to see a doctor, let me know and I’ll take care of the bill.” I hoped Gigi would show some sense, or lacking that, compassion. The wound was no more than a scratch, but even scratches cost money, money I didn’t have. Well, maybe I could bill Julie Breyer for it—the cost of the investigation and all that.
“I’ll be all right,” Gigi said, reaching for the chardonnay.
“Let me.” I uncorked the wine and poured.
“Thank you—ahh.” A little sip and Gigi eased back into the mass of silken pillows, her contentment palpable. As Jinks was momentarily silent—to catch his breath, no doubt—and Gigi the same, I dared pose a final question.
Earlier Gigi had said that for many years the group of friends had been happy with one another’s company. Fairley had said the same. I wanted to know when the first fractures of dissent had appeared among them. Gigi considered the question, the emerald eyes focused inward for once.
To my surprise Gigi’s answer was immediate and certain. “Everything changed after Harry died—that’s when it began.”
When Harry Sable died—was that when the snake had slithered into paradise?
* * *
After Jinks’s meltdown at Gigi’s I couldn’t take him to my meeting with Busy. My stomach growled, reminding me that these past days I had subsisted on coffee and alcohol. The Grub and Grog was just down the road, so why not kill two birds?
Five minutes later I found José Barracas sitting on the deserted patio of the Grub and Grog, staring at the rain. His ashen face sagged, and he looked more tired than a man had a right to be, but there was something different in his eyes.
“Take a load off,” he said, gesturing to an empty chair at his table.
I sat and Jinks immediately collapsed at my feet, exhausted from his exertions. I did a quick three-sixty. “Open for lunch?” The restaurant’s interior was as empty as the patio.
“Yeah, it’s the crappy weather. These people think they’ll melt in the rain.” A half laugh and he gestured at Jinks. “I see you have your partner with you, so I guess this is official business.”
“I just need a favor.” I explained my need for a dog-sitter.
“Sure, I’ll watch the mutt for you, Addie.” A shaky hand raised the coffee mug, which for once contained coffee. “Your buddies from GCSO were here earlier. I told ’em the truth, at least the truth I can remember. There’s a lot I don’t remember.” He sipped his coffee, watched the rain. “Funny thing is, I don’t mind the blackouts. It’s the flashes of memory that scare me, with each one worse than the other. I don’t know what’s real anymore and what’s not.”
“Go easy on yourself,” I said.
“It’s just that my life is fucked and I don’t know how it got so fucked. All this shit was going on around me and I was clueless. But that’s what my life has become—a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Maybe if I hadn’t been living in a bottle things would have been different.”
“Things could always be different,” I told him, “but that doesn’t always mean better. It is what it is. Don’t beat yourself up, José. We all make mistakes.”
* * *
“I hope this isn’t going to take long, Ms. Gorsky.” Busy Rhodes said, peering through her white-framed glasses like a displeased school principal. She had herded me into a small office and sat me on the loveseat against the wall while she took the chair behind a cluttered desk. Her slacks and cowl-neck sweater were a wintry white.
“This won’t take long. I’m investigating Mel Dick’s murder at the behest of his daughter.”
Busy frowned at the notepad I’d just pulled out. “Yes, yes, I know all that, but I can’t imagine how I can be of help, and I’m in the middle of something right now.” She gestured at the jumble of papers and files on the desktop.
Taking her at her word, I said, “I know how to speed things. Could you Google something for me?”
Busy considered this, her lips forming a flat red line. “All right,” she said at last, fingers poised over the keyboard. “What is it?”
“Crazy Old Man 24.”
* * *
“Do you want to watch it again?” I asked Busy.
“No.” I had to strain to hear.
“Maybe you don’t think it was a big deal for you to deliberately mislead me, but I’m certain that when Sheriff Spooner learns of your little deception, he’ll be interested.”
“I know very, very little,” Busy said, holding her thumb and
index finger tight.
“So tell me.”
“I followed Mel that night.”
“I figured that much out already. Let’s start with why you followed Mel.”
“I was worried about him. He was obviously disoriented and a danger to himself and others. And I was curious—his behavior at the pub was so strange.”
“Really?” My guess was that Busy followed Mel because she hoped to get something on him in his diminished state. Like Mel, the woman in white wasn’t beyond a little discreet blackmail.
“Believe whatever you want,” Busy said, giving me a look that would freeze beer. I shrugged and she continued. “I followed Mel to the Commentator office. I parked a half a block away, close enough to watch unobserved—not that Mel noticed much in his state. Around seven-thirty Mel left the office to walk the dog. After the animal had done its business—right on the bed of marigolds in front of the Dusky Shark Emporium—Mel returned to the office. I waited a few more minutes and when nothing happened, called it a night. That was the last time I saw Mel Dick. Dead or alive.”
“Did you notice any unusual behavior on Dick’s part?”
“Define unusual.” Busy smiled. “Lately Mel’s behavior had been nothing if not bizarre so I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Come on, Busy.”
“Well, Mel was fixated on the dog’s bandana.” Busy laughed at the memory. “Several times he bent over and tugged on the thing, as if checking if it were loose.”
“Bandana?” Mrs. Santiago had told me that Jinks had been wearing something when she’d found him, but she called it something else. A bufanda.
“Yes, a bandana,” Busy said through clenched teeth. “An ugly scrap of fabric that was wrapped around the beast’s neck. I call that a bandana.”
I had shoved the foul-smelling bandana into my desk drawer and immediately forgotten it.
I tried to move to more fertile ground, but Busy was done answering my questions. Smart cookies like her didn’t stay cowed for long. Still, I was pleased with the interview until on the way out Busy pulled a sucker punch that knocked me on my ass.
“Don’t contact me again, Ms. Gorsky. Going forward you can speak to my attorney. Please pass the message on to your friend Sheriff Spooner.”
I felt a sinking feeling in my gut—this would piss off the sheriff—but the feeling didn’t last. I was far too pleased with myself. Thanks to Busy I could now account for more of Mel’s movements on the last night of his life. After leaving the G and G, Mel Dick had scrambled to his office to dress his dog in a smelly bandana.
Fairley had called Mel mad as a hatter and who was I to argue?
Chapter Sixteen
Could this be Madness?
When I returned to the Grub and Grog, the sun shone bright, draining off the rain puddles in quick order. The pub was working on a good crowd, and so took me a couple minutes to get José’s attention. While he retrieved Jinks, I spotted two familiar faces at a corner table, their heads nearly touching and both pairs of eyes fixed on me.
“Hello, ladies,” I said. Fairley Sable and Gigi Tajani giggled like a couple of schoolgirls.
“Why, it’s our favorite detective,” Fairley said.
“How’s the toe?” I asked Gigi, who was obviously feeling no pain.
“Much better!” Gigi glowed with alcoholic goodwill. “My dear friend Fairley convinced me that...that I needed to get out of that dark house, and she was right.”
Fairley gave me one of her helpless looks.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Gigi.”
José was heading our way, hauling Jinks as if he were a sack of potatoes. I made a face and gestured outside. José reversed direction and headed for the patio.
“Oh, it’s your little partner Jinks,” Fairley said. “Is he behaving himself? I heard he was a bad boy earlier.”
Gigi twisted in her chair. “Jinks? Where?”
“José just took Jinks outside,” Fairley said.
Gigi Tajani’s goodwill burned off like cognac over an open flame. “What is it with you and that fucking animal anyway?”
Several necks craned and I heard clucks of distaste. The bartender glanced over, frowned.
“Language, Gigi,” Fairley said, lightly touching her arm.
Gigi recoiled from her touch. “Don’t chastise me, Fairley.”
“You need to get her out of here and quickly,” I whispered in Fairley’s ear. I tried not to look at José’s horrified face from the patio. Another storm brewing in the G and G.
“What? What did you say, bitch?” Gigi yelled at me. “You know, I’m not going to talk to you anymore. You talk to my lawyer from now on. I have to protect my interests.”
“Let’s go to the powder room, Gigi,” Fairley said. The stubborn look peculiar to drunks came over Gigi’s face and I thought Fairley had struck out, but then she added, “Your lipstick is smudged,” and the other old lady powered down. Smudged lipstick was a horror that drove all else from her sodden mind. There was a scary moment when Gigi wobbled dangerously, but Fairley wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist, preventing what would have otherwise been a nasty fall. Thank goodness Fairley always knew which buttons to push and when.
Before leaving, I warned José of Gigi’s condition, and he promised to make sure she got home safely. I had just settled Jinks in the back seat of the Vic when my cell rang.
“Addie, you got to get over to Julie’s right now,” Brad said.
“On my way,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Things didn’t go well at the morgue.” He explained that Julie had completely broken down at the sight of her dead parents. Naturally he blamed me. “You should have warned me she was cracking. I would have never volunteered otherwise.”
“I don’t get it, Brad. Julie seemed okay to me.” I had seen no fractures in Julie’s tough resolve.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but looks like we were both wrong. I finally got her to rest, but I don’t feel right leaving her alone.”
“I’m almost there.” Fortunately Jesse was working the Admiral Street gatehouse and waved me through. As usual my route brought me past the Rand house. I tapped my brakes. Alan Rand’s silver Lexus was parked in the driveway. I saw the slow rise of the garage door.
My frustration boiled over. Alan had been avoiding me—he and Tally were locked up like prisoners in that quiet house. This might be my only opportunity to speak with them. In a white heat, I made a sharp right into the driveway, pulling tight on the Lexus’s ass. I caught the reflection of Alan Rand’s frightened eyes in his rear-view mirror: I had him, a fox in a hole.
I bolted from the Vic and ran in front of Rand’s Lexus, standing between the car and the garage door, which was now fully open. Our eyes locked.
“I just want to talk to you, Mr. Rand. Just a few minutes.” For reply, the Lexus issued a throaty purr, its engine revved.
“Mr. Rand?” The engine roared and I saw the maniacal gleam in the old man’s eye. He was really going to run me down! Still, I stood my ground, a suicidal deer in the headlights. A door slammed and a woman screamed. Alan and I turned our heads as one, the deadly spell broken.
“Alan?” Tally Rand was paler and much thinner than the last time I had seen her. She really had been ill. Tally saw me and her eyes widened with horror.
“Mrs. Rand,” I said, leaping toward her, “I need to talk with you.” The door of the Lexus swung open. Alan Rand insinuated his body between me and my prey, his feeble hands grasping my shoulders.
“Tally, go inside,” Alan ordered, but Tally did not move, her dazed eyes switching from me to her husband and back again.
“Just a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Rand.”
“You!” Rand pointed a gnarled finger. “Get off of my property immediately!”<
br />
That roused Tally. She began sidling away, into the safety of her house where I could not reach her. Another moment and she would disappear, perhaps forever.
I started after Tally, but Rand blocked my way with his body. I veered to avoid the old man and continued after my quarry. From behind I heard a cry and a thud. I turned to see Rand sprawled on the ground.
“Are you all right?” I started toward the old man.
“Keep away.” Rand sputtered, waving me off as if I were a demon out of hell. He was back on his feet, slightly shaken but basically all right. By now Tally had disappeared inside the house, but the front door was wide open.
As Grammy Ludwika used to say, In for an inch, in for a mile.
I bolted into the Rand home. I looked around with wild eyes and froze.
Tally stared down at me from the top of the stairs. She trembled violently, both hands white knuckling the banister. “So you’ve come for me at last.”
I gaped at the obviously ill woman—what the hell did she mean? But I didn’t have time to wonder and got back on script, knowing my time was short.
“It’s important that we talk, Mrs. Rand.” I opened my hands in gesture of supplication. “I’m investigating Mel’s death and...” I stopped.
Tally’s face was a vacant mask. She didn’t hear me, and though she looked in my direction, I doubted she saw me. She was lost in a private dream. Or nightmare.
“She’s inside,” a gruff voice called from outside.
This had been a fool’s errand and now I had to pay the price.
“This is Mystic Cove Security,” another voice called, this one female. “Come out immediately—we have you surrounded.”
Surrounded? Next they’ll be threatening to smoke me out.
But I did as ordered. I even put my hands up and away from my body, just to be safe. Mystic Cove guards weren’t supposed to be armed, but I knew a few of the old dogs carried.
Once I cleared the door, Oscar Wall and the female guard swarmed, each grabbing an arm. I took in the situation. Rand leaned against his Lexus, talking into his cell. He seemed okay, if overly excited, and I couldn’t blame him. More important, no cops were at the scene. Just two Mystic Cove guards.
Murder in Mystic Cove Page 19