Murder Take Two

by Charlene Weir

  It also said that underneath all the Hollywood glitz was the girl he’d married. Pretty little girl who looked up at him with curiosity and interest, made him feel like maybe he was worth something after all.

  Suddenly he was aware of exactly where they were. Hotel suite. Just through that doorway was a bed.

  Laura, eyes alight with impish malice, said in a velvet voice. “For old times’ sake?”

  9

  Serena, sitting at the table, busily dunked a tea bag in a cup of hot water and barely gave Yancy a glance when he came in. “Well, you certainly took care of that, didn’t you?”

  “What do you expect?”

  “Right. You’re the only one with feelings.” She threw the tea bag at him. He ducked and it landed with a splat on the floor.

  “You think I want to toss my crazy sick mother out of her home?”

  “Serena—”

  She shoved the chair back, got up for the tea bag, and dropped it in the trash, then wiped up the floor with a paper towel. “You want something serious to happen? Maybe even fatal?” She plopped herself back in the chair. “How would you feel then?”

  “She doesn’t want to leave here.”

  “You keep refusing to look at the point. She needs to be safe, Peter. Sometimes she’s perfectly all right. Sometimes she isn’t. I don’t know about you, but it scares me silly to come home and find her on fire. What if I’d been fifteen minutes later? Or an hour?”

  To get away from her demanding gaze, he went to the refrigerator and reached in for the carton of orange juice. He shook it, then poured a glass and took a sip. “I told you, I’ll think of something.”

  “You’d better hurry because time’s running out.”

  “Oh, hell, Serena. She doesn’t want to leave here. It’d be different if she was totally out of it, didn’t recognize us, didn’t know what was going on. She loves this place. She loves the flowers. She loves the trees. She loves—”

  “Maybe we can find a place with flowers and trees.”

  “And a place that will let her have Elmo?”

  “That’s something else we’ll have to do something about.”

  He gave her a startled look. “You want to do away with Elmo?”

  “No, you jerk. One of us will need to keep him.”

  Yancy’s beeper went off, saving him from having to respond. This beeper was something that came with his assignment to the movie bunch. If they needed anything, wanted anything, got bored, lonely, or wanted another hand for poker, he got beeped.

  “Don’t answer it,” Serena said.

  He didn’t much want to; a fourteen-hour day ought to be enough. He downed the orange juice and set the glass on the counter. “I have to.” She might not like his job, but it was the only one he had and he wanted to keep it.

  He’d be the one in trouble if he didn’t respond, and if he got fired, they’d really be in the shit. Who’d pay for the old folk’s home then? He rubbed his face. Damn it, damn it.

  In the living room, he dropped into the old green easy chair by the front window. A rectangle of light spilled in from the kitchen. Night had closed in while he’d been talking with Serena. Fireflies blinked on and off in the soft black air. After a second, he picked up the receiver and punched in the number.

  “Hi, buddy. How’s it going?” It was Mac, his Hollywood teamster friend. “I have a mind to get something to munch on. How about you and me go out and find us some barbecued ribs? You folks know how to barbecue ribs around here?”

  “Yes, sir, we do. If you’ll give me”—he held up his arm to catch the light from the kitchen and squinted at his watch—“twenty minutes, I’ll take you to a place with barbecue sauce hot enough to blow off the top of your head.”

  “That a promise?”

  “No, sir, that’s a threat.”

  Mac chuckled and hung up.

  Yancy leaned back and closed his eyes. His mother often sat here in the dark. She watched the moon rise and the small animals come out with the night, the foxes and possums and skunks, the occasional coyote. Sometimes she talked to them. No big deal.

  Sometimes they talked back. That was a little different. She listened.

  He didn’t feel like being with movie people anymore today. Aw hell, Mac wasn’t really movie people. If Yancy wanted to ask about the lieutenant being near the barn around noon, now was the time to start.

  Get a move on then.

  Serena was still drinking tea. He rested a hand on the table and leaned down to look into her face. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You always do.”

  “We’ll talk about this later.” He kissed her forehead and left, told Dallas, still in the hammock, that maybe Serena needed him, and got in the Cherokee.

  The stars lost some of their brilliance as he got into town. He drove through on Fifteenth Street, took Crescent Road past campus, and then turned west on Mississippi. In the driveway at the side of the old Victorian house, he parked under the maple tree and fished keys from his pocket. Alice Blakeley, the owner, divorced and struggling to keep afloat, lived downstairs. In addition to tutoring students in math, she gave piano lessons and rented the upper half of the house to Yancy.

  Outside stairs went up to the second story. Stephanie, his landlady’s daughter, sat on the bottom step. At thirteen, mother and daughter didn’t always see eye to eye.

  “Hey, Steph, what are you up to?”

  “Writing.”

  “Isn’t it a little dark?”

  “I’m just making notes. Have you solved the murder yet?”

  He sat beside her. “Not yet.”

  “Would you like a clue?”

  “Do you have one?”

  “You’re just like my mother, you treat me like a child.”

  “I’m sorry.” This was his evening for apologizing to irate females.

  “No, you’re not. You just say that. I’m making character studies. You’re one of them,” she added darkly.

  That was a little daunting. “How come you never let me read what you write?”

  “Maybe I will sometime.”

  “Tell me your clue.”

  “Those eyes the greenest of things blue,

  The bluest of things gray.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing, but it sounds great, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He patted her knee and took the stairs two at a time to prove he wasn’t tired. Just as he stuck the key in the lock the phone rang. He rushed in and grabbed the phone.

  A breathy voice cooed in his ear. If he didn’t know females didn’t go in for that kind of thing, he’d have thought he had a heavy breather.

  “Hello, Officer Yancy.”

  “Ms. Lloyd. What can I do for you?”

  “You recognized my voice.”

  “Couldn’t miss it.” Nobody else he knew sounded like a seduction scene.

  “So businesslike,” she pouted. Even over the phone he could hear the pout. “And here I was trying to work up the courage to ask you a favor.”

  A favor, is it? And what might that be? “Yes, ma’am.” Her usual disdain wasn’t apparent, but the promise of good things to come was a shade overdone.

  “If you’ll come over here, I’ll explain. I might even tell you a few things you don’t know.”

  Oh, yes, lady, I’m sure you could. He bent his chin to his chest, squeezed the back of his neck, then stretched his head backward as far as it would go. He had a little dilemma here. He was due to pick up Mac in a few minutes. Within the confines of his edict—take care of these show biz folks—actors probably beat out drivers any old day.

  What was clear was, he should tell Mac he couldn’t make it and hie himself over to Ms. Sheri’s hotel room.

  He hauled in a breath on the wings of fatigue. Hotel room. Breathy coo. He wasn’t important enough to warrant the usual attention that would suggest. In her opinion, he was just some clown hired to guard doorways, so what was the favor she wanted? Anything pertinent she’d la
y on a higher-up. If she wanted information … Now there was a thought. She’d think he’d spill it. With the right lure. “How’d you get this number?”

  “I went to a lot of trouble.” Sexy and cute.

  Howie, he thought. His old friend Howie Gilbert, assistant manager at the hotel. If Sheri did her song and dance for him Howie’d give out state secrets, let alone a little thing like Yancy’s home number. Yancy wished he wasn’t so tired, he could think better if his brains weren’t mashed potatoes. He was curious about what she wanted, but too tired to trot into her room, the mouse accepting the cat’s invitation.

  “Well, ma’am. I sure am sorry but I’m on my way to pick up Mac.”

  “Who’s Mac?”

  “Ms. Edwards’s driver. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you join us? We’re going to get a bite to eat.” Boy, would she be a hit. “You like barbecue?”

  “It doesn’t sound like my kind of place.” Her voice was losing some of its warmth. “Call this Mac and tell him you can’t come.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s an idea all right, but he’s nowhere I can reach him. How ’bout I come right over to the hotel as soon as I can.”

  “That’ll be too late.”

  Too late for what? “Oh, gee, yeah, it will be getting late. Tell you what. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

  There was a frosty silence, then she said in a tart, irritated, dealing-with-the-help voice, “You just made a mistake.”

  He probably did at that. And he probably wouldn’t get another chance either. He stripped off his uniform and got in the shower. If this favor had to be granted right now, it most likely couldn’t be about the investigation. Mac would have been routinely questioned, but Yancy wanted to get at questions that Mac probably hadn’t been asked. Like had he seen the lieutenant near the barn.

  Toweling dry as he went, he padded to the bedroom and pulled on jeans and a blue knit shirt long enough and loose enough to cover his gun. Hot as hell up here. The ficus plant his sister had given him was dropping yellow leaves in the corner.

  This old Victorian was a great place to live: lots of space—bedroom, kitchen, living room, everything sparse and barren, the way he liked it. Hardwood floors, bookshelves in the bedroom floor-to-ceiling that he’d put up himself. Gray couch and chair in the living room, round table to rest his feet on when he watched television. Built-in desk. Walls papered in gray stripes with dark gray and dark rose trim around the top. No pictures, no knickknacks.

  He thought about getting up at five in the morning and wondered how late barbecued ribs with Mac would run. How did actors do it? The hours alone would kill him.

  He shoved keys, change, and wallet in his pockets and headed out. Moths were flying around the light intent on suicide, and a couple of june bugs dive-bombed the door. He accidentally stepped on one and it made a loud crunch. He hated the things, big and lumbering.

  Mac was pacing up and down the walkway in front of the hotel. When he saw Yancy’s Cherokee, he stepped into the street. Late forties, big belly and flat butt, dark hair receding up his forehead and hanging long around his ears. He wrenched open the door and slid in.

  “Hey, buddy.” With a friendly fist, he punched Yancy’s shoulder. In the interests of projecting male bonding and macho toughness, Yancy did not flinch.

  * * *

  Rose. Laura my beloved. The universe is rose. He stood under the trees and watched the taillights, red eyes of the evil spirits, retreat down the street. He was careful not to get directly in their path. If he did, they’d see into his soul and scramble his plans. He must never allow that. They were forming, falling into place. The universe had told him the most humane way was a gun. Now it told him he had to kill that cop and take his.

  * * *

  This close to eleven, the Blind Pig wasn’t overflowing with business. Red padded booths ran along two sides, tables in the middle. Western flair for decoration—ten-gallon hats, spurs, tack on the walls. Tex Ritter sang in the background.

  “I should warn you,” Mac said as he slid into a booth, “I take barbecue sauce very seriously.”

  The waitress brought menus and a basket of hush puppies. Yancy looked the place over.

  “Cops always do that?” Mac asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Check the place out. Like you’re looking for felons, or escape routes.”

  “Yeah.” He wondered what kind of a cop he was. Now that he was here, he figured he probably made the wrong call and should have gone with Sheri Lloyd.

  Mac ordered the ribs with the picture of a red-horned devil holding a pitchfork beside it. Yancy went for a milder version.

  “Tell me about this movie,” he said, slyly working up to his questions.

  Mac took a slug of beer, leaned beefy shoulders against the seat back, and raised his eyebrows. “What, kid? You all of a sudden getting star struck?”

  “I’d like to know what your thoughts are about this bunch.”

  “One thing you gotta understand. There are the top cats and there are the rest of us. Except for what’s strictly necessary, like driving all their crap out on location and driving them around, we don’t have anything to do with each other.”

  “Well, thanks. That’s a big help.”

  “You gonna ask me if somebody was jealous of the big cheese, wanted her out of the way, was itchin’ for the part. Hell yes.”

  “Who?”

  Mac laughed. “That’s what I’m telling you. Jealousy, fighting back and forth, spreading dirt—it goes with the territory. It’s a given. Just the same as cameras and mikes and clapboards. As to specifics—” He shrugged. “There I can’t help you. The fat cats don’t hobnob with the rest of us.”

  The waitress plunked steaming platters of ribs in front of them, refilled Yancy’s iced tea, and brought Mac another beer. Mac pushed up his sleeves, gave Yancy a look of this-better-be-good good, and grabbed a rib dripping sauce. He chomped down and chewed. Tears sprang to his eyes. He swallowed, grabbed his beer, and took a long drink.

  “Not bad,” he allowed. He pulled off another rib and worked his jaws.

  Yancy did likewise with his sissified version. “Who had it in for Ms. Edwards?”

  Mouth full, eyes streaming, Mac shook his head.

  “Anybody feuding with anybody?”

  “Well, I’m not one to be sensitive about atmosphere and pretentious crap like that, but I gotta admit these clones didn’t give out like happy campers.” Mac wiped his greasy fingers on the oversized napkin. “All covered up and hidden away poison was coming through somebody’s pores.”

  “Whose?”

  “Don’t know. I’m just a driver. I go where I’m told. It’s all these other folks with sensitive souls that’ll have to tell you about that. I know Fifer had a sling-out fight with his big box office star.”

  “Ms. Edwards?”

  “Naw. The other one. Nick Logan.”

  “When was this?”

  “Right after we got here.”

  “Where?”

  “Out there in that barn. Everybody else had split. The director asked his big moneymaker to hang back a minute. And then told him to get his ducks in order.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Oh, hell, how do I know? I walked in in the middle of it. The director was saying it took more than reputation to carry a career.”

  “What did that mean?”

  “My big guess would be Fifer wasn’t real ecstatic with Nick’s performance.”

  “What did Nick say?”

  “Laughed a not funny laugh and said, ‘Go careful. It wouldn’t be much of a movie if you lost your star.’ That’s when I blundered in with my big feet and they both turned around to look at me. I got out of there.”

  Yancy hadn’t picked up anywhere that Fifer was dissatisfied with Nick’s performance. On the contrary, he was under the impression both stars were doing great and the director was dancing around hugging himself. “What were you doing there?”

  “Laura s
ent me in to tell Nick she’d be at the hotel.”

  “Is she hard to work for?”

  “At her level, they’re all hard to work for.”

  “You ever have any trouble with her?”

  Mac, greasy rib between thumbs and forefingers, looked at him. “What are you getting at?” Everything changed: voice, eyes, posture. He went from good ol’ boy to steel-jawed driver/bodyguard.

  Yancy wouldn’t care to tangle with him, he could see how Mac would be good at this job. “What did you do, make a pass at her?”

  Mac snorted. “That’d get me killed. No, I was late picking her up. The car wouldn’t start. A kid from a service station came out and replaced the battery. It took him a while. She threw a hissy. Wanted to fire me.”

  “You’re still here.”

  “Yeah, well, she cooled off and threatened, ‘Once more and you’re gone.’”

  “Why’d she do that?”

  “It gave her an edge.”

  “Edge?”

  “Something to hold over my head.”

  Artfully, Yancy changed direction. “Around noon, were you anywhere near the barn?”

  “Yep. Well, part of the time. You gonna ask me next if I smuggled a saw in there and cut through that railing?”

  “No smuggling was required. The saw was already there. I was going to ask if you saw anybody.”

  “Like who?”

  Like the lieutenant. “Anybody.”

  “Naw. I didn’t see anybody sneak into the barn, but back at base camp Nick was in and out of his trailer, Laura Edwards too. And Clem Jones, our director’s assistant with the personality plus.” Mac cleaned the meat off the last rib, then picked through the bones making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  “Nobody else?”

  “Who you getting at?”

  Yancy shook his head. “Just wanting to know.”

  “Well, you gotta remember I wasn’t exactly standing there with my eyeballs glued to the barn door.”

  So much for checking up on the lieutenant.

  Mac finished up with apple pie and ice cream.

  By the time Yancy dropped off Mac in front of the hotel and started off for home he was so tired his eyes were beginning to cross. Five A.M. wakeup. Ah, the glamorous life of moviemaking. His mouth opened with a wide jaw-creaking yawn that nearly unhinged it. Side vision caught a dark shape staggering in front of the headlights. He stood on the brakes.