Death of a Hot Chick

by Norma Huss

  Had she been secretly following me all afternoon, listening in as I talked to Slim? “Like I said, it’s late.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday, a day of rest.”

  I put my dishes into the sink, stretched, and yawned for good measure. “So, tomorrow is an excellent day to find hidden stuff. It’s dark now, and the lighting in Snapdragon is not the best. Haven’t you noticed that?”

  Kaye placed her mug in the sink, then, instead of gathering up her thermos, she sat down. “I copied the names on the title before we took it to the bank. The former owner was named Chester Foltz.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I never heard of him before, but his address was included.”

  Since Kaye intended to talk, I said, “Maybe that’s who she saw.”

  “Who who saw? Not that I’m an owl, or anything. I guess you mean the ‘who’ Nicole planned to borrow thirty dollars from. Right?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Okay, out with it. What else were you going to say?”

  Sisters could be a drag. They knew too much about one’s moods, about, oh, about every darn thing.

  “Okay, come on,” Kaye almost sang. “No secrets.”

  I’d really meant Lizzie when she saw my intruder, but I went with Nicole. “I’ve never seen ghosts before.”

  Kaye stared, mouth open. But not for long. “Don’t tell me. Your latest imaginary creature is Nicole?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure it’s Nicole?”

  “It’s Nicole all right. I’m not sure she’s imaginary.”

  “I don’t think I believe in ghosts.”

  But she had always accepted the imaginary creatures of my childhood? “Okay.”

  Kaye ignored the whole subject of the spirit world and jumped to her most recent favorite subject—my mental health. Which, when I stopped to think of it, wasn’t much of a switch from me seeing ghosts. “Now, I know you refused to see a counselor, but such an action isn’t a sign of weakness. Professor Reynolds isn’t certified, but she is a sympathetic ear.”

  “Hey, she doesn’t want to hear about my problems. If you don’t mention your professor, I’ll shut up about ghosts. Deal?”

  Kaye tucked her lower lip in, breathed heavily for a few moments, then said, “Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  “Deal?”

  “Yes. Deal.” Kaye flashed her hand over her face, changing the frown to a smile. “Now, I did come with an ulterior motive. We need to search right now. Something is hidden on this boat. Anything we find could be of immense value in solving Nicole’s murder.”

  “I’ve searched. You’ve searched. We’ve both searched. See the piles in the V-berth?”

  “Then we’ll go through them again. Fresh eyes, you know.”

  Was it possible we could find some clue to Nicole’s murder? “Okay. Half an hour.”

  Kaye nodded. We started going through piles. Kaye, caught up in the mindless task, muttered. “Risky actions. But she was independent. Didn’t worry about consequences.”

  “Who?” I asked. “Are you talking about Nicole?”

  “Nothing.” Kaye shook her head. But a few minutes later she told herself, in the lowest of tones, “That loan. She must have known he couldn’t pay it back. ‘Like taking candy from a baby,’ she’d said.”

  Was Kaye starting to change her mind about Nicole? I could understand completely. Nicole could tell people pink was green, and they’d believe it.

  Then, suddenly realizing what she’d said, Kaye backtracked like crazy. “Forget what I just said. She was determined, decisive. Perhaps she didn’t think through all the downsides. Perhaps I could have helped, counseled her. But, I do see, that if she were buying all of her father’s outstanding stock, it does make sense that she didn’t have thirty dollars in cash to give you.”

  So she believed me. Belatedly. Big whoop. “I’m tired,” I said. “Don’t you think we’ve looked enough for whatever you think we might find?”

  Kaye nodded. We’d made all new piles of the junk, but found nothing. She said, “No evidence of what the thief might have been looking for.”

  “What evidence? A hole in this mess that says, ‘Look, there used to be something immensely valuable right here.’ ”

  Kaye stared at me, not the stare that used to shrivel me into a jelly-mass. I’d seen a lot worse lately. Starting with the Coast Guard pictures of my burned-to-ashes boat Honey, and ending with Nicole the ghost.

  Then Kaye grinned. “Okay, I’m through. Go to bed. You look like hell. Speaking in a loving manner, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  ~ ~

  I really meant to go right to bed. I was certainly tired enough. I put on my jammies and thought about that soft mattress we’d uncovered in the V-berth. I tossed a pillow on top, pushed the piles to one side and climbed up, pulling a blanket over me.

  Yeah, this was the life. The slight movement of gentle waves could always lull me to sleep despite my worries. There were no killers, no intruders, no empty purses. I stared up through the hatch overhead. Too much light from the one pole light at the marina office to see the stars like I would at an isolated anchorage. I leaned my head back ’til I could see the anchor locker nestled in the bow.

  The anchor locker. We hadn’t searched that.

  I grabbed the flashlight, hunched myself around, slipped a finger inside the catch, opened the door, and turned on the flashlight.

  The coiled anchor rode smelled musty, even though it was completely dry. Little colored plastic tags lay, woven into the fiber to measure off the feet as the line payed out. Would I have to remove all that line to see if there was anything underneath? Not tonight. Too much trouble. I flashed around the interior one last time. There was a small piece of paper stuck low, under a few coils of the rope. I pulled it out.

  That’s when I heard her voice. “Well, it’s about time.”

  Chapter 7

  Slowly, I transferred the note to my left hand and looked up. In the dim glow from the flashlight, I saw a shadow of Nicole, sitting on the edge of the V-berth. She tipped her head, pushed a few strands of her long hair behind her ear, brushed an invisible spot from her silk blouse.

  “Nicole. Is this paper yours?” As I watched, the apparition paled, but the voice was strong.

  “You found it.”

  “What is it?” Should I ask permission to unfold the paper? But when I looked up, Nicole was completely gone. “Nicole,” I shouted.

  “Don’t worry. I’m here.”

  The voice was Nicole’s, but there was no body.

  “I can’t see you.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “No, I guess not.” I hesitated. “Are you always here, even if I don’t know it? Or are you only here when I see...that is, when I’m aware of your presence?”

  “That’s not the question, as you well know. Cyd, I’m depending on you. The question is who killed me. If you don’t know, do the police?”

  “I guess not. And I.... Can’t you give me a clue? Anything?.”

  “The police do know that my murder is top priority, don’t they? They should be cooperating with you. I hate name-droppers, but in this case it is entirely warranted.”

  What did she mean? I moved the flashlight over the paper. Too dim to read the pale, waving lines of script.

  “I meant you could use my name, of course.”

  “You read my mind too? If that’s true, why....”

  “No, I don’t read your mind. And believe me, if I could read minds, I would be able to find my killer myself. Great suggestion, but hardly logical.”

  “Another question,” I said. “Did you hear me talking to my sister Kaye? She was here. Could you see us? Did you see who broke in?”

  “Too many questions. One answer. I don’t know.”

  Shouldn’t a ghost know everything? Was Nicole my imagination? Weird, to say the least. If I wanted a ghost, why hadn’t I imagined one with all the answers?

/>   The note. I had to look. I reached for the lamp.

  “No, no. Don’t turn it on,” Nicole said.

  “Okay.” Nicole might disappear at any moment. The note could wait. “Do you remember anything about the one who killed you?”

  “Somebody a hell of a lot stronger than me, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Big, then. Man or woman?”

  “Didn’t I ask you to find out?”

  “I haven’t found out anything. I don’t know anything about you, who you knew. My sister told me about your modeling agency with ordinary people and animals and farms for models. Even boats. Is that right?”

  “You do not need those facts. Just find my killer.”

  Had Nicole been so determined in life? “Why would anyone kill you?”

  “I don’t care why. That is not your question.”

  She didn’t know. My questions were going nowhere. “Let’s get out of this dark spot and go into the main cabin,” I said and proceeded, wondering if my companion followed. I flicked on the light and turned. Did I see her?

  “I’ll stay here,” Nicole said.“I like what you’ve done. Hardly enough room to lie down, but you’re working on it, right?”

  Once in the lighted salon, I placed the note on the table. Did Nicole notice? I asked, “What do you remember from the night you were killed. And how were you killed?”

  “I think I was drowned. I was under the water. I looked up, but it’s awfully murky down there. I saw colors.”

  “What colors?”

  Suddenly, Nicole said, “Why haven’t you read my note?”

  “Do you know what it says?”

  “I should. I wrote it.”

  One thing she did know, evidently. But what could I do now?

  “Publish it,” Nicole said as if she’d read my thoughts.

  “Publish it?”

  “Yes. Hire a plane and drag a banner across the sky. Write a book. Compose a song. A Broadway play. Yes, with a line of Rockettes, kicking the hell out of him. But who am I to tell you what to do? I can’t do a damn thing.”

  “Then you don’t mind if I read it.”

  And I knew. Nicole was gone.

  I clasped the paper, held it to my cheek. “Nicole?” There was no answer. I read the note.

  It said, “I hate my father. He’s evil. I’ll kill him some day, if he doesn’t kill me first.”

  “Nicole,” I whispered. “Did he kill you?”

  There was no signature, but Nicole had written those words. According to her.

  Yeah. Try telling that to the judge. “You see, Mr. Policeman, Nicole’s ghost told me, and she doesn’t lie.” Or, it. Does a ghost have a gender?

  ~ ~

  Sunday, July 23

  One certainly couldn’t sleep late on a boat with a hatch directly overhead, open to the early sun. Had I dreamed it all last night? No, I’d put the paper in a plastic bag, and there it was, on top of a pile next to me.

  “Yoo, hoo. Permission to come aboard.”

  I rubbed my eyes, grabbed my travel clock and unfolded it. Okay, I’d managed to sleep until seven twenty-six, even with the sunshine pouring in. “Go away!” I shouted.

  Too late. Kaye was already inside. I really should remember that cross-ventilation does not trump security.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” she said. “Time to be up, communing with nature.”

  “Did you, or did you not say Sunday was a day of rest when you insisted I stay up past my bedtime to help you search last night?”

  “Of course. It’s also a day of spiritual renewal. Take your time dressing then we’ll have breakfast. I have a carafe of orange juice and fresh sticky buns. With cashews.”

  I pounded my head into the pillow. “No, no. I’m asleep. Go away.” But I heard drawers and cupboard doors open in the galley.

  “You should get some new dishes. These are disgusting. Fortunately, I brought paper products. After breakfast we’ll relax at the Garden of Gethsemane in Smith Circle. Nicole wasn’t much for organized religion, but that was one place she loved. Did you know she was instrumental in its creation?”

  “I’ll eat in my pajamas, then go right back to bed.” I slumped into the salon.

  “Perhaps Nicole’s ghost will appear to us in the garden. What do you think?”

  “Remember? I promised not to mention ghosts.” Since Kaye didn’t answer, I sat down and tore off a sticky bun. Still warm, and so gooey and good. I closed my eyes and bit. Chewed and swallowed. Licked my fingers. Sipped orange juice. “Um, you know how to wake a person up.”

  “Napkin? I didn’t bring wet ones.”

  “I do have running water, you know.”

  “We don’t want to be late.”

  “Okay, what’s going on? How can we be late if we’re communing with nature?”

  “The park gets overrun later.”

  Which sounded like a truly fake reason for being early. I finished my sticky bun, drank a second cup of orange juice, and washed my fingers before I turned on Kaye. “And what else do you have planned for my relaxing day?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, maybe because I know you as well as you know me.” I also knew, from Kaye’s vigor clearing up our breakfast, that she would say no more, not until she announced any further plans. Or, not until we got wherever we were going, because it was obvious, I wouldn’t learn anything else. But.... “If I leave that guy might get in again.”

  “You have changed your combination, haven’t you? How would he get in?”

  Kaye was just too logical. I eyed her flounced skirt and flowered blouse. “Dress code? No shorts?”

  “Clean and casual,” Kaye said without turning around. “Boat shoes or sneakers are preferred.”

  I rummaged through my drawer of clothes. The cargo capris and a clean T-shirt would have to do. I slipped on the boat shoes and called to Kaye. “You know, I told you not to come in, I told you I’d go back to bed, so at least tell me where I’m going next.”

  “But I told you already. We’re going to find Nicole’s spirit in the Garden of Gethsemane.”

  “Really.” I grabbed the bagged note and slid it into my pocket. Nicole was coming with us.

  ~ ~

  Smith Circle was a mini-park, pared down from the larger one years ago when someone bought it out, built a McMansion on it, then succumbed to public pressure to set aside a couple of acres. Mostly it was a playground, but one small section, bordered with an evergreen hedge was our destination.

  “So why does Nicole’s Garden of Gethsemane have a sign, ‘Butterfly Garden’?” I asked.

  “You want the town fathers to pay expenses, you have to be all-inclusive. That means, non-denominational. Attractive to all ages. But Nicole came here to meditate. She organized the plantings. For instance, butterfly bush is considered spiritual.”

  “Then we sit on the bench and commune with butterflies?” I pulled the baggie containing Nicole’s note out of my pocket. “I found this after you left last night. A note Nicole left in the anchor-rode locker.”

  “In the what?”

  Did she really want to know? “It’s that locker in the bow, over the V-berth. It holds all the line coiled up and attached to the anchor through a little—”

  “Never mind, let me see!”

  No, she didn’t want to know. I opened the plastic bag. “Nicole talked to me too,” I said as I pulled the note out. “It’s sort of, well—you look at it.”

  Kaye took the paper, smoothed it out, then read aloud. “I hate my father. He’s evil. I’ll kill him some day, if he doesn’t kill me first.” She leaned back. “Oh, my god.”

  “Yeah.”

  “No signature.”

  “She wants it published, widely, she said. Don’t know why.”

  “Nicole thinks her father killed her?”

  “You’ve got to understand. As a ghost, Nicole has a one-track mind. She doesn’t go in for extra facts. She thinks it was somebody big and strong, and that’s as far as she’l
l go. I’ve seen her father, but you know him better. Would you consider him big and strong?”

  “More like big and well fed. Strong? I can’t say. What happens when she appears? Do you call her? Is it unexpected—she just pops up?”

  “Unexpected, yeah. But every time I was holding either the original title to Snapdragon or this note.” Except for the first time, which I didn’t mention, but that was only a voice I could hardly hear.

  Kaye stroked the paper with her eyes closed, then whispered, “Is she here?”

  “I have the feeling she’s not always around, but I can’t say for sure. She’s not talking, anyway.” I placed a finger on the note. “Nicole, are you here?” I placed my other hand over Kaye’s enclosing the note. “Don’t think so. It doesn’t always work. Maybe she’s sleeping in.”

  “Really. Ha, ha.” Kaye stared at the note, shrugged, then placed her free hand on my wrist. “See that tiny tree. That’s the last thing Nicole planted. It’s a hupeh rowan, originally from China or Korea, according to Nicole. Considered very spiritual, possibly by the Chinese. We Americans call it mountain ash. Or, maybe it’s similar to the mountain ash. There are rowan trees in European folklore. In the British Isles, the Celts thought the trees had magical powers.”

  “And I want to know this because?”

  “We are here for Nicole, remember? We are discussing her garden as she’d want to hear it.”

  “Don’t think she’s interested in anything but who killed her. I also don’t think she knows what’s going on when she’s not around. I asked her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Not much about anything other than wanting to know who killed her.”

  “The hupeh rowan grows to be quite tall, maybe fifty feet. It flowers in the spring. White flowers, I believe, followed by red berries. In fall the leaves turn red and yellow. The tree is often preferred for plantings as the leaves are small thus reducing the volume of fallen leaves to rake up.”

  “If you think Nicole is listening, that’s not the way to attract her. She’s definitely interested only in who killed her.”

  “Oh, well. It was worth a try.” Kaye pulled her hand away from mine and stood. “She’s not here. You’re sure?”