"Right. She’s like a fine Swiss watch. I repeat. You risk the wrath of Margit. She won’t like it if you aren’t here."
"Remind her that I’m now the big kahuna, won’t you?"
Clancy laughed, and I headed for my car.
Before Johnny had left, I’d asked him what Mert was doing today. "Cleaning over at the Moores' house. You recommended her, and they’ve been using her ever since."
That gave me an idea.
A few minutes later, I pulled up in front of Jennifer Moore’s huge house in Ladue. Sure enough, Mert’s pickup truck was parked on the street. Jennifer has been working from her home office lately, so I wasn’t surprised when she answered the door and hugged me.
"Are we still on to host Anya over the weekend? Or has something come up?" asked Jennifer.
"Hang on a minute," I said. I slid my hands down her arms to grab her fingers. When she’s really nervous, she has a bad habit of chewing off the skin on her fingertips. To my delight, there wasn’t a dab of blood. "Good for you!"
"Yeah, I’ve been meditating in the morning. Doing my Zentangle tiles at night." She linked arms with me and led me into her living room. Overhead I heard the noise of a vacuum cleaner.
"Actually, I didn’t come to visit you, Jennifer. I know that sounds awful, but I came to see if I could corner Mert."
"Is she still not talking to you?"
"Worse. She made sure the authorities threw me out of Laurel’s room at the hospital."
"She never!"
"Huh," I said. "She sure did."
"So you’re hungry for another go around?" Jennifer sank down into one of her gracious stuffed chairs. I stayed on my feet. I knew that if I got comfortable, I’d want to bail out on this whole mess.
"Not really, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do."
Jennifer snickered. "She’s upstairs. Although you probably guessed as much."
I trudged up the carpeted stairway, thinking to myself as my hand moved along the polished oak bannister, what if Mert rejects me again?
She didn’t hear me approach. Her back was to me as she used a feather duster on the knickknacks on Stevie Moore’s dresser. Stevie is gay, and recently out of the closet, so included was a colorful rainbow of clay that his sister Nicci and Anya had found for him.
"Mert? Please, could you just listen to me a second?" I asked.
She froze. Her hand was raised, but she didn’t bring it down. She froze in that pose like one of Disney’s fairies getting ready to grant a wish, but with a duster rather than a wand. "Make it snappy."
"I want to find the person who attacked Laurel. As you know, they aren’t calling out the Major Case Squad. I’m not entirely certain that the cops in that municipality are up to the job of tracking down her assailant. You know and I know that they’ve got a beef with Johnny. Now that they know Laurel is his niece, I worry that her case won’t get the attention it deserves. Will you help me?"
Then I waited. It must have been the longest thirty seconds of my life. I counted, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi" until I got to twenty and lost track, so I started over. Mert slowly brought her arm down to her side. She kept her back to me. Finally, she spoke through clenched teeth.
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because you know that I did not purposefully endanger Johnny. You can blame me all you want, but in your heart of hearts, you know better. I’ve always thought the world of you, Mert. I’ve always thought you were an honest, decent person. This has gone on long enough. I know you’re stubborn. I get it. You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to be my friend anymore. But if you ignore me, don’t blame me if Laurel gets hurt again. I’m putting myself on the line here. Are you big enough to meet me halfway—or are you going to keep sulking?"
She whirled on her heel. A smudge of dust marred her work uniform of black slacks and white polo shirt. To my surprise, she’d aged about ten years since I’d last gotten a good look at her. The brief encounter in the hospital didn’t count.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and the tip of her nose was pink. She’d been crying.
"Okay," she said. "What’s your plan, smarty-pants?"
Chapter 59
From my back pocket I pulled the chart that Clancy and I had been working on. Mert and I sat on the edge of Stevie’s bed. I knew this was a breach of cleaning lady etiquette, but I also knew that Jennifer wouldn’t mind. Stevie was off at college, University of Tennessee. Even if he had been home, he wouldn’t have minded.
"The women at St. James Episcopal Church acted really nasty when they were at my crop. They kept saying things about the devil being beautiful. I know they have unfulfilled crushes on Father Joe. What has Laurel said about them?"
My shoulder barely touched Mert’s. She didn’t pull away, and I counted that as a win.
"Them heifers are like cows in heat looking for a bull in a barnyard," snorted Mert. "Sure, they’re jealous of Laurel. She’s been nothing but nice to them."
"I’m wondering," I said carefully, "if they know that he’s planning to marry her."
"You’re kiddin’ me!" She turned to stare at me. "He is?"
"That’s what he’s told me."
Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Great jumping Jehosaphat."
"He seems like a nice man."
She worried a seam on her pants. "He surely is. But to marry into our family? I cain’t help but wonder what the Pope will say."
"Uh, Mert, it doesn’t matter."
"It might not matter to you, but it shorely will to him! They’ll drum him outta that black skirt quicker than you can say, ‘Bring me a fatted calf.’"
I put a hand on her forearm. "I was raised Episcopalian, remember? They don’t follow the Pope. King Henry VIII put an end to all that. Didn’t you ever watch The Tudors? Sure, there’s a bishop over Father Joe, but he won’t care about…well…I’m not exactly sure what you’re worried about. But Episcopalians are incredibly tolerant. Liberal."
"Oh," and she hunched over with relief. "That’s good, I guess."
"I know that one of those three women has had mental health issues in the past. I don’t know which one. Is it possible that one of them is enough of a crackpot to want to kill Laurel?"
"I don’t know!" she choked out a sob. "I been trying and trying to figure all this out."
"Next on my list is anyone who’s a rival belly dancer. I don’t even know if there is such a thing, but I assume there is. Or even a wife who’s seen Laurel dance and who got her nose out of joint." I hesitated and then plunged ahead, "I was even thinking of going to the talent agency and saying I wanted to hire a belly dancer for my future husband’s bachelor party. I thought I could weasel some information out of them."
"Now that’s a good idea," she said, perking up considerably. "Laurel never talks much about that, but I know that there was some fierce competition a while back, and she got picked while another gal got sent home."
"Okay, then I’ll pursue that."
"What’s this about her teacher?" Mert underlined Brian Overmeyer’s name with a shaking fingernail. Although she cleans for a living, Mert always keeps her nails talon long and polished in bright colors. Today she wore silver and blue chevrons.
"I don’t know. Clancy and I were just trying to put together any sort of a list of people who might be jealous or have a gripe. Admittedly, Laurel keeps her personal life quiet, but brainstormed every area we could think of. Laurel had printed out an assignment on the wrong sort of paper, so we dug it out of the trash. This is what we found."
Mert took the paper from me and studied it. "She had a problem a couple of semesters past. Something about an inappropriate email."
"Was it from this teacher? Because this is a class she’s taking now."
"I disremember. Might have been from another student. She's patched together her education. Taken classes from as many community colleges as she could because the tuition is lower."
"Do you remember all the schools' names
?"
"Prairie Central, Wash U," she said, using the local nickname for Washington University, "and Charbonneau Community."
That was another avenue to pursue. I folded the paper. "Can you think of anyone else who has a beef? I know most people would immediately be jealous of her because she’s so beautiful, but once you get to know her, you can’t help but like her. Is it possible that someone in the store gave her a hard time? I’d like to think that I’d know if that happened, but still…"
Mert shook her head. "Not that I’ve heard of. She’s used to people being put off by how she looks. She’s coped with that her whole life."
"Is there anything about her adoptive mother? Or the nursing home? Anything at all?" I was fishing and I knew it.
"Nope. But I’ll ask her about it tonight. She’s insisting on going home to her apartment. I told her I’d hang out with her. At least for a while. Roger is fine at home with Johnny."
"Then I’ll visit the talent agency and see what I can learn. Will you ask her the name of the girl who lost out?"
"It’s Abbysinthe I remember it because it’s a sort of play on the liquor. Her cards say that she can make your forget your troubles."
I shoved the chart in my purse and stood up. "Yeah, I just bet she can."
Chapter 60
The Star Bright Talent Agency sat like a frumpy housefrau smack dab in the middle of a block in the West End. Around it other brick and limestone facades with broad display windows, showcasing eclectic art, fair trade goods, hippy style clothing, trendy eateries, and a bookstore that was closed more often than open. Despite the optimistic name, Star Bright looked more like the last star you’d see any night with its dirty vinyl blinds pulled down over windows that needed cleaning.
The door opened with a hard yank. I stepped inside and changed my mind about the place. As grubby as the outside had seemed, the waiting area was well-appointed with a lipstick red sofa, twin black leather sling chairs, and framed photos of area talent. Many of the faces I recognized. On the glass table was a three-ring binder labeled "Our Talent Shines." I flipped it open to see various studio shots and descriptions of people of all ages, sizes, ethnicities, and genders.
"Hello," said a young woman in high heels. She extended her hand for a shake. "I’m Elise Gifford. May I help you? Did you have an appointment?"
"Uh, no," I said.
Elise’s reddish hair was pulled back in a classic French twist. Taken with the simple long-sleeve sheath dress, she looked like Audrey Hepburn. I liked her immediately for the genuine smile she offered.
"I’m getting married, and I was thinking about booking a…" I stopped. I couldn’t bring myself to lie to the woman. Instead, I started again with, "Could we go somewhere and talk? Do you have an office?"
"Certainly. I have ten minutes until a new talent is coming in. Is that enough time?"
"Sure," I said.
She led me down a hall to a nicely appointed conference room. The soft gray walls contrasted with silver stars and photos of more talent. The table was clear glass, but the effect wasn’t cold. Not with the softly padded gray chairs.
"May I offer you a beverage? Coffee? Tea? A cola? A bottle of water?"
I accepted a cup of mint tea eagerly. "This is hard, but I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. Yes, I do have a fiancé, but that's not why I'm here. I’m a friend of Laurel Wilkins."
"How is she? I couldn’t believe what happened! I’ve been trying to find out if she’s okay!" Elise leaned forward. "How do you…? Oh, you must be Kiki! She talks about you all the time. Kiki this and Kiki that. She’s always going on and on about what you’re creating or the cool idea you’ve had."
I blushed and struggled for words. "I think the world of Laurel, and I was there when she was stabbed. I mean, I was in the next room. She’s going home today, but that’s why I’m here. I’m worried. I’m scared that whoever tried to kill her will try again."
"Let me guess, the cops aren’t doing much, are they?"
I clamped my mouth shut. Since I’m planning to marry a cop, I hated the change in attitude. But I wasn’t here to defend the police or the law enforcement community. I was here to gather information to help Laurel. So I waited.
Elise jumped to her feet and started pacing. "I was afraid of that. See, there was another incident a month ago."
"You’re kidding!"
"No, I wish I was. We got a package for Laurel. Inside was a threatening letter. I called the police. They couldn’t do anything." Elise stopped walking and hugged herself. "I guess I can see it from their viewpoint. There really wasn’t much to go on. The letter was pretty general."
"Do you still have it?"
"No. They took it and said they’d file it away. Evidence, I guess."
I got my hopes up and just as quickly, let them be dashed. This was yet another municipality. All Detweiler could do was ask to see the letter. That might take days, if the force here was willing to cooperate at all.
"Do you remember what it said?"
"I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Someone had gotten a hold of a publicity shot of Laurel in her belly dancing costume. They’d stabbed a hole in the picture, right about where her heart was. In black marker they’d written something like, ‘You led him into temptation.’" Elise shivered. "I have to tell you, it made me sick."
Chapter 61
Elise wasn’t too worried about the other belly dancer. "Abby is hot tempered, but she gets over things quickly. Sure, she was put out that Laurel was hired and she wasn’t, but that’s the way this business goes. Abby knows that."
"But maybe there were bad feelings. It's possible, isn't it?"
Elise shrugged. "Abby and Laurel often appear together. Customers really dig that whole two women fantasy thing. Besides, Laurel's the one who helped Abby put together her costume. Believe it or not, authentic belly dancing garb is very expensive. Laurel paid a customer to bring back two outfits when he went to the Middle East. One was a gift for Abby."
That was how Laurel operated. You could hate her for her good looks, but not for long because once you got to know her, she was so sweet that you put aside your jealousy.
"I wonder if someone who saw Laurel dancing got hot and bothered. Maybe some wife somewhere. Do you have a list of her engagements?"
Elise stiffened. "I couldn't share that with you. Those customers are proprietary to our business. Even though Laurel trusts you, my boss would kill me."
"I understand." And I did. Their client list was the lifeblood of the agency, just as our customer list was ours.
Time to take another tack. Detweiler often asked the same question in different ways until he got a satisfactory answer. "Was there any function where wives attended? And did the nasty note arrive immediately after such a function?"
"Let me check," said Elise, getting up gracefully and leaving me at the table. She came back holding a folder with Laurel's name on it. Elise kept the folder open so she could read from it. "Right before the letter arrived, she danced at a birthday party for a ninety-nine-year-old man. I guess his lifelong fantasy was to see a belly dancer, but he was too feeble to fly to Egypt or wherever, so his sons bought an hour of Laurel's time. Once she got there, she was such a hit that she stuck around for three hours. You wouldn't believe how happy the sons were with her! I guess the geezer nearly died in ecstasy."
"Did Mr. Geezer have a wife or lover who might have gotten jealous?"
Elise grinned. "Yes, he and she have been married seventy-plus years."
I couldn't imagine a ninety-year-old woman having the energy to stab Laurel repeatedly. In fact, I hadn't seen anyone that old at our crop or at the gathering in the haunted house.
"How about this. How about if I send you an email with our list of customers who attended the Halloween fundraiser? You can check those names against your client list. If someone appears on both, perhaps that person would be worth looking at more closely."
"You would do that for Laurel? That's pretty risky stuf
f. I could share your list with a competitor."
"You could, but why would you? Besides, if you attended one of our crops, you could write down the names of the other attendees and share them with a competitor. That still wouldn’t give you access to their contact information."
"True."
I toyed with my tea bag. "Is it possible that there was someone else in the audience? A wife who got annoyed by her husband's attention to Laurel?"
"I doubt it. If so, she would definitely be a one-off. Most of the wives start out being jealous of Laurel and end up being her biggest fans. She does this thing where she encourages the other women to join her as she dances. They get the chance to feel special and sexy, too. It's such a smart trick that Abby has started doing the same."
Chapter 62
Margit glared at me from her cats' eye glasses. Rotating her wrist and tapping her watch, she said, "You are late."
"You are right, and I owe you an apology. What's that I smell? Sauerbraten?"
Her frown eased as she said, "Ja. I made it for you and for Brawny. She said she'd never eaten German food. I told her that was a shame. I made extra for you to take home."
"Margit, you're the best," I said, as I threw my arms around her and gave her a hug. She smelled, as always, of peppermint and eucalyptus, the rub she used for her arthritis. Although she didn't offer affection, she did bask in it when it came her way. I gave her a kiss on the cheek as I let her go.
"Ja, but the time," she sniffed.
"Let me tell you and Clancy where I was and what I did. Then you can fuss at me."
I buzzed Clancy with the intercom function that I'd recently added to our phone system. She came back and took a seat next to mine at Margit's desk, a makeshift sort of affair my co-worker had carved for herself out of the back wall. The workspace perfectly reflected Margit. Whereas Clancy had a touch of OCD that made her germophobic and organized, Margit's OCD tendencies caused her to crave processes. When Clancy settled in, Margit sighed and put her forms back in the appropriate folder. I knew from experience that she would go through them one by one with me when she had my total attention.
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