No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  “Companionship,” I continued.

  “I’ve got a dog. He doesn’t bitch when I come home late or leave the toilet seat up.”

  “You can’t dance with a dog,” I pointed out. “You need a warm, willing partner to hold in your arms, someone who will follow your lead and move to your rhythm.”

  “Who says I want to dance?”

  “How can you not want to dance?” I said incredulously. “Dancing is the ultimate intimacy.”

  “I’m pretty sure sex qualifies as that. Two people going at it….”

  “You can have sex with someone you don’t care about,” I insisted. “You can go through the motions and when you’re done, you don’t know anything about the other person. But you can’t dance effectively without working with your partner. You learn to understand the subtle signals that pass between you, to read your partner’s body language, to anticipate the next move. Dancing with the right person is pure romance at its finest. It’s the physical, non-verbal language of love.”

  “Hardly,” Jasper sniffed. “Dancing is overrated.”

  Chapter Eight —

  “Wow,” I sighed. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”

  “Why? Because I’m not a dancer?”

  “No, because you’re a cold fish. You think women are only good for one thing. How sad is that?”

  “Relax, Dawkins. I’m yanking your chain.”

  “You are?” I studied his face. “Why?”

  “Because it’s fun to see you get so fired up.”

  “Hmm.” I wondered if that meant he was flirting with me. Maybe he was just a big tease with every woman. Maybe his girlfriend was on the way out of his heart. Maybe I was inventing hope where there was none. I took a stab in the dark. “Does that mean Eva’s not hot?”

  “Oh, no. She’s definitely hot. In a cold, heartless, ice queen kind of way.”

  “You’re yanking my chain again, aren’t you?”

  “I sure am.”

  After dinner, we headed back to West Avenue. Arriving back at my address, Jasper said good night, climbed into his Lexus, and drove off into the sunset. I headed upstairs, excited that tomorrow was the first day of the new renovation. I went to bed early, anticipating the thrill of the first hammer whack on the new job. You never know what hides inside the walls.

  I was the first one there the next morning, so I had the bungalow to myself. Susan Lefkowitz’s family cleared out most of her belongings just before the closing. They rented a van and hauled away the pieces they wanted. The rest they left behind. As I walked through, I spied a little side table that I thought could be repurposed with some fresh paint. In the drawer was a Star of David on a silver chain. Most of the closets were empty, save for wire hangers, empty shoe boxes, and the odd sock left behind. I had done enough of these flips to know that people sometimes left things behind that they really did want. Rather than throw everything out, I worked methodically, sorting what would go in the dumpster that Tidy Hauling was dropping off in a couple of hours and what to keep. Less than thirty minutes later, I had a pile of items by the front door to go. That left the basement to explore, and it didn’t look like there was all that much down there to clear out. Poking my way into the nooks and crannies, I removed old mousetraps with dusty little skeletons, glad that I was wearing nitrile gloves to protect myself. I found three old mason jars and a couple of cardboard boxes of hardened laundry detergent powder that looked like they were abandoned in the seventies. And then I found the box of love letters.

  Or could I call them love letters? Tucked behind the old, abandoned furnace we planned to remove, sitting up on a ledge, someone had put them out of reach. I used an old stepladder to get them down. They were torrid notes about sexual escapades that seemed to have taken place all over Glendale. I wondered if the Lefkowitz family knew about them. Was that why Susan’s relatives left them behind? Should I stop reading them? After all, they were Susan’s private correspondences. But another part of me wondered if I might find some clue, some hint of her fate inside the envelopes. What if something bad had happened to her and these letters held the secret?

  By the third letter, I knew the man, who signed his letters with a dramatic “K”, was married to a clueless wife. Melanie was under the impression that the vibrational healing sessions he took with Susan, also known as Rainbow, were to help him recover his waning libido, and fooling his wife seemed to delight him. “K” wrote to his lover that the only thing that would do the trick was if Melanie dropped the eighty pounds she gained after giving birth to their three children. He talked about Susan’s prowess in bed and the New Age healer’s ability to make him sexually satisfied in ways he never knew existed before her. The graphic descriptions were a real eye-opener for me. They clearly enjoyed pushing their sexual activities in unusual directions.

  The photos fell out of the seventh envelope. Looking down at the one I held in my hand, it was my first glance at the missing woman — at least I assumed it was Susan. You couldn’t call her beautiful. The face was too long, the eyes too narrow, the lips too prominent for that. There was a look of recklessness and wild abandon to her. Her hair was an untamed mess of dark brown ringlets suspended in air, as if she had stuck her wet finger in a light socket. She was very lithe, very limber, judging from the positions she took in bed and out of it. She had a rather unremarkable, undeveloped body, as far as bodies go, but she was clearly an active participant in the party games. Posing in the act with various toys, she gave the photographer her all — pouting, grinning, clearly lusting for him. I was about to just tuck all the photos back into the envelope, without looking any closer, when my eyes lit on one Susan must have taken herself. There was a man grinning from ear to ear, his wrists bound to the headboard of a bed that was dressed in leopard print sheets. He was naked and excited, his legs spread immodestly for the world to see. I recognized the face. There was no doubt about it. I was looking at Kyle Hargrove.

  “Holy crap!” I sighed. Maybe it was more than a coincidence that Kyle showed up here the other day. Maybe he came to collect his pornography.

  “Anyone here?” There was knocking on the back door and I heard a male voice calling out. I quickly thrust the depraved photographs back in the envelope and grabbed the whole box before heading for the steps. Jasper was waiting on the steps, so I let him in.

  “Sorry to bother you. I’m on my way to the city for a meeting right now, but I’m picking June up later tonight. My mom wants to know if you’re free for lunch tomorrow. She told me to tell you she’s looking forward to seeing the place.” Jasper noticed the box tucked under my arm. “Find some treasure?”

  “Susan’s family left it behind. Lots of letters,” I said guardedly. “I thought they might shed some light on what happened to her.”

  “Why do I get the feeling something shook you up?” he asked. I shrugged. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to show the photos to Jasper. After all, the very naked Susan was exposed in all her glory. Then again, maybe it would be good to talk to someone who knew what a vile piece of vermin Kyle Hargrove was. I rummaged around in the box and pulled out the envelope with the photos. I handed it to Jasper without a word. He took it, peered inside, and then pulled out the letter. His eyes grew wide as he read the words Kyle had written to his lover. Once he finished, he carefully folded it up again and tucked it back into its paper sheath. Then he pulled out the photos. Glancing at each one in turn, he made little comments about Susan’s athletic abilities and sexual propensities. When he got to Kyle’s triumphant smile, he gave a low whistle.

  “Wow. I guess we know now why Kyle wants the house.”

  “Here’s a dumb question,” I responded. “What kind of guy wants to buy a house he doesn’t need, just to get his hands on dirty pictures of himself and his missing girlfriend?”

  “Not a smart one,” Jasper conceded.

  Glancing out the window, I could see the crew had arrived to dig up the pipes that were to be replaced. They were wasting no
time, maneuvering the back hoe into place. It was a good thing we planned to tear up the yard and do new landscaping, because their heavy machinery was wreaking havoc on the yard. I turned my attention back to Jasper.

  “The question is what do I do with them? Should I take them to the police? What if Kyle killed her because she tried to blackmail him?” There was something about the look on Jasper’s face that stopped me.

  “Kyle’s not necessarily a killer, Suzanne. And Susan Lefkowitz might not be dead.”

  “How can you say that?” I thought about Jane and what she went through. “How can you defend the guy?”

  “I’m not defending him. I’m just saying that dirty pictures do not a murderer make.”

  “He raped Janie. Now Susan is missing. She’s been gone a long time. He’s a wicked man!”

  “I have something to tell you about Janie,” Jasper began. “There’s something you should know….”

  “Holy crap!” An excited Bobby Rodriguez, our foreman, burst into the kitchen. “Zan! Zan! Come quick! You’re not going to believe this!”

  Jasper and I followed him out to the side yard, where five members of the Dawkins Builders’ crew were looking down into the freshly-excavated soil. We joined them, leaning in for a closer look.

  “We found the cause of that water leak,” Manny, the operator of the back hoe, announced, pointing to the pile of bones poking up through the rich brown earth. “Someone must have cracked the pipe when he dug the hole to bury the body.”

  Two hours later, the neighborhood was alive with people. The police had cordoned off the yard with fluorescent yellow tape and evidence teams were collecting samples and taking measurements. The box of letters was now in police custody. Jasper had left for his meeting a little late. I went back to the office after a lengthy session of questions by two detectives. Ned shook his head as he came in from the parking lot.

  “Told you so, Suze. Said it was a bad idea to buy a house when the homeowner was missing.”

  “You did,” I agreed. “But look on the bright side. Susan Lefkowitz is no longer missing. Her family finally knows where she is.”

  “On my dollar,” my brother announced. “We’ll never sell that house now.”

  “I’ll figure something out. I’m actually glad Susan is no longer missing. Someone killed her and buried the body. Someone almost got away with murder.” I thought about Kyle and how much I wanted to see him behind bars. He got away with what he did to Jane. He wouldn’t get away with silencing the sexually adventurous Rainbow, thanks to those damning photos.

  “We’re going to be in the center of a lot of negative press, Suzykins. Not good for business.”

  “You know what? We should have some kind of service for Susan and invite the public. We should show people that we regret her unfortunate death and we’re offering our thoughts and prayers for Susan. If we’re lucky, we may found out she wasn’t murdered on that spot.”

  “But she was probably killed in the house. Which raises the point that the police have issued a ban on any work to the bungalow until the case is solved or they’ve at least removed any and all evidence. We’re stuck with a house we can’t flip.”

  “Maybe they’ll solve the case quickly.” I told Ned about the box of letters and the dirty pictures. He made a face of disbelief, but I saw a glimmer of hope behind the eyes.

  “I’ll get started finding a rabbi to officiate at the ceremony.”

  “Any chance Jasper’s mother will still want to buy the bungalow?”

  “Possibly. But don’t worry. If the house doesn’t sell in a month, I’ll buy it.”

  “What? My baby sister is willing to give up her little castle in the sky for the bungalow from hell? Why?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something about this house that speaks to me. I felt it the first time I walked through the door.”

  “It’s your dollar, kiddo.”

  By two, we were inundated with calls from the media. They wanted to know if we had photographs of the bungalow they could use in their stories, since the police wouldn’t let anyone inside. Someone had tipped the reporters to the box of letters, and several of them peppered me with questions, which I did not answer. Kyle had been at the police station for the better part of the day, and it looked like he would be there for some time to come. He had already hired a well-known criminal defense attorney, M. Ross Twachter. Nothing but the best for that stinking sleaze bag. I left Ned in charge of schmoozing with the press. I knew he’d put the interests of Dawkins Builders in the forefront, so I got busy on putting Susan Lefkowitz’s spirit to rest.

  I spoke with Rabbi Stein at Temple Beth Shalom, explaining my desire to honor the dead and described the area where Susan’s skeletal remains were recovered at the Glengarry Court bungalow. I admitted I did not know what her family’s wishes were and feared offending them by not understanding Jewish tradition. He offered his services as a go-between, extending a hand to her family while also serving as the community’s liaison. He asked me if I could meet him at the property and show him where the body was found and tell him how it was discovered, so he could plan appropriate prayers for the dead woman. I met with him a short time later, glad that I made the right choice. He was a friendly, kind man with a reassuring manner, and if anyone could soothe the spirits, it was he. The rabbi had already contacted Susan’s family and they were amiable to having a service for her at the site. In fact, they were most appreciative that Susan’s body was finally discovered. Her mother said it was a blessing in disguise that they finally decided not to wait any longer to sell the bungalow. Sadly, I had to agree with her. The woman known as Rainbow to her followers, and Susan to her family, could have lingered under the ground for many more years had it not been for the planned renovation. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Even after all these years, Kyle’s bad behavior was finally catching up to him. It made me wonder what his punishment would be.

  It also made me wonder how Susan died. Was she strangled during some kinky sex game? Was her throat slashed in some lover’s quarrel with Kyle? Did she fall and hit her head during an altercation? Was her death planned out or did it happen on impulse? Even as I asked myself the questions, I made a note that I should try to wean myself off the daily diet of “whodunnits” on TV. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about what Kyle was thinking in the moments just before she died. Was it a thrill for him? Was he angry? It was hard for me to turn off the musings in my mind.

  Detective Gertmuller called me at the office a little after four, asking if I would meet the forensics team at the bungalow, so I made yet another trip to the property, this time parking so far down the street, I had to pass all the news crews who were hanging around outside the house. Several tried to block my passage down the sidewalk and force me to comment for them, but when I got to the front yard, a young police officer warned them off. I scooted through the front door, relieved when it shut behind me.

  The forensic team knew we were renovating the interior, and because of that, they wanted to make sure to get as much physical evidence as possible, since they wouldn’t necessarily be able to come back for it, especially if it was removed as part of the construction plan. They had covered the windows with dark plastic sheeting, to block out the light, and I saw at least two people using black lights as they searched for blood stains.

  I met Detective Gertmuller in the dining room and he led me down to the basement, wanting to see exactly where I found the box of letters, on the off chance there might be more. I explained how I normally did things when we were about to flip a house.

  “Ever find anything valuable?” he wondered, making conversation.

  “I found an engagement ring left in a can of coffee on a bedroom closet shelf once. I was pouring the grounds out into the trash and saw something glitter. The little old lady who owned the house had dementia and the family thought she had lost the ring years earlier. And once I found a savings book that still had a couple hundred dollars in it. It’s always nice t
o turn things back over to the families and see their reactions.”

  “Well, you hit the jackpot on this. That body could have remained there for eternity. Why were the men digging there again?” he wanted to know. I explained that the water bill was too high for an empty house, which made him want to know exactly when the bills increased.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We can’t find all the bones. Some are missing and we think the body was moved here long after the murder. By the way, that’s not information for the press.”

  “No, no,” I agreed. But it made me think. “Why would someone move bones? That sounds really creepy. Almost like an obsession. I mean, if she was already dead somewhere else, why would the killer bring her skeleton back here? Why not just dump it somewhere else? You probably wouldn’t even be able to identify her.”

  “Twisted minds do odd things,” he replied. He was watching me closely. “You look like you might know something.”

  “I don’t know that I actually know anything,” I admitted. “But the next-door neighbor seemed rather disturbed by the fact that we were here in the house yesterday. John Sullivan claimed he was watching the place for her and that he and Susan had had a long relationship. He even said he moved here to be closer to her. It made me very uncomfortable. I’m positive I locked the door this morning like I always do. I was in the middle of showing it to a prospective buyer when we caught the guy sneaking around the house. Very creepy.”

  “Thanks,” he nodded in response to the information. He seemed to be deep in thought.

  “As for what we plan to remove from the premises,” I changed the subject, “let me give you a run-through on what’s staying and what’s going.”

  I left by five, passing the media gauntlet on my way out. One of the more aggressive reporters followed me all the way to the silver streak, offering favorable press coverage for Dawkins Builders if I cooperated. I turned him down flat and he got snarly on me, but I didn’t really care. It’s not like Ned and I were participants in the murder.