Murder She Typed

by Sylvia Selfman

  Feeling more and more like a spy, I hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, flushing the toilet several times for authenticity. Then I headed back to the living room and heard Flo’s voice, still in the midst of some circuitous description of her ‘story’ involving sex toys, menage a trois, whipped cream, French tickler, bondage.

  What on earth was she talking about? I entered the living room. Dr. Linda was leaning forward in her seat, listening rapt to Flo’s imaginary description of her imaginary book. Both were so enthralled by her story, they were unaware of my presence.

  “I guess we should be going,” I announced while staring at the small remains of German chocolate cake on Flo’s plate.

  “Soon,” Flo said. Then, as if in slow motion, she lifted the fork and put the last bit of cake into her mouth. “Dr. Linda is such a fabulous baker,” she purred.

  “And your friend is quite the talented ranconteur,” Dr. Linda said, fanning herself. “I told her I’d love to edit her book when it’s finished. She has an amazingly creative mind, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes, very creative,” I said trying not to choke on the words.

  “Oh, and, Izzy,” Dr. Linda said.

  “Yes?”

  “Make sure you get me your short story to include in our book. I’ll be leaving for my daughter’s in LA right after the writing group and taking the manuscripts with me.

  “You didn’t have to make such a pig of yourself,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder and backed out of Dr. Linda’s driveway. “How many slices of cake did you have?”

  “It’s none of your business. Did you get what you wanted?”

  I stopped the car and pulled my bag from the back seat. “Check it out.”

  Flo pulled the thick sheaf of papers from my purse. “My, my, aren’t you the little thief.”

  “Yeah but did you hear what Dr. Linda said? She’s planning to take all the manuscripts with her on a trip this weekend.” I groaned, wondering why everything I did seemed to get screwed up. “How the heck am I going to get that back in her desk before she leaves?”

  “Seems you got yourself in another pickle.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I sniffed. “By the way, what’s with that stupid story you were telling Dr. Linda?”

  “Stupid? Are you kidding! Dr. Linda said my book was fascinating and creative and that she’d be honored to edit it when it’s finished. In fact, she said it has the potential to become a hot seller.”

  “You’re not writing a book.”

  “I am now.”

  *************************************************

  After dropping Flo off, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a quart of milk and a box of chocolate chip cookies to make up for the deprivation at Dr. Linda’s. Then I headed home to read Sondra’s bio. I’d have to read it quickly if I wanted to get it back to Dr. Linda’s before she left town.

  I’d been hoping that Sondra’s book held some wild revelations, but so far, there weren’t any. At least not in the first ten pages. It was more of what she’d read to the writing group––her brother’s jealous rages, her beautiful mother, the descriptions of her mother’s clothes, yada yada yada. I leafed through the pages looking for something more meaty.

  Plastic surgery! The words jumped off the page. I knew it! Sondra’s perfection was the result of a skilled surgeon’s knife. Unfortunately the phone interrupted my reading.

  “You promised you were coming for Sherlock today,” Lorna said, sounding displeased. “I’ve been waiting all morning. You forgot, didn’t you?”

  “No, of course I didn’t forget,” I fibbed. “I was just leaving the house.”

  “Sherlock and I will be waiting for you outside.” She hung up.

  Darn.

  Eager as I was to read about Sondra’s plastic surgery, it would have to wait. I would bet my crow’s feet that Sondra had not only a boob job but a nose job and probably an eye job as well. I’d also bet with all those jobs she probably never had to work a real one in her life.

  Lorna was waiting in her front yard as I pulled up. Next to her was a small crate with my new charge inside. There was not going to be any pleasant tete a tete over coffee and cake today, it seemed. Lorna probably figured that the longer I stayed the more chance there was that I’d wriggle out of taking Sherlock. And she was probably right.

  “Sherlock’s eager to get to his new home,” Lorna announced firmly.

  I stared at the wary looking animal, sitting his crate and it crossed my mind that I could always keep him locked in there. Lorna must have read my mind. “Sherlock hates the crate but I thought it’d make it easier for you to transport him. Of course you’ll want to let him out of it once you get him home.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Beads of sweat rolled down my face as I struggled to fit the crate into the back seat of my car. Sherlock was sitting inside like royalty and never once took his eyes off me. I glared at him and gave the crate a hard shove for good measure.

  “Hold on, I forgot something,” Lorna said as she ran back into the house. A few minutes later, she emerged and handed me a bag of kitty litter and a large plastic pan. It was official—my home was about to become Sherlock’s bathroom.

  “Well, I guess we’ll be leaving.” I paused, hoping for a last minute reprieve. There wasn’t one so I got into the car. “Have you heard from Sondra?” I asked before driving away.

  “Why no,” Lorna replied. “Have you?”

  I shook my head and started up the engine. There was to be no stay of execution.

  I pulled out of her driveway. “Okay, Sherlock, I’m in charge now. Get used to it.”

  I shlepped the crate out of the car and into the house, then into the kitchen. Sherlock and I looked suspiciously at each other. Then I gave in and unlatched the gate.

  Sherlock took his time exiting the cage. He stretched, looked around, then slowly and silently strolled into the living room––then down the hall, checking out each room while I followed behind. When he’d seen enough he stopped and gave me a dubious look. “I know,” I said. “The place is a mess. It’s been a helluva day and you’re not making it any easier.”

  He appeared satisfied with that response and walked back into the kitchen where he began rubbing himself against my feet and meowing impatiently while I struggled to open his can of food.

  So like a man.

  *******************************************

  By the time I did all I could to make Sherlock feel secure and comfortable in his new (short-term) home, I’d had it. “Okay, Sherlock, go amuse yourself. It’s my private time now.”

  I took off my clothes, feeling strangely uncomfortable as Sherlock watched, and dared him to make a comment about my thighs. I slipped on my XX large men’s tee, then hunted down my reading glasses to read more of Sondra’s manuscript. Just when I got good and comfy, I realized that Sherlock had disappeared––no doubt to look for a more stimulating environment. I found him on top of the armoire in the bathroom––looking every bit the Master of His Universe as he looked down at me. I decided to leave him up there.

  After making a cup of Earl Grey tea, I settled down to read the juicy details of Sondra’s plastic surgery––this time without interruption.

  Sondra went on for over two pages about how pleased she was with her new appearance. She had no regrets about any of her improvements, though at times she wondered who that glamorous woman was, gazing back at her in the mirror.

  In a rare bit of humor she admitted that she could never pass a mirror without looking at herself––something I could identify with––as could every woman I knew. She stated that the surgery had miraculously alleviated her feelings of insecurity.

  Though I was eager to read more, my eyes were growing heavy. It had been a long day.

  I closed my eyes and fell sound asleep

  .

  Chapter 27

  The dulcet sounds of loud, slurping awoke me sharply at 6:00 AM. It was Sherlock. Licking his
balls. Or the place where his balls would be if he still had them.

  “Stop it,” I demanded, hoping to grab a few more minutes of sleep. Shocked into silence he glanced at me, then continued pleasuring himself while perched on top of Sondra’s manuscript, which had fallen to the floor. “Scat,” I said, waving him off as I gathered up the pages and placed them back on the coffee table for safe keeping.

  The morning light was peeking through the shutters and brought into sharp relief just how complicated my life had become––I now not only had a new boarder with a fetish for self love, but I was a felon. A thief. Guilty of a criminal offense. I looked over at Sherlock. “What do you think I should do, Sherlock?” His answer was to increase the vigor with which he was licking himself. “Yes, just what I was thinking,” I said.

  Eager as I was to get back to Sondra’s manuscript I remembered I had an appointment for hair color and that took priority. It occurred to me that I should probably cancel, since I didn’t trust Sherlock alone in the house. However I didn’t relish the thought of Merv’s comments about my roots showing on our date that evening.

  Perhaps I’d take the manuscript to read under the dryer. But knowing me, I’d accidentally drip auburn dye on it––an indelible clue to my crime. Maybe that would be a good plot point for my still-unwritten mystery story. I’d have to think about it later though as I didn’t want to be late.

  ***********************************************

  One of Merv’s more irritating qualities was that he was always on time––or worse––early. This time it was the latter. At the sound of the doorbell, Sherlock, perched on top of the armoire took a flying leap, and bounded out of the bathroom. I ran after him and managed to shoo him into my bedroom as I didn’t want Merv asking any questions about where I got him.

  I slammed the bedroom door shut, and rushed to the front door.

  “You look different,” Merv said studying me. “Lose weight?”

  It was probably my updated hair color but if he wanted to believe it was weight loss, all the better. “My new diet,” I said. My new diet of chocolate chip cookies. “Make yourself comfortable while I finish getting ready.”

  “Take your time,” Merv said as he flopped down on the couch and flipped on the TV. “Say, I have a good idea. Instead of going out, what say we order in? Maybe spend a quiet evening watching TV. Then…” he looked at me with one of those suggestive looks that men think are subtle but women think are ridiculously obvious. “Then who knows what could happen?” he added.

  I ignored his comment. “Fix yourself a drink. I’ll be just a few minutes.” I left the room to put the finishing touches to my makeup. Merv would have to prove himself to me before I’d get intimate with him again. A juicy steak would be a good start.

  When I returned to the living room he was hunched over the cocktail table––reading Sondra’s manuscript! To make matters worse, her name was on the upper right corner of each page.

  I grabbed it away from him. “What do you think you’re doing with that? I can’t believe you’re in my house reading something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “Yeah? It doesn’t belong to you either. What are you doing with Sondra Sockerman’s autobiography?”

  “Dr. Linda asked me to edit it and I’m giving it back to her tomorrow morning,” I said, thinking quickly. At least the second part was true. I’d have to get it back to her pronto before she left town.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. “I need to get my bag.” What I needed was to hide the manuscript and check up on Sherlock to make sure he wasn’t destroying my new bedspread.

  I quietly opened my bedroom door, hoping to catch Sherlock off guard, when he flew past me and out of the room. A few seconds later, I heard Merv yelling. I ran back to the living room where Sherlock had him backed into a corner behind the couch.

  “Would you get that damn animal away from me.”

  Where had I heard those words before? “What? What did you say?”

  “You heard me. Get that damn animal away from me.”

  Then it hit me—Lorna said she’d heard a man yell those exact words to Sondra. “It seems he doesn’t like you,” I said, with dawning suspicion.

  “Well, the feeling’s mutual. Since when did you get a cat?”

  Merv didn’t seem to recognize Sherlock but then again, he wasn’t an animal lover and probably thought, like I did, that all cats looked alike. Of course now that I had Sherlock, I was beginning to rethink that idea. “I’m cat sitting for a friend,” I answered.

  “Well keep him away from me,” Merv grumbled.

  Palm Springs is a small town, and nothing is more than ten minutes away. Of course when the snowbirds come for the winter, the traffic situation is a different story.

  Unfortunately Merv and I forgot that Flemings Steak House, like many shops and restaurants in the town, was closed for August. No one who had a second home––or was in his right mind––was crazy enough to remain in the desert during summer temperatures of 115 degree plus.

  I was starved and if we didn’t find an open restaurant soon, I was going to start chewing on the handle of my bag. Not wanting to waste time, I suggested the Regency Room in the Palm Springs Sun Villas Clubhouse. It was in my gated community, and was open year-round and had fabulous food. The last time I’d eaten there was when I’d treated Merv for his birthday––B.S. (before Sondra). The Regency’s prime rib was, ‘to die for.’ For the cow, that is. For us humans it was ‘to live for.’

  It was a Tuesday night and summer, so we didn’t need a reservation and had no trouble getting a table. We had no sooner taken our seats when Minna came rushing over. “Izzy! What a surprise to see you here with Merv. I didn’t know you two were still a couple. I thought you and Frank…”

  “Minna, why don’t you introduce us to your date?” I interrupted, giving her a dirty look. I certainly didn’t want her bringing up Frank in front of Merv.

  “Oh yes,” she beamed. “This is Rushmore Oshansky. You’ve probably heard of him. He’s famous for solving the Palm Springs Sun Villas Retirement Murder Case.”

  Also for being quite the ladies man, or so I’d heard.

  Looking at him I could see why. He was nice looking though slightly on the pudgy side, nothing that a little calorie-counting couldn’t take care of. He was wearing a white shirt, neatly pressed, and khakis. He seemed alert and probably still drove a car. In other words he was what was known in senior speak as a catch.

  “I remember that case caused quite a stir at the time,” I said. “Are you working on another one now?”

  My question seemed to take him by surprise. “Why? Do you know of a one that I should be working on?”

  “Not really.” I paused. “Well, maybe.” I paused again, then quickly added, “Uh, probably not.” Oshansky gave me a curious look as though waiting for me to elaborate but I certainly wasn’t going to say anything about Sondra Sockerman in front of Merv. Though perhaps I’d get in touch with Oshansky one of these days. I could always get his number from the club directory if I needed it.

  “We have to go. Rushmore and I are going to take in a movie,” Minna said as she took ownership of his arm. “We mustn’t be late, darling.”

  I could have sworn I saw Oshansky flinch at the the word, ‘darling.’

  “Have fun,” I said. I wondered how Minna had managed to rope him in. Probably with home cooked meals. I’d heard he was a sucker for them.

  I watched as Oshansky and Minna made their way around the tables to the exit. At the door, Oshansky paused and glanced back. Our eyes locked. He gave a slight nod and continued out the door.

  Perhaps I’d hone my cooking skills which had fallen into disrepair since my husband died.

  “You know him?” Merv asked, sounding like a petulant child.

  “No, not really.” I dug into my black pepper encrusted, twelve ounce New York steak, flamed with cognac. Not yet.

  Merv was in a bad mood the rest of the evening but I figured what
was good for the goose was good for the gander.

  Typical of men, Merv’s bad mood ended at my front door where he made clear his desire for some après-dinner hanky panky. He gave me a long hard kiss complete with tongue and the taste of garlic salad dressing.

  “I’m sure my cat would love to see you again,” I said. It had the desired effect. Merv mumbled something about my getting rid of ‘that animal’ and left quickly.

  I went into the bedroom, eager to skim through Sondra’s manuscript and find out as much as I could. I had to get it back into Dr. Linda’s desk before the writing group since she was leaving for her daughter’s directly afterwards and planned to take it with her. It also bothered me that Merv had seen it in my home though it was too late to do anything about that now.

  I sat down to read, but despite my best intentions, the minute I hit the bed, I fell asleep.

  Chapter 28

  The next morning I padded to the kitchen, eager for that first cup of coffee––liquid gold. It was easy for Dr. Williams, at my last checkup, to suggest that I give up caffeine but I dismissed the idea. I figured when a doctor can’t come up with anything else, he says give up caffeine, or, worse, exercise more––both of which Dr. Williams suggested. Was he kidding? I’d sooner give up my cat.

  Wait––my cat? Sherlock was no more my cat than I was going to give up coffee.

  I thought again how upset Merv was when Sherlock cornered him in the living room and how I’d unfortunately burst out laughing––which enraged Merv even more.

  There was also that rash on his arm which he’d explained was from clipping the bougainvillea in his front yard. The only thing I could imagine Merv clipping was the end of his Cuban cigar.