“And I don’t see you people doing anything except putting my life in more danger,” I yelled out as I drove past.
I cut through side streets, winding my way to the Lively Oaks Trailer Park. It was completely dead, a rarity for a trailer park, even at three A.M. Here and there a streetlight lit up the trailers, reflecting off the taillights of the cars that sat still on their parking pads. I saw eyes everywhere, staring out of the darkness, watching me. Now I was acting hyper-vigilant.
Two huge glowing eyes stared at me as I pulled up onto my parking pad and cut the lights. Fluffy. Her entire body radiated disapproval. Where have you been? she seemed to say. They are still here.
“I know, girl,” I said, climbing the steps slowly, clutching my side with one hand and reaching out to her with the other. “But we need family right now. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
Fluffy sighed and pushed through the doggie door, not waiting for me to unlock the door and step inside. Fluffy had her pride after all. She didn’t think we needed anybody’s help.
“Wonder where you got that attitude?” I muttered into the dimly lit kitchen. Ahead of me, Fluffy sighed again loudly, walking on toward the bedroom, her sharp little claws clicking across the parquet floor.
Eighteen
It was not even fully light outside when I convened the first meeting of the War Council. Fluffy, disdainful of the whole idea, had chosen to sleep in, racked out on her satin pillow at the head of my bed. But Ma and Al were overjoyed to be included. All right, so maybe the word overjoyed is a bit strong, but they were both in the kitchen, sitting at the table, thick white mugs of Italian roast in their hands.
I don’t know how Raydean got in on the Council. I long ago quit trying to figure out how she knows when something’s about to kick off. She just appears. Call it a psychotic’s sixth sense, or call it paranoia, if you will. Whatever the extrasensory perception, Raydean had appeared just after I turned on the kitchen lights and flicked the switch on the coffeemaker.
Ma was bleary-eyed, her hair still in little yellow plastic curlers and her pink-flowered flannel bathrobe pulled tight around her midsection. She insisted on baking cinnamon rolls from scratch, but used the cheater’s ingredient: quick-rising yeast. To her, it was almost a cardinal sin. In order to serve the very best, one must slave and suffer. Quick-rise didn’t offer enough pain to produce truly good rolls. From the look on Al’s face, it didn’t matter. A roll is a roll to Al. But then, he’s a cop. They never watch what they put in their mouths.
Raydean came prepared. For what, I don’t know, but she was prepared for any and all circumstances. She wore a clear plastic rain hat and carried an old-lady purse in her left hand and a shotgun in her right. Her floral house dress was rumpled, its pockets bulging with tissues, and because this was an important meeting, she wore white ankle socks over her standard knee-high hose. I figured she was coming up on time for her Prolixin shot down at the mental health center. In fact, we might be walking a thin line between time for the shot and past time for the shot. The gun was a sure sign that Raydean was losing touch with reality and expecting an alien invasion by the Flemish.
The four of us sat at the table, a plate of Ma’s steaming rolls between us, discussing strategy.
“I don’t like this,” Al mumbled, his mouth thick with cinnamon roll.
I rolled my eyes. He kept insisting that we call the cops to let them handle this.
“Al, this ain’t Philly. This ain’t one of your APE cases. There is no acute political emergency about a stripper gettin’ whacked at a dirt track. Panama City doesn’t have the manpower to pursue it—”
“What?” Al boomed. “What? To pursue it like you can, Sierra?”
“Yeah,” I said, but he knew I was bluffing.
“Alfonso!” Ma screeched. “Are you saying you can’t help her? You would turn your back on blood to give your allegiance to a police force that isn’t even your own? Is that how you were raised?” Ma shook her head, but it wasn’t a Protestant shake. It was Catholic. It implied: “Aha! So that’s how come you walked away from your own father and brothers, denied your heritage, and left the fire department to become a cop. What are they, these cops? A cult?” Al didn’t even look up. He didn’t have to. A Catholic head shake is a tremor you feel deep in your guilt-ridden soul.
“Don’t go there, Ma,” he cautioned. “Don’t even start with me. It don’t have nothing to do with that. It’s about who can do the most.”
Ma shook her head again. “A punk beat up your sister last night,” she began. “That same punk killed her friend. The way I see it, this is now a personal matter. Do I have to call your father? Do I really need to tell him about this? His own son, walking away from the family?” Again. The word hung in the air, unsaid. You would leave us again?
Al sighed, the Vatican treatment too much for him to handle. “All right, Ma. All right.” He reached for another roll, but Ma slapped his hand.
“Here,” she said, reaching for the thickest roll with the most icing. “Is better.”
Raydean leaned across the table and looked Ma in the eye. “You’re one to go down the river with!” she said. “I got me a plan.”
Ma smiled at Raydean. Maybe Ma hadn’t noticed that Raydean was batshit. Maybe to her wearing a rain hat on a sunny day and toting a shotgun was just being well dressed.
“Let’s us cruise up to that racetrack and do a little investigating.”
“Aw, no, Raydean,” I said smoothly. “I was thinking you and Ma might hold down Command Headquarters here so if we needed you, we could call for backup.”
Al had the good sense to nod his agreement, but Raydean saw right through it. “Horsepucky!” she said. “Me and your ma ain’t holding down no desk jobs! I got an idea or two of my own.”
Ma seemed to have lost her mind, ’cause she was nodding her head as if Raydean was making sense.
Raydean pushed her rain hat a little lower on her forehead and cut her eyes over at Ma. “What say we stake out Lulu? If that old girl’s running around on my nephew, he oughta know about it!”
Ma’s lips tightened and I knew she was remembering a certain Mostavindaduchi woman down at the Sons of Italy Social Club in South Philly.
“I don’t hold with infidelity,” she said. “I’ll pack the provisions.”
With that, Ma stood up, tightened her bathrobe belt, and glared at me and Al as if daring us to try to stop her. I wasn’t saying a word for two reasons. One, I didn’t figure Lulu to be any threat, especially to Raydean, who was family. And two, I knew Ma would smack me if I tried talking back, and I hadn’t had enough coffee yet to stay safely out of her way.
“I’ll get the car, lamb chop,” Raydean said to Ma, and left.
Ma wandered off to the back of the trailer to make herself presentable.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” Al demanded, roll crumbs dropping like rain down his shirt front.
I whacked him quick, just like Ma would. “Why didn’t you, burgerhead?” Al rubbed his head and said nothing.
“I’m thinking you should go up to the track and nose around Roy Dell’s crew,” I said. “Maybe you can get a line on Meatloaf.” Al frowned like he was having second thoughts. “Unless, of course, you’d rather have the po-lice do it.” Al glared at me. “All you gotta do is act like a fan. It ain’t rocket science!”
“And what are you gonna be doing?”
“God! You’d think you was Pop or Francis! I’m not doin’ anything that could be in any way construed as dangerous!”
Al wasn’t reassured. He knew me. “What exactly are you going to be doing?”
I sighed and looked like he’d caught me in the act. “I’m taking Fluffy to be groomed, if you must know!”
Of course, that wasn’t quite the whole story, but Al didn’t need to know everything.
Nineteen
To me and Fluffy, there ain’t nothing better for the soul than a good ride in the country, T-tops off, the breeze circulating thro
ugh the car, and the radio pumping out something that rocks and is maybe a bit naughty, like Bonnie Raitt. It’s times like that when me and the Fluff are closest. Female bonding, I call it. I think Fluffy felt the same way, ’cause when I looked over at her, she was smiling. Either that, or the wind was ruffling her lips. I wanted to believe she was happy. In fact, I needed to believe she was euphoric on account of what I was about to do to her, my very own best friend.
We’d ridden over to Wewahitchka, after I’d spent the morning combing through the yellow pages looking for dog groomers named Iris. There was only one. The way I figured things, since Ruby’d been killed in her hometown, I couldn’t overlook her past, and the only bit of her life that remained a mystery was her first three years, her biological parents, and her roots.
I was considering any other, last-minute options, and Fluffy was considering the sky and the little fleecy clouds that danced across it. I looked over and felt a little sad, but in the end, what I was about to do would be for the good of us both. We were looking to find a killer, after all, and in a case like that, some sacrifice is necessary. Ruby’s biological mother could know something that would help me figure out who would have a motive to kill her. If not, Fluffy and I still came out ahead, because Fluffy would be clean.
I pulled up in front of the Doggie Palace of Pampered Love and cut the engine.
“Fluff,” I said, “I would’ve told you about this earlier, but you woulda ducked on me.”
Fluffy was definitely not smiling now. She smelled doggie fear in the wind, and her wide-brimmed ears were pinned back flat against her tiny head.
“It was the only way I could think of for us to meet Ruby’s original mother,” I said. Fluffy began to growl, deep and low in her throat.
“I know, I know,” I said. “You hate dog groomin’. Well, sugar, there’s parts of my job I don’t like either, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do sometimes, even if it means letting someone clip your ear hairs.”
Fluffy barked, one shrill, glass-shattering yip of terror. Above all else, Fluffy hates the dog groomer. For her, it’s kind of like seeing the gynecologist while also visiting the dentist.
I snuck a peek at my watch. We were right on time for our noon appointment. I reached over and snatched Fluffy up in my right hand while opening the door with my left. It was best to barrel on ahead and not let Fluffy stew any longer.
The Doggie Palace of Pampered Love was a tiny bungalow covered with pink peeling paint and ivy that scampered up over the porch rails and up the side of the cottage. The Palace sat on a shady side street, surrounded by pin oaks. It would’ve been almost romantic, if not for the sound of a thousand yapping dogs and the smell of disinfectant.
As we reached the foot of the stairs, the door burst open and an elderly woman emerged carrying one pure white miniature poodle under each arm. Fluffy took one look at the matching pink hair bows and attempted to break free.
“Fluff, I won’t let them put no sissy pink hair bows on you!” But we both knew I was lying. I’d do anything to find out more about Ruby Diamond.
We stepped into the little house and Fluffy began to shake. In front of us stood the image of Dorothy Lamour a hundred pounds heavier in a brightly colored muumuu, with a huge synthetic magnolia blossom in her hair.
“This must be Fluffy!” she trilled.
“And you must be Iris Stokes,” I said, a big smile pasted across my face.
She hadn’t been hard to find. There was only one Iris Stokes listed in the phone book, and when I saw the Doggie Palace of Pampered Love listed right beneath her name, I knew I’d have a cover for asking every question I could think of.
Iris Stokes reached for Fluffy. I held my breath, waiting for Iris to scream out in pain as Fluffy sank her sharp little canines into her hand, but it didn’t happen. Fluffy was paralyzed with fear.
“Come on, darlin’,” Iris crooned, leading the way into her grooming room. “You’s a little scared, but Auntie Iris is gonna take such good care of you.” The muumuu rippled, shaking the brightly colored lotus blossoms. With a practiced movement, Iris set Fluffy down on a metal table and proceeded to fasten her collar to a little lead that ensured Fluffy’s cooperation by holding her prisoner.
“My, my, my,” murmured Iris, peering into Fluffy’s ears. “It’s been a long time since you had any attention of a personal grooming nature.”
Fluffy let out a loud, agonized moan of pure terror.
“Fluffy,” I said, stepping forward, “the lady hasn’t even touched you!”
Fluffy rolled her eyes up at me.
“Full treatment?” said Iris.
I nodded, and Fluffy started to yowl.
“Mind if I watch?” I asked. “Sometimes it calms her down.” I shot Fluffy a look, the kind of look that I hoped promised a wonderful treat if she cooperated.
Iris didn’t seem to hear. Instead she gathered up clippers and combs, bottles of goop and sprays, all designed to turn Fluff into a real lady.
“Ham!” she bellowed suddenly. A thin man materialized from the back room. He was elderly and walked gently, as if he were afraid of snapping in half.
“This little darling needs a bath,” Iris said, smiling. “And make sure she has a little time in the whirlpool, too.” Fluffy moaned again. Iris reached up, unsnapped her collar, and handed her over to Ham. He hummed something tuneless and walked off with my baby safely cradled under one of his bony arms. There’d be hell to pay for this little trip.
“How’d you hear about us, hon?” Iris asked, eyeing me like I was perhaps an exotic bird. Couldn’t blame her really. I was wearing a tiger-striped tank top, black stretch stirrup pants, and five-inch black stilettos. The way I figure it, every outside appearance is an opportunity to promote good public relations.
I let the sadness inside me well up and play across my face.
“Ruby Diamond’s mama told me about you,” I said.
The change in her was instantaneous. Gone was Dorothy Lamour, and in her place a grieving mother. She tried to hide it, but there was no way to hold back the tears that welled up in her eyes. She fumbled and dropped a pair of scissors.
“She told you about me?” Iris asked softly, waiting to see which way I’d take the question.
I took a step closer to her, close enough to reach out and touch the soft folds of fabric.
“Ruby and I were like sisters,” I said. “I want to know who killed her, don’t you?”
The room was as still as the air outside. Both of us holding our breath. In the distance, I could hear Ham shuffling around, talking gently to Fluffy and running water. Iris’s breath rushed out of her lungs in one huge sigh.
“I wouldn’t have given her up for the world, but I had no choice,” she said, and began to cry. “It was years ago. I had no family to help out. My husband went crazy and left us. I already had a little boy. How was I gonna feed two young’uns? I didn’t know what to do.”
Iris’s anguish was real. Her hands clawed at the fabric of her dress, and her eyes stared off into the past.
“The boy was older. He could half fend for himself, but Ruby Lee was just a baby. I couldn’t leave her to go find work.” Iris was shaking now, her entire massive body quivering with remembered pain. “So I did the hardest thing I ever done in my life. I dressed her all up in her pretty pink sunbonnet and this little pink checked dress with pearly buttons, and I took her up to social services. I left her there with them.”
Ham chose this moment to wander back in with Fluffy, cuddled up in a pink towel, only her head sticking through. Iris and I looked up and both burst into tears. Ham, not certain why the sight of a chihuahua swaddled in a blanket should cause such distress, did the only thing he could, the only thing any man would do. He pretended it wasn’t happening.
He stepped forward to the metal table, gently deposited the trembling dog, and clipped her to the harness. Now and then, as he completed his task, he’d look up at Iris, concern playing across his features, but he ne
ver met her eye directly. Finally, at a total loss, he left. Iris seemed unaware that he’d even entered the room, but she stepped mechanically over to the table.
“It’s all right, sugar,” she crooned to Fluffy. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”
She wasn’t talking to Fluffy.
“They found her a good home,” Iris said. “Wewa’s a small town. You’d a thought they’d place her farther away, and at first they did. Sent her off to stay with a family in the county somewhere, wait out the time for me to change my mind, or find money that wasn’t never coming.” Iris’s eyes glowed with frustration and grief.
She picked up the clippers and began to shave Fluffy. Fluffy didn’t have much hair to begin with, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt her to have an imaginary shave. Fluffy seemed to feel differently, but she stood absolutely still.
“What happened to Ruby’s father?” I asked. “Why didn’t he send child support?”
Iris looked up from her task, her eyes dull with hopelessness. “He was in a mental institution. By the time I could get on my feet, she was gone.” Iris picked up a spray bottle and spritzed some cologne on Fluffy, who sneezed loudly. “I knew where she was, of course. Jane Diamond all of a sudden had a little girl, been wanting a child all her life and couldn’t have one. Couldn’t have a dark-haired, big-eyed little girl till she got mine.” Iris shrugged. “I got what I deserved. We all did.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lost my baby. It was my fault. And Jane Diamond got her. Loved her like she was her own, and in time, she was. I had to watch my baby grow from a distance, saw her graduate high school, saw her leave for her senior prom.” Iris looked up at me for the first time. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it should’ve turned out any different. What could I have given her?” She looked around the tiny grooming room and shook her head. “I got remarried, but it didn’t work out. He even adopted my son. But that ain’t no guarantee. He run off about six years later. By then, I’d been to grooming school.” Iris sighed and began to work on Fluffy’s ears.
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