“See anything unusual?” Cass asked.
“I thought you were on medical leave,” Grey said.
“I am.”
Grey raised a bushy brow at Mitch, who shrugged. “She’s bored.”
“I would be, too. Given the state of her body, it’s hard to say. The air conditioning was off, and the heat buildup in the apartment accelerated decomposition. We’ll know more after we autopsy her. Kado was muttering to himself. He may have something.”
“Thanks. I’ll check in later.”
The thin man with the camera approached, his movements sleek, sinuous. This was Wally Pugh, reporter for the local radio station, KOIL, and the Forney Cater, the county’s newspaper. He’d supported the police department, if not the sheriff, during recent trouble with a cult and a cross-dressing murderer.
“Hey, Wally,” Cass said.
“Sounds like suicide.”
“Might be,” Mitch said.
Wally looked a question at him.
“Better safe than sorry when you’re reporting, right? Call the ME’s office later and confirm.”
“Was that Blue Ivey earlier?” Wally asked.
Mitch nodded.
“She know the girl?”
“Annie worked for her. You can probably find somebody out there to give you a quote about her.”
Wally nodded and put the lens cap on his camera. “How’s the shoulder?” he asked Cass.
“Good,” Cass said.
“You back at work?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re investigating an unattended death with Mitch?”
“Nope. I was out for a drive and stopped by.”
Something like a smile moved Wally’s lips. “I’ll keep you out of the article.”
“Thanks.”
They watched him leave, then Mitch and Cass headed for the garage. He stopped and eyed the steps.
“Leg bothering you?” Cass asked.
“It’s been months now.”
“You sure?”
Mitch grunted. “Yup.”
“Want me to go first?”
“Might be faster.”
“I’ll see you at the top.”
__________
MITCH PAUSED IN THE open doorway, took a deep breath, and scowled. “Why do dead people have to stink?”
“Missing the crutches?” Cass asked.
“I haven’t needed crutches in weeks. It’s the decomp. Got any Vick’s?”
Cass pulled a small container from her pocket and tossed it to him.
“The sheriff would have a fit if he knew you were out here,” Mitch said.
“I won’t tell if you won’t. And Wally said he wouldn’t. Let’s see what Kado’s found.”
Even though Grey had taken Annie’s body away, the scent of death still stained the air. Kado and Truman were dusting for prints and bagging evidence. The only thing out of place was a stepladder lying on its side in the living room.
“Find anything useful?” Mitch asked.
“She wasn’t much of a housekeeper, which is good for us. There are loads of prints in most of the places you’d expect to find them,” Kado said. “There’s a partially empty wine bottle in the kitchen along with one wine glass. That is the rope,” he motioned to a neatly wrapped blue pile, “she cut her noose from. Her computer is open to a video demonstration of how to tie a noose, and there’s a note in the printer tray lamenting the loss of an unnamed love and her decision to get involved with him.”
Mitch opened his mouth but Kado silenced him with a raised finger.
“However, there are no fingerprints on the door knobs and you couldn’t learn to tie this knot,” he lifted the noose they’d removed from Annie’s neck, “by watching that video.”
“Murder?” Mitch asked.
“If so, it’s clumsy. But it’s a real possibility.”
SOMEBODY NEEDS TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT MAN
WE MADE EXCELLENT TIME on the return trip to Arcadia, even though Cindy demanded a potty break in Lindale. The woman’s bladder is the size of a shot glass. I called Blue on the way and told her we had news, asking if I could come by the winery. She told me to come to her house instead. Her voice sounded shaky but when I asked if she was okay, she said she had to go.
I dropped Cindy at her house and after the tiniest internal debate, thanked her for helping me.
She shrugged. “It’s my job.”
“I know, but I appreciate that you gave up your Saturday to help me.”
“I wasn’t helping you, Maxine, not directly. I was making sure the agency doesn’t get a black-eye thanks to one of your patented boneheaded moves.”
Ouch.
I licked that wound all the way to Cedar Bend Winery. The parking lot was nearly empty, which seemed strange given that it was five o’clock on a Saturday evening. I found a host of cars outside Blue’s house and had to leave the Lexus parked down her long driveway. I trudged through the steaming afternoon and mounted the porch steps to find the front door open a crack. I called a greeting as I pushed it closed behind me and felt the blissful wash of conditioned air hit me.
A head poked around a corner and I recognized one of the winery’s waitresses. She sniffed. “Maxine?”
I nodded.
“Blue’s in here.”
I followed the girl into the kitchen and found Blue stirring a pot of sauce on her massive stove. Her eyes were bloodshot and the tip of her nose red, but it still took a moment for me to realize that she, and almost everyone else in the room, had been crying.
“Thanks for coming,” Blue said. “Everyone, this is the private investigator I told you about, Maxine. Please give her whatever help you can.”
“Won’t the police be asking questions?” a tall man asked.
The police? What had I missed?
“Of course. But Maxine may need information as well.” She put a lid on the pot. “Tonight and the next few days will be hard, but we’ve got to get back to work. I’ll speak to Annie’s parents about the timing of the funeral. Chef, would you take everyone back to the winery? Finish your prep work and I’ll see you there shortly.”
A slow parade of sagging bodies left Blue’s kitchen and it was all I could do to wait until the door closed behind the last of them. “What happened?” I asked as gently as I could.
“Annie is dead.”
It took a moment but I remembered Blue mentioning that her expediter hadn’t come in to work last night. I sank onto a barstool. “What happened?”
“She committed suicide,” Blue said. Her eyes filled and she worried at a bandage on her thumb. “I found her hanging from a rafter in her apartment.”
“I’m so sorry. Was she depressed?”
“Maybe. It seems she was sleeping with Bret and he dumped her earlier this week.”
“Do you think -”
“I hope not. Not over Bret. He isn’t worth it.” She drew a deep breath and looked at me. “Speaking of my personal devil, what did you find out?”
“It’s not good news.”
Blue pushed back from the island and stood at the stove. She took the lid off the pot and stirred. “Go ahead.”
“Bret is married to another woman.” When Blue remained silent and kept stirring, I continued. “Her name is Nicole. She lives in Oak Lawn, is an attorney.”
“That explains a lot. How long?”
“Pardon?”
“How long have they been married?”
“Since 2002.”
Her laugh was harsh. “That means I’m the other woman. Here I was feeling slighted because he was sleeping with the staff.”
“I’m sorry, Blue.”
“Me, too.” She stirred. “Do you have a physical address for the original Mrs. Ivey?”
I slipped a piece of paper onto the island. “And the name and address of the law firm. We can probably get a home phone number for her. It may not matter, but she spells her name without an ‘e’ in the Ivey.”
Blue stopped stir
ring, a frown on her face. “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. The man she married in 2002 is Bretton Baxter Ivy.”
“But he’s Baxter Bretton Ivey, with an ‘e’. Why would he change his name? Are you sure it’s the same man?”
I showed her a photo on my cell phone.
“That’s him. Is that Nicole?”
I nodded.
“Big rump. I told you.”
A small smile crept onto my lips. “You did.”
She tasted the sauce, put the lid on the pot, and turned the stove off. “So he was cheating on me, but with his own wife, right?”
I chewed on my lower lip. “And probably with others.”
“What do you mean?”
I explained my theory about the variety of clothing sizes Bret purchased, speculating he was with other women on the weekends Nicole was traveling.
“He was cheating on Nicole and me? I mean, he was cheating on Nicole with me, but he was also cheating on both of us with other women? In addition to the girls here at the winery?”
I nodded. “It looks that way.”
“Good Lord. Is he still there?” Blue slipped her apron over her head. “At Nicole’s?”
“He wasn’t when we left the neighborhood.” I remembered the spooky feeling when we were talking to the neighbors. “Something strange happened, though. The music room in Nicole’s house was ransacked.”
Blue started. “By the same people?”
“I have no idea. The crime scene people were still there when we left.”
She rubbed her eyes and then shook her head. “Two break-ins, a suicide, and who knows how many affairs. He’s left a trail of destruction in his wake, and everybody suffers but Bret. Somebody needs to do something about that man.”
THE ELLIOT FAMILY
I ASKED BLUE IF there was anything else I could do for her, and she said she’d need to talk to her lawyer about her legal status. If Bretton Baxter Ivy and Baxter Bretton Ivey were the same man, she might not be married at all. If so, untangling their affairs might be easier. Blue told me to send her a bill for our time and that she’d be in touch if she needed anything else.
I’d expected to be shattered after leaving so early for Dallas, but I was oddly exhilarated after all we’d discovered. Instead of heading home, I called Cass and asked if dinner was still on.
“At the Elliot house?” she said. “Of course it is.”
I should explain a bit about Cass and her family. She’s the youngest of seven kids, and the only girl. Her oldest brother, Jack, has been in prison for rape and murder since Cass was four. I know with absolute certainty he didn’t do it, and once I get a grip on this PI stuff, I’ll prove it.
There’s more tragedy. Her mother died when Cass was five. Abe, her father, is a drunk. Well, sometimes. Sometimes he goes on a sobriety kick. It never lasts.
Two of Cass’s older brothers live in the family home with her and Abe. Harry is the second oldest and going through a nasty divorce. Bruce never really left home, which isn’t such a bad thing. He’s putting his construction talent to use remodeling the house. It needs serious work, believe me, and he’s the right man for the job.
Regardless of how ramshackle it is, for my entire life the Elliot house felt more like home to me than my own. I always felt loved there. Accepted. Maybe it was because I was one of many and disappeared in all the chaos. In my own home? When she wasn’t ignoring me, I was on my mother’s ‘most wanted’ list. Being an Elliot seemed like heaven to me. Still does.
I pulled into the short drive and admired the front porch. Bruce and Cass had worked to bring the thing back to level and make the repairs it needed to be functional again. It took them a couple of weeks when she was suspended for shooting a baddie back in the spring. Forney County’s sheriff took six weeks to bring her back to work, which was a dereliction of duty on his part and should’ve resulted in impeachment or whatever they do to stupid sheriffs. After all, the bad guy needed killing. She should’ve gotten a medal instead of suspension.
My cell phone rang and I looked at the screen. Kay was calling. “Hey,” I answered.
“Hi, sweetie. I heard things went very well today. Have you talked to Blue?”
I was a little miffed that Cindy had taken it upon herself to report to the higher-ups on my case, but I stifled my irritation. “I just left her.”
“How did she take it?”
“She was upset, but found it funny when she realized that she was the other woman.”
“Good job, baby love.”
I filled Kay in on Annie’s death, her relationship with Bret, and told her Blue had found the body.
“How terrible for Blue. And for Annie. Blue will do well to get rid of this husband. Let me know if she asks for anything else. Otherwise, enjoy what’s left of your weekend.”
I basked in the glow of my aunt’s praise, imagining myself as a partner in the agency. My fantasy ended as the heat in the car grew oppressive. I opened the door and heard the laughter of little girls floating on the sweltering evening air, and knew at least two of Harry’s daughters were here. I also smelled the aroma of beef cooking on an open flame and my stomach growled.
Harry’s daughters met me as I was coming around the side of the house and squealed. I swung the youngest, Phoebe, around and around until we were both laughing and in peril of landing on our butts. Macy, the middle girl, was too mature at eight for twirling so we exchanged air kisses. Phoebe grabbed my hand and skipped me into the back yard. Handsome Harry ordered the girls into the house, kissed my cheek, and apologized for leaving, saying his almost-ex-wife Carly was in a tizzy and wanted the girls home that night.
Those beautiful smells and a fair amount of smoke were coming from an unmanned grill, and I joined Abe Elliot and Goober at a picnic table where they were engaged in a heavy-duty game of checkers. Goober. If you’re from a small town, you’ll have your own version of Goober. The poor guy was abandoned as a toddler on Arcadia’s town square, adopted by an elderly widow, and now lives in the trailer house she left him when she died a few years ago. He must be in his forties or fifties and makes ends meet by doing odd jobs. I’ve never had a problem with him, but there’s a slowness to him that makes you wonder if he was dropped on his head when he was a baby.
Abe hung an arm around my waist and squeezed. I discreetly sniffed and smelled soft aftershave, detecting no alcohol or extreme breath freshener. A positive sign. Abe released me and watched in disbelief as one of Goober’s kings jumped five of his checkers in a series of forward and backward moves.
“That’s not legal, Goober,” Abe said.
“It is,” I said. “I was regularly thrashed by my best friend’s dad -” I raised a brow at Abe, “- who had no qualms about wiping out as many checkers in one go as humanly possible.”
“Those were little girl rules. We’re playing man checkers.”
“It’s all the same, Abe. You’re still a sore loser.”
“Might be true. But I think we need a replay on Goober’s last move.”
“Hey Maxine,” Goober said with a shy smile.
“Hey Goob. Don’t give up without a fight.”
“I won’t. I know the checkers rules.”
“You here for dinner?” I asked him.
Goober fingered the hook on his overalls. “Abe said I could stay tonight.”
I glanced at Cass’s dad. Abe is a good-looking man considering that he’s in his sixties. His hair has gone a beautiful white and his eyes are the color of honeyed oak. He’s also one of the kindest individuals on the planet. When he’s sober. After a drink, all bets are off.
Abe glanced at the other man. “Goober’s been staying with us since he found that burning zombie.”
Goober shuddered. “It gave me nightmares.”
“It did,” Abe agreed.
“It would me, too.” I glanced at the house. “Is Cass around?”
“She’s in the house. Go check out the kitchen and let me finish thrash
ing Goober,” Abe said. “We’ll console him with red meat.”
WE SHOULD’VE DONE THAT THE FIRST TIME
“THIS WAS SMART,” THE blond said. “Waiting to call until he’s at work. He can’t yell.”
“Just dial,” the dark-haired man said.
The blond did, and left a cryptic message. They were parked in a rest area north of Arcadia. The return call came quickly.
The blond answered and pressed the phone to his ear. “We lost him.”
“What’s he saying?” the dark-haired man asked.
The blond covered the microphone. “He’s cussing us in Mexican. Hold on.”He made soothing noises into the phone. Finally he disconnected. “He said we have to go back to the house behind the winery.”
“What for?”
“To search it, like we did the Dallas house this morning.”
The dark-haired man covered his eyes. “Ah man, I knew we should’ve done that the first time.”
“He didn’t tell us to the first time.”
“I’m getting tired of this. He’s a little piss-ant tyrant.”
“What else can we do?”
The dark-haired man checked his watch. “Let’s give it an hour or two and go back to the winery. You hungry?”
“Nah, I’d rather wait ’til after and go to the boats in Shreveport.”
“You got money to gamble with?”
The blond nodded. “I won last time, remember?”
“No, I don’t.”
“That’s because you lost.”
“Well I’m hungry now. You don’t want to eat? I know you need to pee. Let’s go.”
USING FOLK AND PUNK IN THE SAME SENTENCE
I HADN’T BEEN OUT to the Elliot house since Bruce and Cass had finished remodeling the kitchen. The screen door still had that comforting squeak, but the kitchen itself was in a new dimension. “Wow.”
Bruce turned from the stove and smiled. I melted and hated myself for it. “Wow? That’s it?”
“Very wow.” I touched the cabinets. “Cherry?”
“Nice, eh?”
“You did all this?”
A Case of Sour Grapes: A Cass Elliot Companion Novel (Cass Elliot Crime Series Book 3) Page 13