Tea-Totally Dead

by Girdner, Jaqueline

  “It’ll be real cool, right?” she said.

  “Right,” I agreed as she hung up. I just hoped I wasn’t lying.

  “Well?” said Wayne once I put down the receiver.

  “We’re going to a party,” I told him.

  His eyebrows rose.

  “At the condo. Harmony—”

  Then the doorbell rang. It looked like it was going to be one of those Saturday nights. Not one of those fun Saturday nights, one of those strange ones.

  Ace was at the door, a lopsided grin on his homely face. Once more, I was struck by his physical resemblance to Wayne. He had Wayne’s low brows and large nose, even his height and build. The build wasn’t so surprising, though. Ace probably worked out. I knew Wayne did. The only major differences between them were eye color, fifteen years or so and a receding hairline. And Ace’s silly smile. I couldn’t imagine Wayne smiling like that.

  “Hey,” said Ace as he walked through the doorway. “I hoped you two would be here.” Then, “Wow! Great living room!”

  I always forget what my own living room looks like until I see it through a visitor’s eyes. Now I saw it through Ace’s eyes: the swinging chairs suspended by ropes from the high, wood-beamed ceiling; the pinball machines; the one and only couch, homemade in wood and denim; the piles of mismatched pillows; the overflowing bookshelves and overgrown plants that always looked so out of place against the standard, tasteful backdrop of white walls and beige carpet. And a more recent addition: the huge box with the pink bow which now sat in front of the couch.

  I could tell the instant that Ace saw the box and realized whose present it had been meant to be. The smile disappeared from his face, leaving it dark and frowning. Now he really looked like Wayne.

  “So,” I demanded, a bit more impatiently than I intended. “What’s up?”

  Ace looked down at his feet and muttered something I couldn’t make out. I turned to Wayne for a translation. But Wayne’s eyes were staring again, staring at the box. I promised myself I’d get rid of the damn thing the minute he went to sleep that night. If he ever did go to sleep. Then I wondered if you could return a mink coat and get your money back.

  I don’t know how long we would have stood there, immobilized, if C.C. hadn’t come upon the scene. But she did, trotting up with a great show of purpose to sniff Ace’s legs.

  “Hey, little kitty cat,” he called out and bent down to pet her.

  She yowled in greeting and flopped down on her back to be fondled.

  Ace returned her yowl and then threw himself down onto his own back, sticking his arms and legs up into the air.

  C.C. was astounded. A very human, wide-eyed look of incredulity passed over her face. And then she pounced. Ace wrapped his arms around her and pretended to wrestle her to the ground. C.C. was in ecstasy, growling and yowling and clawing his arms. I was glad someone was having a good time here.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Uncle Ace?” I suggested after C.C. jumped out of his arms and pounced on him for the third time.

  Ace jumped to his feet with his silly smile back in place. He brushed the cat hair off his pants legs. His shirt sleeves were shredded.

  “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he said. “Just thought I’d come over and maybe talk a little.” He looked at Wayne uncomfortably.

  Wayne looked back, a hint of curiosity in his face. What the hell did Ace want? Whatever it was, it probably had more to do with Wayne than me, I decided.

  “Well, I’ll let you two talk, then,” I told them. “I need to call Judy back.”

  I walked over to the phone and called my warehousewoman. I knew her number by heart now. I turned to look at Ace and Wayne as the phone rang. Ace had taken a seat on the closest swinging chair, his back to me, and was pushing off with his feet. Wayne had returned to the couch. Neither of them was speaking.

  “Hello,” came Judy’s voice.

  “Hi,” I said back. “This is Kate—”

  “Kate, you wouldn’t believe what that son of a bitch pulled!” she shouted without further introduction. “We did like you said. You know, decided to see which of us the dogs came to. But Jerry cheated! He smeared hamburger on his hands first, so of course they came to him.”

  I clicked my tongue sympathetically, and glanced over my shoulder again at Wayne’s motionless profile and the back of Ace’s head.

  “I said it was fraud and invalidated our agreement,” Judy told me. “But now he’s saying I can take one dog and he can take the other. He wants to split them up!” The outrage stretched her voice into the higher registers. “Little dogs that were together from birth…”

  I heard a low murmur coming from the living room as Judy ranted on. Was that Ace speaking? I turned to see, but I couldn’t tell by the back of his head.

  “… don’t know why he even wants the dog in the first place,” Judy was saying. “He didn’t care before—”

  “Maybe you could get another dog,” I suggested.

  “Another dog?” said Judy, her voice confused. She paused, then went on eagerly, “Oh, you mean a ringer!”

  ‘“A ringer’?” I repeated, warning bells going off in my brain. “What do you mean, ‘a ringer’?”

  “That’s a great idea, Kate,” Judy said, ignoring my question. “I’ll go to the pound and get an imposter dog that looks like Poppy. Or maybe Daisy. Jerry doesn’t really care about them. He won’t be able to tell the difference. Then I’ll leave the ringer at Jerry’s and he’ll think it’s the real thing—”

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I tried.

  “I’ll do it, Kate,” she bulldozed on. “I’ll go to the pound tomorrow as soon as they open!”

  “But—”

  “Thanks, Kate,” she said. “You’re a great boss.”

  “But don’t you think—” I began, then closed my mouth.

  I was listening to the dial tone. Judy was going to get another dachshund. I was a great boss, all right. I’d done it again.

  I turned to look into the living room again, wondering if I should call her back. Then I noticed that Ace was gone. And Wayne was still sitting on the couch staring at the birthday present. I took a big breath and marched into the living room.

  “Do you mind if I move this?” I asked Wayne, tapping the corner of the box with my toe.

  He shrugged his shoulders. I took that as a go-ahead and wrestled the box down the hallway and into the back room. It wasn’t easy. It was a big box, too big for me to get my arms around. But a few minutes of kicking, sliding and shoving did the trick. And the kicking part felt pretty damn good after a day of shock and frustration. Then I went back to the living room to sit next to Wayne. He was still staring, only now he was staring at the spot where the box had been. Damn.

  “So, what’d you guys talk about?” I asked in a voice that was cheerier than I felt. Much cheerier.

  He shrugged again.

  “Well, what’d you talk about earlier at Mount Tam?” I tried.

  “Didn’t talk,” Wayne muttered, his face vacant.

  I held in the burn that was warming my face. I knew he was still hurting. But I wanted him to talk to me. Ace wasn’t just his favorite uncle anymore. He was a murder suspect.

  “Did Ace mention Harmony’s party at the condo tomorrow?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  I took a deep breath. The doorbell rang again.

  This time it was Clara Kushiyama, Vesta’s nurse. Vesta’s former nurse, I corrected myself silently. At least she was more direct about her purpose than Ace had been.

  “I came by to see how Wayne was doing,” she told me in a whisper as she breezed through the doorway, her kind, moon-shaped face filled with obvious concern. I felt something loosen in my shoulders as I looked into her eyes. Maybe it was responsibility.

  “He’s not doing too well,” I whispered back, with a nod in his direction.

  Clara patted my hand sympathetically. A moment later, she was sitting next to Wayne on the couch. She
didn’t look at his face but instead joined him in gazing straight ahead, speaking as if to the air.

  “I know how painful grief can be,” she said, her voice as gentle as a lullaby. “When you’re in it, it seems like the pain will never pass. But it does, slowly, lessening with each tear of remorse, with each cry of rage.”

  Wayne continued to stare ahead, but I could see moisture in his eyes now.

  “My husband died five years ago,” Clara continued. “I thought I would never be able to live afterwards, but I did.” She reached over and patted Wayne’s hand. A tear trickled slowly down his face. “I just wanted you to know that you will get past the worst of the pain,” she finished. “It won’t go on forever. You can let go now.”

  He nodded his head violently in silent acknowledgment.

  “Do you want to talk?” she asked him.

  He shook his head even more violently and put his hand over his face.

  “Need to be alone,” he said, squeezing out each word painfully. My own throat felt sore just hearing him.

  “Kate, my dear,” Clara prompted. “Why don’t you show me your kitchen.”

  “Huh?” I said. And then belatedly, “Oh, yeah, the kitchen. How would you like some tea?”

  A little while later, Clara was sitting at the kitchen table and I was putting the kettle on the stove. I heard a long sob from the living room. My feet carried me toward the doorway, the kettle still in my hand. I didn’t know I was carrying it. All my senses were tuned in on Wayne. I heard a low whimper. My heart contracted.

  “He’ll be fine, Kate,” Clara said quickly. “Let him be alone for a little while.”

  But my legs were still urging me forward. Slowly, I forced them to turn and take me back to the kitchen stove. Think of something else, I told myself as I set the kettle on the burner. But the only other thing I could think of was Vesta.

  “Do you think Vesta was poisoned?” I blurted out finally.

  “I’m not really sure,” Clara answered slowly. She frowned for a few moments. “But I’m afraid she might have been,” she added.

  I nodded my head. I could still hear Wayne crying.

  “Harmony’s gone over the edge,” I said loud enough to drown out the sound.

  “Harmony was very dependent on Vesta,” Clara observed. “And in her own way, Vesta was dependent on Harmony. They fed on each other’s problems.”

  “They smoked a lot of dope together,” I added. “I always thought that was kind of strange. Vesta voluntarily medicating herself like that after all the years of involuntary over-medication.”

  “Not really so strange,” Clara said quietly. “Vesta was used to a lot more medicine. And she had too many feelings she couldn’t deal with on her own. The drugs helped.”

  The teakettle began to sing.

  “I’ll miss her,” Clara sighed, as I turned it off. “Vesta was a fighter. She was getting better all the time. She’d have been okay.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know about Harmony, though,” she added.

  “Could we pay you to look in on Harmony like you did with Vesta?” I suggested, feeling suddenly lighter with the idea. “I’m worried about her.”

  “So am I,” Clara told me. “I’ve looked in on her once already today. But you don’t have to pay me.”

  “But we should,” I insisted, wondering how much Wayne had actually paid her to look after Vesta. Did I have enough money to back up my proposal? “Harmony thinks she’ll be able to stay at the condo—”

  A long, keening sob broke into my consciousness. All my muscles tensed.

  “He’ll be all right, Kate,” said Clara, on her feet in an instant. She reached up and put an arm around my shoulders. “You can’t control his process of grieving. All you can do is be there for him. Don’t expect to be able to do any more.”

  And then I was crying too.

  “There, there,” Clara said. “Sit down and have a long cry. It’ll do you good.”

  A few minutes later she was gone. We never did have any tea. And my sinuses ached from crying. But she was right. I did feel better, lighter at least. Maybe that was why Ingrid cried so much. Crying, I thought, the new addiction.

  “Kate?” came a voice from the kitchen doorway. I turned and saw Wayne, his eyes red under his overhanging brows. “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “You?” I asked back.

  He nodded.

  I gestured toward a chair across the table. He sat down. And began talking.

  “Been trying to remember,” he said. “Can’t remember a lot. We lived over a bar for a long time. Mom worked there.” He was talking faster than usual, speeding through his words. “My uncles both gave her money periodically, but she spent it. Clothes, fancy dinners. I don’t know what.”

  He shook his head and went on. “And then it’d be gone and we’d live on peanuts and pretzels from the bar. And pancakes for dinner. I thought the pancakes were really fun the first few times. Didn’t know we were eating them ‘cause we were poor. And then there was a man. Some guy from the bar. Mom was laughing and flirting, happy finally. She said he was going to marry her. But he didn’t. Turned out he was already married.”

  He sighed and looked down at the table. I kept my mouth shut. I could tell he had more to say.

  “Mom was really angry after that,” he growled. “I tried to make her happy, but it got harder and harder. She was so angry. Even Uncle Ace couldn’t cheer her up.” He swallowed. “When I left for college, she flipped out. It was my fault. I didn’t even find out in time to help her. She was already in the hospital under medication when I got there.”

  He looked up from the table. “And Kate,” he whispered. “I wanted her dead so many times. I loved her, and I wanted her happy. And I wanted her dead.”

  - Ten -

  “But you didn’t kill her,” I said.

  Wayne didn’t answer me. He was looking down at the table again. I felt my pulse pop into gear and accelerate.

  “But you didn’t kill her,” I stated again, loudly this time. “Right?”

  Wayne looked up at me, eyebrows raised.

  “You didn’t, did you?” I asked, an involuntary tremor creeping into my voice.

  “Of course not,” he answered brusquely. His eyebrows dropped back into frowning position.

  “Wayne, listen to me,” I said, once my pulse had slowed again. “Killing someone and wanting them dead are two different things.”

  His eyebrows sank even lower. “Very different things,” he growled in assent. “Very different.”

  And that was the end of that conversation.

  I headed into my office to do some paperwork while Wayne resumed brooding. I had a feeling I’d better do what I could now. If we were going to be poking our noses into Vesta’s death, I was bound to lose some work time in the next couple of weeks, and I couldn’t afford it. In my business, October counted as the Christmas season. The late Christmas season.

  I picked up an inventory summary for coffee mugs. These were my biggest items. Mugs with shark handles for the lawyers, caduceus cups for the doctors, little silver safes for the bankers, bull and bear cups for the stockbrokers; the list went on and on. They were all made and hopefully sitting safe and unbroken in my warehouse. But would I need more? I had to order them now from the manufacturers if I did.

  My stomach began to hurt like it did every year about this time. The inventory had to be just right. Too low and I wouldn’t be able to fill my customers’ orders. Too high and I would be stuck with excess inventory that would eat up my slender profit margin, the margin I lived on. I reached for my files from the year before. The instant my fingertips touched manila, the doorbell rang again.

  The memories of the whole terrible day flooded over me as I got up to answer the bell. I forgot all about profit margins as the hurt in my stomach turned to nausea. It was almost ten o’clock on Saturday night. Who was at the door now?

  “Howdy-hi,” said Felix as I opened up. Damn. I should have
guessed he’d turn up sooner or later.

  Felix Byrne was my friend Barbara’s sweetie, and more recently, her roommate. He was also a reporter, a pit bull of a reporter. Looking at his slight body and soulful eyes, it was all too easy to forget the inquisitional fervor that burned beneath his unimposing exterior. Not to mention the insensitivity.

  “Found another friggin’ body and just forgot to tell me, huh Kate?” he accused angrily. Angrily and loudly. I put my finger to my lips, trying to shush him. It was useless. “I don’t friggin’ believe this,” he ranted on. “How come you never tell me these things—”

  “Stop it, Felix,” I interrupted, putting a hand on his chest to shove him out the door. “Wayne’s here. It was his mother—”

  “I know,” he replied with a smile that seemed as big as his whole face. He ducked my hand and tried to push past me into the house.

  I stepped in front of him quickly, blocking his path. Experience had taught me that early intervention was the best policy when confronting Felix.

  “Don’t you want to know what the pork patrol has to say about it?” he whispered enticingly.

  Actually, I did want to know. I took a quick look over my shoulder, hoping that Wayne hadn’t heard the commotion. But it was too late. He was already there, looming behind me.

  “Well,” growled Wayne. “What did they say?”

  Felix looked up over my head, and his smile faded. But he still tried to negotiate. “Hey, Wayne,” he said. “I’ll tell you if you tell me—”

  “No deals,” Wayne boomed. “What did the police tell you?”

  “The cops think it’s probably suicide,” Felix said hastily. “Or maybe murder.”

  “Suicide?” I repeated, wondering. I hadn’t really considered the idea when Trent had mentioned it earlier. But Vesta wasn’t a happy woman, that was for sure. And she hadn’t allowed Harmony to get help—

  “My mother did not commit suicide,” Wayne said quietly. Too quietly. I looked over my shoulder again. His face was grim, his eyes invisible under frowning brows, his mouth a thin, angry line.

  He was probably right about Vesta, though, I thought as I turned back. She wasn’t the suicidal type. On the other hand, if she had committed suicide, I was sure she’d do it in a way that would cause the most trouble. My breath caught in my chest. Had she been unhappy enough to kill herself?