Who Killed Rudy Rio?

by Lee Bellamy

  My Ferragamo high heels sunk into soft turf as I walked across the lawn to the scallop-bordered canopy that sheltered the grave and, next to it, Nevada's flower-covered casket. I slipped into the crowd of about fifty and found a place next to the open grave. I spotted him immediately. There he stood, a larger-than-life vision of bravery and splendor in his desert boots and green and brown uniform—at last, the Afghanistan warrior in the flesh, Jay Champion.

  He was everything they said.

  It's not easy to exude charm, class, and sizzling charisma when you're standing beside your mother's casket, but Jay did without trying. It wasn't the uniform. Put him in civilian clothes, he'd be the same. Barnicut had described him accurately enough in his investigative report, but with a few omissions. Jay's eyes weren't just blue, they were a sharp, intelligent, magnetic blue. Jay's carriage wasn't just erect, his ramrod stance signaled a massive self-confident presence, despite his obvious grief. Jay wasn't just "in good physical condition," he was a big, powerful, beautifully proportioned man. The women in the crowd couldn't keep their eyes off him.

  Don't forget the man's a crook. That thought might need reinforcing.

  Young Tyler Champion stood slightly apart from the rest of his family in a dark suit and somber tie. Stress had tightened his face, turned his skin pale, furrowed his forehead into an unyielding frown. He inclined his blond head when he saw me but didn't smile. I bet he'd put up a battle before they got him into the suit. But his misery seemed to go profoundly beyond that. "Distraught" was the word Lieutenant Diaz used last night. First his grandmother, then Rudy. He was taking it hard, I could tell.

  An odd duo, Tyler and Rudy, but apparently they'd been close.

  Velia stood beside Jay, petite and lovely, exquisitely dressed in a cream and beige suit and a filmy blouse of pale blue. She clung to her husband's arm as if she were glued, constantly throwing him intimate little glances. Hardly derigueur at your mother-in-law's funeral, I supposed, but who could blame her? She was plainly overjoyed to have him home.

  Bill Hatcher stood on the other side of the grave. His face lit with recognition when he saw me. He sent me a hand-at-his-side, surreptitious little wave which I was careful not to see.

  I felt a hostile stare. It came from an attractive woman standing on the other side of Jay. Doris! I had to do a double-take to recognize her. No ugly glasses—hair nicely styled—she looked downright attractive in a soft, powder blue suit. That lady was not one of my fans. If looks could kill, I would already have toppled, stone dead, into Nevada's grave. When she wasn't glaring at me she was casting flirty little glances at Jay, snuggling up to him, almost as much as Velia did. Once I saw Velia catch her at it and scowl. Why did Velia bother? Jay had eyes only for her.

  There was something strange about Doris. She reminded me of somebody, but I couldn't think who...

  Joy Daniel arrived, sweaty and panting—the result of hauling those excess pounds half way across the cemetery lawn. Gussie Kerkorian was there too, wearing a chic black jump suit and huge gold hoop earrings. She called a "Hi!" to me, wiggling her fingers, somber occasion be damned. Neither she nor Joy could have known Nevada very well, I reflected. No doubt they were there because of Jay.

  The minister intoned a brief eulogy. When he finished, Jay stepped forward and shared some poignant reminiscences of his mother in simple, heartfelt words. His voice broke half way through. He paused to wipe away a tear, but that was okay. If Jay Champion cried, then it was the right and manly thing to do. In this crowd, he could do no wrong.

  When the services were over, I approached the family to pay my respects. Ever the gracious lady, Velia took my hand. "Holly, how thoughtful of you to come. This is my husband, Jay." She gazed up at her husband with gentle, adoring eyes. "Darling, meet Holly Keene. She's the—"

  "Delighted to meet you." Voice booming, Jay thrust out his hand. "I know who you are. You're the P.I. who wants to find Crystal."

  "I'm sorry about your mother." His grip was solid. "I met her only once, but I'll never forget her."

  "She was one of a kind." His tone was wistful, melancholy. "I'll miss her."

  Velia patted his arm. "Darling, we've got to get back to the house." She turned to me. "We're having a little get-together—I hate calling it a wake. Will you come?"

  "Thanks, I'd love to." I turned to Jay. "It's bad form to ask, but if you get the chance—"

  "I'll talk to you about Crystal," he finished for me. "We'll find the time."

  Somehow I knew he would. I started walking back to the car, aware that since I'd met him, my fine theories about Jay's guilt were fast disintegrating. I'd been convinced he was involved in Crystal's death, and Rudy's shooting—especially after I discovered his sordid past. But how could a man as noble, as charismatic as Jay be engaged in anything sleazy? It seemed impossible, and yet, those trailer thefts were, at the least, questionable—very possibly phony. And why, I reminded myself, was Rudy killed just hours after Jay got home?

  My car was parked in a row of cars along the cemetery road. I was unlocking my door when I spotted Doris approaching. I straightened, saying amiably, "Well, hello. Thought you were trying to avoid me."

  "I want to talk to you."

  Forget friendly. The lady was barely civil and obviously wound tight. She gripped her bulky leather purse the same way she would grip a baseball bat. I had the feeling she'd like to bash me with it.

  "Talk about what, Doris?"

  "Why do you keep looking for Crystal?"

  "We've been through this before. Why does it bother you? Both Jay and Velia approve of what I'm doing."

  Her eyes glistened with anger. "I don't care if they approve or not, you snoopy bitch, I want you to stop."

  I stayed cool, ignoring the insult. "Did you know Crystal?"

  She glared. "Of course I knew Crystal. I'm an old friend of the family."

  "Then you've got to be aware of Crystal's lifestyle before she disappeared."

  "What lifestyle?" Doris eyed me suspiciously.

  "When Crystal went to Hollywood, she made some porn movies. Also, she lived with some mobster in Las Vegas for a while."

  "That's bullshit! Look—" her voice dropped nearly to a whisper, "—you ought to know something."

  "Know what?"

  "Crystal Hargrove is dead."

  "How do you know?"

  "Trust me, I know. It's useless to keep on looking. You'll never find her. Believe me, you're wasting your time."

  I looked her square in the eye. "I'll be the judge of that."

  "It's not only time you'll waste." Her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "You could get yourself in a lot of trouble if you keep on."

  "Is that a threat?" I crossed my arms and leaned back against the car. "Am I supposed to be scared?"

  "Take it as you like," she answered, tossing back her hair. Her tongue flicked out nervously to moisten her lips. "Just don't say you were never warned."

  Whom was she trying to kid? It didn't take a genius to perceive how nervous she was, maybe even scared, but of what, I didn't know. Unlikable though Doris was, I almost softened, hesitating to blast her with my next line. Only for a moment, though.

  "Doris, I know she's dead."

  "You know?" She flinched. I'd zinged her that time.

  "Did you ever see a movie called Virgin in the Pines?"

  Doris couldn't have fallen apart faster if someone had bashed her on the head. Stunned, she gasped and backed away, clutching her weapon-purse even tighter. "How did you hear about that?"

  "I don't care to reveal my sources." I meant that to sound stuffy. It did.

  "So what are you going to do?" she asked, her voice a shocked whisper.

  I pressed my advantage. "What about Jay and Velia? Do they know she's dead?"

  "No, just me, and I'll never tell you how I know."

  "In that case..." I explained why it wasn't such a hot idea to tell Jay and Velia about the snuff movie—not yet anyway. "No sense shocking them until I find who ma
de it." In a palm-up gesture of peace, I held out my hand. "Doris, tell me what you know."

  "No! Leave me alone!" In a near panic, Doris whirled around and left me. Poor woman, maybe she'd improved her appearance, but she had no grace. I watched her plod down the road, and again I got the feeling...where had I seen her before? Now that she was all spiffed up, there was something so familiar...

  Doris walked up to Joy Daniel, standing by her dusty old pickup. Without a word, Joy put her arms around Doris and held her tight. They seemed to be old, close friends.

  Old friends...very old friends...from kindergarten and junior high and high school...

  Something was coming clear, but I couldn't quite...

  Doris broke away. I could see from her grim expression she was still upset. She turned, tripping over her own feet, stumbling, going air-borne for a moment and coming down to the ground like a bounding cow. DORIS WAS CRYSTAL.

  Doris was Crystal. I knew it, I knew it. The revelation took my breath away. Change the hair from blonde to black—oh, yes. Take away the glasses...same shoulders, same legs, the same awkward moves I saw in Virgin in the Pines. The nose and chin were different, but so what? With a little plastic surgery…

  Doris was Crystal but how could that be? Crystal was dead. I'd seen her killed.

  Doris was Crystal.

  Chapter 12

  I slid into my Camaro, my brain still disbelieving what my eyes had seen. What was going on here? If Doris was Crystal, then Jay and Velia had to know, and if they knew, then why the fifty-thousand reward? And why had they faked a snuff movie? How had they faked a snuff movie? Crazy! It was all too much to absorb at the moment. To distract myself, I checked my voice mail. One message, and it really shook me. Nightmare on Elm Street had struck again:

  "Get off the case. Stop looking for Crystal. Or do you want to die, you bitchhhh?"

  Oh, swell. Loved that hiss at the end, the perfect touch. No shiver up the spine this time, I knew it had to be Doris-Crystal. She'd been nothing but hostile from the start. Now I knew why. But get off the case? What case? Where did I go from here?

  I jotted down the message in my notebook and tucked it into my purse. I was about to turn the ignition key when I heard a commotion.

  "This sucks! Dammit, this sucks!"

  Tyler. Easy to recognize that young, rebellious voice. I got out of the Camero fast and stood on my tiptoes craning my neck. The Champions' limousine was parked on the other side of the cemetery road, two spaces ahead. Jay and Velia stood by the limo's side, staring with startled expressions at their son, who was in the process of shucking off his suit coat and slamming it to the ground.

  "I'm not wearing this suit, and I won't get back in the car." The tall, lanky boy quivered with rage. He yanked his tie off and hurled it atop his coat. "You can't make me, Dad! I don't want to go home."

  Even from where I stood, I could see Jay's puzzlement. "Son, control yourself. Have you no respect for your grandmother? What the hell is wrong with you anyway?"

  "Nothing, Dad, nothing!" Tyler was more than angry. He was a roiling bundle of teen-age emotions, totally out of control.

  Velia asked sweetly, "Tyler, what is wrong?"

  "What's wrong? What's wrong?" With burning, reproachful eyes Tyler glared at her. Fury almost choked him. "There's fucking nothing wrong!"

  "You're out of line, Tyler!" Jay's voice cracked like a whip across the cemetery. He hauled back and slapped his son across the cheek.

  "Jay, please no!" Velia cried.

  He didn't hear. He was in a rage that matched Tyler's, balling his fists and red-faced. "Don't you ever use that language in front of your stepmother again, or I'll…" He stopped, suddenly aware that everyone was watching, and that his son, wide-eyed with shock, was slowly backing away. He inhaled deeply, shook his head to calm himself, unballed his fists, allowing his hands to drop to his sides.

  Tears streamed down Tyler's face. His cheek burned bright where his father had smacked him. "You'll be sorry, Dad!" Without another word, he turned and ran, over the grave markers, disappearing from sight out of the cemetery.

  Long, agonizing moments slid by. It was one of those awful, embarrassing silences when everybody freezes and nobody knows what to say. Velia had gone white, and no wonder. Knowing her, I guessed she must be mortified. Her worst nightmare had just come true. She'd had a scene—at the cemetery no less, the minister close by, friends, neighbors, family—all witnesses to the down-and-dirty fracas in the Champion family.

  I felt sorry for her. Give her credit, though. She pulled herself together enough to say, "Jay, we really must go." With a dainty wave to the crowd, she called, "See you at the house, everyone," and stepped into the limo. Truly a lady. She settled back in the seat, her head held high.

  Jay followed silently. The limo drew away from the curb, and they were gone.

  Driving to the Champions', I felt an urgent need to go and think someplace. A mountain top would be nice. There was so much to sort through: Rudy, Jay Champion, the nightmare phone message, Tyler, Doris...

  Like lightening arcing through the clouds, my mind leapt from one hot topic to another. Velia would be okay. She might look soft, but that lady was a world-class survivor. My heart ached for Tyler. Driving west on Herndon Avenue, I kept an eye out for him, but he was gone. Why was he so upset? Given, he had to hate wearing that suit. Given, teenagers can go bonkers over the silliest things. That still didn't explain the startling depths of his anger. It seemed to be directed at Velia, but why? Her syrupy Christian attitude was annoying, but not a major crime. Far as I was concerned, her genuine sweetness made up for the rest.

  I wondered about Jay. Granted, he had a reason, but his hero's image got a little tarnished when he hauled off and smacked his own son. I recalled my own father and the awful squabbles he had with my older brother Dennis when Dennis was in his teens. Come to think of it, Dad did exactly the same thing: got so angry he'd start to yell, then ended up hitting Dennis who usually deserved it, but still, it was always an upsetting thing.

  Dad was never a monster, just a normal father who lost his temper now and then. Maybe Jay was, too. One thing for sure: that old TV show, Leave It to Beaver, was produced in Fantasyland. In the real world, Beaver Cleaver's perfect father did not exist.

  So now I was more confused than ever. What really bothered me was my sudden realization about Doris, and how, in the weirdest way, it tied in with Jay. He had to be concealing something. It couldn't be just coincidence that both he and Crystal had been involved in porn movies. If my hunch was right—if Crystal was Doris—then Jay, and Velia too, were in on the deception. But why would they be offering a fifty-thousand dollar reward for what they already knew? And how did Rudy fit in? Crystal's murder was faked, I was almost positive, but that was a genuine bullet hole in the middle of Rudy's forehead.

  Darned if I could figure.

  Maybe Jay Champion could tell me.

  ***

  I hoped Nevada was looking down from heaven because if she was, she was getting a hoot out of her wake. Jay and Velia's "get-together" resembled a party, not an occasion for gloom. A swarm of people laughed, chatted, sat on the steps and wherever they could wedge themselves into, balancing paper plates, garfing up the food and drink the Champions and their good neighbors provided. If they thought of Nevada at all, which I doubted, they weren't shedding any tears over someone lucky enough to reach ninety.

  Jay held the center of attention. I followed him around for an hour before I could get him aside. It wasn't an hour wasted. Watching Jay in action was a revelation. He was Mister Charisma himself. Congenial as a politician, he shook hands and said hello to everyone, never forgetting a name. People kept asking if he would run for State Assembly "after you come home." Jay waffled, but he never once said no. Finally I maneuvered him upstairs to his and Velia's Ethan-Allen furnished bedroom. It was the only room in the house not jammed with guests.

  He sat on a king-sized bed with a blue satin spread, out of uniform now
, in wool slacks and a pale yellow cotton knit shirt. I shoved a white, leather-covered bible aside (it had to be Velia's), and sat down on a blue satin settee a couple of feet from the bed.

  Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Jay lovingly rolled a bottle of Heineken between his palms. "In that god awful hot desert heat I'd have sold my soul for one of these." He was on his fourth since he'd gotten home from the cemetery. He appeared relaxed now, an open smile warming his tanned, rugged face. "So okay, lady P.I., you've got me alone, so ask away."

  I crossed my legs and tugged at my skirt hem—a useless gesture since my short skirt wouldn't come close to covering my knees. "I am really sorry to bother you today. I'll keep the questions brief."

  "Hey! I haven't seen anything but sand and camels for six months. It's a treat to talk to a beautiful woman like you." Those spellbinding blue eyes swept from my spike heeled Ferragamos, up my Sheer Magics, to my knees. "You've got great legs. In Kabul, you'd be a sensation in that outfit—or out of that outfit." He threw back his head and roared at his little joke. "I know. I apologize. I'm a sexist pig. I've been in the friggin desert too long. God, it's good to be home."

  "You don't have to apologize." Funny, I thought, if that slime Bill Hatcher looked at me that way I'd punch him out. But Jay's honest admiration made me feel good. The man really was a charmer. Downstairs, I'd seen how cultivated and polished he could be. But this rough edge of his, the one he'd just shown, made him all the more attractive. Kind of reminded me of Perez, although I didn't dwell on why. I'd have loved spending hours talking to Jay, but I had to stick to business. I dug my notebook and gold Cross pen out of my purse. "Now about Crystal—"

  "About Crystal," Jay repeated, shaking his head. "Velia's already told you we're still good for the reward. Other than that, I'm not sure I can help, but I'll try." He proceeded to tell me what I already knew, about how his beloved sister-in-law had suddenly disappeared, leaving her purse and clothes behind, etcetera, and etcetera. And, of course—how could I doubt he'd say this: Crystal was a kind, thoughtful, loving girl. "So there you have it," he finished. "Naturally, I've told the police everything I know."