Death of a Prince

by Susan P. Baker

  Sandra sat up and said, “Erma, is there anything I can do for you?” She got out of her chair and put her arms around Erma. Patted her back. Patricia went to the kitchen and made lemonade for all of them and brought it back on a tray.

  “What the hell is this concoction?” Erma asked.

  Patricia said, “Don’t worry. It has vodka in it. I know it’s not bourbon, but bourbon tastes funny with lemonade.” Erma took a glass. Poor Patricia was trying to be helpful. She didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She swallowed a mouthful. Wasn’t too bad.

  Sandra started to wave Patricia away, but took a glass also and stood. “Are you going to be all right?”

  Patricia set the tray down on Sandra’s desk and proposed a toast. “To the survivors.”

  Erma said, “Damn straight.”

  They all took a drink.

  Erma said, “I take it Lizzie didn’t die of natural causes.” “No. Gunshot,” Sandra said.

  “Not self-inflicted, I trust,” Erma said.

  Sandra shook her head.

  Erma nodded. “When did it happen?”

  “Perhaps last night. They aren’t sure yet.”

  “It could make a person nervous, knowing someone is picking off the people who were at that party,” Patricia said.

  “Yeah.” Sandra looked at Erma. “You and I were at that party.”

  “Hell, a lot of people in town were at that party, not just usj” Erma said.

  “True,” Sandra said, “but I think Lizzie must have known something. There had to have been a reason.”

  “What’s Edgar Saul say?” Erma asked.

  “Oh, he’d love to pin it on Kitty.”

  Erma wiped her nose. “Wouldn’t he just.”

  After a while, the three of them moved back into the kitchen. Patricia made some sandwiches. The rest of the day, they sat in Erma’s office, talking, discussing, and surmising. They took turns on the sofa, the carpet, and the chairs. They discussed the murders in a detached way, Erma thought. As if they didn’t know the people involved. Patricia kept bringing them food and lemonade and coffee. Erma was glad that Kitty’s case was continued until the next day. She wanted Sandra close to her for a while. If she could, she would have put her arms around her and pulled her close and never let her go. She didn’t want Sandra to turn up like Lizzie. What had Lizzie known? And could Sandra also know it?

  Sandra phoned Stuart later that night. She didn’t want to be alone. She needed a distraction. She wanted him. He didn’t ask any questions, just came right over. The sex was hot and fast and extremely satisfying.

  Stuart was a blues devotee. Often before, during, and

  after their lovemaking, he played one of his favorite blues CDs. He would insist on dancing, whether they were dressed or not.

  Monday evening, post-lovemaking, Sandra stood over the wok, sauteing vegetables for dinner. She wore only a silk wrapper when he approached her from behind and pulled her into his arms. It hadn’t been an hour, but she could tell he was feeling amorous again.

  The feel of his bare chest against her back, the ripple of muscles in his arms, his lips on the curve of her neck, the pressure of his penis against her, all made her want him again. The feeling, the sudden passion, overwhelmed her. Different from what had been between them in the past. Not just the recent past, but during the entire relationship. Sandra wasn’t stopping to analyze just then. That would come later. A fleeting thought of it having something to do with death flew through her mind. But it was displaced by Johnny Hartman’s deep, bass voice, which seemed to permeate her soul as he sang of the tenuous nature of relationships. Stuart turned off the wok and led her to the living room floor. When she looked up, what seemed to be a long time later, she was surprised to see that the sun had just begun to set.

  Reaching for her robe, Sandra brushed Stuart’s cheek with her lips, leapt up, and headed for the shower. She was ravenous, but food could wait five more minutes. In spite of all the depressingly terrible things that had happened in the past few days, she found herself humming as she shampooed her hair. A few minutes later, she laughed with Stuart as he slipped into the shower with her. One more embrace, one more kiss, and she got out. She had wrapped herself in a bath sheet, her hair in a smaller towel, when the telephone rang. “Stu, the phone—I’ve put a fresh towel on the rack for you,” she said loudly so he could hear her over the water.

  “Okay. I turned the wok back on, Sandy, so watch it, will you?”

  Sandra slid the door closed and ran to her bedroom as the phone rang a fourth time. “Hello,” she hollered as she grabbed it off the nightstand.

  “Sandra, it’s Edgar. Sorry to disturb you at home, but listen, I thought I might as well level with you.”

  Droplets of water still sprinkled Sandra’s shoulders. The air-conditioning blowing from the overhead vent chilled her. A shiver scurried around the back of her head and down her neck. “What are you talking about, Edgar? I feel like I came in during the third act.”

  “The gun that killed Lizzie. Dr. Michaels and the lab have been working extra diligently at my request. The bullets were from a .25 caliber pistol. Our computer says your client is the registered owner of a .25 caliber pistol.”

  Sandra gripped the huge towel around her as she sat on the edge of her bed. “Kitty and several hundred thousand other Texans, not to mention red-blooded Americans, Edgar. Shit.”

  “Yeah, Sandra, but several hundred thousand other people are not already suspects in the murder of a victim’s shack-up.”

  “Don’t talk like that about Phillip and Lizzie. They were respected members of this community.”

  “Get real. You know what I’m talking about. Do yourself a favor, go see your client tonight, and get me that gun. We’ll check it. If there’s no match, fine. We’ll even let the judge on the Parker case know that. But don’t kid yourself. I think we’re going to find that little Miss Innocent Model is guilty as hell.”

  Sandra could feel her headache coming back. What was she supposed to do, tell Edgar that Kitty lost the gun? “Does

  it have to be tonight, Edgar? I was in the shower. Just getting ready for bed.”

  “Gimme a break, Sandra. Here I am trying to be up front with you. You want me to get a warrant? I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that, but I’m down here with Dennis. We can make out an affidavit and have it to a judge in thirty minutes and achieve the same results.”

  That’s what he thought. Sandra knew it would be at least an hour. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go talk to her and see if she owns a .25 caliber pistol.”

  “She does. I’m telling you.”

  “I said I’ll go talk to her. You going to be down there with Dennis until you hear from me?”

  “Am I going to hear from you?”

  “Yes, Edgar. I swear. Does that make you happy?” She held the phone in the crook of her neck, drying herself.

  “All right. I’ll be here. Just don’t take all night.”

  Sandra felt sick to her stomach. “Remember that I have to get dressed, and drive over there, and talk to her. Give me plenty of time.”

  “I’ll be waiting right here. See you later.” He hung up. Sandra dropped the phone back on the night table and finished drying off. Throwing the towel onto the bed, she pulled underwear from her dresser and put it on as she went to the kitchen and turned the wok off. Stuart came out then. He had his Bermuda shorts on and picked up various pieces of clothing from around the apartment. He smiled at her. She' again thought that they were like an old married couple, wandering around the house half-naked. Showering together. Well, maybe old married couples didn’t make it on the living room floor.

  “Will you take over here? I turned it back off.” She held the wooden spoon out to him. “I have to make a phone call.”

  “Sure.” He dumped his clothes into a pile next to the table and took the spoon from her, kissing her tenderly. “Who called?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. There’s some leftover shrimp in the freezer if yo
u want to dump some in with the vegetables.” She went back into her bedroom and closed the door. While pulling on a pair of red and pink plaid shorts and a pink Galveston Island Proud T-shirt, she dialed Kitty’s number on her mobile phone.

  “Hi, this is Kathryn Fulton. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep.”

  Sandra sat down on the edge of the bed again and wondered whether Kitty was there and just screening her calls. “Kitty, it’s me, Sandy. If you’re at home, please pick up. It’s imperative that I speak to you.”

  Putting on a pair of socks, Sandra waited a few moments to see if she’d answer. When she didn’t, she said in a firmer voice, “Kitty, if you are at home, I have to speak to you immediately. Answer this phone. It’s for your own good.”

  Again she waited. She pushed her feet into tennis shoes and tied them. Nothing. She would still go over there whether Kitty answered or not. She would prefer for Kitty to know she was coming.

  “Pick up, damnit!”

  “Hello.”

  “Kitty, you’re home. Why didn’t you answer sooner?” “Are you alone, Sandy? Can you talk?”

  “I was just coming over to talk to you about your gun. What’s the matter? Why do you sound so strange? Are you okay?”

  “I think I know who killed Phillip and Lizzie, Sandy.” That caught Sandra so off guard that she blurted out, “Who?” She finished tying her second shoe and turned

  around in search of her purse and keys. The door to her bedroom had been opened. Stuart stood watching her, the wooden spoon still in his hand, an intense, indescribably odd expression on his face. Sandra couldn’t tear her eyes away for a few moments.

  “I can’t tell you over the phone, Sandy. Are you coming soon?”

  “Yes, dear. I’ll be right over.” Sandra hung up. She had a terrible sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her head buzzed. “I have to go out,” she said. Quickly, she combed her wet hair back into a ponytail and wrapped a band around it. She dropped her cell into her purse as she brushed past him. “Go ahead and eat without me. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  “Where are you going?”

  His voice even sounded weird to her. She had to get out of there immediately and get some fresh air, clear her head. She had no rational basis for her sudden feeling about Stuart. Nothing but gut. And that told her that she had to get away from him as fast as possible. Sandra didn’t answer but concentrated on reaching the front door of her apartment.

  He raced her there, his hand covering hers as she reached for the knob. He put his face close to hers. “I said, ‘Where are you going?’ ”

  Not knowing how much of her conversation he had overheard, Sandra didn’t know what to answer. She took a chance. Gazing into his eyes, she said, “My mother’s. She’s not feeling well. I guess the shock of Lizzie’s death has really gotten to her.”

  “Oh, I thought you might be going to see Kitty.”

  “No,” she said, trying not to tremble. “I’m going to my mother’s. What’s gotten into you, Stuart? Let go of my hand. My mother needs me.”

  Stuart let go and leaned over to kiss her. Sandra took a step backward and then held her cheek up to him. “See you later.” She let herself out and walked calmly down the hall to the elevator, where she pushed the button. When the elevator doors opened, she turned and waved to Stuart, who stood watching her, the spoon still in his hand, only now he seemed to hold it like a knife.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Three

  After the elevator doors closed, Sandra couldn’t get to her car fast enough. After she got to her car, she couldn’t get away from the condo quick enough. She kept looking over her shoulder and in her rearview mirror, expecting to see Stuart following her. She felt like a seer. Suddenly she knew who had killed Phillip and Lizzie. She remembered some things that had never clicked before. Like the morning after Phillip’s murder, something rough on Stuart’s fingers caught on her silk blouse. He must have torn his fingernails when he smashed Phillip’s face in with that brick, because the night before, his nails were not that way.

  Then there were the phone calls from that weirdo. The cadence of the voice. Why had she been so dumb? He had simply dialed her on his mobile phone while he had been talking to her on his regular phone. He had been on two telephones at one time.

  Sandra knew this, but how could she prove it? It would take time to get the records. Time was something she didn’t have if he would be free until she had some proof. She and Kitty were very probably next on his list.

  There must be some other things she’d been overlooking. Could he have slipped into the kitchen and put something in Officer Bradshaw’s drink? Surely he hadn’t been planning to kill Phillip that night and lucked out with the altercation between Phillip and Kitty.

  Earlier, when she had mentioned that Lizzie was dead, he didn’t say a word. He hadn’t acted surprised. Was that because he already knew she was dead? Did he know because someone had told him or because he had killed her?

  Lizzie. She would have let him into her house. She knew him. She trusted him. Had she known he killed Phillip? Is that why he killed her? Sandra was sure it had been Stuart who slept in the room next to Lizzie’s the night Phillip had died. Lizzie must have figured the whole thing out.

  But why kill Phillip? Stuart would have had such a bright future if he’d stayed partners with Phillip. Just as suddenly as the realization that Stuart was the murderer had hit her back at her apartment, the realization that she’d slept with a murderer struck her like a blow to her stomach. She gagged and stomped her brakes, almost causing an accident. She’d had sex with a murderer—twice in one day.

  Sandra pulled over to the curb, jumped out, and ran down the seawall. How could she bear it? It made her sick to think that she had even enjoyed it. She leaned over the edge of the seawall and vomited her wine onto the rocks. To think that she had wanted it. How could she ever put it behind her, forget it? She’d screwed someone who had smashed another’s face in, repeatedly, until that face was obliterated. She’d fucked someone who had come up behind a woman and put two bullets into her brain. She wanted an acid bath to get his germs off her. If only she could turn back the clock.

  Sandra ran again without stopping until she remembered Kitty. Kitty waited for her at her home. Presumably alone. And Stuart. Did he know where she was really going? What if he got there first? Her heart raced so fast that she thought it would beat her back to her car. When she reached the Volvo, she realized that she’d left the keys in the ignition, the engine running, and her purse on the seat. Why it wasn’t stolen was

  beyond her. Shifting into first, Sandra took off for Kitty’s, hoping it wasn’t too late.

  Kitty flung open the door. “Where have you been?” she screamed. She slammed the door behind her and bolted it several times. “The phone has been ringing. I can’t find Raymond anywhere.”

  For a moment, Sandra wondered whether Stuart had already killed Raymond. Surely not. “Stuart,” she said to Kitty’s back as she followed her into her living room.

  “I know. That’s what I wanted to tell you, Sandy, only I was scared to.” She washed her hands in the air. “He took my gun. It had to be him. He came over for dinner Saturday night with Raymond. It was gone after he left. Raymond wouldn’t have taken it. He’s the one who gave it to me.”

  “How did he know you had one?”

  “We were talking about it. Dumb. You’re right, Sandy. I’m so dumb. I even talked about where I kept it.” Like a little girl, she twirled a strand of hair around on her finger and paced back and forth in front of the sofa.

  “Why do you think Stuart would want to kill Lizzie, Kitty?” Sandra stood at one of Kitty’s front windows and stared out. In the dark, without much of a moon, she couldn’t see but a foot in front of her face. She closed the draperies. She didn’t want either one of them to give Stuart a target.

  “Money. I’m sure it has something to do with money. And that trial. They were talking about an investigation into something ha
ving to do with that trial.”

  “I didn’t hear about that.” She checked all of the windows to make sure they were locked.

  “Raymond told me that Phillip had yelled at Stuart for something to do with that trial.”

  “The asbestosis one, you mean?”

  “Are you checking to make sure my windows are locked? I already did that. Do you think we should call the police?”

  “And tell them what?”

  “That Stuart did it.”

  “You got any evidence?”

  Kitty looked at her blankly. “Oh.”

  “Everything we know is purely circumstantial.”

  “That means it’s not enough?”

  “Yes. We need more. If only we could put your gun in his hand.”

  “Well, what if he doesn’t know that’s all we have, then what?”

  A phone rang. Kitty stared at her. Sandra checked her cell phone. It wasn’t hers. “Are you going to answer?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been ringing almost since you called me.” Kitty clutched at Sandra’s arm. “I’m so scared.” Sandra counted aloud. After ten rings, it stopped. Sandra’s cell started ringing. Only a few people had that number. Her mother. Patricia. Her daughter. Jack Cartwright. And Stuart. She answered. “This is Sandra.”

  “Sandy, when are you coming back? Our dinner is getting cold.”

  Sandra felt as though her blood had curdled. All circulation seemed to have stopped. She nodded in response to Kitty’s whispered question. “I just got here, but she’s feeling better. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

  “Well, hurry up. I miss you, darling.”

  “You could eat without me, Stu. I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that. I don’t mind waiting. Having dinner with you will be the perfect end to the perfect evening. See you in a bit.” He hung up.

  Had his voice sounded unnatural or did she just imagine it? Sandra punched in the main number to the police department. “Lieutenant Truman,” she said when the desk sergeant answered. The police department recorder beeped in the background.