by M. Z. Kelly
“Sorry. I’m just not feeling the need for a glass of two buck Chuck right now, but thanks for asking.”
When Peter Roth and I got to the Stardust, most of the residents were gathered in the dining room. Missing a meal at the retirement home was about as rare as snow on the island or maybe even Peter Roth going for a day without a drink.
Morty came out of the dining room when he saw us. He unwrapped a cigar and said to Roth, “Looking for business?”
Roth took a step closer to Morty, who at five-two was about ten inches shorter than the lawyer. He slapped the aging actor on the back. “I’ve got a Mustang model built out of cherry wood on sale. Might even be able to install a cigar holster just for you.”
Morty smiled, puffed invisible smoke. “I’m thinking about taxidermy.”
“What?” I said.
“I’m gonna get stuffed, hang around here, and keep an eye on things.”
Roth was telling Morty that he knew a guy who could cut him a deal on taxidermy services as Mo and Natalie came over. Mo was carrying Bubba, who she turned loose on the adjacent patio to cavort with Bernie. My friends were with a heavyset man who had on a plaid suit that looked like something out of the 1980’s or maybe even earlier. He had on one of those hats that guys at racetracks wear. Maybe he was Roth’s bookie.
“This is Sammy Boxer,” Natalie said, introducing the man to us as Morty and Roth wandered off. “He’s Sarah’s nephew, the PI we mentioned. He’s gonna help me and Mo find her niece.”
Boxer stuck out a hand or should I say a paw. He looked remarkably like his canine namesake: stout with big ears, jowly, short, dark hair, a square but earnest muzzle. Sammy also had another physical attribute. After the handshake I pulled a tissue out of my purse, wondering if sleaze might be an actual physical substance.
Mo, who was wearing a flower print muumuu and a shoulder length red wig said, “Sammy’s already got a theory ‘bout the case, if you wanna hear it.”
I nodded, blew out a breath. “Of course.”
Sammy’s gravelly voice sounded like he’d spent a lot of time in bars, maybe with Roth, and was a heavy smoker. “I did a little checking on that Shaw character, the homicide vic. He had some ties to guys running drugs between the island and the mainland.”
Despite Sammy being a ninety-nine on the hundred point sleaze-o-meter what he’d said spiked my interest. “Was he a major player in the drug trade?”
The PI shook his beefy head, then burped up whatever he’d had in the Stardust dining room. He was probably forty pounds overweight, with tiny dark eyes that almost disappeared in the fleshy folds of his face. “Small time, far as I know. I’m just beginning the investigation.”
I decided that having Sammy on the case with Natalie and Mo was like waking up in the morning with a large wart on the end of your nose—make that three warts. I noticed that Roth was keeping his distance from Sammy, giving him the eye. Maybe he owed the PI money.
“Sammy’s gotta solve this case soon,” Mo said. “Roma’s having a breakdown. Might even need some of that Zembola stuff to keep her from going bananas.
“Zem-what?” I asked.
Natalie gave me an explanation, lowering her voice in an imitation of a guy from one of those anti-depressant TV commercials. “Depressed, having thoughts of suicide, wanna shoot your neighbor or your wife, talk to your doctor about Zembola today.”
“Got it,” I said, glancing around at the residents, Roth, my friends, Sammy, and thinking maybe I could use a large dose of the medication.
Sammy waddled off to talk to his aunt, Strutting Sarah, who tonight was made up like an actress at an Oscar ceremony from the 1940’s. Lauren Bacall came to mind as Natalie changed the subject.
“Got me a date with that Tom Kincaid bloke tomorrow night. He’s the dog’s bollocks.”
“Who?”
“That DA who was in court yesterday,” Mo explained. “Baby sis is having a hormone hangover since she broke up with Tex.
“We chatted it up in the courthouse after the shootin’,” Natalie said. “Seems like it’s been forever since I had me a romp with the twigs ‘n berries. Maybe he’s even got a few ideas about our case.”
Roth had come over after Sammy left and apparently heard the end of the conversation. After introductions, he said to Natalie. “Just so you know, Tom Kincaid has a reputation as a bit of a player. You might consider going out with someone a little more refined, someone who knows the island, and the nightlife.” He was salivating as he ogled Natalie who’s tight blouse showed off a pair of perfect natural breasts.
“And that someone might be?” I asked him.
“It just so happens that I’m free this evening.” He turned to Natalie, “There’s this little restaurant with a view to die…”
The rest of what he said was interrupted by a soliloquy from Sal Walsh from his upper level perch. After the ex-actor said something about killing infidels and putting their heads on spears, I took Natalie and Mo aside. Referencing Peter Roth, I said to Natalie, “You’d be better off dating the emperor of Rome.”
“He’s not my type, anyway,” Natalie said. “I’m just looking for a teddy.”
“Say again?”
“A teddy bear. The selfie sex just ain’t cutting it for me.”
I nodded, suppressing visions of something called a G-Stim, a sex toy Natalie and her ex had been wild about.
“You need to be careful, baby girl,” Mo said to her. “Maybe put your transmission in low gear for a while when it comes to this Kincaid guy.” Mo then turned to me. “Did you hear they’ve invited the Stardust residents to the upcoming policeman’s ball? They’re all supposed to dress up like what they wore for their biggest acting role. It’s going to be at the Wrigley Casino ballroom down in the harbor.”
I hadn’t heard but said, “That should make for an interesting night.” Nothing like a ballroom full of ancient, crazy ex-actors.
Morty came over to us with Sammy Boxer and his aunt. Strutting Sarah was about six feet tall, towering over her tubby nephew. In a deep voice that was maybe an attempt to channel Lauren Bacall she said, “Sammy dear will solve this little murder and kidnapping in no time.”
“Nothing like having a real gumshoe like Sammy on the case,” Morty said, puffing his cigar. Sammy’s jowls flushed with pride.
“The band is beginning to play,” Sarah said, as we heard the four-piece orchestra tuning up at the other end of the lobby. “Mable Beauregard is singing tonight. I made a special request that she do her rendition of, Lover Man.” She turned to Morty. “Would you care to join me?”
Morty shrugged. “Why not. Lover man might not have too many more chances to hold a broad in his arms.”
A moment later we heard a high-pitched shriek. “What the hell is that?” Natalie said. “Sounds like someone’s screaming bloody murder.”
“It’s just Mable warming up,” Morty explained. I thought I saw the crystal chandelier above us vibrating. “That woman can sure belt it out.”
Mabel’s belting might not have been bloody murder, but it was loud enough to shatter glass, maybe even raise the dead. Mo shrank back, covering her ears.
I glanced over at a couple of Stardust residents who were in their customary places, sitting on benches up against the wall. They’d been so still it occurred to me they might have passed on, but they began to stir, turning in the direction of the caterwaul. Maybe Mabel’s singing had actually raised the dead.
In a moment Morty and Sarah began parading around the dance floor. There was at least a foot difference in height between the dancers. We saw Morty turn his head and whack Sarah in the breast with his cigar a couple of times.
“Looks like Morty’s gonna get lucky tonight,” Natalie said over the Lover Man wail.
I wondered if Loretta Swanson might be lurking somewhere nearby ready to clock both Sarah and Morty as Mo raised her voice and said, “Yeah, guess at Morty’s age boob sex is all you can get.” Her gaze moved over the room. “And believe me,
there’s enough boobs in here to keep Morty busy for the next couple of lifetimes.”
CHAPTER TEN
Grace Breslin sits on the steps of the group home. The door creaks open and she hears Jonah’s voice behind her. “If that social worker isn’t here in the next couple of hours you need to leave. I’ve got another girl coming and I don’t want you making a bad impression.”
Grace turns and smiles at the administrator. “No worries. I’ll be gone.”
“See to it that you are.” He slams the door, disappearing back into the house.
There’s a stick next to the worn cement steps. Grace picks it up, doing the calculations. She makes a mark in the dirt. When the shadows hit the line she knows it will be time to leave, regardless of whether or not Melissa Taylor has stopped by as promised.
Even though she’s now an adult, eighteen years old, Grace feels unchanged. Simple things. The quiet of the morning. The breeze on her face. Listening to the buzz of insects and birds. Numbers. These are Grace’s pleasures. There is a quiet place in the center of her being that she knows nothing can touch, no matter what lies ahead.
Grace looks down, seeing the delicate flowers clinging to the walkway between the mud and stone path. The flowers are pink. They remind her of walking through a park with her mother, picking flowers, and watching the sunset. It all seems so long ago. It’s strange how your mind places tricks on you, making time seem like it stretches out forever when things are good, but sometimes also compressing minutes into seconds when there’s an accident or unexpected turn of events. There’s a reason for this, she thinks, probably even a mathematical formula that can express what happens.
Maybe someday she’ll figure it out. But right now Grace is content to pick one of the flowers. Grass Pink. That’s the name. She inhales the sweet scent of the nectar, knowing that the smell is the flower’s way of spreading it’s pollen, reproducing itself, and continuing the species. The earthy, distinctive scent of the flower causes Grace’s mind to tumble. She sees patterns, sequences, symmetries, and the beauty of nature’s proportions in the petals.
“Hello Grace.”
The voice of Melissa Taylor draws Grace out of her reverie. She focuses, extending a hand to the social worker who sits down on the steps next to her.
“How does it feel to be eighteen?” Melissa asks, settling in.
Grace knows the question is fraught with concerns about her life as an adult. She’s decided Melissa does genuinely care about her. It’s strangely comforting, even though she will probably never see the social worker again after today.
“For someone who’s travelled about two and a half million kilometers in the past twenty-four hours it feels pretty good,” Grace says, smiling at her. “But despite the distance, it doesn’t feel much different than yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, you lost me somewhere.”
“We’re moving around the sun, travelling very fast.” Grace looks at the sky, the white clouds dancing above them. “The earth is soaring through the universe, we just don’t think about it.” She looks back at the social worker. “It’s so amazing.”
Melissa leans in, hugs her. “Just like you, Grace.”
A smile. “Thank-you but I’m just a girl.”
“A woman now.” The social workers eyes darken, the concern surfacing. “Where will you go tonight?”
Grace shrugs. “I’m not sure. Maybe down by the harbor.”
“There are a couple of shelters.” Melissa retrieves a paper from her purse, hands it over. “Just be careful. Some of the people in these shelters aren’t very nice.”
Grace pushes the paper into her backpack. There’s a lengthy silence. She sees that Melissa is struggling with her emotions. Grace reaches out, touching the social worker’s hand. “I’ll be okay.”
Melissa Taylor brushes a tear and reaches into her purse, removing a wallet. She hands several bills over to her. “This should help a little. I wish there was more.”
Grace shakes her head. “I can’t…”
“I insist.” After she accepts the money, Grace sees that Melissa has a pen and jots something down on a scrap of paper. “This is my personal phone number. I want you to call me if I can help in any way. I might not be your social worker anymore, but I do care.”
Grace takes the paper. “Thank-you. I appreciate it.” She glances at the numbers, wads the paper into a ball, and gives it back to her.
“Why…I don’t understand…”
“The numbers. They’re in my mind now—forever.”
After hugs are exchanged and goodbyes are said, Grace Breslin picks up her backpack and walks down the street alone. A block from the group home she glances up as a car passes by. She catches only a fleeting glimpse of a young man staring hard at her. The girl who soars through the universe is in another place, a place full of flowers and numbers. It’s a world where she knows nothing about the monsters that hide in plain sight.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke up early the next morning, the sun streaming in through the window in my little apartment at the Stardust. Mo’s sister, Roma, had arranged for me and my friends to have adjoining rooms on the second floor. The quarters were small but comfortable, furnished with antiques that would make someone in their eighties feel right at home.
As Bernie and Bubba slurped up their morning bowl of kibble I slipped into a pair of black skinny jeans, a white silk blouse, and a blue Anne Klein blazer. We then went downstairs where I had a quick bite to eat in the dining room and then took the dogs for their morning constitutional in the little park next to the Stardust. While we walked my phone rang. It was my sister, Lindsay.
“Just checking on you. Seeing how the vacation’s going?”
“It’s been relaxing. Unfortunately I have to be back at work in a few days.” I saw no reason to tell her that I was spending the end of my vacation working.
“I thought I’d come over and have lunch with you in a couple of days if you’re free,” Lindsay said. There was a hesitation. “I also have mom’s ashes.”
I took a breath. My half-sister, who I’d only recently met, had spent much of her childhood in Brazil where she’d been raised by my bio-mom and her father. From what Lindsay had told me, both she and my mother, Judie Crawford, had been controlled and abused by her father, Ryan Cooper. Cooper was the same man who had shot and killed my father in a local park when I was a child after learning that my dad and Judie had been in a relationship while he and Judie were separated. What Cooper didn’t know at the time was that Judie was my biological mother, my conception occurring while she and Cooper had been estranged.
I’d been adopted shortly after my father’s relationship with Judie ended and he married my adoptive mom. My mom had only recently told me the truth about Judie being my biological mother. I found Judie Crawford a few days after learning the truth. She was in a vegetative state in a convalescent hospital, thanks to being battered by Cooper. She’d died while Cooper was stalking me after he also learned that Judie was my bio-mom. My boyfriend, Jack Bautista, had been shot and killed by Cooper when he came after me. Lindsay had saved my life by shooting her own father.
The sorrows of all those events came tumbling back to me as I said to Lindsay, “Lunch would be great. We could eat at one of the restaurants overlooking the harbor, then…” The thought of spreading my mother’s ashes brought tears to my eyes.
“That sounds good,” Lindsay said, apparently unaware of my emotions. “There’s something I want to ask you about when we get together.”
After making arrangements to meet her at the harbor I let the dogs off their leash for a minute to do their business. I wasn’t sure what Lindsay wanted to ask me but whatever it was I knew that I’d find a way to help out the sister I’d just met and who had saved my life. After a lengthy investigation the DA had cleared her of any charges in her father’s death, the shooting having been ruled justifiable in light of Cooper murdering Jack and attempting to kill me.
Lindsay was in her mid
-twenties and my anxiety level spiked at the thought of her trying to make her own way in Hollywood. Despite our age differences and relationship, I felt something maternal when I was around her. It was a first for me, the thought of having children, especially given my past relationship problems, had never entered my thoughts.
After the dogs finished their stroll in the park, I made arrangements to leave Bubba with my friends and then drove to the Catalina police station with Bernie. We met up with Buck McCade as he was getting out of his truck in the parking lot. He removed his Stetson and flashed me one of his killer smiles, then doted over Bernie. I noticed he had on a suit coat that had a more modern cut to it.
“I hope you didn’t go shopping on my account,” I said, admiring the suit jacket.
He blushed, didn’t answer. Maybe he had gone shopping. Then I noticed his boots. “You might want to check into some new footwear also. Those boots look like they’ve seen better days.”
“My best mudpipes. Broke in just right.”
Mudpipes? I realized that I knew little about his background. As we walked toward the stationhouse I said, “So tell me, Buck, where’d you get your accent?”
“Grew up on a ranch just outside of Laredo. Daddy ran some cattle, a few sheep. It was a good place to grow up.”
“So how does a boy from Laredo end up on Catalina?”
He opened the door to the station. “That story’s gonna take a little more time than we’ve got right now.”
Whatever the story was, I wanted to hear all about it. I continued to feel something reawakening inside me whenever I was around the big detective.
We stopped by Lieutenant Sloan’s office and were told that he wanted to meet with us and the other detectives to go over where we were on the case. We found Julie Spencer and Tim Baxter already in a conference room. Despite the hellos, I felt like the new kid in a school with a couple of bullies on the playground.
“We wasted an entire day at the courthouse and doing the knock and talk in the surrounding neighborhood,” Julie Spencer began, summarizing for the lieutenant how she and Baxter spent yesterday. She was wearing a white lacy blouse that hinted at the oversized breasts she was packing. “We came up with a big fat zero.”