The Final Arrangement

by Annie Adams

  “Morning, K.C.”

  “Good morning to you, Boss. You’re just in time for breakfast.”

  “Where did you find all of this breakfast?”

  “I went to the store after my morning constitutional.”

  “What time did you wake up?”

  “Oh I was naughty and slept in until five.”

  I wiped my bleary, sleep-heavy eyes. “Slept in?”

  “Yes, Fred left so late after we necked on the couch that I allowed myself a little extra snooze time. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind that you slept in—wait, did you say you and Fred…”

  “Oh yes, he’s a real tiger, that Fred.” She giggled. “But it wasn’t very thoughtful of me, Boss, having a gentleman caller leaving your house so late.”

  “Of course I don’t mind, K.C.” At least someone in this house was getting some action.

  “Well, I’ve made us a nice breakfast, so we’ll have plenty of energy to go back to the shop and clean up our mess.”

  Breakfast was wonderful, and probably a shock to my system since my first meal of the day usually consisted of a piece of bread followed by the Coke that I bought on the way to the work in the mornings.

  The prospect of cleaning up after a big event like the gala did not inspire enthusiasm, but K.C.’s gung-ho attitude did. We arrived at the shop ready to get busy and get out.

  I unlocked the back door and walked through each room turning on the lights. K.C. volunteered to take the garbage boxes to the dumpster, while I put the supplies away that were left out on the counters in our haste to finish before the gala started.

  “Boss, I’ll open the van and start putting things out on the black top, and then we can both bring everything inside.”

  “Sounds good, I’ll start bleaching the buckets, and then I’ll meet you outside.”

  I turned on the water and poured a little bleach and soap into each bucket. My bruised eye twitched and I reflexively reached up to brush it with the back of my wrist. Ouch. It was still as sore as it was colorful. The painful touch reminded me of the day I received the injury. Of all the events of that day, the one that repeated over and over in my mind was that of Alex’s arms wrapped around me, comforting me after my entrapment by Brad. I pushed that picture to the corners of my mind, knowing that the more I let myself think of Alex, the more it would sting in the realization that everything had been a nasty hoax.

  “Boss! You need to come out here. Right now!” K.C.’s voice was drenched in panic.

  “K.C., what’s wrong?” It was the van. Maybe someone had vandalized the van, or worse.

  I ran outside to see the damage.

  “It’s—it's inside the van. You have to look in the van.”

  Before I leaned in, I could smell something strange. It wasn’t familiar and it was horrible. I started to gag and had to turn away and take a deep breath. I leaned against the side door and peered inside. It took time for my eyes to adjust to the change in light. The air felt thick and hot on my skin. Once my eyes were used to the light, I saw a glimmer in the dark where the light from the late morning sun shone past my shoulder into the van.

  I crouched down and took a step inside, kneeling next to a mirrored pedestal. I reached toward the shiny thing, and as I touched it, I realized it was jeweled, I leaned further still and as the realization hit me that I had seen this bracelet the night before, I lost my balance and fell forward with a scream. Tumbling glass vases clanged and crashed and I landed on a solid surface with no give. I was lying on top of the lifeless body of Camille LeFay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As one might expect, my first instinct after discovering Camille LeFay’s dead body was not to call the cops. I had my cell phone with me and I did what any well meaning, upstanding, innocent person would do—I called my lawyer. I explained to Cal, as briefly as I could (seeing as how he would bill me by the hour, and possibly the word), why I could not call the police to report the crime that I had not witnessed or been any part of. Like any great attorney and friend would do, he took care of it. Having a well-known and respected hotel manager stay at my house most of the night before had proven to be a great alibi too.

  I left my lawyer to take care of the police and my van, which was now a crime scene. I just hoped things would be cleared up soon and that I wouldn’t have to be involved any more than I absolutely had to regarding our gruesome discovery. Cal told me I could leave once I had talked to the police—none of whom I knew—thank goodness. He said he would take care of everything and let me know what the next step would be.

  At home, K.C. and I went over any of the facts we knew of, which might link me in some way to the new murder and the old one.

  “We have to think about all these puzzle pieces,” K.C. said. We have to put them together. Find a pen and some paper. We’re going to connect the dots.” She put on her cat-eyed reading glasses, carefully adjusting them with the palms of both hands until they sat just-right on her nose. “By the way, where was this Camille LeFay sitting last night? Maybe I would remember seeing her and who she was with before she was killed,” K.C. said.

  “You were preoccupied with the spilled centerpiece when I talked to her, so I don’t know if you saw her then.”

  K.C. shook her head.

  “She ran to the bathroom, sick, after we spoke. That was the last time I saw her,” I said.

  I retrieved something to write with, and on a fresh sheet of paper wrote Derrick’s name at the center and circled it. I then drew lines like spokes of a wheel coming from the center circle. “We know that Derrick had a relationship with the mortuary,” I wrote Greg Schilling at the end of one of the spokes. “From what we’ve learned, we can draw spokes to Landon Powell, or at least Camille LeFay. We can connect Derrick to Bryce and his switch grass farm. We can connect him to the Shaws too because he was partners with their son and they had the switch grass pamphlet that Derrick created. We might be able to draw a spoke to Detective Arroyo because he’s the detective over the murder case. Of course, there’s Alex.”

  K.C. tilted her head down, peering at me over the tops of her reading glasses. “What about Alex? Boss?”

  “I have reason to suspect Alex, by something Camille said.”

  “Suspect him of what?”

  I hunched over and put my head in my hands. “Everything.”

  “Quincy, are you sure?”

  “I’m not sure about anything, K.C. But think about it. How perfect for an undercover spy to infiltrate by getting the girl to fall for him, then report back her every move to his bosses? He has the perfect cover.”

  “Boss, you’ve been watching way too much TV.”

  “Trust me, K.C. It makes me sick to think of it, but we can’t rule out any of the puzzle pieces.”

  K.C. sighed. “Okay,” she said with reluctance, “I think you’re batty, but lets just try to see where he fits.” She took the pen from me and wrote down “Alex.” She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, “Where exactly do I draw his spoke?”

  “To Landon Powell. I think he’s working for him.”

  “Alright and how is he linked to Derrick?”

  “Oh. Well, I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  K.C. peered at me and shook her head. “Love is the pits sometimes kiddo, but lets get serious here.”

  My heart ached but I knew Alex was up to something. All of the mysterious disappearances, and then re-appearances with no good explanation were not normal. I should never have trusted that man.

  “Who else is left?” I had to change the subject.

  K.C. looked at me as if to tsk-tsk me with telepathy. I ignored it and carried on.

  “We can draw a spoke to Doug Stanwyck because he and Derrick were buddies. We’ve talked to everyone except Landon Powell and Stanwyck. We can’t talk to the boyfriend obviously, but I’ve talked with his parents—the Shaws—and Powell…well I’m not going to be talking to him due to the fact that he tried to have me shut up.”
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br />   “Hold on a minute to them there horses, Boss. Did you actually hear Powell telling someone to shut you up?”

  “Well…no. He just said her. That ‘she knows too much.’”

  “Well didn’t you say Camille LeFay was blabbing everything to everyone at the party? I mean if anyone needed to be shut up in Powell’s eyes, it was probably her, don’t you think?”

  I paused a moment to think about what K.C. had said. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Oh no kid, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “Obviously he was talking about Camille. She knew everything about Powell and Derrick and she didn’t seem to care with whom she shared that information. Wow, what a relief we didn’t have murderers outside the house all night. Oh, poor Fred!”

  “What about Fred?”

  “I got up to use the bathroom and then went out on the porch to get some air early this morning—before you were awake. He was asleep in his car. He must have been out there in his car all night watching out for us.”

  “Oh he wasn’t out there all night.” K.C.’s expression became coy.

  “Is that so?”

  “We necked on the couch for quite a long time, Quincy. I didn’t exactly tell you the whole story about this morning before breakfast. We heard you stirring around in the bedroom and so he sneaked outside. He must’ve been pretending to sleep like I was. Teehee.”

  “Well, well, well. Congratulations K.C. You kids do be careful won’t you?”

  “Oh, Quincy!” she laughed. “You don’t need to worry about me. It’s you that I’m worried about. You and Alex I mean.”

  “There’s no more me and Alex. Remember the whole pretending to be someone he’s not—in league with Landon Powell—thing? Anyway, let’s talk about something else.

  “You know you haven’t talked to that Stanwyck character. He was supposedly a good buddy with Derrick. Maybe if you talked to him you could shed some light on things and see where all of these spokes are connected.”

  “Good idea. I’ll call Linda and see where I might be able to find Doug Stankwyck today.”

  “Do you think I could tag along, Boss?”

  “Sure. We’ll be incognito in your car in case anyone sees us there. Lets go.”

  ###

  Doug Stanwyk’s rockin’ bachelor pad turned out to be a two-story house in the middle of a suburban cul-de-sac. The grass on his front lawn was gray-green with large patches of dead yellow splotches covering all the corners. A couple of overgrown dwarf pine trees stood poor watch on either side of the front porch, where empty beer bottles and cans surrounded the legs of a couple of plastic lawn chairs. Yard work was not a priority for this household. It looked as if fancy cars were, though. The bright yellow Hummer, Derrick’s Porsche and a couple of other sports cars I didn’t recognize were parked on the street and in the driveway. The garage door had been left open, leaving visible all the junk piled and crammed into every available nook and cranny. Tools and motorcycles and snowmobiles were recognizable forms amongst the rest of the flotsam.

  I reached to knock on the door but K.C. interrupted me with a nudge from her elbow. She opened her purse and showed me the taser, winked and patted the purse then nodded at the door, giving me the go ahead.

  I might have rolled my eyes at this in the past, but currently I wasn't feeling so cavalier about the danger we might be bringing upon ourselves. I knocked then stood back.

  The door was opened slowly by a shirtless man in boxers with his hair sticking out all over his head.

  “Come in ladies,” he said.

  “Are you Doug Stanwyck?” I asked.

  “The one and only. Come on in, I was just popping open a brewski, you want one?” He held a brown bottle aloft.

  “Um, don’t you want to know who we are before you ask us into your house?” I asked.

  “Not a couple of hot ladies like you. Why would I question my good luck?”

  I glanced sideways at K.C. with her goddess hair. She shot a look of disbelief back at me and my eggplant-colored eye socket.

  “Well don’t just stand there, you fine young buck, show me to that brewski you were talking about.” K.C. said. I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. “What?” she whispered as she walked past me into the house. I shrugged and followed her in.

  The furnishings had seen better days. At least the blinds were open to let in some light, but a smell pervaded the entire place. It was the aroma of unwashed sheets mixed in with sweaty gym clothes chucked into a pile in the corner to cover up the last week’s uneaten pizza.

  “Good thing you ladies came when you did,” he said, “I just finished a mega workout session in my gym downstairs.” He looked over at his flexed right arm and kissed his bicep, then repeated on the left side. “You two wanna see my gym?”

  No, but thanks for clearing up the mystery of the smell.

  “No, thank you. Actually, my name is Quincy, and this is my partner K.C.” I wanted it to sound like we were private investigators.

  Doug perked up and sat up straight. “You two are lesies? I knew it. This is so hot. I had a dream about this last night. It’s coming true.” He waggled his eyebrows. “When are you guys gonna kiss?”

  “Um, we're not those kind of partners,” I explained.

  “Damn.” Doug deflated like the blow-up doll that was probably in the corner under the clothes and the pizza box.

  “We’re investigating the death of Derrick Gibbons, and we were told that the two of you were good friends.”

  “Yeah, Derrick and I were amigos since high school. We were on the wrestling team. The only loss he ever had was to me, and the only loss I ever had was to him. We were an even match. We competed ‘til the day he died.”

  “You mean you still wrestled each other?” K.C. said.

  “No man, I mean in everything. We kind of had this competition. He would snag a hot chick, so I would. He got a sports car, so then I got one. We shared the cars most of the time.” That explained why I saw Derrick’s Porsche at the mortuary after he had been found dead. “We even competed in business deals.”

  “What kind of business deals?” K.C. asked.

  “Oh, all kinds of—wait, I shouldn’t be telling you guys this stuff.”

  “Why not?” K.C. tapped Doug on the knee. “We’re just friends getting acquainted. We heard about two cool dudes who like a good time, and we thought we would investigate. That’s all.”

  Doug looked at K.C.’s hand, still on his knee then looked up at me and winked. “Aw what the hell. Chicks are always gossiping with each other. If there’s one thing I know my way around, it’s chicks and how to get what you want from ‘em. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just get ready to return the favor.” I looked at K.C. and cringed. She just shrugged.

  “So, did Derrick live here too?”

  “Yeah, most of the time, when he wasn’t hanging out with a chick. He didn’t like to live alone though. He liked to have someone around in case.”

  “In case of what?” K.C. asked.

  “Oh, in case he took too much insulin, or not enough. Especially when he would work out. If he wasn’t real careful with his diet, he could have problems.” I wondered what affect all the steroids had on his diabetes.

  “So, didn’t Derrick own a flower shop?” I asked.

  “Yeah, when I got my job, he had to have his own place too.”

  “You mean he opened the flower shop just to compete with you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “I got a gig running a mortuary for my step-dad’s company, so Derrick figured he needed to do the same thing, only he didn’t have any money and his old man cut him off from any funds, so I gave him the money to start it up. It was going great until they kicked me out of my job.”

  “Now, why would they kick you out?” K.C. asked with mock disdain.

  “I know. Right? They didn’t like us owning a flower shop, especially since I didn’t ask their highness’ permission. But I got back at them.”
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  “How’d you do that?” said K.C.

  “I let them know that I knew what they were up to and I got a little somethin’ extra on the side. You know?”

  “No, we don’t know,” I said.

  “My step-dad was always kissing that politician’s ass because he pulled some favors for them.”

  “What kind of favors?” I asked.

  “You ladies aren’t going to tell anyone what I tell you right?”

  “Of course we won’t—Dougie.” K.C. said.

  “You girls are all right.” He took a swig from his beer. “Powell got his friends in the legislature to swap some land rights. So my uptight step-dad got his precious cemetery for dirt-cheap on some land that was supposed to be part of some nature preserve or something. My step-dad must have something on the guy.”

  The secret cemetery. Landon Powell broke the rules for the Hansen Mortuary using his political power. Doug was right; Greg Shilling must have had some real damaging information on Mr. Powell.

  “How were you involved?” I asked.

  “I could show you now if you’re into it.” He stuck his tongue out and circled the top of his beer bottle with it. It was meant to be seductive, but it was in fact, disgusting.

  I glanced over at K.C. She appeared to share my sentiments about Doug’s tongue action, looking as if she were suppressing a gag. “I’m scared to ask, but what do you mean?” I said.

  “I seduced his wife. Seduced, that’s a cool word. I heard it in a movie.”

  “You seduced Landon Powell’s wife,” I said, “and did he know about it?”

  “Oh hell no. But my step-dad sure did.”

  “And Derrick had to do the same thing for the competition.” K.C. said. “He seduced Powell’s mistress, Camille.”

  Doug got a smile on his face, “Yeah. Seduced. She had huge knockers.”

  “Yeah, she told me that Derrick paid for those huge…um for those," I said. "I thought he didn’t have any money.”

  “He didn’t for a while, but he was getting paid for the funeral flowers by people referred by the mortuary. Then the mortuary paid his rent and didn’t know it. And then he was getting money from that little boyfriend that he had, and Powell was paying him. Powell’s girlfriend came last.”