Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery

by Marika Christian

  Finding Kaz was easier than I expected. I didn’t think anyone could be as trashy as Jim had described her. But there she was, standing in pots and pans, right where her ex-husband had said she’d be. Jim hadn’t done her justice, although I could see why he was attracted to her. Kaz was a trashed up version of Rachel-Ann. She had the same big hair, only it was the shade of blonde that only came when one formed a personal relationship with bleach. Yeah, she wore sky blue eye shadow, but her eyes were a light blue; she was chunky but curvy and she wore her clothes too tight in true Rachel-Ann fashion. I wondered if Jim’s wife had ever caught on to their similarities. I could’ve spent a couple of minutes analyzing Jim’s psyche on this one, but a woman with smeared mascara staring off into space next to the margarita glasses could attract attention.

  With Kleenex in hand, I walked over to her. “Excuse me, are you Kaz Davis?”

  She didn’t even bother to look up at me. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Courtney I think we have something in common.” I didn’t have to be honest with her.

  I got her attention. When she looked up at me, the hard expression on her face melted. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

  I can cry at will. All I have to do is think of the Little Drummer Boy. I saw the Claymation version once, and, between the fire that killed his parents and the near death of the drummer boy’s lamb, it was too much to bear. If I want to work up a few tears, all I have to do is think of that Christmas Special. I thought it was a pretty useless gift, until now.

  “Someone mentioned your name to me, and I just knew you were the only person I could talk to. You are Kaz, right?”

  She nodded. “Technically Katherine, but most people call me Kaz. I dropped the Davis recently, but yeah that’s me. I don’t get why you’re here, though.”

  I began to wipe away my tears; I had to make it look good. “I’m here because of…” For dramatic effect I lowered my voice. “Jim Alexander. I knew him, too.”

  Her mouth dropped. Her eyes widened. She grabbed my hands “We should talk in private.”

  Private for Kaz was smack dab in the middle of the food court scarfing down Bourbon Chicken from Cajun Café. I love mall food as much as anyone, maybe even as much as Kaz, but with Bourbon Chicken, as good as it is, served over fettuccini pasta, only an expert could eat that mess with a plastic fork and not get sauce all over “the shelf.” Kaz was no expert.

  I took a big sip of my soda. “I heard about your situation with Jim.”

  She snorted. “What a fucker. He cost me everything. He got what he deserved, and so did Rachel-Ann. She didn’t have to send Montgomery that video. She knew it would ruin my life.”

  Kaz seemed to have forgotten that Jim was Rachel-Ann’s husband.

  “Did you know he was filming you?”

  She shook her head and spoke between mouthfuls of chicken. “I looked shitty in that video. If I’d know there was a camera in the room, I would’ve insisted on better lighting, not to mention shooting me at a better angle. Is that what you’re worried about? A video? Trust me, if there was anything on his computer, Rachel-Ann would’ve sent it to your husband by now. How did you meet him?”

  “I met him at this bar. He threatened me afterward.” Was that the first time I hadn’t fibbed?

  “That’s sounds like his style. Whoever killed him did the world a favor.” She sucked a noodle into her mouth so it snapped against her lips. She enjoyed her pasta and kept speaking between mouthfuls. “I think it was Rachel-Ann, or maybe his assistant, that Damon guy. Jim told me there was stuff going on with him at work. He thought Damon was up to something.”

  I widened my eyes and whispered like I was conspiring with a girlfriend, “Rachel-Ann? You think so?”

  She nodded. “Oh, she could get that little puppy of hers to do anything she wanted him to. I think they were in cahoots. I think Rachel-Ann was behind the whole thing.” Her smile was vicious. “I’m not going to be the only one working at Sears.”

  She leaned closer to me. “He drained his accounts. She has nothing.”

  I feigned shock. “Rachel-Ann is…”

  Kaz nodded knowingly. “Yup, she’s poor and she’s slutty. I almost feel bad for her. Not bad enough to help her though.” She giggled. “If I were nice, I could get her something part time in sporting goods. I heard they were looking for someone.”

  “Weren’t you and Rachel friends?”

  “She used to say we were, but we weren’t. She thought she was better than me, so she kept me around. You know, to lord over me. Being my friend made her feel good about herself, know what I mean? We never did anything together. It was always me, her, and our husbands. She wouldn’t have had anything to do with me if it weren’t for Montgomery.”

  Rachel-Ann was her Dani. I could see that. Rachel-Ann was trapped in a crappy marriage and a crappy affair. Rachel-Ann, a former Miss Texas, was living the very same life as Kaz the Trailer Park Tramp. It probably didn’t seem very fair from Rachel-Ann’s point of view. When Trailer Tramp started messing around with her old man, well, Rachel-Ann just might’ve had a huge break with sanity.

  “I’m just worried the police are going to find out about me,” I whimpered.

  “Well, honey, if he did make a video, expect a visit soon. I’ve already talked to them once, and I’m sure I’ll talk to them again.” She leaned closer to me. “I told them I thought it was Rachel-Ann and her boy toy. She was always threatening Jim with divorce and frankly I think he was getting ready for it. Someone fouled Jim up at work though. Before everything happened, Jim said he thought there was something going on. Then I heard he got fired.”

  “Wow.” I pretended to be stunned.

  She nodded and took another big bite of her lunch. “I think that rat Damon had something to do with that. Jim told me he thought he was up to something. He just couldn’t prove anything, and with no proof, he couldn’t fire him.”

  “He told you all that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on, you knew him. He lasted, like what, five minutes? Only Jim wanted you to think it took way longer so he talked, and talked, and talked. He couldn’t shut up.” She gave me a wink. “Like we don’t know the difference between talking and doing. He was always talking about how Damon was out to screw him and how he’d pay for it.”

  “Kaz, I’ve got to ask you something. You signed a pre-nup; you had a pretty good life with Mr. Davis. Why’d you risk it?”

  “My mama called me with the same question. She was screaming it though.” She sighed. “Living with Montgomery wasn’t so easy. You know how people say money can’t buy happiness? I used to think that was bullshit. It was nice at first; I could buy anything I wanted. We had a great house. I had it all. Only, Montgomery was never home. He stopped liking me. I’m not going to lie to you. I was waitressing at this nightclub when I met Montgomery. He was over the moon for me, and I liked him fine. I didn’t love him, but sometimes like is enough, you know?”

  She lost me on that one. I’d never met a Disney Princess I didn’t like. I like Sleeping Beauty most of all. She gets to take a good snooze while her handsome Prince does all the dirty work. But in those Disney movies, I learned even love isn’t enough. You’ve got to fight voice-stealing octopus witches, dragon queens, and a whole mess of hunters. Being in “like” just wasn’t going to do the trick.

  “Once we were married, I had everything, except Montgomery. But Jim liked me. At least I thought he did. He’d talk to me and he was funny. I liked spending time with him. The sex part was not the greatest, but I liked the talking. When he was around, he made me feel good. At the time, I was starting to realize exactly who Rachel-Ann was. I was alone, and I wanted to lash out. I didn’t discover that Jim was a complete dick until his wife sent the video.” She looked at me. “So, did you do it in his house?”

  I couldn’t tell her that I phoned in my performances. “Ah, no. We were in his office.”

  “You met him in a bar and you went to his office?” She gave
me a wink. “You surprise me; the way you were crying, I was thinking you were vanilla. Did ya get up on the desk?”

  I was stunned. I hadn’t expected to go into detail about my nonexistent sex acts with Jim. “It’s like you said. It all happened so fast.” Maybe she’d consider that an answer. “I was just afraid that since he recorded you, he might’ve recorded us.”

  “We were at his home. I think he had a whole set-up in his home office.” She gave a throaty little giggle. “I liked the desk, too. Look, honey, if there’s a disc, the police would’ve questioned you by now, and Rachel-Ann would’ve found a way to ruin your life. I think you’re going to be okay. And I’m going to be okay, too. I’ll meet another guy.” She sighed. “There’s something about me that men with money find irresistible.”

  I had no doubt about that. The question was whether any of them shopped at Sears.

  I had to find a way to dig up more dirt on her. She could’ve had Jim murdered and dumped in the bay as easily as Rachel-Ann, but I was really hoping that she hadn’t. I kinda liked Kaz. I never expected that murder suspects would be likable.

  She looked at her watch. “I gotta get back, honey.” She scribbled her number on a napkin and passed it to me. “Call me and let me know what happens.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Damon. His name kept coming up. I was going to have to see him. I was actually going to have to call him for drinks. If I wasn’t trying to decide whether or not he was a killer, it might actually qualify as a date. Not cool, considering I was dating someone else. Seeing Damon would definitely muck that up. Even worse, it would make me feel bad. I didn’t want to have a drink with Damon. I wanted to hold hands and walk on the beach with Rick while hula music played in the background.

  But I was getting ahead of myself. I was assuming Damon would remember me and still want a drink. For all I knew, I was just a funeral hook-up, and how skeevy was that? Still, I was going to have to call him.

  Thankfully, the phone rang. A little dirty talk would take my mind off my latest dilemma for at least seven minutes.

  Peyton picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  There was a nervous voice on the other end. “Is this Peyton?”

  “Yes it is. Who’s this?”

  “This is Aaron. I’m a little nervous about this. I’ve never called one of these lines before.”

  Yeah, buddy, like I haven’t heard that line a million times before.

  “It’s really easy. All I have to do is get a little information from you and then we’ll be able to talk.” Then I whispered. “I promise to be gentle.”

  He gave a little laugh, then he gave me his name, address, phone number, and credit card number.

  A lot of people think phone kittens are con-artists. I’ve never understood why. If I went crazy with shy little Aaron’s credit card and racked up purchases all over the internet, it could easily be traced back to me. I’d be the one signing for my deliveries. Peyton and I had the same address. The truth is that the opposite is true. Men were more likely to deny a charge for services rendered, especially if their wives find out they have a special little phone friend. If that happened, the company was fined, and I got a deduction in my paycheck. It pisses me off.

  “I’m a little nervous to tell you this; it’s a little freaky.” Aaron said.

  A special-needs boy. Everybody thinks that “their thing” is different, a little more freaky than the others.

  They aren’t.

  I’ve talked to men who wanted me to be their own private giantess, who smashes them until they squirt like jelly between my toes. Yeah, I don’t get it either.

  One caller wanted me to read passages of Catcher in the Rye to him. It’s something that reminds him of his babysitter.

  So, really, the chance of Aaron stunning me was slim.

  “Trust me, Aaron, nothing you can say is going to shock me.”

  “Okay, well… I’ll direct things, and you can just go along okay?”

  That would be easy enough, although a little boring. I’d actually have to pay attention so I could get my “ahhh” and “my ohh baby’s” in the right places.

  “Okay, you’re on a spaceship…”

  Oh, a Trekkie. The thing I had to figure out was if he was fantasizing about being Captain Kirk or Spock. Sadly, Scottie never seemed to get any action, at least not with the guys that called me

  “You’re wearing a school girl uniform. Short plaid skirt, white blouse. You’re entering a large bed chamber. It’s like something out of Aladdin. Very Middle Eastern.”

  Okay, they don’t have that on the old Star Trek, but maybe on Next Generation they do. If this was a Star Trek II fantasy, then he was going to pretend he was Worf. Technically, though I would’ve argued with him on his characterization, Klingons just wouldn’t be into the whole Catholic school girl thing.

  “From behind you feel your lover’s touch…”

  Ah, the moment of truth: which Trekkie gets the pleasure of Peyton? Bones? The name was appropriate. Spock? Kirk? Troi? Please let it be Sulu. I moaned a little and whispered. “I love it when you touch me like that.”

  “His tentacle…”

  Tentacle? Was there some tentacled creature on “Star Trek” that I didn’t know about?

  He went on to describe how Peyton’s tentacled lover undressed her. I racked my brain for every science fiction show I knew, but the truth was I’m just not a sci-fi fan. I like classic horror movies, and frankly, there just weren’t a lot of Vincent Price fantasies out there.

  “You feel his suction cups on your breasts…”

  Suction cups? Wait, was Peyton getting it on with an octopus? She’s slutty, but not that slutty.

  Squid boy got me. I’ve never heard of getting down and dirty with a member of the mollusk family.

  Now I was intrigued. Primarily, I was concerned about the story’s climax. When Peyton and her cephalopodic lover came to the end of their inevitable coupling, would ink be involved? Sadly, Squid Boy was vague and hung up before I could get any answers.

  Just when I thought I’d heard everything, there was a new freak in town. Thankfully, there was also a knock at my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I rarely got visitors, but I was grateful for anything that would keep me from pondering the technical difficulties of octopus sex.

  I cracked open my door, keeping the chain lock on. Two men were standing there, both wearing dark suits. I was glad I hadn’t swung the door open. “Can I help you?”

  The older one flashed a badge. “Police officers, ma’am. Could you please open the door?”

  Suddenly, thinking about octopus sex didn’t seem so bad.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The younger, less rumpled officer asked, “Are you Emily Winters?”

  I nodded.

  I wanted to answer him, to say something. But my heart was pounding so hard that speech didn’t seem possible. I knew this was going to happen, but I hadn’t really made a plan of action. I thought I would have some advance notice.

  He smiled. He seemed nice enough. “I’m Detective Braxton; this is Detective Bernard.” The older officer nodded at me. “We’ve got some questions for you. Would you mind coming down to the station?”

  My voice cracked. “Can’t you ask me here? I could get you something to drink.”

  Detective Bernard was having none of my nonsense. “It’s in regard to a murder investigation. You had a relationship with Jim Alexander, correct?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a relationship.” I could hear the meekness in my own voice.

  Detective Braxton smiled. “That’s what we want to clear up. It’ll be easier if you just come down to the station with us.”

  “Okay.” There was no way I was getting out of this. As nervous as I was, I had to remember that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Everything I did was completely legal and, at most, I would have to talk about some very embarrassing topics in a room full of police officers. Granted, not fun, but not completely undoable—just em
barrassing. My life was a string of embarrassments.

  I was grateful when the detectives took me to the police station in an unmarked car. I’d hate for the first time my neighbors noticed me to be when I was sitting in the back of a police car, lights a blazing. The police station was plain, nondescript, nothing like you saw on “Law and Order.” They put me in a small room with a table, then disappeared. I sat on the metal chair they had given me. It made my butt sore and numb, obviously some sort of sly interrogation technique. I reviewed all the things I thought they’d ask me. I was looking pretty good for the crime.

  Detective Braxton peeked in on me. “I’m sorry Ms. Winters, something came up. It’s only going to be a few more minutes. Can I get you a soda or something while you wait?”

  HA! I’ve seen this on TV. The cops ply you with soda until you have to pee, and then they don’t let you go to the bathroom until you can’t hold it anymore, and the only options are confessing or peeing in your pants.

  “Sure.” What a sap. I was playing right into their hands. I couldn’t help myself. I had a motive, I had opportunity, and I was thirsty. I couldn’t afford a defense attorney. I was going down.

  The door opened again.

  My heart froze. My lungs turned to ice. Fainting was a possibility.

  Rick put a Coke in front of me with a plastic cup. “I know you like a lot of ice.”

  I looked in the cup. Sure enough, there was a lot of ice.

  He was wearing charcoal slacks and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up a bit. I tried to be casual and hoped my heart didn’t fly out of my mouth the minute it opened. “Rick.” It was all I could manage to say without throwing up. What was he doing here?

  His face was a mask.

  A mad mask.

  “We’ll talk about it later. You’re going to be busy for awhile.”

  Detective Braxton came back in, and I watched as Rick whispered something to him. Rick left the room, not saying another word to me.

  Rick was a cop? I’d sold myself on the bartender theory. My insides were quaking, and chances were pretty good that I was going to burst into tears at any moment. That wouldn’t help me with Detectives Bernard and Braxton. But then, I didn’t really care. I knew back in the recesses of my little pea brain that there was going to be a fallout over the whole phone kitten thing. I figured Rick wasn’t going to like it. I had hoped if I phrased it the right way, framed it in a more pleasing manner, it wouldn’t be important. Having him get a sneak peek at my phone records in front of his coworkers before they dragged me into the interrogation room was not the way I wanted to go about it. We were going to break up before we even really started dating.