The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  “I hear ya, honey.” She kicked off her boots and placed them next to the door. “Mind if I get cleaned up?”

  “Help yourself.” Luke gestured toward the bathroom. “Towels and washcloths are in the closet.”

  “Thanks, darlin’.” On the way, she poked her head into the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, and every closet. “Roomy. Plenty of storage space.” She nodded. “Lots of potential.”

  She glanced around the bathroom and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. “This dress is a wreck. Got anything I can wear?”

  “Let me look.”

  Pixie followed Luke into the bedroom. He rifled through his dresser and found gym shorts with a drawstring and a cheap T-shirt that had shrunk after being washed. “Think these will fit?”

  She put her hands on her hips again and tilted her head. “Darlin’, unless you held on to somethin’ you wore in junior high, nothin’ you got exceptin’ maybe socks is gonna fit me.”

  Luke laughed and handed her the clothes. “If these don’t work, we’ll try something else.”

  “What about this?” She pulled a short-sleeved dress shirt from his closet.

  “I don’t think so,” Luke said. “It hangs on me.”

  “Never mind about that.” Pixie smiled. “I’ll make it work.”

  While she was in the bathroom, Luke turned on MTV and lay across his bed to watch music videos. A while later, a short, dark-haired stranger carrying Pixie’s dress and wig emerged from the bathroom wearing Luke’s shirt, cinched at the waist with a tightly twisted T-shirt belt.

  “What’s wrong?” The stranger spoke with Pixie’s voice.

  “Sorry,” Luke said. “You look so different.”

  The stranger smiled and extended a hand. “Hank Johnson.”

  Luke shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Hank.” Without makeup or blood on her face, the damage was more evident, but not as bad as he’d thought.

  “Call me Pixie.” She smiled. “Daddy’s the only one who still calls me Hank.”

  She disappeared for a moment and reappeared without the dress and wig, clutching a bag of frozen chopped onions to her cheek. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure.” Luke sat up and patted a spot beside him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Pixie sat beside him, curled her legs beneath her, and leaned her head on his shoulder. He draped his arm behind her, and they leaned back against the pillows to watch the top-ten video countdown.

  Luke heard her sniff and felt tears on his arm. “What’s wrong?” When Pixie buried her face in the frozen onions and sobbed, Luke didn’t know what to do. He squeezed her shoulder. “Need to see a doctor?”

  She lowered the onions and shook her head. “The guys who beat me up….”

  “What about them?”

  “They were paying me back for killing Ruby.”

  “Killing Ruby?” Luke gasped. “What made them think that?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head and shrugged again. “Guess they thought taking Ruby’s place as the star of the show was my motive.”

  “Oh.” Luke frowned and furrowed his brow. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You too?” She pushed away from him and sat up. “I love Ruby! She’s like the mother I never had. When I started coming to the Garden in drag, she took me under her wing.”

  “Sorry,” Luke said. “I’m not accusing you of anything. But you’ve got to admit, as motives go, it’s a good one.”

  “I ain’t that dumb.” She shook her head and leaned against the headboard. “Ruby keeps the Gilded Lily in business. Without her, the rest of us are out of work.”

  “You really think the showroom would close?”

  Pixie shrugged. “May as well. Good drag ain’t cheap, and ya gotta change it up all the time or folks gets bored—which, thanks to Ruby, we’re able to do without goin’ broke.”

  Luke nodded and stroked his chin. “What do we do?”

  Pixie looked at the clock. “I say we sleep on it.” She got up from the bed.

  “Where you going?”

  “The couch, and you ain’t gonna argue with me about it, either.” She headed for the door. “Get some sleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Luke said, too tired to disagree. “See you in the morning.”

  Chapter 10

  LUKE HEARD the washer running and something clanking in the dryer. His bedroom door was closed, and he smelled bacon. He squinted at the clock, saw it was nearly noon, and then rolled out of bed and opened the door.

  “Good mornin’, sunshine!” Pixie waved from the kitchen. She had on an orange tunic top with a thick black belt around her waist, black stirrup pants, black spike heels, and a wide headband that matched her top to keep her shoulder-length brown hair out of her face. “Ready for breakfast?”

  “Breakfast?” He yawned and scratched his head.

  “Well, considerin’ the time, more like brunch. How about some orange juice?”

  “Orange juice?”

  “It ain’t fresh squeezed, but it’s good.” She opened the refrigerator. “How you want your eggs?”

  “Eggs?” Luke peered inside the refrigerator, and his jaw dropped.

  “Hope you don’t mind. I was up with the chickens this mornin’ and figured you’d sleep in, so I borrowed Bertha—don’t worry, I filled her up at the Sunoco station—ran home to change clothes, and then picked up a few things at the grocery.”

  “Mind?”

  She put her hands on her hips and looked at him. “Yer kind of slow when you get up. Need some coffee?”

  He nodded. “Please.”

  She poured a cup from the drip coffee maker he’d never used and handed it to him. “There’s a box of sugar in the cabinet and milk in the fridge. Now, how’d you want them eggs? I made grits too.”

  “Oh. Over medium then.”

  “Good answer.” She pointed to the table, set for two with flowers in a water glass for a centerpiece. His typewriter, correction fluid, and a stack of paper were off to the side. She’d even found matching flatware for both place settings. “Have a seat.”

  When he reached the table, he noticed the living room. Drapes, tied back on either side of the big picture window, replaced the sheet. A potted plant basked in the sun puddle extending halfway across the living room. The ratty couch and ugly chair were hidden beneath attractive slipcovers and several throw pillows.

  “Wow.” Luke stepped into the living room for a closer look. “Doesn’t look like the same place.”

  Pixie smiled and followed him into the living room. “The Trailer Park Fairy paid ya a visit. Like it?”

  “Like it?” Luke grinned. “I love it!”

  She gestured to a landscape painting hanging over the couch. “Look familiar?”

  Luke nodded. Thoroughbreds grazed in a pasture surrounded by fieldstone walls and blackwashed board fencing with a black-roofed, stone barn with black doors in the background. “Berger Place?”

  “Yes, sir.” She beamed. “Picked it up at the flea market for seven dollars.” She pointed to the velvet Elvis on the wall opposite the front door. “Painted that one myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, paint-by-number.” She hurried back into the kitchen. “Now come on and eat, before everything gets cold.”

  Luke took his seat. “Thank you. The living room looks great. How much do I owe you?”

  She set two plates filled with eggs, bacon, grits, and toast on the table, dropped onto the chair across from him, and waved her hand. “Not a thing. Just stuff I wasn’t using. Saved me a trip to the Goodwill, and, after last night, it’s the least I can do.”

  Luke looked across the table. “How are you?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m fine.” She picked up her fork. “Black and blue under all this makeup, but no swellin’ or missin’ teeth or nothin’.”

  “I’m surprised,” Luke said, between bites. “Considering how you looked last night.”

  “I’m little, but I’m tough.” She
sopped up a mixture of grits and eggs with a piece of toast. “What we gonna do about Ruby?”

  Luke furrowed his brow. “File a missing person report with the police?”

  “We should, in case she turns up dead or somethin’, but they won’t do nothin’ because she ain’t a minor and folks up and disappear all the time.” She shrugged. “It’s pretty much up to us.”

  Us? Luke gulped. He didn’t want to get involved. Unlike Pixie, nobody had blamed him. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “That ain’t true.” She shook her head. “If you ain’t chick, you’ll help me find out what happened to her.” She looked him in the eye. “Are you in or out?”

  Admitting he was a huge pussy would be honest, but abandoning his new friend would be wrong. When he’d needed them most, his so-called friends were nowhere to be found. Pixie wasn’t responsible for whatever had happened to Ruby and needed his help to clear her name.

  “I’m in.” He rubbed his forehead and squeezed his temples. “I guess.”

  “Great!” Pixie grabbed a legal pad and pen from beside the typewriter. “Where do we start?”

  “I don’t know.” Luke scratched his head. “I guess the first step is to come up with a theory about what happened to her.”

  “Oooh,” Pixie exclaimed. She wrote something on her pad. “A theory. I like that.”

  “Does she have a car?”

  “Honey, a queen never drives.” She shrugged. “Kitty is the only girl I know who even owns a car. Ain’t always convenient, but sure saves a shit-ton of money.”

  “Makes sense.” Luke frowned. “How did Ruby get to the Garden?”

  “Russel Clark or Kitty most of the time, far as I know. Frank occasionally.” She wrote something down on the pad. “We can find out.”

  “Wherever she is, somebody took her there or she walked.” Luke furrowed his brow and studied the ceiling. “She could be holed up with a man.”

  “And miss two shows?” Pixie shook her head. “Not the Ruby I know. I ain’t even writin’ that down.”

  “Okay,” Luke said. “Maybe she left to start her life over someplace new.”

  Pixie gnawed on the end of her pen for a moment. “I reckon anything is possible, but I doubt it. She loves performin’ too much and has worked too hard to get her fans to just walk away from ’em.”

  Luke nodded. “She wouldn’t have left so much behind either.”

  “If you ask me,” Pixie said, setting her notes aside. “She’s either dead, hurt real bad, or locked up somewhere.”

  “If she was dead or hurt, God forbid,” Luke said, “she’d have turned up somewhere by now.”

  “Unless she’s in a shallow grave or been dumped in a well or somethin’.”

  Luke winced. “Any chance she’s in jail somewhere?”

  Pixie shook her head. “Not likely. Hard to find anyone more law-abidin’ than Ruby.”

  Luke furrowed his brow. With so little to go on, anything was a shot in the dark. He didn’t hold out much hope the two of them would find her.

  “Maybe she was kidnapped,” Pixie said.

  “You really think so?” Luke furrowed his brow. “Wouldn’t there be a ransom note or something?”

  “Maybe not.” She got up, grabbed the coffeepot, and filled her cup. “More coffee?”

  Luke covered his cup with his hand and shook his head. “I’m good.”

  “It ain’t like she’s Amber Berger,” Pixie said, plopping onto her chair. “Ruby makes enough to live on without another job, but she ain’t rich or she wouldn’t be livin’ here.”

  “True.” Luke laughed. “Then why kidnap her?”

  “Revenge,” Pixie said. “Like Fontana on Day After Day.”

  “Day After Day?”

  “Yes, sir. My favorite soap opera.” She shook her head. “Fontana got amnesia and married Dirk, her mortal enemy, who locked her up in his basement dungeon.”

  “Only on a soap opera.” Luke laughed. “Did she escape?”

  “Not yet. Ratings done gone through the roof so they’re milkin’ that cow dry.”

  “Don’t her friends suspect something is up?”

  Pixie shook her head. “Everybody thinks they’re honeymoonin’ someplace in Mexico.”

  “Nobody knows where Ruby is,” Luke said. “And unlike on television, we have no trail of clues to help solve the mystery.”

  She looked at her pad and nodded. “We ain’t got nothin’.”

  Luke folded his arms across his chest, leaned back in his chair and searched the popcorn ceiling for clues. After a moment, he raised his hands, palms up, and shook his head. “This is impossible. We’ll never find her.”

  “Not with that attitude.” Pixie shook her head. “You always give up that easy?”

  “Hey,” Luke said. “I do the best I can.”

  Pixie stared him down with her arms across her chest. “Really?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Pixie shrugged. “You been takin’ the easy way out for at least five years.”

  Luke winced. Aunt Callie had said the same thing. Needing her help for a fresh start hadn’t helped his case.

  Pixie’s expression softened. “Darlin’, you ain’t never had to do nothin’ you didn’t wanna do. Your aunt and Mr. Wrong pretty much done spoiled you rotten.”

  Luke stared at his empty plate.

  “Don’t go gettin’ all mopey.” She smiled. “You had a good ride. If yer ever gonna stand on your own two legs, you gotta quit givin’ up.”

  Luke nodded and let out a long breath. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, darlin’,” Pixie said. “Findin’ Ruby and clearin’ my name ain’t about you, but I can’t do it without your help.”

  “Why me?”

  “Ain’t it obvious?” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where Ruby lived, that her stuff was still in her apartment, or about missin’ her date with Mrs. Maxwell.”

  “So?”

  “Ain’t no such thing as coincidence. Fate brought us together to find out what happened to Ruby.” She smiled. “Helpin’ you to grow the fuck up is a bonus.”

  Luke couldn’t help but smile. Pixie’s friendship was fast becoming the best birthday present he’d ever received. After a moment, he nodded. “Okay. I’m still in.”

  “You say that like you got a choice.” Pixie collected the dishes from the table, set them on the counter, and turned on the water. “But you don’t, darlin’. You’re in titty-deep and my short little ass would drown without you to hold on to.”

  Luke joined her at the sink and hugged her from behind. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, darlin’.”

  “Not just for breakfast, but for being my friend.” He hugged her again and let her go. “Sit down and enjoy your coffee. I’ll wash up.”

  “If you insist.” She grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter. “But first, I’m gonna step outside and smoke a cigarette.” She opened the door and paused. “When I get back, we’re gonna peek inside Ruby’s apartment.”

  Chapter 11

  LUKE UNLOCKED Garnet D. Bonnet’s apartment. The hinges squealed as he opened the door. Pixie followed him inside with a pen stuck in her hair and the legal pad under her arm. He was glad to have her with him. Her presence eased his apprehension about being inside the home of someone he didn’t know.

  The heavy curtains covering the big picture window left the living room nearly dark and more than a little creepy. He ran his hand along the wall until he found the switch for the overhead light.

  “Now see,” Pixie said, nodding her approval. “With a little effort, your place could look this nice too.”

  He glanced around and grimaced. “Not really my style.”

  An old-fashioned love seat, a fainting couch, and a wing-backed chair were grouped around a low wooden coffee table with curved legs. Framed photographs filled the walls on either side of an impressive assortment of trophies, tiaras, and sashes artfully arranged in and around a glass-enclosed cor
ner shelving unit.

  “Of course not, silly.” She shook her head and slapped the pad against her hip. “But it suits Ruby to a T.” She gestured around the apartment. “Everything screams ‘This is Ruby’s Place!’” She pulled back the curtain. “Sewin’ room.” She nodded. “This is where the magic happens.”

  Luke stepped over to the Ruby shrine for a closer look. “How come you didn’t know where she lived?”

  Pixie shrugged. “She’s a very private person. Me and Daddy have had her out to our place dozens of times, but I had no idea where she lived until you told me.”

  Luke scanned the wall of framed pictures. Some of the faces were familiar. Many of the photographs had been taken at the Gilded Lily. Quite a few included Amber and Tippy Berger, the three of them in coordinated costumes. “Ruby runs around with the Bergers?”

  “Their big Derby party wouldn’t be the same without Ruby,” Pixie said. “She helps Amber with the theme, designs the outfits they wear, and oversees all the decoratin’.”

  “Amber went to school with Aunt Callie,” Luke said. “She took me to the Brougham House on my birthday, and Amber stopped by our table.”

  “The Brougham House?” Pixie whistled. “Ain’t you fancy. I went to school with a guy who waits tables there. Jon Perry. Fake-ass little prick. Dropped the H from his first name in junior high.”

  “He waited on us,” Luke said. “Fine-looking man.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty, all right.” She shook her head. “But stuck-up, and the biggest brown-noser I’ve ever known. Ain’t happy less’n his head’s neck-deep up somebody’s ass.”

  “Guess I dodged that bullet,” Luke said, smiling. “Is that Paul Newman?”

  Pixie nodded. “Ruby said he was a great kisser, but too short for her.”

  He laughed. “I’ve never seen Ruby off the stage.”

  “You won’t find a nicer person. She ain’t the least bit stuck-up or bitchy like a lot of them queens.” She smiled. “Daddy loves her sense of humor. She’s a real hoot.” She pointed to another picture. “Ruby and Goldie Hawn making faces—and they’re wearing the same dress.”