Luke scratched his head and furrowed his brow. “I thought she grew up here. How does she know all these famous people?”
“She left Lexington after high school and worked as the assistant to a costume designer out in Hollywood for years.” Pixie grinned. “Of course, Ruby wasn’t happy behind the scenes, but she made the most of it and learned all she could about hair, makeup, stylin’, and puttin’ on a show.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Look at this.”
Luke leaned in for a closer look at Ruby presenting another drag queen with roses and a sash. “Who’s that?”
“You can’t tell?” Pixie smiled. “Me, eight years ago. Miss Congeniality.”
“You look so.…”
“Pathetic?” Pixie laughed.
“I was going to say different,” Luke said. “And like maybe you’re in pain.”
“Tryin’ to be somethin’ I ain’t.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Glam’s not a good look for me. I’m too short, and it ain’t really who I am. The whole Nashville thing was Ruby’s idea to help me stand out from the prettier girls.”
They moved into Ruby’s bedroom. A dozen or so gowns on hangers and in dry-cleaning bags were piled on the foot of a four-poster bed. An expansive assortment of makeup, little brushes, and other accessories were carefully arranged on a triple-mirrored vanity with a matching, cushioned seat. Shelves of shoes, hats, and wig-topped Styrofoam heads filled the walls.
“She’d never go off and leave all this.” Pixie stepped to the other side of the bed and peered into Ruby’s walk-in closet. “No way.”
Matching lamps with fringed shades sat on nightstands on either side of the bed. A clock/radio was on one side and, on the other, an old-fashioned French-style telephone next to an answering machine with a blinking red light.
“Hang on.” Pixie pulled the pen from her hair and readied her pad. “Mash the button.”
“Gosh, Pixie. You really think we should?” He cleared his throat. “Looking around is one thing, but—”
“You see any other clues around here?” She stomped her foot and glared. “Mash the damn button.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He did what he was told and waited as the tape whirred.
Beep. “Hey, Garnet, my friend. Buddy here. Where’s my rent?”
Beep. Dial tone.
Beep. “It’s Frank. Sorry I lost my temper. Please forgive me.”
Beep. “Ruby? It’s Milly. Were we supposed to go to the mall today?”
Beep. Dial tone.
Beep. “Frank again. Do I need to send Russel over to pick you up? Call me back.”
Beep. “Come on, Ruby. Whatever you want. Just get here as fast as you can.”
Beep. “Goddammit, Ruby. Where the fuck are you? The show starts in ten minutes.”
“Sounded like Frank again,” Pixie said. “What do you think?”
“Definitely Frank,” Luke said.
Beep. “Hey, man. Charlie Ross just checking to see if you’re okay.”
Beep. “Buddy here. Drop your rent off to Tanner in Apartment 1 or I’m filing eviction papers first thing Monday.”
Beep. “Come back. I’ll give you anything you want, but you know I can’t divorce Amber….”
Luke and Pixie looked at each other then said in unison, “Tippy Berger?”
“Some girls get all the breaks.” Pixie stuck the pen back into her hair and clasped the pad under her arm.
Luke stuck his head in the bathroom, turned on the light, and gasped.
“What?” Pixie peered in. “A lice kit?” She laughed.
“Think I got them from her?”
Pixie shrugged. “Anything is possible, but I doubt it. Far as I know, they can’t go through walls. Considerin’ she waxes just about everything below her neck, I don’t see how she got ’em, to tell you the truth.” She shook her head. “Must have been some serious grindin’.”
Luke passed through the kitchen and sewing room to the front door. “We’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” Pixie said.
Luke followed her back to Ruby’s bedroom. She dropped to her knees, pulled a big suitcase festooned with rainbow ribbons from beneath the bed, and opened it. “Thought so.”
“Oh, my God!” Luke had never seen so much cash. “How much you think is there?”
Pixie shrugged. “Hard to say.”
“Why would she keep so much money under her bed?”
“To keep Uncle Sam off her back. She don’t claim all her tips and don’t want to get caught.” She shrugged again. “We all do it. How much is her rent?”
“We can’t take her money!”
“We ain’t takin’ nothin’. We’re payin’ her rent so Buddy don’t make you put all her shit out by the curb.”
“Oh.” Luke told her how much it was. “We’re crossing a lot of lines here.”
“Maybe, but until we find her or know what happened, it’s the least we can do. She’ll thank us. Honest.”
“If you say so.” He didn’t like the idea, but Pixie had a point. “And we’ll keep track of every penny.”
“Of course.” She stuffed the cash between the legal pad and her chest.
Luke turned off the lights, opened the door for Pixie and followed her out into the hall. Mrs. Maxwell stood between them and Luke’s apartment with her arms folded across her chest. Several bills escaped Pixie’s grasp and fell to the floor.
“Mind telling me what’s going on here?”
“Um. It’s kind of a long story,” Luke said.
“I’m free until my appointment with Dr. Wheeler on Wednesday,” Mrs. Maxwell said. She gestured to her apartment. “Come inside. I’m all ears.”
Chapter 12
LUKE SAT beside Pixie on the sofa. Her legal pad, pen, and a mountain of cash were on the table between them and Mrs. Maxwell. She turned a ladderback chair in the middle of the living room away from the TV to face them and sat with both feet planted firmly on the floor and her hands on her knees.
“Any other chair hurts my back,” she said. She turned her gaze on Pixie. “Who are you?”
Pixie stood and extended her hand. “Pixie Wilder. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Maxwell.”
Her mouth flew open. “After all Ruby has done for you….” She shook her head and turned to Luke. “And you let her in.”
“It’s not like that,” Luke said, flustered. “Ruby didn’t come to work Friday or Saturday. Nobody has seen her since Thursday night.”
“I told you something was wrong,” Mrs. Maxwell said, wringing her hands. She nodded at the mountain of cash. “So you robbed her.”
“Ma’am,” Pixie said, “me and Ruby go way back. I love her like a momma and would never steal from her. Or anyone else, for that matter.” She clasped her hands together on her lap and studied them for a moment. “We was lookin’ for clues to what might have happened to her.”
“Mr. Sinclair is filing eviction papers tomorrow unless Ruby pays up,” Luke said and pointed to the cash. “That’s her rent.”
Mrs. Maxwell studied the two of them for a moment. “I’ve been worried sick,” she said, squeezing her hands. “Have you called the police?”
“No,” Pixie said. She shrugged. “Ain’t no sign of violence so they ain’t gonna spend much time lookin’ for her.”
“You’re probably right.” Mrs. Maxwell sighed and smoothed her dress over her thighs. “What do you think has happened to her?”
“She wouldn’t leave cash and everything else she owns behind if she planned to leave,” Luke said.
“And she would have found someone to fill in for her at the Gilded Lily,” Pixie said.
“She would have called to reschedule lunch too,” Mrs. Maxwell said.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Pixie said. “How do y’all know each other?”
“I’ve known Ruby for more than thirty years,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “Of course, nobody called her Ruby back then.”
“Garnet Bonnet?” Luke shrugged. “That’s the name
on the lease.”
“No.” She chuckled. “Booger.”
“Yer shittin’ me.” Pixie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Pardon my French.”
“Booger went through the motions of dating Melanie, my youngest daughter, throughout high school. He was always a gentleman and treated her like gold.” Her face sagged. “Broke Mel’s heart when he went to California.” She touched a knuckle to her lip. “A month later, a drunk driver on Paris Pike hit her head-on.” She shook her head. “Nobody survived.”
“Honey, I am so, so, sorry,” Pixie said, coming to her side and wrapping her arm around her shoulder. She looked at Luke and mouthed, “Get over here!”
Luke hesitated a moment. Pixie’s look suggested she might hurt him if he didn’t. He got up and gave Mrs. Maxwell’s shoulder a few awkward pats.
“I miss her every day.” She pulled a tissue from a box on the table and dabbed her eyes. “Booger… I mean Ruby, blamed herself. I still have the letters she wrote from Hollywood.” She smiled and dabbed her eyes again. “Told her I’d sell them to the highest bidder if she ever ticked me off.”
Pixie hugged her and returned to the couch. Luke followed her lead. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, picked up the legal pad, and then turned to Mrs. Maxwell. “If she didn’t leave on her own….”
“She’s either dead, badly hurt, or locked up someplace,” said Pixie.
“Dead?” Mrs. Maxwell gasped. “You really think so?”
“No,” Luke replied, shaking his head. “We would have heard by now.”
“Maybe not,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “When we’re done here, I’ll call every hospital and coroner’s office in Fayette and the surrounding counties.”
“Good idea,” Pixie said. “She didn’t have no car. Never went anywhere by herself unless she walked.”
“And the way it was raining Thursday,” Luke said. “I doubt she’d walk anywhere.”
“If you ask me,” Pixie said. “Somebody kidnapped her—for revenge.”
Mrs. Maxwell nodded. “Like Fontana on Day After Day.” Then she shook her head. “Amnesia took her memory and made her stupid, or she’d have seen right through that scheming Dirk.”
“Girl! Ain’t that the truth!” Pixie looked at Luke. “I told you everybody watches it.”
“But why? Ruby is the nicest person I’ve ever known,” Mrs. Maxwell said, shaking her head.
“Pixie got beat up last night by some who think taking Ruby’s place at the Gilded Lily was a motive for doing something to her.”
“Crazy talk,” Pixie said, shaking her head. “Like cutting off your dick when you wanna make a baby.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Sorry.”
Mrs. Maxwell studied her face. “I never would have known.”
“Thanks to Ruby,” Pixie said, smiling. “Bitch taught me everything I know about hair and makeup.”
“I’ll remember that.” Mrs. Maxwell nodded. “In case I ever need it.”
“Honey, I would love to do you.” Pixie got up and moved toward her.
Mrs. Maxwell stopped her with a hand. “Ruby has wanted to make me over for more than twenty years. She’d never forgive me.”
“Oh.” Pixie snapped her fingers. “I forgot. You already got you a drag queen.”
“Whatever you say.” She smiled. “Find anything to aid your investigation in Ruby’s apartment?”
“Maybe.” Luke looked at the legal pad. “She had eleven messages on her answering machine. Two from Buddy Sinclair, four from Frank Marvin, two hang-ups, and one from you and… Charlie Ross.”
Pixie arched a brow but said nothing.
“Who was the other one from?”
Luke looked at Mrs. Maxwell and blinked.
“You said there were eleven,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “That was only ten.”
“There were three hang-ups,” Pixie said. “Not two, silly.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” He tried to sound convincing.
Mrs. Maxwell furrowed her brow. “Who’s Charlie Ross?”
“He tends bar with Luke at the Gilded Lily,” Pixie said. “Bit of an asshole, but he’s closest to the dressin’ room, so all the performers get drinks from him.” She shrugged. “Sorry, Luke. From now on, I’m all yours.”
“I see.” Mrs. Maxwell nodded. “Any idea who took her to work Thursday night?”
“I’ll talk to Russel Clark,” Pixie said. “He should know.”
“The big guy?” Mrs. Maxwell laughed. “Ran into him out in the hall for the first time one night and thought for sure I was about to meet my maker.”
“He’s a big teddy bear unless you piss him off,” Pixie said. “Then he turns into a mean-ass grizzly.”
“Ruby taught him how to read,” Mrs. Maxwell said, shaking her head. “Somehow, he made it all the way through high school without learning how to write more than his name.”
Pixie put her hands on her hips. “I did not know that.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Maxwell said, rising from her chair. “I’ll get started on those calls right away.”
“Thank you so much,” Pixie said. She turned to Luke. “Mr. Tanner here is gonna talk to Frank Marvin.” She smiled. “Ain’t you?”
“Uh yeah, sure,” Luke said. Sweat broke out on his forehead from a sudden jump in the temperature. The prospect of talking to Frank thrilled and terrified him. “If you want me to.”
Pixie gave him an exasperated look. “Do I have to hike your ass down the yellow brick road so we can ask the flippin’ wizard to give you a pair of balls?”
Mrs. Maxwell snickered. Then she gave Luke a sheepish look. “You are a bit of a wimp.”
“I’ll talk to him about the fight he had with Ruby Thursday night,” Luke said. “And I’ll get her rent to Buddy Sinclair.” He turned to Mrs. Maxwell. “By the way, he’s raising the rent forty dollars a month starting in December.”
“Are you shitting me?” Mrs. Maxwell’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Part of it goes to me.”
She looked at him and tilted her head. “Really?”
“Not me, me. Manager me, for maintenance and repairs around here.”
“Good for you, Mr. Tanner.” She walked them to the door. “Thanks again for fixing my toilet. Haven’t had a bit of trouble.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’ll let you know if my calls turn up anything.” She turned to Pixie and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too!” Pixie pumped her hand several times. “We’ll have to talk Day After Day sometime.” She turned to Luke. “I gotta get back to Daddy. Mind takin’ me home?”
Luke nodded and scooped up the cash. “Let me drop this off and we’ll go.” He turned to Mrs. Maxwell. “We’ll find your friend. I promise.”
Chapter 13
Monday, October 25, 1982
LUKE TURNED off the alarm clock, stumbled into the kitchen, and fixed a pot of coffee. Eight o’clock was the earliest he’d gotten up in months, possibly even years. Taking Ruby’s money still didn’t feel right, but stopping Buddy Sinclair from evicting her made sense.
He picked up the phone and dialed Buddy’s home number. He answered after the second ring. “Hello, Mr. Sinclair. It’s Luke Tanner. I’ve got Mr. Bonnet’s rent for you.”
“Good job, Luke. Saved me a trip downtown. Mind dropping it by my office?”
“Sure,” Luke replied. “I’ve got a receipt for you too.”
“What?”
Luke rolled his eyes and set his cup on the coffee table beside Pixie’s legal pad and pen. “For supplies I had to buy to fix a few things.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. If I’m not here, leave it with Glenva.”
“Yes, sir.” He hung up, gathered all the paper from the card table and plopped on the living room floor beside the coffee table. He sorted the stack into bills, receipts, important papers, and trash. Several little piles were less intimidating than the huge stack had been.
Only the receipt from the hardware store was wor
th keeping. He flipped to a clean page in the legal pad, wrote down everything he’d bought at the hardware store and the price of each item, then he ripped the page from the pad, attached the receipt, and set it with Ruby’s rent.
One stack down, three to go. He dumped the important papers—insurance policies, a copy of his vehicle registration, and the lease he’d signed for the apartment—into an empty dresser drawer and tossed the trash into a big plastic bag for the dumpster.
He did everything he could think to do before tackling the last pile. He made his bed—a first without washing the sheets first—took a long shower, cleaned the bathroom, mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors with his towel, and after noticing the grime, wiped down the kitchen cabinets. As he was getting dressed, he organized his sock, T-shirt, and underwear drawers, the walk-in closet, and, since he was on a roll, the linen closet, the kitchen cabinets, and the refrigerator. By noon, he’d run out of ways to avoid dealing with the last pile.
His current financial situation, in a word, was gloomy—an improvement over last month’s dismal outlook. After his first weekend behind the bar, he’d hoped to upgrade his financial situation to fair, or possibly even good before making half as much his second weekend had dashed that hope.
After writing down the date and amount due for each bill, he added up the total and winced. Living on his own was more expensive than he’d imagined. In truth, he’d never given much thought to the cost of living. Why would he? Donald paid all the bills, and the housekeeper cooked, cleaned, shopped for groceries, and handled all the laundry. Luke planned vacations, managed their social calendar, and satisfied Mr. Wrong’s infrequent sexual needs. In short, it was a great gig—until Luke had been kicked out and was left holding the bag for unpaid balances on credit cards in his name.
To avoid asking his aunt for help again, he needed to bring home four hundred dollars this weekend. With Ruby gone, even with the Halloween party, he’d be lucky to make three hundred. That hundred-dollar blowjob would have taken some of the pressure off. A least he still had his pride.
Rent should have been his top priority, but bills with fees and more serious consequences for late payments were bumping up against due dates. Chintzy though he may be, Buddy Sinclair was more likely to cut Luke some slack than the companies wanting his money.
The Case of the Missing Drag Queen Page 7