The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  “Curtain rods?” She furrowed her brow.

  “No.” Luke shook his head and pulled back the curtain. “Rods to keep the window from opening.”

  “I see.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Got a wild hair and popped in out of the blue.”

  “No, the guy across the hall called about broken window locks after he’d been startled by a prowler,” Luke said. He told her about his conversation with Mr. Gilbert at the hardware store. “They were so cheap, I got enough for all the windows on the first floor.”

  “A prowler?” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “When?”

  “Late Sunday or early Monday.” Luke shrugged. “He didn’t say what time. The guy was taller than me and dressed in black with a ski mask covering his face.”

  “Tried to break into his place?”

  “No.” Luke shook his head. “Wouldn’t have been hard to get in through a window. All his locks are broken. Only Ruby’s place had no broken locks.”

  “Mrs. Maxwell say anything about a prowler?”

  “No,” Luke replied. “I didn’t notice anything either.”

  “A guy with a ski mask creeps around your building in the middle of the night the same weekend Ruby’s money goes missin’.” She furrowed her brow, pursed her lips, and shook her head. “Besides you and Ruby, who else has a key?”

  “Buddy Sinclair.” He shrugged. “And anyone Ruby may have given a copy to.”

  “I’d bet all my wigs and boots she ain’t gave nobody no key.”

  “I swear, I didn’t take the suitcase,” Luke said.

  “I know.” Pixie gave him a dismissive wave. “You ain’t got the balls and you’re a bad liar.”

  “First time that’s been a good thing.” Luke looked around Ruby’s apartment again. “Everything is just like we left it. Whoever took the suitcase knew where to find it.”

  Pixie nodded. “And that rules out Buddy Good-for-Nothin’ Sinclair—unless he’s holdin’ Ruby hostage, which he ain’t, because he’s not about to work that hard.”

  Luke scratched his head. “Then who?”

  “I don’t know,” Pixie said. “But the sooner we find out, the more likely we are to find Ruby alive.”

  Chapter 15

  LUKE LET Pixie into his apartment, dropped onto the couch, and buried his face in his hands. “What am I going to do? Aunt Callie will disown me if I ask for money again.”

  “Ain’t you bein’ a bit dramatic?” She sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Yer all she’s got. She may quit bailin’ your ass out, but she ain’t gonna disown ya.”

  “You’re right.” He sat back on the sofa and gave her a squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d be better off,” Pixie said. “Your bills would be paid, and ya wouldn’t have lost Ruby’s money because ya wouldn’t have known it was there.” She shrugged. “It’s as much my fault as it is yours.”

  “Hardly.” He shook his head. “Leaving cash on the seat—even if the car had been locked—was stupid.”

  “Bet ya never do it again.”

  Luke nodded. “That’s for sure.”

  “It’s only Tuesday.” She patted his knee. “Gettin’ all worked up won’t put no milk back in the bottle, darlin’. The Garden will be packed this weekend, just you wait and see. What ya wearin’?”

  “Wearing?”

  “For the Halloween party Saturday night, silly.”

  Luke shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  Pixie stood and put her hands on her hips. “Are you shittin’ me? I been workin’ on my costume since November. Guess you was just gonna throw somethin’ together Saturday afternoon.”

  “I don’t feel like dressing up,” Luke said.

  “Well, Saddest Fag in the World ain’t gonna get you no extra tips, darlin’.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry. The Trailer Park Fairy’s got ya covered.” She looked him over. “What size britches you wear?”

  “Thirty-three waist and twenty-nine inseam, which I can never find, so my pants never fit.”

  “You don’t sew?”

  Luke drew back. “With a needle?”

  “No, dumbass. With your dick.” She shook her head. “Good thing you ain’t a drag queen.” She plopped back onto the sofa and picked up the legal pad. “Okay, enough about you. Let’s get back to Ruby.”

  “Okay,” Luke said with a nod. Enough about him and his money troubles. Wallowing in self-pity hadn’t helped when Donald had put him out and wasn’t likely to help now. “Where are we?”

  She scanned the pad, scratched out a few things, and made some notes. “We don’t know if Ruby is dead or alive, but until she’s found, we gotta assume she’s still kickin’.”

  “She’s not dead,” Luke said with a shake of his head. “Somebody would have found her by now, and Mrs. Maxwell would have let us know if she’d found out anything.” He stood and paced the living room. “Ruby went missing sometime between late Thursday night when she left the Gilded Lily and Friday when she didn’t show up for shopping with Mrs. Maxwell.” Luke nodded at the pad. “You getting this down?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Tanner. Every word.” She crossed her legs and readied her pen for more.

  “The suitcase disappeared sometime after we left Ruby’s apartment Sunday afternoon and this morning, but was most likely taken late Sunday or early Monday by Mr. Patrick’s prowler.” Luke shrugged. “Find the guy in the ski mask and we’ll find Ruby.”

  “You think so?”

  Luke nodded. “He kidnapped her, somehow got her to tell him about the suitcase, and then used her key to get it. But who?”

  “We ain’t got many suspects who’d have a motive,” Pixie said. She scribbled something on the pad. “Just added me, you, and Buddy Sinclair to the list and crossed us all off.” She smiled. “You know. For the record.”

  “What’s my motive?” Luke dropped back onto the sofa and looked at the pad in her lap.

  “You was gonna steal her balls instead of growin’ a pair of your own.”

  Luke laughed. “Who else?”

  “Frank Marvin and Tippy Berger is the only names on our list.” She looked at him. “Why didn’t you want Mrs. Maxwell to know about his call?”

  “Tippy’s well-known around here. Ruby too.” He shrugged. “No point starting any rumors.”

  “Honey, ya sure your gay?”

  “No.” Luke laughed. “Wouldn’t I be having more sex?”

  “Don’t matter if your gettin’ dick or not,” Pixie said. “Like President Carter said, if you lust for men in your heart, your queer as a three-dollar bill.”

  “Jimmy Carter said that?”

  “Not in them exact words, but that was the gist of it.” She picked up the pad and readied her pen. “Think Tippy took her?”

  “Not really.” Luke shrugged. “Frank either, for that matter, but we can’t cross them off until we talk to them.”

  “Talkin’ to Frank ain’t no problem. He’s always at the Garden so you can catch him when you go back to work.” She shook her head. “How ya gonna talk to Tippy?”

  “Aunt Callie can help.”

  “We’ll hold off on him a bit,” Pixie said as she scribbled on her pad. “Who else might’ve took her?”

  Luke got up to pace the living room again. “What about Russel Clark?”

  Pixie wrote his name on the pad. “He’s been in love with Ruby for years—probably since she taught him how to read.”

  “Maybe he found out about Tippy and Ruby,” Luke said. “Or Amber Berger found out.”

  Pixie nodded. “I’ll add her to the list. What about that good-lookin’ thang who hopped up on the stage with Ruby?”

  Luke’s face grew hot. He nodded but said nothing.

  “Course, we’d have to find him.” She shook her head. “I ain’t never seen him before. Have you?”

  Luke gulped. “No.” He hadn’t seen him before the night Ruby disappeared.

  “Wai
t a minute,” Pixie said, furrowing her brow and squinting one eye. “You know him, don’t ya?”

  Luke shook his head. “No. But I know where he works.”

  “Stalkin’ him or somethin’?”

  He shook his head. “He’s a pharmacist. Works at the drugstore over on the north side of town where I bought the lice kit.” Luke told her about running into him. “I’ve never been so embarrassed.”

  “Gag gift for a friend?” Pixie laughed. “I gotta remember that one.”

  “His name is Michael Dean,” Luke said. “Really think he’s a suspect?”

  She shrugged. “He’s as good as any of the rest. I’ll put him at the bottom of the list, below Tippy.”

  “What about the other performers?”

  “None of the regulars.” Pixie shook her head. “Ruby is the momma we never had. At least I got Daddy. Simone and Kitty ain’t got nobody.”

  “Any other queens that might have it out for her?”

  “No. We got enough trouble without going after each other.” Pixie shook her head. “I ain’t sayin’ a queen would never hurt another queen. But Ruby ain’t no ordinary queen. She’s a legend.”

  “And such a good person.” Luke shook his head. “Hard to imagine her having any enemies. Anyone else at the Garden for our list?”

  “I don’t think so.” Pixie nibbled on the end of the pen for a moment. “She and Frank fought about money like a couple of tomcats after the same pussy, but far as I know, she got along fine with everybody else.”

  Luke nodded. “Now what?”

  “Don’t ask me.” She smiled. “Yer the brains of this operation.”

  “Talk to our suspects,” Luke said. “I’ll ask Mr. Patrick if he remembers anything else and check with Mrs. Maxwell to see if her calls turned up anything,” Luke said. “You talk to Russel Clark, and I guess I’ll talk to Frank.”

  “You guess?” She studied him for a moment. “What’s with you and Frank?”

  Luke’s face grew hot. “Nothing. Why?”

  “When he’s around or his name comes up you’re jumpier than spit on a hot griddle.”

  “He’s definitely my type.” Luke shrugged. “It’s not like he has much competition. What happens to gay men between thirty and fifty?”

  “They get hotter if you ask me, but that’s just my opinion.”

  “I agree, but where do they go?” He shook his head. “They’re not at the Garden. The Red Poppy is all women, the Green Carnation is a hit with the younger guys, and the older men keep the Lavender Rose busy.”

  “Hittin’ the queer bar gets old in a town like Lexington.” Pixie shrugged. “The guys who ain’t moved to a city with a gay part of town have friends they do thangs with when they ain’t at work, on vacation, or tied up with a big home renovation project.”

  Luke nodded. “You just described my life with Donald.”

  “If that’s what you’re a wantin’, then Frank ain’t your guy. Besides, he’s already taken.” She shook her head. “Like I told you, the Garden is his lover. He’s all work and no play.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” Luke said, shaking his head. “I thought Mr. Wrong was perfect and look where that got me.”

  “He gave ya what ya wanted.”

  “What?”

  “Gone deaf all the sudden?” She shook her head. “For five years, you had it made in the shade—like you was on vacation. Didn’t have to worry about payin’ no bills, keepin’ a roof over your head, puttin’ food on the table….” She shook her head again. “He probably got tired of supportin’ your lazy ass.”

  Her words stung. Not having to work so he could focus on writing had been a big factor in his decision to leave Lexington with Donald. Luke had spent a lot of time thinking about his first novel and staring at blank pages but hadn’t written a word. Ignoring hints and suggestions to do something more productive had been his undoing. He wasn’t opposed to the idea so much as clueless about what else he would do and determined to stick to his dream of writing a bestseller. The shoe was going to drop sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected to get dumped when it finally fell.

  “Darlin’,” Pixie said, patting his knee again. “Bein’ a grown-up sucks ass, but ya ain’t got no choice. Trust me. Yer better off takin’ care of yourself than countin’ on somebody else. Sooner or later, one way or another, they all move on.”

  “I can’t do it,” Luke said, shaking his head.

  “Yes, ya can.” She draped her arm across his shoulder. “Some people have an easier time of it than others, but startin’ out is tough for everybody because ya gotta figure out so fuckin’ much the hard way.”

  Luke shook his head. “The more I try, the worse it gets. I need someone to take care of me.”

  “What ya need is a good romp in the hay. What ya want is happily ever after, but until you get your shit together—and you will, darlin’, trust me—the last thing ya need is a man in your life.”

  “I should probably give Aunt Callie a heads-up,” Luke said with a sigh.

  “You ain’t gonna need her help. If’n ya don’t make what ya need this weekend, I’ll make up the difference.”

  “Gosh, Pixie. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’ll pay you back….”

  “Damn, right ya will.” She smiled. “I know where ya live.”

  Chapter 16

  Wednesday, October 27, 1982

  LUKE REMOVED the paper from the typewriter and placed it with the rest. Six pages, not including a dozen or more false starts that were wadded up on the floor around him. Once he’d settled on the wording for the rent increase, an assurance that Mr. Sinclair was committed to getting things fixed, and calling Luke about any problems—preferably after 9:00 a.m. unless it was an emergency—he retyped a personalized copy for everyone at the Sinclair Arms but he and Ruby. Rather than slipping them under doors, Luke intended to deliver each letter in person.

  He started with Mrs. Maxwell. She smiled when she opened the door and gestured for him to come inside. “Just made a fresh pot of coffee. Care for a cup while we catch up?”

  “That would be great,” Luke said.

  She directed him to a chair around her dining room table where four vinyl placemats surrounded a wooden bowl of fake fruit, a pair of wooden candlesticks, and matching salt and pepper shakers. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Black is fine.” He sat on a ladderback chair as she filled an earthenware mug and set it before him.

  She sat across from him with a matching mug in her hands. “I’ve called just about every hospital and morgue within a hundred miles of here. Even called all the jails.” She shook her head and held out her hands. “Nothing.”

  “She’s most likely still alive,” Luke said. He told her about the missing suitcase. “Whoever took it knows where Ruby is.”

  “Any suspects?”

  Luke shrugged. “Long shots.” He paused for a moment to consider his words. “I don’t mean to pry, but what did you and Ruby talk about?”

  “Day After Day.” Mrs. Maxwell smiled. “Not much, really, but more sometimes than either of us really wants to hear. She’s a good listener. Knows just about all there is to know about me.” She shrugged and shook her head. “Her idea of girl talk is sewing patterns, makeup tips, and hairstyles—nothing too personal.”

  “Know if she was dating anyone?”

  She shook her head. “For years, I thought the topic was off-limits out of respect for Melanie. Now I know that’s just how Ruby is. On occasion, she’ll ask my advice about something, but she never volunteers anything about her love life, and I never ask.”

  “I see,” Luke said. He polished off his coffee. “Was she happy?”

  Mrs. Maxwell furrowed her brow. “Hard to say. She’d never let on if she weren’t. I think she is—whatever happy means. She joked about winning the lottery or finding a rich man to support her if her fans lost interest or she was no longer able to perform.”

  Luk
e nodded and stroked his chin.

  “Sorry. Wish I knew something that would help you.”

  “Calling around was a huge help. Thank you.” Luke stood and headed for the door. “Thanks for the coffee too.”

  “Thank you, Luke. For looking for Ruby. She’s alive. I’m sure of it. If something happened to her, I’d feel it in my bones.”

  He ran upstairs and caught Betty Stevens from Apartment 8 and Dolores Burke in 7 in white uniforms and nurse’s caps as they were leaving together for the second shift at nearby Good Samaritan Hospital. The three of them stood at the top of the stairs as Betty and Dolores read the letters.

  “Another rent increase?” Betty shook her head. “Second one this year.”

  Dolores pointed to the letter. “At least this time, looks like maybe we’re getting a little more for our money.” She looked at Luke. “You really going to fix things?”

  Luke nodded. “I’ll do the best I can. Might take a while—Mr. Sinclair didn’t give me much of a budget.”

  “I’ll get a list to you this week,” Betty said.

  Dolores nodded. “Me too.”

  Randy Whalen in 6 came to the door in gym shorts with sweat streaming down his face, over is muscular chest, and across his lean belly. Luke had never been so close to such a hot body.

  “Sorry, man.” He wiped a towel over his torso, flexed, and grinned. “Workin’ on my abs, man. Chicks love a six-pack and a nine iron, catch my drift?”

  “Uh. Yeah, man.” Luke’s face was on fire as he handed him the letter. “Rent’s going up in December. Merry Christmas.” He resisted an overwhelming urge to squeeze a pec. “Call me if you need anything… uh. Fixed.”

  “Sure, man.” He glanced at the letter. “You work out? I’m looking for a workout bud.”

  Luke gulped. “No, man. Sorry. I should, but I don’t.” He’d seen a porn flick about workout buds getting it on after pumping iron. Best not to think about that. Right now, anyway.

  “It’s cool, dude.” He smiled. “If you want to start, let me know.”

  “Will do.” Luke was so flustered, he knocked on security guard Calvin Carter’s door instead of waiting until after five when he’d be awake. He answered, and the hot mental images of Randy Whalen were immediately replaced by furry man boobs perched atop a substantial belly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. I wasn’t thinking.” He handed him the letter. “Go back to bed. Rent’s going up.”