The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  Mr. Patrick answered the door, took the letter, and invited Luke in. They sat facing one another in the living room, Luke on the sofa and Mr. Patrick kicked back in a big leather recliner reading the letter. He dropped it onto his lap and shook his head.

  “How much of that increase is to fix things around here?”

  “Ten dollars.” Luke laughed. “He added it on after I persuaded him to give me a budget for maintenance and repairs.”

  “Good for you, Tanner.” He smiled. “Getting money from Buddy Sinclair is like squeezing blood from a turnip.”

  Luke grinned. “If he sticks to his end of the agreement.”

  Mr. Patrick laughed. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

  Luke nodded. “Do you know your neighbor across the hall?”

  “Ruby?” Mr. Patrick nodded. “Went to school with her daddy, Barney Bonnet, and lived right down the street from them while she was growing up. BB is the meanest, most ornery son of a bitch I ever knew.” He shrugged. “Garnet was such a cute little booger. Anybody else would be thrilled to have such a charming and precocious child.” He shook his head. “Not BB. And Bunny was an unhappy woman trapped in a bad marriage who stayed too drunk to be much of a mother.” He shrugged again and looked at Luke. “Booger practically lived with me and Helen. We never had any kids of our own….”

  Luke was stunned. He met Mr. Patrick’s gaze. “She’s missing.”

  His eyes grew wide. “What?”

  Luke nodded. “Missed a Friday morning shopping date with Mrs. Maxwell, and didn’t come to work Friday or Saturday night.”

  Mr. Patrick furrowed his brow and scratched his head. “That’s odd. I could have sworn I heard her coming and going several times since then. That door squeals so loud I can hear it in my living room.”

  “When?”

  “Let me think.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “She got home maybe five minutes after I saw that prowler.”

  Luke nodded. “Thought so.” He told Mr. Patrick about the missing suitcase and the theory that whoever had taken it knew where Ruby was.

  Mr. Patrick nodded. “Makes sense. Any idea who it could be?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Luke smiled. “We’ve got a short list of long shots.”

  “We?”

  “Pixie Wilder, and Mrs. Maxwell too. Pixie works with us at the Gilded Lily.”

  “You work at the Gilded Lily?”

  Luke nodded. “I tend bar there three nights a week. Some think Pixie had something to do with Ruby’s disappearance.”

  “And Ruby is your girlfriend?”

  “No, sir.” Luke shook his head. “She doesn’t even know me.”

  “Pixie is your girlfriend?”

  “No.” Luke shook his head. “We’re just friends.”

  “I see,” Mr. Patrick said. “Why do you care?”

  “Pixie has been a good friend, and I want to help clear her name.” Luke shrugged. “Nobody else is looking for Ruby. It’s up to me and Pixie. Besides.” He smiled. “I’m too big of a wimp to say no.”

  “Tanner.” Mr. Patrick shook his head. “You confuse being a nice guy with being a wimp.” He got up, and they walked together to the door. “Remember that next time Sinclair yanks your chain.”

  Chapter 17

  MR. PATRICK’S kind words motivated Luke to pay Buddy Sinclair a visit. He eased Bertha into traffic and headed for the insurance office. Glenva had taken several messages from him since Monday, promising each time that Mr. Sinclair would call as soon as he could. Buddy was avoiding him. The more Luke thought about it, the madder he got.

  He parked between the office door and Buddy’s Mercedes and sped past a sputtering Glenva to the inner sanctum where Buddy was ogling several centerfolds spread out over the desktop. He dropped onto his chair, turned red as a firetruck, and swept the magazines into a drawer.

  “Luke, my friend.” He tugged on his belt to adjust his pants. “I was just about to call you.” He laced his fingers together on top of his desk. “Deliver those rent increase notices?”

  “Yes, sir. Sure did.” Luke nodded. “Got my reimbursement check?”

  “Oh.” Buddy pulled open a drawer and rifled through some papers. “I had a few questions.” He found the page Luke had written on with the receipts attached to it. “Gilbert’s Hardware has the highest prices in town. If you want to keep your job, you need to pay more attention to the bottom line.”

  Luke’s mouth fell open. Words escaped him. He was too stunned to speak.

  “I’ll reimburse you for half the Drano, the toilet repair kit, the lime remover you used, and two dowel rods, but not any you didn’t need or the caulk, caulk gun, or WD-40.”

  Pixie’s and Mr. Patrick’s words echoed through Luke’s head. He was too nice. Time to grow a pair. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Buddy Sinclair. “Why the hell not?”

  “Watch it, Tanner.”

  “Or what?” Luke couldn’t remember being so angry. He grabbed the edge of the desk and leaned forward until their noses were inches apart. “You going to fire me? Go right ahead. Putting up with you and all the problems at that place is worth more than a couple of hundred bucks off my rent, and you know it.”

  Buddy’s face sagged.

  Luke pressed his advantage. “I’m not asking for a salary, or free rent—even though I deserve both for taking it up the ass for you with all the tenants, who frankly deserve better.”

  Buddy winced. “Nobody complains to me.”

  Luke shook his head. “Not anymore. They know better.”

  Buddy sighed again, closed his eyes for a moment, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Problem is I’m running a little low on cash right now.” He shook his head and waved his hand. “Short-term situation. Should be back in the black again in December.”

  “Well, Buddy. That’s not my problem.” Luke dropped onto a chair facing the desk and crossed his hands behind his neck. “Sorry if fifty-something dollars is going to break you.” He shrugged and tilted his head. “If you’d told me that a month ago, we wouldn’t have this problem, would we?”

  Buddy shook his head. “To be honest, I hate the fucking place and can’t wait for Momma to die so I can sell it and move to Florida, or maybe Texas.”

  Luke had spent most of his life wishing for his parents to magically reappear. To wish one of them dead was inconceivable. Getting Buddy to care about the residents was a lost cause. Better to appeal to his greed.

  “Without putting a little money into fixing the place up, nobody will buy it.” Luke shrugged. “Seventy-five dollars won’t go far, but month after month, it’s enough to make a difference.”

  Buddy nodded, and, after a moment, pulled a spiral-bound checkbook from a drawer in his desk. “Okay. I’ll reimburse you for everything this time. Hold off on spending any more until December. January would be even better.”

  “Yes, sir,” Luke said. He folded the check in half, stuck it in his wallet, and headed for the door. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing when I came in.”

  Glenva’s disapproving look had no effect on Luke’s smile as he strolled past her desk. He went through the drive-through window at Buddy’s bank and was relieved the check hadn’t bounced. After he left the bank, he headed north to drop in on a certain pharmacist.

  The drugstore was busier than Luke had expected. He pretended to peruse magazines as he surveyed the store. Michael Dean stood behind the pharmacy counter with several women waiting to talk to him. More roamed the aisles. No telling how long Luke would have to wait for a moment with him. Maybe he should come back when fewer customers were around.

  “Help you find something?”

  “Um. No thanks.” Luke shook his head and smiled at the clerk. “Just looking. You always this busy?”

  “Just when he’s here.” She nodded toward the pharmacy. “Women I used to see once or twice a month before he came pop in almost every day.” She sighed wistfully. “Who’d a thunk when I
watched him on television all those years ago, I’d work with him one day.”

  “On television?”

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded. “He was Billy’s best friend on No Place Like Home.”

  “Sammy Jenkins?” The memory hit Luke like a bolt of lightning. He’d often watched repeats of No Place Like Home with his mother. She adored irrepressible Billy Hanson, the oldest of four Hanson siblings and the star of the show, who she said was so ugly he was cute. Though Luke hadn’t recognized what it was at the time, he’d had a huge crush on handsome Sammy Jenkins. “What’s he doing in Lexington?”

  “Didn’t you see Callie Comb’s big write-up in the paper a few weeks ago?”

  Luke shook his head. “No. I just moved here.”

  “Nearly two years after No Place Like Home’s final season, Michael Dean’s career was taking off when Ricky Hardin—the guy who played Billy—died of an overdose.”

  Luke nodded. “I remember hearing about that.”

  “Some say it was an accident.” She shook her head. “Most people, including me, think Ricky killed himself because nobody would cast him.”

  A woman lingering nearby cleared her throat. She wanted help, but the friendly salesclerk was too caught up in her story to notice.

  “Michael blamed Hollywood for Ricky’s death and walked away from a promising acting career to become a pharmacist.”

  The woman cleared her throat again, louder this time.

  “I’m sorry.” The friendly clerk said to the women and then nodded at Luke. “Nice chatting with you.” She turned back to the impatient woman. “How can I help you?”

  The line to see the pharmacist had doubled. Waiting was already awkward. Standing in line to chat with Michael Dean would be even more awkward. He’d try again another time.

  Chapter 18

  Thursday, October 28, 1982

  LUKE LOOKED up from the typewriter and was surprised to see nearly three hours had passed since he’d jumped out of bed and started writing. The idea had popped into his head as he was drinking coffee, daydreaming, and half-watching MTV. After a few false starts, he’d knocked out the first two-and-a-half chapters. He rubbed his hands together and was about to dive back into the story when the telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh good,” Aunt Callie said. “You’re alive. I guess your thank-you note got lost in the mail.”

  “I’m sorry.” Luke’s face grew hot. He hadn’t even thought to send one. He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote himself a reminder. “It’s right here, ready to mail—I keep forgetting to get stamps.”

  “I thought maybe I’d hear from you while you were off.”

  “Time got away from me,” Luke said. “I’ve been helping a friend look for a coworker who hasn’t been seen since the night I had dinner with you who also happens to live at the Sinclair Arms.”

  “Sounds like a matter for the police,” Aunt Callie said.

  “If she was underage, but she’s not, and with no reason to suspect foul play, they have more important things to do.” Luke still hadn’t filed a missing person report. Going into Ruby’s apartment without her permission was probably illegal, making him reluctant to go to the police. “How’s work?”

  “Between football and the horses running at Keeneland, the paper is always busy this time of year.”

  “How’s the team doing?”

  “Awful. Haven’t won a game yet. They’re traveling to Virginia Tech to get stomped this weekend. Our best hope for a win is Vanderbilt next weekend. After that, Florida and Tennessee are going to wipe the field with us. Basketball season can’t get here soon enough. Have you been out to Keeneland? Saturday is the last day of the fall meet.”

  “No,” Luke shook his head. “Doesn’t look like I will now.” He paused. “Did you write the Michael Dean story?”

  “I did. Why?”

  “Just wondering why he moved to Lexington.”

  “Funny you should ask. In our interview, he claimed Kentucky basketball and Keeneland were to blame, but I didn’t quite believe him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just a feeling there was more to the story. I asked a follow-up or two, then let it go. He’s very nice and undoubtedly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in the flesh. The black-and-white pictures we ran don’t do him justice.” She paused. “I met Amber Berger for lunch Tuesday.”

  “You did?” He moved to the much more comfortable sofa and picked up the legal pad with Pixie’s notes. “Where’d you go?”

  “The Brougham House, of course. Part of my job. Everybody who’s anybody goes there for lunch at least once a week. Of course, Friday is the big day, but we ran into the mayor, the police chief, the president of the university, your friend, Buddy Sinclair….”

  Broke Buddy was no doubt trying to persuade Lexington’s high rollers to buy insurance. “Was Tippy there?”

  “No. Amber said he was indisposed and hadn’t left the house in days.”

  “Indisposed?” Luke furrowed his brow.

  “Nothing serious,” Aunt Callie said. “Well enough to attend a big fundraising Halloween party out at Fasig-Tipton Saturday. They’re going as Mark Antony and Cleopatra. She’s rolling herself up in a rug for her big entrance.”

  Luke laughed. “You have to admire her self-confidence.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  Luke heard pounding on his door. “Gotta run—someone’s at the door. We’ll get together when I’m off next week. I promise.”

  “I certainly hope so. Have a good weekend.”

  He dropped the pad on the card table and hurried to the door to find Pixie with a couple of shopping bags in hand. Mrs. Maxwell stood behind her and was holding a plate of cookies.

  “About damn time.” Pixie hoisted her bags and pushed past him. “Come on in, Millie.”

  “Millie?” Luke furrowed his brow.

  “Mrs. Maxwell is so formal.” She followed Pixie inside and smiled sheepishly. “Now that we’re all friends. Call me Millie.”

  Pixie dropped the shopping bags on the floor. “Yer gonna love your costume.” She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a weathered wide-brimmed fedora. “Here’s your first clue.”

  Luke furrowed his brow. After a moment, he shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Okay.” She pulled out a whip. “This help?”

  “Oh!” Millie was so excited, she nearly dropped the cookies. “I know!”

  “Me too,” Luke said. “The overseer in Gone with the Wind.” He shook his head. “No way.”

  It was Millie’s turn to furrow a brow. She turned to Pixie. “Is he right?”

  “No.” Pixie laughed and shook her head. “Who were you thinkin’?”

  “Indiana Jones?”

  “Bingo!” Pixie turned to Luke. “Overseer? Puh-leeze!” She shook her head. “You can thank me later.”

  She picked up the legal pad and sat on one of the folding chairs around the card table serving as Luke’s desk and kitchen table. Millie placed the cookies in the center and sat between Pixie and Luke’s spot in front of the typewriter.

  “You gonna make some coffee before you sit down or do I need to get that whip?” Pixie picked up Luke’s manuscript and studied it for a moment. “Living with Mr. Wrong?”

  Luke nodded as he filled the reservoir with water. “You know what they say, write what you know.”

  “You’re a writer?” Millie gave Luke an admiring look. “What have you published?”

  “Oh, just a couple of short stories,” Luke said. He paused to measure the desired amount of coffee. “Out of print.”

  Though honest, his standard response was incomplete. Two stories had been published his senior year in the high school literary magazine, the Quill & Scroll. The initial printing had been enough for every contributor, staff member, and advertiser to get a copy with a few extras.

  He found two mugs in the cabinet, washed a third, and after placing milk and sugar on the table, sat
to wait for the coffee to brew. “How did you get here, Pixie?”

  “Russel Clark.” She shook her head. “He took Ruby to work Thursday, but she told him she had a ride home. He didn’t think nothin’ of it till she didn’t show up Friday night.” She scratched his name out on the pad.

  Luke frowned. “He say who was taking her home?”

  “Like I wouldn’t have told you.” She shook her head. “I’m guessin’ the same guy who took her and her suitcase. Got any new info?”

  Luke nodded. “Mr. Patrick heard Ruby’s door open shortly after he saw the prowler outside his apartment.”

  “That squeaky hinge.” Pixie nodded. “We’re on the right track.”

  “A prowler at the Sinclair Arms?” Millie clutched her throat. “When was this?”

  “Sunday night or early Monday morning.” Luke patted her arm. “Don’t worry, he was only interested in Ruby’s place, and he had a key.”

  Millie shuddered. “I’m not sure that makes me feel any better. Vince knows Ruby is missing?”

  “Vince?” Luke furrowed his brow.

  “Vince Patrick,” Millie replied. “Probably for the best. I didn’t mention it to him because I didn’t want to upset him. He and Ruby are close. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s a very sweet man.”

  “None of this makes any sense.” Luke shook his head. “Everyone loves Ruby. And for good reason, from all I’ve heard about her. The woman is a saint.”

  “Not everyone,” Pixie said. “Or she wouldn’t be missin’. We just gotta figure out who.”

  “I stopped by the drugstore yesterday afternoon,” Luke said. “Didn’t get a chance to talk to Michael Dean. There was a line waiting to see him—but I found out he was Sammy, Billy Hanson’s best friend on No Place Like Home.”

  “I could have told you that,” Millie said. “He is, hands down, the best-looking man I’ve ever seen and just as nice as he can be.”