by Mary Marks
While we waited for the server to bring him a cosmo, he drummed his fingers on the table. Finally, his ruby red drink arrived in a martini glass with a slice of lime perched on the rim. As the server placed a napkin on the table, Jazz said, “Bring two more.” He upended the glass and drained it.
His lips trembled and he fanned his face with his hand. “I need a little courage. I’m so ashamed of myself, I can barely say this out loud. You have to promise not to tell Birdie.”
Good heavens. Do I really want to hear this?
I reached over the top of the table and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Is it so bad?”
He pressed his lips together and nodded vigorously. “I had to tell Agent Lancet, of course. But, in all fairness, I think one of you should know as well.”
The two cosmos arrived. He pushed one toward me. “You’d better have this.”
What could be so horrible that I’d need a drink to fortify myself?
I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip. The cranberry juice and triple sec masked the slightly medicinal taste of the vodka. But I was already slightly buzzed from the two glasses of wine. I put the drink back on the table.
Jazz swallowed half his cocktail. He couldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he looked at the table and twirled the stem of the glass. I waited patiently for him to speak, bracing myself to hear his terrible secret.
He took a slow, deep breath. I could barely hear him over the clanking of dishes and the chatter in the room. “I think I killed Rusty.” He glanced at me quickly to gauge my reaction.
“What?” Surely I didn’t hear him correctly.
He drained the second half of his drink. If I had guzzled that much alcohol so fast, I’d be flat on my face. Jazz, however, merely seemed relaxed. I guessed that was one of the advantages of being a tall man. You could absorb more liquor.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“Promise you won’t tell Birdie? I don’t want her to hate me.”
I nodded.
“Pinkie swear?”
“Come on, Jazz, out with it.”
“About three months ago, a man walked into my boutique and said he liked what he saw. I thought he was just talking about the clothes. He ordered three custom suits and a half-dozen shirts. He was very friendly. Each time he came back for a fitting, he ordered more stuff.”
“What’s so bad about that? Didn’t he pay for the clothes?”
“Oh, yes. He had gobs of money, and I thought he’d be a great advertisement for my clothing line since he’s in the public eye. Anyway, he kind of flirted with me and”—Jazz cleared his throat and barely whispered—“I kind of flirted back.”
He raised his hand defensively. “But it was innocent. I would never have cheated on Rusty. He was the real love of my life. Before I met him, I had the worst luck in the romance department. You know?”
“Unfortunately, I do. I helped put my ex-husband through medical school, then he cheated with someone else’s wife and dumped me. None of my other relationships ended well, either. But, getting back to your story, how did your innocent flirtation lead to Russell’s murder?”
“That client had a serious crush on me. He’s young and famous, and I was flattered someone like him would find me attractive. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“Welcome to the club. Who is he?”
“I’m sure you’d know him. He’s a rapper.”
“I seriously doubt that. The only rapping I’m familiar with is knuckles on the front door.”
His eyes widened. “You’ve never heard of Li’l Ape Man?”
I think I’m getting that parallel universe feeling again. . . . “That’s the guy’s real name?”
“He’s notorious! He’s a great big blond Swedish guy. Sort of the Abba of gangsta hip-hop. Anyway, Li’l Ape wanted to hook up. I said no, of course, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Even followed me home one night in his red Porsche. That’s when the trouble started.” Jazz rubbed his forehead.
I pushed my drink back across the table. “Go ahead. You need this more than I do.”
“You sure?” He didn’t wait for an answer. After-dinner drink number three went down as fast as the first two.
“Li’l Ape got out of his car and followed me to my door. He was determined to come inside. Rusty heard us arguing and opened the front door. He told Li’l Ape to leave or he’d call the police. That’s when the brute pointed to Rusty and said, ‘No one tells me what to do, old man. You better watch your back.’”
“How creepy.”
“Vraiment! Anyway, he turned to go and whispered in my ear, ‘No one ever says no to me.’ Then he got in his car and drove away.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
Jazz began to slur his words. “Three weeks. Since then, he’s driven by my house every night and bombarded me with texts every day. I begged him to stop. I told him we were keeping a record of everything and were going to show it to the police.”
“He sounds like a classic stalker.”
“The next day Rusty was murdered.” Jazz began to cry. “I think I’m the reason he’s dead.”
So now there were three suspects with three very different motives. Russell’s brother, Denver, who wanted something that didn’t belong to Russell; Francisco Conejo, a neighbor who blamed Russell for losing his house; and Li’l Ape Man, Jazz’s stalker, who wanted Russell out of the way. Out of the three suspects, Li’l Ape Man was probably the only one who could easily afford to hire an international assassin.
The big question still remained unanswered, however. Why would any of them send the killer Levesque after Birdie too?
“Your secret is safe with me, Jazz. Birdie never needs to know. Although, I’m sure she wouldn’t think less of you. Of course, if it turns out the rapper was the one who hired Russell’s killer, everyone will know.”
“Oh, merci beaucoup.”
“Listen, Jazz. If Li’l Ape Man had Russell killed, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure Russell would want you to focus on the good things. He loved you. If you ever doubt that, all you have to do is look at the extravagant ring on your left hand. He obviously wanted to get married.”
Jazz touched the ring and cried anew. “My life is in shambles. I’ll never get over losing Rusty, and I’ll never forgive myself for causing his death.” He dabbed his tears with the end of his yellow scarf. The he grabbed my hand. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, as long as we’re sharing secrets, I’ve got one of my own.”
His eyes widened, and he blew his nose into a cocktail napkin. “I’m all ears.”
“You know Arthur’s owner, LAPD Detective Arlo Beavers? He used to be my boyfriend, but we broke up a year ago. Then I started going out with someone else.” How could I explain my history with Yossi Levy, aka Crusher? “My new boyfriend wanted to marry me, but I was too scared. So he left too—supposedly for a work assignment. But I haven’t heard from him in five months.”
Jazz reached over and brushed my arm in sympathy. “You poor thing.”
“There’s more,” I said. “Now Arlo is acting like he wants to get together again. He’s already texted me several times today. He claims he’s checking up on his dog, but I think that’s just an excuse.”
“That’s kind of romantic.” He smiled.
I shrugged. “I’ve always been attracted to Arlo, but I don’t want to cheat on Yossi if there’s a chance we can still be together.”
“You should just call Yossi and find out if he still likes you. Otherwise, you might be waiting around for years for a man who’s never coming back.”
“I’ve thought of trying to get hold of him again. But, in all fairness, even if Yossi comes back, I’m not sure I’m ready to get married.”
“You need to make a decision before it’s too late. You never know when life can throw you a curveball. Look at Rusty and me.” He started crying again.
I was wrong about bigger men being able
to hold their liquor. Jazz Fletcher was flat-out drunk. I helped him stumble back to his room and swiped his key card in the lock.
“You’re the best, Martha.”
We found Zsa Zsa curled up in her leopard print bed. Arthur lay on the floor next to her.
Jazz touched Arthur’s head. “Nice doggie.” Then he fell across the bed and almost immediately began to snore. I covered him with a spare blanket from the closet. Then I picked up the phone and ordered a wake-up call for his room. After taking the two dogs into the garden for their last potty break of the night, I returned with Arthur to my room.
As promised, Beavers called to check up on me. I managed to keep the conversation short. I was tired and in no mood to chat.
Lucy walked in through the connecting door. “Where’ve you been?”
“Getting an earful from Jazz. Have you heard anything more about Junior?”
“No, nothing new. What were you and Jazz talking about?”
“Is Birdie awake?”
“No.”
“Good. Jazz just dropped a bombshell, but he made me vow not to tell Birdie.”
Lucy sat on my bed. “Well, dish, girlfriend.”
I told her about Li’l Ape Man.
“That’s a real name?”
“I know, right? Anyway, we now have three possible suspects who could’ve hired Levesque to kill Russell.”
“But why would the big Ape hire someone to go after Birdie? Does that make sense to you?”
“I’m thinking more and more that Rene Levesque was sent to retrieve something from the house. Something either valuable or incriminating. Do you remember the red diary with the encrypted text and numbers we found in Russell’s bedroom safe?”
“Yeah. Birdie brought it with her. She was actually studying it tonight, trying to decipher the code.”
“Tell her to make sure nobody else besides us knows she has it. I have a strong suspicion that diary holds the key to Russell’s murder.”
CHAPTER 17
The hearse sat idling in front of the hotel at eight sharp Wednesday morning. This was our second day out, and I wondered how Russell’s remains were faring in the summer heat. Would the air-conditioning in the car make a difference?
Today we all dressed in blue denim. Lucy wore an orange blouse tucked into her jeans and pink shoes. Birdie wore a short-sleeved white T-shirt with her overalls and Birkenstock sandals, with white athletic socks. I wore a pink T-shirt with my size sixteen stretch denim jeans.
Jazz sported sunglasses, tight-fitting blue jeans, and a blue striped shirt with the cuffs perfectly rolled back. Even Zsa Zsa wore a tiny blue denim sundress with tiny white buttons. He examined each of us and threw up his hands. “Thank God we’re not carrying banjos.”
Lucy pressed her lips together and checked her cell phone. “Let’s just get the heck out of here.”
Whoa. Someone was in a foul mood this morning. Had something happened back home?
“Have you heard anything more about Tanya and the boys?”
“Nothing.” She tucked her phone into her purse. Lucy turned down my offer to take a turn at the wheel. “I need to feel in control of something today. Might as well be the driving.”
We settled back in our usual positions in the Caddy and followed Earl onto Interstate 5 heading north.
Birdie shifted sideways in the front seat and smiled at Jazz over her shoulder. “You’re unusually quiet this morning, dear. You just picked at your eggs. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“It’s never the same as your own bed, is it?” He sipped a cup of coffee to-go from the hotel breakfast bar.
Especially when you were nursing a hangover.
His phone started playing “We Are Family.” He opened it and appeared to be staring at a picture of something. “Oh, God!” He gasped and then punched in a number. “No, no, and no! Those prints are all wrong. How many times do I have to tell you? He’s Deep Winter, not Clear Summer. Put him on the phone.”
Jazz’s voice turned to honey. “Johnny, I forbid you to choose those prints. They scream airstream trailer on the road to Mississippi. Right now I’m thinking Urban Pirate is the way to go. When I get back, I’ll fix you up with a wardrobe that’s truly chic. D’accord?”
He closed the phone and rolled his eyes. “Movie stars.”
Zsa Zsa seemed to be happy snuggling on the seat next to Arthur. The huge shepherd sniffed at her dress and whined.
I reached for my Double Wedding Ring quilt and adjusted it in the hoop. “Would you like to try your hand at quilting, Jazz?”
“Absolutely. Do you have a thimble?”
I passed the quilt over to him along with the sewing kit. He tried to wear my metal thimble, but his fingers were too big.
“Does anyone in the front seat have anything larger?” he asked.
Birdie reached into her supplies and found a leather finger cot. “Try this, dear.”
The arthritis in Birdie’s hands had swollen her fingers, so her thimbles were considerably larger than mine. Jazz was able to jam the more pliable covering onto the middle finger of his right hand.
I leaned toward Jazz to give him a tutorial. “I find the easiest way to keep the stitches flowing is to position my left hand under the quilt and use those fingers to guide the needle back up through the batting to the quilt top.” I could have saved my breath. Jazz had already filled the needle with perfectly spaced stitches.
“Ta da!” He smiled and showed me his handiwork. “Am I doing this right?”
I kept forgetting Jazz was an experienced tailor. “Excellent. You’re a natural.”
“I’m going to make a quilt when we get back to LA. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”
Lucy glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “We all will, hon. If you’re serious about learning how to quilt, you can join the three of us on Tuesday mornings.”
Jazz put the palm of his hand over his heart. “Me? Really? I’d love to!”
Birdie twisted the end of her braid. “You know, dear, a quilt doesn’t have to be made out of cotton, and it doesn’t have to be used as a blanket. You can use whatever fabric you want. You can hang it on a wall, decorate a tabletop, or turn it into clothing. And if you don’t like traditional piecing or appliquéd designs, you can make up your own. Look up Art Quilts on the Internet, and you’ll see thousands of exquisite pieces of fiber art. You’ll be limited only by your imagination.”
Jazz pulled out his phone again and launched a search. He began scrolling through dozens of photos of fiber art, turning the phone slightly so I could also see the screen. “This gives me an idea. I’m going to make Johnny a quilted coat with wide lapels and a swallow tail.” He smiled. “What do you think?”
I could easily imagine Johnny Depp in such a getup. “I think it’s very Urban Pirate.”
Jazz beamed. “I’m also going to use the fabrics from all the shirts I sewed for Rusty over the years and make a quilt. I’ll sleep under it every night so I can always feel close to him.”
I handed him a spool of white quilting thread. “Many people do that. They’re called memory quilts. I made one for my daughter, Quincy, out of her childhood dresses when she went away to college. She still uses it. And I’ve seen some gorgeous quilts made with old necktie collections.”
“Maybe I could do that, too,” he said.
I showed Jazz how to copy my stitching pattern. “Outlining a quilt pattern with stitching is called echo quilting. Block pieces are sewn together using a quarter inch seam allowance. So if you’re echo quilting near a seam, try to stay at least a quarter of an inch away from it to avoid having to push your needle through multiple layers of fabric. Of course, some people like to stitch in the ditch. That’s when you quilt right inside the seams. Those stitches sink down and become invisible.”
Jazz continued to echo quilt around a ring pieced in red wedges. He was off to a good start, so I turned my attention to the farmland rolling by. Soon my mind wandered back to Birdie’s recent conversation wit
h Denver. He’d be waiting for her when we reached our destination to talk about what he wanted back from Russell. Would she be safe?
The morning traffic slowed as we headed toward Sacramento, moving at an uneven pace. Birdie removed something from her tote bag and I caught a flash of red—the diary. “I’ve been trying to make sense out of the cryptograms. I’m sure Russell used a simple substitution cipher.”
Jazz perked up. “What are you talking about? What are cryptograms?”
“That’s where the letters of the alphabet are replaced by other letters. But so far, I’m stumped. There aren’t enough encrypted words for a pattern to emerge. If I can spot a pattern, I can begin to crack the code.”
“I still don’t get it,” Jazz said. “What was Rusty doing making up codes?”
Birdie glanced at me and pursed her lips. I could tell she realized she shouldn’t have mentioned the diary in front of Jazz. We were supposed to keep it secret.
However, since the cat was out of the bag, I decided we might as well let Jazz know what was going on. He might even be able to help us make sense of what Russell had written. “Birdie found this diary in their home safe. Russell appeared to be keeping a secret record of some sort. She’s trying to figure out what it is.”
Jazz blinked several times. “How does a cryptogram work?”
“Well, suppose you were faced with a paragraph of encrypted words. They’d look like gibberish. So the first thing you’d do is find the letter that appears most frequently. In the English language, that letter is e. You’d plug the e in the encrypted paragraph. Then you might see that it occurs at the end of several three-letter words. The most common three-letter word is the, so now you know which letters stand for t and h and you can plug those in. At this point you know three letters in the paragraph. From there you might see other patterns emerge that allow you to guess at other words.”
Lucy waved a hand. “Sounds too hard for me, hon. I’m not that good with words.”
Birdie turned her face toward Lucy and smiled. “The process is intuitive, but with practice, I’m sure you’d catch on, dear. Unfortunately, Russell’s diary doesn’t have whole paragraphs. The encrypted words are in a list. There’s not enough context to guess at patterns.”