Unscrewed

by Lois Greiman

  She was watching me. I shifted my eyes away, but every twitching fiber in my being was testing her reactions. Was she tense? Angry? She could stare down an eagle in full flight. How the hell was a mere cocktail chick turned shrink supposed to know what she was thinking?

  “What made you believe that?” she asked finally. Her tone was reserved. She was leaning back in her chair, almost casual, but not quite.

  “Nothing. I just always thought…” I squirmed in my chair. “They were such a…”

  “A beautiful couple?”

  “I’m sorry.” I really was. Possibly the sorriest creature on the planet.

  “So you saw them together?”

  “No.” I avoided her eyes. “I just saw them…separately, and thought, you know…Oh God, I’m so sorry. Danny seems like a perfectly nice guy. I didn’t mean to cast suspicion.” But I had, of course. I was no better than Rachel Banks, except I was trying to ferret out a murderer. Just doing my civic duty. Or was I simply trying to prove I couldn’t possibly have fallen for a murderer? Was I willing to sacrifice this woman’s future to ascertain that fact? It looked like it. Then again, if she was truly in love, she wouldn’t let silly innuendo ruin her relationship. It would probably make their bond stronger.

  Holy shit, I was obviously in need of professional counseling.

  “When did you see them?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “When were they together? What were they doing?”

  There was an edginess to her voice now, but was it smoldering fury or fresh-cut rage? Was it killing emotion or passing curiosity?

  “I’m sure he’s much better off with you,” I said.

  She stared at me, assessing. “I’ll be sure to ask him if he agrees,” she said. Her voice was clipped. “He’s meeting me for lunch.”

  “I didn’t mean—” My mind clicked in. “Here?” I asked.

  “He tries to stop by on Saturdays. He’s very thoughtful that way.” Her left hand was gripping the arm of her chair. Did the knuckles look white against the dark metal? “You should stay and say hi.”

  “Sure,” I said, and making the bravest and most desperate move of my life, spilled the parfait into my lap. It soaked my T-shirt and seeped with chilly justice into my jeans. “Oh.” I stumbled to my feet. “Oh, no.”

  She was still watching me with those osprey eyes. “I have a clean set of clothes in my Jeep if you want to change.”

  “No. No. I’ll just…I have to get home anyway.” The ice cream slid down my pants and plopped onto my shoe, leaving two peanuts beside the zipper. “Ohh.” It sounded like I was going to cry. I wasn’t that far off. My feelings for ice cream run deep. And ruining someone’s chances at happily ever after isn’t that great, either. “Well…” From the corner of my eye I thought I saw a tall blond Ken doll moving through the smattered crowd. “It was great meeting you.”

  “Again,” she said.

  “What? Oh…yes.” I was already moving away, face burning, leaving the ice cream where it lay, melting morosely on the concrete. “Again. Good-bye.”

  I rushed into the mob and popped around the corner of the treetop terrace, mumbling prayers and curses.

  From across the way, a red ape pointed and chuckled.

  “Ms. McMullen?”

  I jerked around, squawked like a macaw, and froze, shirt sticking to my belly like flypaper.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  I looked up. An elderly gentleman with a cane and cowboy hat was watching me.

  “Robert Peachtree,” he said. “Peach to my friends. We met at the visitation. I would shake your hand but…” He indicated my stickiness and gave me a big old Texas grin.

  “I had a little accident.”

  “I can see that. What are you doing here?”

  “Just…Just visiting the…” I glanced to my left. The ape was still laughing. “The monkeys. How ’bout you?”

  “Oh, business.” He wore sandals with socks, but his ginormous belt buckle was firmly in place. “Always business. I was hoping to catch up with Danny. Daniel Hohl. You know him?”

  “Hohl? Danny Hohl?” I shook my head, still wiping ineffectively at the ice cream and lying for all I was worth.

  He scanned the crowd. “We got a deal in the works, gonna make a bushel of money.”

  “So…” I calmed myself and took a stab in the dark. “No more baldness?”

  He looked surprised. “Now, who told you ’bout that?”

  “I keep my ear to the ground.”

  He laughed. “Quick as a wink I’ll have more hair than them apes. But Sharpe Pharmaceuticals is about more than that.” Taking his hat off, he ran his hand through the few wisps that had survived past his prime. “Near as that is to my heart. Hey, have you given any thought to my offer?”

  “Offer?”

  He chuckled. “I’m gonna take that as a no. But you should think about it, young lady. Sharpe could offer you a bunch.”

  I quit wiping to watch him with raised brows. “Why me? I’m not famous. I’m not even a doctor.”

  He shook his head. “I ain’t the kind to care how many fancy titles folks have collected.” He pursed his narrow lips and stared at me. “I’m a good judge of people, can tell stuff just to look at ’em. And I know this much just by lookin’: You’d do the job, all right.” He nodded. “You’re what I like to call dirt smart.”

  The ice cream was beginning to dry. Dust from the walkway had adhered to the goo, making the fabric stiff. I cleared my throat. “I think you mean dirty.”

  He laughed. Digging his wallet out of his back pocket, he pulled out a card and handed it over. “There’s the number for my ranch.” He pointed to a row of digits with a fingernail yellowed by time. “But here…” He shifted to another set of numerals. “We got us a little place in town. You can reach me there. Come by and talk to Dottie and me sometime.”

  “I would love to, but—”

  He held up a hand. “I know what you’re gonna say. You’re doing fine on your own. You modern gals.” He shook his head and grinned. According to one of my Internet scavenger hunts, he’d been a looker in his day. A looker and a lightning-quick shortstop for the Houston Astros. Dottie had found herself a keeper. “You remind me of my Anna. Independent as a mustang. But everybody can use a few more bucks in their woods, huh?”

  “Ummm…”

  “Just give me a call sometime. Better yet, you stop by next Saturday. In the afternoon sometime. Dottie’d love to fuss over you.”

  “Okay.” Even though I was flattered, I had no intention of stopping in. But the drying ice cream was beginning to itch. I was ready to beat a hasty retreat. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and stumped happily into the crowd.

  22

  I been a little cranky since that house fell on my sister.

  —Grandma Ella, who didn’t have a sister

  ON SUNDAY we ran an ad for a receptionist in the Times. Laney was nervous about it. But I assured her everything would be fine. We live in L.A. Twenty-four hours from now we’d have her replacement, an international supermodel who performed brain surgery on the side.

  That night we dined at the Gardens restaurant in Beverly Hills, where the patrons didn’t seem to be tempted to abscond with the silver and the desserts are high caloric enough to make a grown woman cry. It was my treat.

  By eight o’clock I was stuffed to the eyeballs. Laney had eaten a plate of something that may have been plucked off a Swiss hillside and marinated in lemon juice, but I didn’t ask what it was. Instead, I raised my champagne glass. She was actually sharing in the toast. “To you,” I said.

  She clicked her glass against mine and smiled. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  “I don’t know anything yet,” she said, but Laney’s not knowing is nothing like anyone else’s not knowing. She talked for fifteen minutes about actors I’d never heard of with terms I didn’t know. It made me kinda melan
choly. My little girl was growing up.

  “How did Solberg take the news?”

  She shrugged, glanced at her flute, and swished her drink a little. I think there might have been more than when the waiter had first poured it. “Okay.”

  “Okay as in he’s happy for you, or okay as in he cried like a baby?”

  She glanced up. “He didn’t cry…like a baby.”

  “Just a little bit, then?”

  “Hardly at all.”

  I resisted laughing. It wasn’t that hard. I felt kind of close to tears myself.

  “I think he’s afraid I’m going to meet someone else.” She sighed, set down her glass. Our waiter, tall, dark, and earnest, appeared in a heartbeat, asking if all was well. Was the champagne satisfactory? Was she feeling okay? Would she run off to Vegas and be his teddy bear? It had been like this for over a decade. If Laney looked unhappy, the male half of the population went into crisis mode. What would it be like when she became a star? She gave the server a smile and sent him away. His knees held up under her attention. “How could he think I’d want someone else?”

  I returned my attention to the matter at hand, then set my wineglass down and looked at her. “Are we talking about Solberg?”

  She gave me a “Who else?” expression. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed our waiter had a chin dimple deep enough to drown in…while her boy Solberg made you want to drown. “Well…” I began, but she stopped me with a glance.

  “I’m really happy for you,” I said.

  She smiled, nodded, fiddled with her glass. “What about you, though?”

  “What about me what?”

  “Come on, Mac, the police are calling Salina’s death accidental. Why can’t you do the same?”

  I shrugged, drank, thought of the seventy-six men who had come and gone before Rivera. “You didn’t hear back from that talent agent yet, huh?”

  She took a drink of champagne. An actual sip. I watched her. She didn’t meet my gaze. “What talent agent?”

  “The one you were going to call to see if the senator had—” I stopped when I recognized her expression. It was the same look she’d had at thirteen when she’d confessed our experimental smoking to her father. And while confession might indeed be good for the soul, her declaration hadn’t been a real boon for me. I became guilty by association…or by the fact that it was my idea, my money, and my cousin who had made the purchase. It was also, as I recall, me who was forced to smoke a full pack of Camels in one sitting. It had been the best part of my day. “Laney?” I said.

  “What?” Her tone was a surefire meld between innocence and defensiveness.

  I felt the air leave my lungs. “Holy crap,” I said, “he has a double.”

  “Listen, Mac, I don’t know that for—”

  I felt numb from the waist up. “He hired a double…some guy to take his place on the plane. Which means the senator was—”

  “We don’t know any of this.”

  I stared at her. My lungs felt icy. “What do we know?”

  She blew out a breath. “Bud said there used to be a guy in the business who might fit the description.”

  “What description?”

  “Tall, Hispanic, handsome. Similar to Senator Rivera.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was he working as a body double on March third?”

  “I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

  “You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”

  “Let it go, Mac.”

  “Do you think the police know about him?”

  “They’re calling it natural causes.”

  “I need to talk to him,” I said.

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, but I beat her to the punch.

  “What if the police are wrong? Or covering up?”

  “You’re jumping to—”

  “What if the senator killed her?”

  “Then that means the lieutenant didn’t. We could have a party.”

  “But his father did? Is that any better? What would that do to Rivera’s psyche? He’s already half crazy. And what if the senator didn’t do it? Then who did?”

  “Maybe the LAPD is right. Maybe no one did.”

  I gave her a look.

  She scowled back in angry defense.

  “Do you have his address?”

  “Whose?”

  “Phone number?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Laney—”

  “Is it so bad that I want to keep you alive, Mac? Is that so terrible?”

  “I can’t just bury my head in the sand, Laney.”

  “Want to be cremated instead?”

  “You’re being—”

  “What? Protective? Yeah, I am. And you know why? ’Cuz I care about you. And I’m not going to be here to look after you once the filming starts, Mac. What if something happens? What if you’re right and you do something stupid?”

  I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t going to do anything stupid, but I’m not that good at lying.

  “I’ve got to know what happened,” I said.

  She didn’t respond.

  “You know I do, Laney. Think about my track record.”

  She was still scowling.

  “Jay Bintliff,” I said.

  Her scowl deepened.

  “I told you he shared a bed with his brother. What I didn’t tell you is that he—”

  “Here,” she said, and tossed a scrap of paper at me.

  I read it out loud. “Julio Manderos.”

  “Are you happy now?”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Who?”

  “Would you like me to tell you what Jay and his brother did on Saturdays when—”

  “Strip Please!” she snapped.

  I raised my brows at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a dance club. Okay?”

  “Like…ballet?”

  “Yes.” Laney isn’t usually prone to sarcasm, but tales of my past dates sometimes make her kind of irritable. Go figure. “Absolutely. Every Friday night they perform Swan Lake to an audience of thousands.”

  “Friday—”

  “Damn it, Mac!”

  I stared aghast. Laney was swearing. The apocalypse had arrived, and I intended to take all the necessary precautions, like covering my head with a newspaper, but just then I saw the tears in her eyes.

  I felt every man in the room bare his teeth.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” Her voice was low and earnest. But not quite low enough. The menfolk had perked up their ears.

  I shifted my attention to the right. The waiter was hovering. If he thought I had made her unhappy, I’d be lucky to survive the evening. I reached across the table and took her hand.

  “Listen, Sugarcane.” It was a pet name from years past, but it failed to make her smile. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  She turned her hand in mine. She has a grip like a road mender. Yoga’s a funny thing. It looks like you’re just sitting there upside down with your foot in your ear, but…“Well, I do,” she said. “I love you, Mac.”

  I thought I saw the waiter’s eyes widen a little, but he didn’t look discouraged. What is it with men and lesbians? The prospect of seeing two guys together is about as appealing as exfoliating with battery acid. Shouldn’t a normal, thinking man feel the same about girl on girl? Shouldn’t a well-adjusted…Ahh, screw it.

  “I’ll be fine, Laney,” I said.

  “You’re not going to that place alone.”

  I shook my head, but my brain was already spinning out wild possibilities.

  “I mean it, Mac. You wait until I can go with you.”

  “To the Strip Please.” My tone may have been less than believing. Laney gets embarrassed during a TV kissing scene. “What would your father say?”

  “He’d say you’re an idiot,” she said. “An
d I’m going with you.”

  “Geez, Laney, a curse word and an insult. I—”

  “You’re not going alone.” She sounded honestly pissed. The waiter stepped closer. And he wasn’t smiling. Could be when he wasn’t dressed like a hovering penguin he was bouncing folks out of places like the Strip Please. I almost laughed at the idea, but he was pretty big…and oozing testosterone from every pore.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “But I won’t be here on Friday.”

  “Maybe I could go with…” I was being cautious, lest the waiter/bouncer swing me out of the restaurant by my hair. “…someone else?”

  “Who?”

  “Someone…armed?”

  “Jeen could go with you.”

  In concession to her obvious concern, I stopped the insult before it reached my lips. “Thanks, but…” Turns out I had nothing to say in lieu of something rude.

  “Who, then?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  She opened her mouth, but I interrupted before she could suggest Daffy Duck or Elmer Fudd. “But I won’t go alone.”

  “Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  I winced, thinking that both of us had come too close to the death thing not so many months before. “I cross my heart,” I said.

  23

  It ain’t a party till someone ends up naked.

  —The only debate all three McMullen brothers ever completely agreed on

  SENATOR!” I gasped the word. It was a drizzly Monday morning. He was standing on my stoop, dressed to the nines. I was dressed for a jog and maybe throwing up afterward. Harlequin was decked out in his usual and didn’t mind delaying our run for a minute to sniff the senator’s crotch.

  “I understand this is unorthodox,” he said. “But I was on my way to the airport and thought I might stop by to make certain you are well.”

  “I’m fine.” And he had a body double. What the hell did that mean?

  “I saw you at the visitation talking to…well, talking to several people, in fact. I hope they did not upset you.”

  “No. No. Everything’s fine.”

  “My son can be…” He sighed. “Difficult. And Ms. Banks…” He paused. “Please do not get the wrong impression. She is a talented, intelligent woman, but perhaps she bears some resentment that colors her perspective.”