Drive Thru Murder

by Colleen Mooney

  “She should have called the SPCA because they will send out people to trap them,” he said. When he saw my head whip back around, he added, “Humanely… with Have A Heart traps.”

  When Dante stopped by to have coffee it was the only time Hanky was not with him to glare at me. This time of day was off his caffeine routine. I didn’t think Dante had heard the news of the twins and my sister from the home front because he was in a most agreeable mood. Usually, anything like that makes him irritable and the vein on the side of his head pumps overtime. Homicides, on the other hand, seem to put him in an amorous state.

  “How’s your mom? Anything new?” I asked, but didn’t watch his response.

  “She’s fine. I don’t know if anything is new. I only go home to sleep…I don’t engage.”

  Or get engaged.

  “Well, why didn’t you untie this little guy?” I walked over and knelt down so the little dog could smell my hand and know I wasn’t going to hurt him.

  “I just came by for a quick cup of coffee.”

  “Look how someone tied him to the gate. This rope is so short he can barely move,” I said as Dante stood watching me untie the little guy.

  I do breed rescue work, only taking in unwanted Schnauzers. For as long as I’ve done this I will never understand people wanting to get rid of their dogs, some they’ve had for years. How could they not get attached and feel a lifetime commitment to their pets? I often found dogs tied to my fence or front door, or to the door/fender of my car. These people sure could find me, but couldn’t find it in their hearts to continue to care for their pet.

  “You look tired, are you just getting off work?” I asked.

  “I worked all night and I’m on my way back,” he said. “The kidnapped victim is probably a homicide by now.”

  Yep. He’s amorous because now it’s a homicide, a double homicide.

  “Coffee. I only have time for coffee,” Dante repeated trying to impart a sense of urgency regarding his need for a cup of caffeine. If he wanted me to make a pot of coffee he could wait until I got around to it.

  “What’s wrong with people?” I asked no one in particular as I untied the little dog.

  “If anyone figures that out, I’ll be out of a job. Unwanted dogs are your department. You’re the rescue expert.”

  “He’s terrified. What’s your name little guy?” I petted his head after he licked my hand. I gave Dante my keys and told him to get my dog Meaux and bring him outside to meet our visitor. I answered his exasperated look with, “And then, yes, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. What do you think I should name him?”

  “Name him Jesus, and pray you find him a home fast,” Dante said and pronounced it like the Spanish name.

  “You are going to be struck by lightning,” I said. “This is a German breed and needs a German name.” I walked up to the front door to let Meaux meet the new guy. They circled each other sniffing, then fiercely wagging tails, circling again in what I referred to as the doggie handshake, signaling they had made friends.

  My dog rolled out the doggie welcome mat to the new guy bringing out a toy and dropping it in front of his friend hoping to play. Meaux was an ambassador to all the rescues who came after him. I had taken him in saying I’d find him a good home and I did. Mine.

  Inside, Dante zeroed in on the coffee again as soon as we walked inside.

  “So, how long does it take you to make coffee in that contraption? I’m kinda in a hurry. My captain is all over me to solve this case now before it’s two homicides with the kidnap victim.”

  I stopped what I was doing. “This is so sad. The one shot at CluckIt…do you think she was shot by mistake?”

  “That person shot at CluckIt was a man. And I have no idea if he was shot by mistake, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said. “This is an ongoing investigation.”

  I had an overwhelming urge to go see Earline and Lionel and tell them how sorry I was. I went through the motions of making a pot of coffee, all the time feeling sad for Merlot in particular. She had a job, worked hard, people liked her and she set her sights on a man who didn’t appreciate all she did for him and, in all likelihood, the one named Charles brought it on the two of them.

  “That pot on the stove is not electric,” Dante said jerking me back to his urge for coffee. “Why don’t you get an automatic coffee maker like the rest of the world and set the timer, so it’s ready when you wake up and stays hot? My mother has a relic like yours.”

  “So, it keeps it ready until you get here? Isn’t that what you mean?” I asked. I had the stovetop stainless steel variety with the metal basket and about three more parts than the electric ones with timers. “I made a pot earlier. Making coffee in this pot is so simple. For the record, the top has to fit just right, or it won’t stay on. I use the relic because I like the way the coffee smells while it percolates, and it tastes better.”

  “An automatic coffee maker would have kept it hot. I can’t wait. I wanted a quick cup of coffee with you on my way to work, but I just got another homicide call right when I pulled up. I don’t think it’s related because someone who was not wearing a dress shot someone else not wearing a dress.”

  “Very amusing. Feel free to take your coffee business to Café du Monde if Chez Brandy isn’t producing it fast enough. The coffee will be ready in five. I was hoping we could have a few moments to chat but you can take a cup with you,” I said. “Besides, don’t you want to ask me if I know anything else about last night?”

  “Do you remember anything else?” Dante asked me not taking his eyes off the coffee maker.

  “You know the two victims were cross-dressers, right? Well, maybe that’s part of why they were both victims.”

  “Go on.” He went to my refrigerator and opened it.

  “That’s why I think you should meet my neighbor across the street. She told me she used to stop there on her way home from work. She knew they were all cross-dressers.”

  “Why would I question somebody who wasn’t there last night?” he asked no one in particular as he stared into my empty refrigerator.

  “She saw me at CluckIt last night. She sees moments in time, and she might be able to help you.”

  He was hanging on the door of my refrigerator looking for something to eat. His body froze, staring into the cold abyss and he asked, “The cat lady is a fortune teller? You want me to interview a cat lady-fortune teller who wasn’t there?” Then he started shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “This just gets better and better.”

  “Forget I mentioned it, and help yourself to anything in there,” I nodded toward him and the appliance. “You seem to forget I just moved in here last night.” Pausing for effect which was lost on him I added, “Without your help.” I decided not to tell him what was in the bag I carried in that Woozie sent home with me. I let it sit on the kitchen counter right in front of us.

  “Is the coffee ready yet? I’ll take it to go,” he said and I caught him looking at his watch for the third time.

  Just then, a doggie argument broke out over a carpet piece that I had no idea where it came from. The new guy had possession of it.

  “See. Jesus is a trouble maker. You need to find him a home before he tears up more stuff in here.”

  “Do you know anything about re-installing carpet?” I asked before I realized we had hardwood floors throughout the house and probably didn’t need to replace that piece of carpet.

  “You should call a professional to do a professional job. Call a flooring expert to install carpet—call the police to handle police business. You,” Dante used his version of the dramatic pause before he finished, “need to stay out of crime scenes.”

  As Dante headed to his car he noticed Sandra outside looking in the trunk of her burned out car. Then over his shoulder he said to me, “Go tell her about all them cats she has—it’s illegal.”

  I watched him drive off and thought of Earline and the other man at CluckIt, trying to save Jim
mie, or Merlot, a person according to Earline, who only had nice things to say about people.

  I headed across the street. “Hi again. Is your offer for a palm reading still good?” I asked as I walked up.

  “Of course,” Sandra said, and I followed her up the twenty or so steps of the grand stairway to her apartment on the second floor. The house was called a New Orleans raised basement with a Craftsman feel to it. “Any area of your life you want me to focus on? Your job? Family? Your love life?”

  “My family? The only thing that could help me understand my family would be shock therapy. Theirs, not mine,” I said. From the way Sandra looked at me she might have thought I needed it too, so I added, “I guess I’d like you to focus on my future, as it pertains to my love life.”

  Her front door opened into a double parlor with ten-foot ceilings, hardwood floors. Built-in bookcases separated the living room from the dining room that had a large oak dining room table that sat eight, a matching server or sideboard, and a china cabinet, all with the oak leaf pattern. Her floor plan was much like ours but hers was up an outside flight of stairs that led to the front door. It looked like a two-story home and had what New Orleans calls a basement for the first floor. They usually only had a ceiling height of seven feet.

  New Orleans basements were an unfinished level most people used as a garage or for storage. They were not underground, and entry was at street level. This raised the living area, or first floor of the home, off the ground in case of flooding. In some of these houses, people finished the basement and rented it out, or used it as play room for the kids. Our house we rented did not have a basement.

  Sandra had an eclectic collection of Victorian memorabilia, fans, eyeglasses and an unusual antique handgun with a wooden grip and mega-size round brass barrel that intrigued me. She displayed them in the oak china cabinet.

  “That’s a Fizziwigs Blaster, and it’s only decorative, but looks real,” she said when she saw me pointing to it and making a face.

  “It looks old, Victorian maybe,” I said. “Is it an antique?”

  “I don’t know. A friend gave it to me and said it was Steampunk, not Victorian.” Sandra instructed me to sit in a particular chair while she sat opposite me and took both my hands in hers. She inspected them thoughtfully, turning them over to check both the palms and backs. After a few seconds, she got up and said, “Wait here.”

  She returned holding a deck of Tarot cards she shuffled, then asked me to cut the deck into three stacks.

  “I thought you were going to read my palm,” I said. “I’m also hoping you can unlock something I missed seeing last night at CluckIt.”

  “I am going to read your palm, but you’re a hard read. The Tarot cards give me direction.” She stacked the cards again and shuffled them. Then she told me to cut them again in three stacks, take the top card off each stack and hand them to her. She wrapped the rest in a black silk cloth and put them under the chair she was sitting in.

  A puzzled expression came over her face. “You’ve pulled powerful cards.” She lined them up side by side in the middle of the table between us. She took my hands and put them on the cards so that I touched all three at the same time. Then, she placed her hands on top of mine, closed her eyes and sat in silence. I studied her hands. She had an eyeball tattooed on the back of each one so that even with her eyes closed it still felt like she was looking at me.

  Sandra opened her eyes and said, “The first card is the Magician. It doesn’t have anything to do with magic. It means you have forces of creation and power within you. You also have the confidence to use it properly to obtain any outcome you desire.”

  I started to ask a question, but she shushed me and continued, “Wow, your second card is the Queen of Cups. It explains why you’re a hard one to read. It means you’re like a mirror, reflecting what people hide from others back to them, so they see their mysteries for themselves. However, your secrets can remain invisible to all and can even remain invisible to you.”

  Great. I help others see themselves and can’t see my own self. Maybe Dante was seeing he didn’t want a future with me. Or did I send him the message that I didn’t want a future with him, the one I could see now, always taking a back seat to his work?

  “The Lovers is a dual card and can be very complicated given the situation of those involved. It suggests you have to make a decision between two people you love. Once you’ve made your choice, you should never rescind or change that decision or there will be consequences that are not happy ones. The Lovers card says love is like a fire that can ignite a blaze of passion, or it can be a blaze of destruction if you choose poorly and act recklessly.”

  “Are you saying I could self-combust like your car?” I asked. “Does this mean there are two men in my life, and both are right for me in different ways? Do you see me with anyone in particular, or can I pull another card that might give me some answers?” I had fired off too many questions from the look on Sandra’s face. She closed her eyes and sat quietly for a few minutes. I thought she was falling asleep and was going to land on the floor, the way she began to gently rock side to side in her chair. Finally, she stopped moving and opened her eyes, but only looked down at the cards, not at me.

  In a soft voice, almost like a chant she said, “The cards help you find your path. They don’t give answers but raise your awareness so you can find answers for yourself. They indicate you have all you need on your path. You need to focus and use the powerful forces already at work within you.”

  Sandra barely moved, but leaned forward and went back to looking at my palm. Then she let go of my hand, quickly scooped up the cards and in her normal voice, looking directly at me said, “You won’t self-combust.”

  It wasn’t Sandra’s fault I pulled weird cards. I didn’t want to mess with the cosmos since the two men in my life made for a complicated threesome.

  Dante was my next-door childhood sweetheart. Both of our families were making it all too clear they were waiting for a wedding date. Dante was not only physically unavailable to me most of the time he was also emotionally unavailable.

  Jiff wanted to be with me and give all the attention I could ever want. I wanted to burn those Tarot cards, but that seemed like a poor and reckless choice.

  “I see something else in your life,” she said when she started wrapping the cards back up in the silk scarf. She stopped in mid-movement, closed her eyes again and after a few moments she said, “Something from your past is back in your future. It’s red. A red bike. You’re not pedaling it.” Sandra squeezed her eyes together as if trying to see more. “You’re riding…on the handlebars. Oh, now I lost it.” She opened her eyes and said, “Maybe another time we can focus on that.”

  “Thanks for the reading,” I told Sandra getting up to leave. “I have more questions now than answers.”

  “I read what I see.” She picked up the cards indicating the reading was over. “It is what it is.” She left the table to return the tarot cards to their secret hiding place.

  As I let myself out, a shiver went down my spine even though Sandra did not have the AC window unit turned on. It was about ninety-eight degrees in her apartment and even hotter outside.

  Chapter Six

  I returned home from Sandra’s to feed the dogs. I had planned to unpack more boxes and try to get settled in my new apartment before my dinner date with Jiff. My day had been wrecked with the call from Woozie to drop everything and go to my parents’ home for the big reveal. Then Dante’s visit left me unsettled. I walked in and found Suzanne trying to pull the piece of carpet I found earlier away from the new dog.

  “Hey,” she said. “This one likes playing tug of war. We’re having fun.”

  Jesus had a snarling stronghold on it.

  “That was on Meaux’s bed earlier. I guess the new guy feels he should have it since Meaux has a cushion. Do you know where they could have found that? I’ll put it back. I’ll even buy a new piece if I need to since one of the dogs pulled it out fr
om wherever,” I said.

  “My closet had a piece in it covering the floor. I haven’t checked to see if all the closets have carpet pieces. Seems odd, though, since there are hardwood floors throughout. Why would you put a small rectangular piece of carpet in the closets?” Suzanne asked and decided to let the new guy keep it. “Your dog. You get it away from him.”

  “I’ll see where it belongs,” I said.

  “If it came out of my closet he can keep it. Anything new?” she asked.

  I just looked at her. “Yeah. You won’t believe half of it.” I filled her in on the CluckIt murder and kidnapping, Dante and Hanky showing up at the crime scene and topping it all off with the news of my sister’s pregnancy with one of Dante’s brothers.

  Suzanne had stopped washing dishes in the sink and was letting the water run holding a cup that was more than well rinsed and asked, “All this happened since you dropped me off last night?”

  “Yes, and that’s not all,” I said.

  “Not all? I’m listening but I only have three more hours until I have to be back at work,” she said joking.

  I started with my untimely drive-thru at CluckIt while we both started emptying boxes, putting away dishes in the kitchen.

  By the time I finished telling her all the details, we had most of the boxes emptied, broken down and put outside for trash pick-up.

  “Dante is acting like he knows nothing about the twins and my sister. He has had the last couple of weeks off before we moved and we didn’t spend any more time together than we normally do. Now he has a possible double homicide and I’ll see him even less,” I said and put the last of the empty boxes outside.

  “When we have a chance to see each other a little more he doesn’t take advantage of it. And when I asked if he knew how to replace that little piece of carpet he told me to call a flooring guy and stay outta crime scenes.”