Drive Thru Murder

by Colleen Mooney

  “Why do you call them Daddy?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” she said, “but they all ask me to, or when I answer they tell me ‘this is your Big Daddy on the airwaves with you.’ Stupid stuff like that. The ones with the biggest Daddy issues want me to talk to them about my favorite doll and how I braid my hair. You won’t believe what they want to do to me if I say…”

  “Ok, I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” I held up both hands as if that would stop the words coming at me. As relieved as I was to see Sandra, something was rolling around in the back of my mind. Something felt off about Sandra, and more than just her clothes. “Remember, you told me you sent your negative energy to the other palm reader—your rival, the one you don’t like?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she have tattoos on the backs of her hands like you do?”

  “She does but they’re different from mine. She has a tat of a half-moon on one hand and a sun on the other.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When I left Sandra’s house, I knew the body found in the French Quarter this morning was her rival. I had to call Dante back and tell him what Sandra said and it was not going to be fun. This information would now put me in contact with him for three murders. The good news, if there is ever any good news regarding murders, is any other detective I would call might think I had something to do with them.

  “Dante, it’s me. Can you meet me somewhere for coffee?”

  “Now? You want to talk now? I’m kinda busy right this minute.”

  “When can you meet me for ten minutes? This isn’t about us, but I need to talk to you. Trust me, you’ll want to hear what I have to say, and sooner rather than later.”

  “Oh no. Does this have to do with…

  “Look, I’ll explain everything in person, not over the phone,” I said.

  “Ok. I’ll meet you at the Morning Call coffee stand in City Park—in thirty.”

  “See you there.” I said, but he had already hung up. The police department should have a mandatory phone etiquette class for everyone they employ. Hanging up without saying goodbye was just rude. It was my biggest pet peeve and really irked me when someone I knew did it to me. Dante had been raised with better manners.

  I parked along the tennis courts opposite the Morning Call coffee stand under the sprawling oak trees opposite the Peristyle that sat alongside the lagoon. Coming to this spot put me in a nostalgic mood. Before the famous coffee and beignet stand moved here, it used to be an old casino in New Orleans and then it was a concession stand for paddle boat or canoe rentals when I was a kid.

  You could rent the boats around the back where it faced the lagoon, but inside was soft-serve ice cream and a photo booth. Dante and I had taken silly photos here once when we were kids. I remembered it like it was yesterday. It was his idea so he paid with his own allowance money, putting the quarters in the machine. I was in first grade and he was in second.

  The booth spit out four photos on a strip that we waited for anxiously. In all of them I was looking into the camera smiling and Dante was looking at me. In the last photo snapped, he impulsively gave me a quick kiss on the cheek caught on the film. He took the one of us kissing because I was afraid my parents would see it and I’d be in trouble. He gave me two and the ones he kept are still in his wallet to this day.

  My photos are in a box at home with my letters from him when he was in the military. Letters he never signed I miss you, I love you, I can’t wait to see you. Nothing like that. Most of his letters had to do with what he had to eat that day or a new gun or weapon he was being assigned to learn.

  This spot was my favorite in the park. My family would bring Sherry and me here when we were little, and we’d have a picnic under the Peristyle. We fed the swans and ducks that swam up to our picnic spot. My mother saved stale bread to feed the birds so we could eat all of our sandwiches instead of feeding them to the ducks.

  The truth was, she didn’t even make very good sandwiches, and my dad would say, “Oh, it’s all right if they don’t eat all of their lunch for once. They’re having fun.” Dante was usually with us and he would eat all of his sandwich and try to give the ducks part of mine.

  After feeding the ducks, my Dad would take us to Storyland to stop Sherry crying over some duck that grabbed bread out of her hand, or came to close to her. Storyland had all the fairy tales in life size production. There was a giant shoe that we could climb up, or walk under the arch for The Old Lady Who Lived in The Shoe, and a giant whale that you walked down steps into his wide open mouth and found an aquarium with goldfish inside like the whale who swallowed Pinocchio.

  Little Bo Peep was not so little and we could sit on her sheep. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall and there was another Humpty in a million pieces on the ground while the king’s men looked on. There was, and still is a petting zoo with goats and bunnies along with a train ride to take people all through the park.

  Of all City Park’s attractions, my favorite then and will always be the Flying Horses. This carousel is over one hundred years old and has all the original carved and hand-painted pieces. The flying horses have real horse hair tails and most of them move up and down after the ride starts. Dante and I always rode a flying horse while Sherry opted for the camel that didn’t move. In order to get us to leave Storyland, my dad would have to bribe me with real pony rides to peel me off the flying horses.

  Dante and I had been joined at the hip as children and all through grade school. That changed when Dante went to a co-ed public school for grades eight through twelve and I went to an all-girl Catholic school taught by nuns. When Dante enlisted in the military and left to go on tour, that was about the same time our families starting harping on us to get married and set a wedding date. Since Dante was halfway around the world, he didn’t have to listen to them.

  When I arrived, I thought I had beat Dante to the park so I walked along Storyland and then the lagoon by the Peristyle where several white swans gracefully cruised the shoreline. They swam closer hoping I might be one of the people who came out to feed them.

  It was another beautiful, low humidity morning and I didn’t want to sit inside. The outdoor park area in front of the café allowed tables to be placed without crowding each other. Only a couple of tables had patrons sitting alone reading the paper. I don’t know why I was surprised to see Dante seated outside at a table farthest away from anyone else.

  After all, he drives a police car with a siren and flashing blue lights. And he can speed without worrying about getting a ticket. Two large cups of café au lait sat steaming in front of him. He handed me one cup when I sat down and said, “I ordered you a cup and I already put that fake sugar you like in it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I should log this as one of his thoughtful moments.

  “So, what is it? And please don’t tell me it has to do with the cat lady across the street from you,” he said starting to sip his coffee.

  I am logging the short duration of Dante’s thoughtful moment.

  “Sorry, it does. She told me a week or two ago when I first met her—even before I had to pull her out of the hedge—that she knew that palm reader, the one found floating in the Mississippi River tied to a rock or something.”

  “Are you saying Sandra killed her competition? The fellow palm reader?” he stopped sipping his coffee with the cup in mid-air.

  “No. That’s wishful thinking on your part. She told me when I first met her she had directed negative energy at that woman and hadn’t seen her since. After I spoke to you and asked about the tattoos on the victim’s hands, I asked Sandra about the missing palm reader’s hands. She told me this morning when I went to see her that that woman, the rival, had the half moon and sun tats on the backs of her hands.”

  “Negative energy? Really, Brandy? Is this what you thought was so important I had to stop working on a real crime to hear?”

  “This is important.” I took a slow sip of my coffee. “I know we talked about negative energy, but Sandra
might be the last person to see her alive and she described the tattoos the dead woman had on both hands. Maybe she can I.D. her for you. I think she knows, or has spoken to the killer, but I don’t think she’s the murderer. I think Sandra is the key to this one and maybe others. Don’t you think that’s important?”

  “Others? What others?”

  “I don’t know yet. She told me she used to stop at the CluckIt sometimes on her way home before her car blew up. She must’ve known the two victims who worked there.”

  He looked at me like I had two heads, making me sorry I ever called him.

  “Look, just because she drove thru the CluckIt and knew those two in there—who are now dead—doesn’t mean she knows the murderer. Unless she is the murderer,” he said.

  “I just have this feeling there is more to it and Sandra is somehow involved.” I knew this was not endearing me to Dante since he didn’t work off feelings, ever.

  “A feeling? Well, why don’t you go hug that tree over there and see what other feelings you get.” He downed the rest of his coffee and slammed the empty cup down on the table. He stood up pulling his wallet out of his pants pocket to pay.

  “Wait just a minute. What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to help your investigation and not get involved, just like you asked me.” Well, it wasn’t just like he asked me, but it was close enough.

  “You’re already involved. You were at the crime scene, remember? You told the police you saw the person who was pulled out the window and he was wearing part of the CluckIt uniform.”

  “The person found in the lake was dressed in a CluckIt uniform?” I asked.

  “I shouldn’t have told you that, because we don’t have a positive ID on him or her, whatever, yet. I’m pretty sure it’s the kidnap victim.”

  “I think I know his name and something else,” I said.

  “Something else? How do you know that CluckIt guy’s name?” He was looking at me in disbelief.

  “Well, the woman at CluckIt that night told me his name was Charles Ballon and the one that was shot was James Batiste. Charles went by the name of Chardonnay when he was in drag and James went by Jimmie, or Merlot. Sandra told me she sometimes describes herself as other people and…”

  Dante cute me off, “What are you talking about? How can a palm reader describe herself to someone sitting in front of her as someone else if she’s reading their palm?”

  This was not going to be easy. I really didn’t want to be the one to tell him Sandra also worked in the phone sex trade—nude. I was hoping he’d find it out when he agreed to speak with her, which didn’t look like it was going to be anytime soon.

  “She tells people she is someone else at the other job she has. Just talk to her.”

  “What other job?” Dante was staring a hole in me and the vein on the side of his head was starting to bulge, indicating he was losing his patience and getting worked up. The vein was starting to look like a 3-D road map through the Rockies. This was Dante’s tell and never a good sign for the person he was talking to.

  “The other job she does from home. The phone,” I held my head down and tried to mumble ‘sex’ before ending strong and loud with ‘job.’

  “Phone sex? Did you say phone sex? Your neighbor across the street, Sandra, works as a phone sex operator? This is the Sandra—the phone sex operator—you are pulling outta the hedges a few times a week? The Sandra who’s reading your palm and telling you about her negative energy field trips? This is the Sandra you want me to talk to?” The veins on Dante’s head were pumping on both sides now and I thought he was going to give himself a stroke.

  “You have really good hearing. I’m guessing you always use ear protection at the shooting range.” I said. When he didn’t look amused, I added, “Yes. I don’t know any other Sandra.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep you outta this and to try to explain to the Captain how I know all this stuff? If you were anybody else, I would lock you up. The Captain would make me lock you up, or fire me.”

  “Lock me up? Do you think you should lock me up?” I could hear my own voice crack in astonishment. “I’m only trying to help you.”

  Dante slumped back down into the chair with his head tilted back and resting his hands on each leg. When he raised his head he said, “No, I don’t think I should lock you up.”

  “How do you know I didn’t do any of it?” Now I was good and annoyed, and if Woozie could hear me, she would say I was wearing the smart aleck.

  “I just know. I know you, and I can feel—”

  I jumped on Dante like one of the ducks in the lagoon on stale bread. “Oh! You can feel? Like a feeling? So, this feeling you have, it told you it’s not me? Let’s both go hug a tree. This time you can pick the tree. And while you’re having a feeling, have another one and start saying goodbye at the end of your phone calls, if only to me.”

  We sat in silence a few minutes while I sat up straight in my chair and sipped my coffee.

  “Woman, you’re driving me crazy,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t let you walk.” I said and gave him my biggest, sweetest smile.

  After a big exhale, Dante finally said, “All right. I’ll talk to Sandra.”

  “And please start saying goodbye at the end of our phone calls?” I asked.

  “What?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was late Friday afternoon when my office phone rang. It was Jiff’s voice and I realized I had missed hearing it. Jiff had been leaving me voice mail messages on my cell or texts all week saying how much he missed me, but he was representing the family of the victim in a murder trial with limited time to do anything else but prepare for the next day.

  He said, and texted often, that he would call me as soon as it was over. He sent cute smiley faces in his messages. The happy face was always in the message that said he was thinking of me. The sad face with an upside-down smile was in the message that said he missed me. He always added, tell Meaux ruff ruff for me.

  Jiff had a little female Schnauzer named Isabella. One day he had seen me bringing a rescue to his doorman to adopt. Sam, a retired policeman, named the rescue Einstein because he was the smartest partner he ever had. We became fast friends. Jiff told me he was trying to figure out a subtle way of getting Sam to introduce him to me when he saw me at the parade where we kissed.

  “I’ve been missing you and Meaux since the other night and thinking about you every day. I wanted to call you sooner, but I’ve been tied up with this trial which I had hoped would settle, and it finally did about ten minutes ago. I can’t wait to see you,” he said.

  “Well, did you get your man?” I asked.

  “He’s going away for a long time and I don’t want to think of him for another second. I want to think about when I’m going to see you. How about dinner and a movie?”

  “What if we rent a movie and I cook dinner for you at my place tomorrow night? You’ve taken me to so many great restaurants here, and now I can finally thank you, especially after subjecting you to the neighborhood bar.”

  “Tomorrow night is perfect since I have a few things to wrap up this evening and I don’t want it intruding into my time with you. Should I bring wine or would you rather champagne?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

  “Surprise me,” I said. He said he would also bring the movie.

  Now that I invited Jiff for Saturday evening dinner, I had to cook something. Saturday, I planned and went shopping to make the dinner for him perfect in every way. I wanted to make the effort to let him know how much I had appreciated all the places he had taken me to. I remembered how much he loved the oysters en brochette we had one night, so I looked it up and decided to have that as the entrée. It was fairly easy, so I added my signature salad of hearts of palm made into a palm tree with chopped lettuce for the grass and slices of avocado and mango for the fronds.

  Peanut butter pie was his favorite, so I made that too. I set my dining room table—a card table Suzanne had s
alvaged from the last apartment. It was just plain shabby, not chic so I put a tablecloth on it that fell all the way to the floor so the shabby table was hidden. I had found four nice chairs at a second-hand store that matched and were more comfortable than the folding chairs we started with. I made a mental note to go to the auction coming up at one of the houses on Magazine Street and see if I couldn’t snag a more fitting table for my chairs.

  All of a sudden, I heard the sound of air escaping brakes from a large truck stopping in front of our place. When I opened the door, two men were standing there holding two large potted areca palms.

  “Miss Brandy Alexander?” one asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Where do you want these?” one delivery man asked while the other put down his plant and headed back to the truck.

  “I didn’t order these,” I said. The palms, approximately five feet tall, were from a very upscale plant boutique on Elysian Fields.

  “Here’s the card. It says here on the delivery sheet they are house warming gifts. Please sign here.” He pulled out a clipboard from under his arm after he had set down the palm.

  I opened the card which was in a small envelope with my name, a slash behind it and Jiff’s last name, Heinkel, after it. The card read, I hope you think of me every time you water and walk past them. Love Jiff.

  After I read the card, I instructed the men to put them on the porch on either side of the front door. That way, Jiff would see them when he arrived.

  Once I had signed for the palms, I scrambled to finish setting my table, putting out two taper candles in my grandmother’s crystal candlestick holders, and putting a small bouquet of fresh flowers I pinched from our neighbor’s garden in a vase on the table.