Ghostwriters In The Sky

by Anne R. Allen

  “I’m so glad Marva found you,” I said to Donna as we slid down on the car floor. “What about Luci? Did either of you see Luci?”

  “No sign of her,” Marva said. “I looked all over that house. Walker had Donna locked in the laundry room.

  “I think there was bleach spilled on that floor. The place stank of it,” Donna said with a loud sniff.

  There was a terrible crack, and the car thudded to snail-pace.

  My body went cold as I watched Marva take her gun from her pocket.

  Walker Montgomery’s voice boomed outside. “Come on out, Marvin. I know you’re in there with your little girlfriends.”

  In the back seat, Donna babbled loudly in Spanish, I supposed to some saint. I hoped it was a powerful one. We needed all the help we could get.

  Marva flicked on her lights and floored the gas pedal, swerving wildly. I hung onto the door handle as I tried to maintain my crouch.

  Another shot blasted the car. Above, I could hear the windshield shatter. Marva slumped over the wheel. The car skidded to a stop.

  We were trapped.

  “Okay ladies. Out.”

  Walker Montgomery opened the door and yanked me out of the car. He shoved me toward Duncan, who was standing by the hood, holding Walker’s big gun.

  “Get your hands off me, prune-face!” Donna kicked at Walker as he pulled her from the back seat. She looked okay, except for the white splotches on the seat of her Donna Karan from the bleach. Poor thing.

  But when Walker opened the driver’s door, Marva lay slumped over the wheel. Walker pulled on her arm, and she didn’t move. He gave another heave and she fell from the car, landing on her side, lifeless. The hugs and kisses bracelet glinted in the moonlight.

  “Oh, my God, you killed her!” Donna screamed.

  Marva, dead. It was too horrible.

  I could hardly breathe as I stood by the car and stared at the deathly still body, looking more male than female now in spite of her satin trench coat and sparkling flats. Donna whimpered and ran to Duncan.

  “Duncan, honey, how could you let him do that? I thought we were going to stay friends. That’s what you said when we broke up. You wanted to be friends. You’re such a liar.”

  Walker was down on the ground examining Marva’s body. I saw a sudden flash of silver. In an instant, Marva came to life, all kicking legs and flashing gun. I heard a pop. Now it was Walker Montgomery who slumped—clutching his arm as he fell against the hood.

  Ignoring Walker’s cry of pain, Marva strode over to Duncan, lowering her gun as she approached.

  “Sorry I had to shoot him, Duncan, but you saw what a brat he was being.”

  She opened up her tote bag and pulled out the folder.

  “Here, sweetie.”

  She waved the letters in front of Duncan. As he grabbed for them, she casually clamped her hand on his wrist and wrestled him for the big gun.

  “Duncan, you moron…” Walker screamed.

  Marva turned, grinning as she brandished both guns.

  “We don’t need guns now, Walker,” said Duncan. “We’ve got the letters. It’s all over. You can let Luci go, too.” He moved toward the house and leafed through the letters under the porch light. “Thank you, Marva. Walker’s been beside himself…. Oh, my God, do you suppose this is true about President Reagan?”

  Walker leaned on the car, clutching his wounded arm.

  “Marvin, you pervert bastard! You had those letters all along? Luci said she was getting them from somebody—it was you?”

  Marva dismissed him with a cold look and turned back to Duncan.

  “Duncan, baby, don’t let Miss Thing over there give you any more crap. Those are yours. Bought and paid for. You do whatever you want with them. Give me my twenty thou and we’re done. A deal’s a deal.”

  “A deal?” Walker exploded. “You’re going to pay this blackmailing drag queen for stuff I already paid for? I told you I’d take care of it.”

  “Oh, sure. You took care of it.” Marva kept both guns trained on Walker. “You didn’t even bother to get the letters from Toby after you killed him.”

  “I did not kill Toby Roarke!”

  Walker’s voice boomed as he supported himself on the car’s hood.

  “I own over a hundred guns. Why would I kill somebody with a sissy frying pan? Besides, Duncan will tell you—I was here all last night.”

  “That’s right,” Duncan said. “We had a little dinner party with some of the network news crew who were here for the grape protest. Walker was here the whole time. Marva, can we go inside and be civilized? I’ll get your money.”

  Duncan took Donna’s arm and eyed her ruined dress.

  “I’m sorry about your dress, honey. Walker can be so awful, can’t he?”

  Marva motioned for everybody to go back to the house.

  I hated to go back into the house I’d just escaped from. But Marva had the power right now.

  “Yes. Walker is awful,” Marva said, menacing the men with the big Colt. “He’s also a liar.” She ushered us into the den. “So Walker—where the hell is Luci? Did you kill her too?”

  Walker collapsed in the big chair, clutching his arm.

  “Marvin, I did not kill anybody. That bitch Luci said she was in contact with somebody who had the letters. She wanted two hundred thousand. No way was I going to let her extort that after I’d already paid once. For totally bogus crap. I’ve never seen those letters before. They’ve got to be some kind of crazy forgery.”

  “And that’s why you killed her?”

  “Would anyone like a quick cup of coffee before you go?” said Duncan, putting on an absurd perfect-host smile.

  “Totally!” said Donna. “Can I have mine with nonfat milk?”

  “No, we wouldn’t like a cup of anything,” Marva said, stifling her with a look. “And we wouldn’t like you to go call the cops or get more guns. Just show me the money, Duncan. Sorry, Walker. He wanted to keep it a secret from you. He said you wouldn’t pay one more penny after what you gave Toby.”

  She stood by the doorway, wielding a gun in each hand—looking like an old-time, two-gun cowboy, except, of course, for her extraordinary cleavage and the purse in the crook of her elbow.

  “I don’t care how many network flunkies you hired to provide an alibi, we all know Walker killed Toby.”

  Walker sprang to his feet.

  “I did not kill anybody!”

  Something about his wounded pride convinced me the man was telling the truth. At least about Toby and Ernesto.

  But that didn't mean he wouldn't kill us if Marva let down her guard.

  Chapter 53—Shell Game

  Walker took two steps toward Marva and laughed, in spite of the guns she had aimed at him.

  Marvin, you've always been such a drama queen. I didn't kill anybody. In fact, they’ve got the real murderer in custody, over at the Rancho.”

  Marva snorted. “And if you believe that one, I'd love to sell you some nice real estate on the moon…”

  We did not need the confrontation between these two to escalate.

  “Believe it or not,” I said in a perky voice. “Walker’s actually telling the truth. Silas Ryder was just on the phone with Alberto. Apparently they have a confession. It was one of those Viboras after all.”

  “Oh, right,” Donna said, plopping down on the couch. “Some gang kids walk into a fancy-ass resort, without anybody noticing, and murder Ernesto. And instead of tagging the place, they get all cute and make it look like a suicide. Then they sneak in the next night and bonk some geezer with a frying pan, even though they’ve all got, like, guns up the wazoo. And the third night they break into Luci’s locked hotel room and kidnap her—and don’t ask for ransom! And they don’t touch that bitch’s brand new two-thousand dollar boots or the collectible handbag. But they take the time to go through my manuscript and throw it all over the room. Oh, yeah. Gangbangers do that stuff all the time. They don’t give
a damn about money.”

  Marva laughed.

  “Right. So why don’t you admit it, Walker? You killed all of them. You knew that hotel inside and out. All its weird little secret passages. Because you worked for Hank Boggs way back when. I’m sure you learned how to sneak in and out of that place just like I did. So why don’t you tell us where you dumped Luci’s remains?”

  Walker gave a raspy laugh.

  “You always did live in fantasyland, Marvin.” His grin looked grotesque in the firelight. “And Luci’s fine—sort of. She shouldn’t have lied and told me she had all the damned letters when she only had three. I only wanted to search the room. It would have been slick, since there’s that door from the servant’s wing that leads onto her balcony. I could have just sneaked in and out. But she sat in that room forever, painting her damned fingernails. I only found the three letters and she wouldn’t tell me where the rest were.”

  “But she didn’t know, because I had them.” Marva smiled, obviously savoring it. “I promised Duncan I’d get them and I did.”

  “Well, the one thing I know about Luci is she lies a lot. So I brought her here for a little persuasion.”

  Walker gave an evil chuckle. I wondered where the poor woman was.

  “Then she lied again and told me Donna had the letters and was asking a hundred thousand for them.”

  Donna wailed. “Liar is right! She is such a bitch. I told her I wanted a hundred thousand for my novel advance, not for some stupid letters. I told her I don't even know about any letters.”

  Duncan harrumphed.

  “But it’s all over now!” he said. “Everything is fine. It’s time to forgive and forget.” He opened the folder Marva had given him, took out a letter, crumpled it and tossed it into the fire. “The important thing is the Sheriff has somebody in custody for both deaths, and Luci will be fine. This little episode is over.”

  Walker clutched his wounded arm. Marva stood in the doorway, her guns trained on him. Nothing seemed fine to those two.

  “I couldn’t care less about Luci,” Marva said, “But if she’s still alive, I suggest you keep her that way, because nobody’s going to believe that gangbangers fairy story two times in a row.”

  Duncan threw another batch of letters into the fireplace. We all watched the flames in silence.

  “What about those other folders you found in that cabin when you were nosing around, Walker?” he said. “Do they have forged nonsense in them, too? Let’s get rid of everything and have done with this whole nasty business.”

  Walker opened an ancient roll-top desk and took out two more gold folders.

  “You want to burn Under Deadwood by Mitzi Boggs Bailey? Or Blue Rage, a novel by M. J. Zukowski?” He started to toss them in the fire.

  “No!” I sprang to save the manuscripts. “Mrs. Boggs Bailey’s play? And Rick’s book! You stole them—why?”

  Walker lasered me with an angry glare.

  “You know perfectly well, Miss Oh-So-Innocent. You’re the one who had the fake letters all along. You gave them to Mitzi Boggs when she came to Plant Smith’s cabin the night that kid got shot. That’s why they weren’t there when I broke in pretending to be one of her ghosts.”

  “Mr. Smith's cabin? The Zorro cabin? You broke in? ” Marva said. “Was that when you killed Ernie? ”

  “Of course not,” Walker said. “I didn't go in until after the coroner had been there. But the letters should have been there. Ernie stole them that night to give to Smith and get back at Toby. But I searched that place from top to bottom the next night after the cops left. All I found was poor old Mitzi’s cowboy play. Dr. Manners here must have switched them the night the kid died, because the cops were there the rest of the time. I don’t know why, but I know she did it.”

  He tossed the folders to me with a sneer.

  Truth dawned as I flipped through my memories of that night. Plant trying to zip his trousers. Mitzi coming over with her play and then taking it back.

  I must have given her the wrong folder. There must have been two: one with her play and the other with Ernesto’s forgeries and all the other blackmail stuff he’d stolen from Toby.

  Maybe he had intended to confess to Plant. It was so tragic.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose! All the folders look alike.” I stared helplessly at the yellowed pages of Mrs. Boggs Bailey’s play as I realized what had happened. “Detective Fiscalini kept accusing me of violating his crime scene, but that was you looking for Toby’s folder, wasn’t it? Then you snuck into my cabin, pretending to be headless—still looking for the letters? ”

  Walker glared at the fire.

  “Yeah. I broke in and took the folder. I tried to look like a headless ghost for Mitzi’s benefit. I thought it was her asleep in that cabin—it had been hers the night before. But all I got for my trouble was that drivel written by Captain Road Rage. Plus a bump on my head from a flying shoe.”

  He gingerly touched the bruise on his forehead.

  “You thought putting up your collar and slinking around would make me believe you were a dead bandito?”

  I was not going to let him know his ridiculous ploy almost worked.

  “It was Mitzi’s cabin, for God’s sake,” Walker said. “The collar thing had worked on her before. But why the shell game, Dr. Manners?”

  He moved closer to me. I could see blood dripping from the sleeve of his wounded arm. He wasn’t clutching it now. In fact, his good hand hung limply at his side. Was something wrong with that one, too?

  “Have you and Marvin been working together all along?” He took another step toward my chair.

  “Of course not. I only met her when she broke into my room and started rummaging in my luggage…” I turned to Marva. “How did you know I had the folder? Mitzi only gave it to me right before dinner.”

  “Don’t I know it! I was hiding under the old lady’s bed the whole damned time. I knew the letters must be in her room, because she had Ernesto’s Oscar Wilde stuff that had been in the same folder. I heard about her giving the Oscar Wilde forgery to Plant Smith. The maids must have packed that folder in with her stuff when they moved her from the cabin up to the Hacienda.”

  “So you were Mitzi’s ghost that last time—the one she thought put the folder in her chifforobe?”

  Donna sighed. “Can we stop talking about ghosts? I’m tired of the stupid ghosts.”

  Marva ignored her.

  “Yeah. I was there to steal the folder. But she gave it to you. Mitzi moving around from room to room sure did make for one crazy shell game.”

  “And you have a Burberry coat? In the fawn plaid?”

  “Of course. Just like you wore at that fundraiser when you had that photo in People Magazine.” Marva turned to Duncan. “Hon, you want to get a move-on with my twenty thou? I want to get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Walker seemed to be moving closer to me. I wanted to get out of there too. The man terrified me more than any ghost.

  Marva waved her gun at him. “Walker, why don’t you help Duncan get my money. After that, you can deal with these two idiots any way you want.”

  I felt my throat close. Marva was going to take the money and run.

  And leave us here. With a couple of dangerous lunatics.

  Chapter 54—Dead Women Tell No Tales

 

  I tried to keep my expression calm as I watched Duncan unlock a drawer of the old desk and pull out a fat envelope that looked stuffed with cash. Keeping her guns on Walker, Marva indicated to Duncan that he should drop the money into her faux Fendi spybag.

  “You’re just going to leave us here? I don’t think so.” Donna jumped up and exploded in fury at Marva. “Do you know how much I paid for this dress? I deserve a cut of that.”

  She lunged at Marva, trying to take the envelope from her purse.

  Marva elbowed Donna in the stomach, flinging her back toward the couch.

  Donna grunted and Marva looked the tiniest bit apol
ogetic. “You do not ever want to come at me like that, girlfriend. Special Forces training.”

  That was when Walker made his move. He had a dagger-shaped letter opener in his good hand. He grabbed Marva from behind, with the dagger-point at her throat. Blood dripped from his gunshot wound, but he had the strength to grip her, pinning her arms.

  “Drop the weapons, Marvin. Drop them on the floor now.”

  The guns made an awful clatter as they dropped on the slate floor.

  “Pick them up, Duncan, for God’s sake,” Walker said. “Do something useful for once in your life.”

  Duncan picked them up slowly, keeping clear of Marva’s big feet. He hung onto the bigger gun and handed the other to Walker.

  Walker let go of Marva, weighing the little silver and black gun in his good hand as he pointed it at Marva.

  “A Kimber Eclipse. Nice little weapon, Marvin.” He turned to Duncan with a condescending smile. “Now this is the kind of handgun you should have bought, Duncan. Not a big cannon like that King Cobra.”

  “I liked that gun!” Duncan said. “I don’t know why you had to throw it inside Plant Smith’s car. Nobody was going to believe he’d own a gun like that.”

  “You threw a gun into Plant’s car?” I said. Just when things started to make sense, they fell apart again. “Why would anybody do that?”

  Walker turned on Duncan in fury.

  “You see what you’ve done, you moron? You just told them. You told them what you did. Now we’ll have to kill them.”

  Marva stood by the door, rubbing her throat, her expression unreadable. Donna glared at the door, as if expecting to guilt-trip it into producing a deus ex machina.

  Donna turned to Duncan with a bratty whine.

  “Come on guys, I don’t have a clue what anybody did to anybody, and I don’t know thing one about guns. Let me call a cab. That rental car of Marva’s isn’t going anywhere with your damned bullet holes in the tires.”

  Duncan gave a sort of whimper.

  “See. They don’t know anything.”

  Walker looked at me and then at Marva.

  “These two—they’ll figure it out. Why would you try to incriminate Plant Smith if you didn’t do anything, huh?”

  Donna was still trying.

  “So why don’t you take us down to the Saloon?” she said. “We’ve got a car down there, if you’ll give me back those keys you stole. We’ll forget all about this. What happens in gay-cowboy-land stays in gay-cowboy-land, okay? I’m cool with that.”