by Nic Saint
“Remove the body,” Alina interrupted. “How perfectly horrible.”
Emerald, who’d been sitting nearby, chimed in, “This is a nightmare. This weekend should have been about the celebration of friendship, but instead it’s been marred by fighting and bickering and now this—I don’t think I’ll ever do another one of these weekends ever again.”
“You know?” said Alina suddenly. “I think she did it on purpose.”
“Did what on purpose?” asked Emerald as she took a swig from her Coke Emerald. Judging from the way she was slurring her words a little, Odelia had the impression it contained more than just Coca Cola.
“She chose this weekend to kill herself—so she could tarnish your reputation by her suicide. Don’t you see? People will never accept this as a suicide—you know what they’re like. This is going to bite you in the ass, Emerald. It’s going to haunt you forever. And that’s exactly what she wanted.”
“The witch!” Emerald spat, shocking Odelia.
“She was a witch,” Alina said. “First getting it on with my husband, now killing herself to get back at you. You should never have invited her.”
“I had no choice. She was part of the cast. I couldn’t very well invite everyone and not her—there would have been a scandal. She would have made such a terrible stink.”
“Well, she sure made a stink now.”
“Yeah, she did,” Emerald agreed.
Abbey had joined them, while the husbands were all gathered by the window, talking in hushed tones. Verna, meanwhile, sat all by herself, rocking back and forth, and clearly brooding on something.
“We were just discussing how Kimberlee probably did this to try and destroy Emerald,” said Alina. “I mean, why else would she kill herself here? Now? This weekend? She could have killed herself any time, any place, but she chose to do it here and now. Why? To damage poor Emerald’s reputation.”
“Poor Emerald’s reputation,” Emerald said, swirling the contents of her Coke. “A reputation now royally screwed. Fifty-year career? Poof. Gone. Because of one spiteful little cow.”
“I think it’s a good thing she’s gone,” said Abbey. “I mean,” she quickly added when the others all stared at her, “I know this is a very politically incorrect thing to say and all, but you’re absolutely right, Emerald. Kimberlee was a spiteful cow, and she deserved to die, if you’ll pardon my French.”
“Pardoned,” Emerald said, producing a little hiccup.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” asked Odelia.
Alina turned to her as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t even know the woman. So maybe she deserves to be treated harshly.”
“That’s right, you didn’t know her,” said Emerald. “She was a terrible person. A great actress, but a terrible person.”
“She slept with my husband,” said Alina. “They’ve been sleeping together for months now.”
“She slept with my husband, too,” said Emerald sadly. “But then she probably slept with everybody’s husband as far as I can tell. She was a horrible little tart, Kimberlee was. Just dreadful.”
“She didn’t sleep with mine,” said Abbey. “I would know, wouldn’t I?” she added when Alina scoffed and said, “Oh, please!”
“The only reason she didn’t sleep with your husband is because she wasn’t interested,” said Emerald now, giving Abbey a sad look. “She told my Pete how Seger came on to her, and offered to have a quickie in her trailer. She said she wasn’t into girly men like Seger, and turned him down flat.”
Abbey looked shocked. “What?!”
“Yeah—so don’t act like your Seger is a saint who practiced amazing restraint. He’s just as big a philanderer as Pete or Reinhart.”
“Well, shit,” said Abbey. “She was a horrible little tart, wasn’t she?”
“We’re talking about a woman whose body is lying upstairs,” said Odelia, who didn’t think this conversation was appropriate. “Show some respect.”
“I would show some respect if she hadn’t gone after my husband,” said Alina, her face now flushed.
“And mine,” said Emerald, holding up her can and taking a sip.
“And mine,” said Abbey. “Or actually my husband went after her.”
“So did she go after Verna’s husband?” asked Emerald now, turning to Verna, who still sat brooding in a corner, nursing a glass of an amber liquid that didn’t look like apple juice.
“Worse,” said Abbey, pressing her lips together.
“Worse? What are you talking about?” asked Alina.
Abbey shook her head, her lips still clamped together.
“Oh, come on, you can tell us,” said Emerald, tugging at Abbey’s sleeve. “We’re all friends here—more or less. We told you our biggest, dirtiest secrets, so you can tell Verna’s.”
“Kimberlee did have an affair, but not with Verna’s husband but with…” She darted a meaningful look at Verna. “… her.”
Alina and Emerald look appropriately shocked, and so did Odelia.
“Kimberlee had an affair with Verna?”
“Yup,” said Abbey. “And then she dumped her. Just like that.”
“I didn’t even know…” Emerald began.
“That she liked to play both sides? Oh, yes, she did. She once came on to me, actually. We were best friends and she came on to me. Tried to kiss me and grab my boob. Can you imagine that? We were sitting there, chatting nicely and suddenly she grabbed my boob. Or both boobs. No, this is how it went down: she looked me in the eyes—deep, you know—then grabbed one boob, kissed me and grabbed the other. I was so shocked I didn’t even react.”
“And then you grabbed her boobs.”
“I did not!”
“I remember—you used to be thick as thieves, until you weren’t,” said Alina, clasping her hand to her face.
“We were besties—or at least that’s what I thought. And then one day she decided to take matters to the next level, or what she assumed the next level was, and when I told her in no uncertain terms I wasn’t up for that kind of thing, she dumped me—froze me out completely, and started hitting on Verna. Soon they were thick as thieves, and a little more. Thieves with benefits.”
“Oh, my God,” said Emerald with a snort of shock.
“So that’s why she’s in mourning,” said Alina. “She just lost her girlfriend.”
“I don’t think they were still together,” said Abbey. “I’m sure Kimberlee moved on already. She wasn’t one to linger. Hit and run kinda girl.”
“But she had a boyfriend,” said Odelia. “How did Zoltan feel about this whole... sleeping around thing?”
“Oh, he didn’t like it,” said Abbey. “Kimberlee once told me Zoltan hated it, and threatened to leave her if she didn’t change her ways.”
“Maybe she did, change her ways,” said Emerald. “I mean, they’re still together, aren’t they?”
“Zoltan Falecki is a weak, weak man,” said Abbey. “Amazing physical strength but a personality like a wet sock. He may have told her he was gonna leave her, but between telling and actually doing it lies a world of difference. So no, I don’t think she changed her ways. And yes, I think Zoltan hated it.”
“She really doesn’t sound like the kind of person who would kill herself,” said Odelia thoughtfully. “I mean,” she added when all eyes turned to her, “people like that don’t kill themselves. On the contrary. They thrive. They prosper. And they live life to the very fullest.”
At least that was the impression Kimberlee had given her the night before. And that morning. She glanced over to Verna once again, and just in that moment the young woman looked over at her. Their eyes met, and Odelia was surprised to find in Verna’s expression not the sadness and the grief she’d expected but a different emotion altogether: pure relief.
Chapter 20
Franklin Johnson was having a rough day. Being a security guard for one of the world’s most famous movie stars wasn’t usually a w
alk in the park but this weekend had been worse than usual. Word had somehow gotten out that Emerald had invited a few of her famous friends over and the gate had been hounded by paps ever since. There were easily a dozen of them, with their cameras clicking incessantly the moment they thought they saw movement at the front door of Casa Emerald. Unfortunately the architect who’d designed the grounds had neglected to follow the advice of wiser, more experienced architects to design a curving driveway that hid the main house from view. Instead, it was a straight line to the house, a trait of the place the paps loved.
And then there was the fact that Emerald had decided to ignore Franklin’s advice to install a solid steel-plate gate—impervious to lookie-loos and paps.
Sometimes it was almost as if she wanted to be photographed.
That morning, however, had suddenly seen a threefold increase in activity at the gate. Now not only paps were there, hoping for a money shot of Emerald in her bathroom showing some skin, but serious reporters, too, asking for a comment or a quote, and three satellite vans from local news stations.
In other words, sheer pandemonium.
He’d almost neglected to admit the cop who’d driven up in a beat-up old squad car, figuring he was just a pap pretending to be a cop. He was a beefy guy, with a face only a mother could love, and looked like a character from a seventies cop show. His ID was legit, though, and after conferring with the lady of the house—or rather Pete, who handled such matters—he’d allowed the guy to pass through.
The sound of the bell alerted him another breach was being attempted, and he frowned at his monitor. A little old lady with little white curls sat in an old red Peugeot and was smiling at the camera.
“Please state your name and business,” he said wearily.
“Hi, I’m a guest of Odelia Poole? I’m here to deliver the cats.”
He blinked. Of all the lame excuses… It seemed like the crackpots were out in force today. “This is not Odelia Poole’s house, ma’am. This is the residence of Emerald Rhone, and if you have no business here, please leave.”
“You don’t understand. I’m a guest of Odelia Poole, who’s a guest of Emerald, so you gotta let me in. And did I mention I’ve brought the cats?”
Cats. What did cats have to do with anything? With a tired groan, he hoisted himself up from his office chair and walked out into the line of fire. Those creepy paps all started shooting pictures of him. Then, when they saw it was just him and not some celebrity, minor or major, they desisted and instead started hurling questions at a rapid-fire pace:
“So was it murder?”
“Can you confirm it’s Kimberlee Cruz that died?”
“What happened to the body?”
“How did she die?”
“How did Miss Rhone react to the news?”
He waved them away with an annoyed grunt, and walked over to the gate. The little old lady was poking her head out of the little red car.
“Lemme in, will you?” she shouted from the other side of the gate. “My sciatica is acting up and if you don’t let me in right now I’m gonna be in so much pain you’re gonna have to call an ambulance.”
“You’re not invited, lady,” he said, “so beat it.”
“I am invited—by Odelia Poole. The Odelia Poole—the famous reporter.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He’d checked his list, and Odelia Poole was indeed on the guest list. Famous, though, she was not. At least he’d never heard of her.
“Or you can ask my son—Alec Lip. That’s Chief of Police Alec Lip to you. He’s in there, isn’t he? And he needs my help.”
The notion that a cop would need his mom’s help brought a tiny smile to his lips.
“Hey, what is this? Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot?” one pap quipped.
“Did the Chief forget his lunch? Did you bring his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?” asked another.
The little old lady turned to the two paps and directed a look of such menace at them they quickly shut up.
It was true, though. Chief Lip was at the house at that moment, investigating what appeared to be a suicide. But that didn’t mean a thing.
“Please get lost, ma’am,” he said gruffly. “If you’re not a cop or a guest I can’t let you in.”
“But my son—”
“If you want to talk to your son, I suggest you call him,” he said, and started walking back to his guard shack.
“If you don’t let me in right now I’m going to have him arrest you for obstruction of justice,” the little old lady said, not sounding as pleasant and well-mannered as before. “And then you can explain to the judge how you impeded an ongoing investigation, you fat bozo!” she yelled.
He froze. Slurs about his weight always did much to sour his day. He swung around. “That was uncalled for, ma’am,” he said. He now saw that a cat was seated in the passenger seat. It was fat and orange. Behind it, he saw three more cats. What the actual…
“I’m only saying it to get your attention,” she said, now suddenly smiling sweetly again. “You’re not fat, sir. In fact you’re exactly the right weight for your size. Now if you’ll call my son, you’ll see that this has all been one big misunderstanding, and that I do, in fact, have every right to be here.”
He had a feeling the woman was going to stand there forever, and block the gate, so he decided to humor her. He took his phone and called up to the house.
“Yeah, Johnson. What is it now?” said Pete.
“Some old woman claims to be the Chief of Police’s mom. Says I need to let her in. She’s brought cats.”
“Cats?”
“Yeah, four of them, by the looks of things. She also says she’s Odelia Poole’s grandmother.”
There was a momentary silence on the other end while Pete processed this, then a curt, “Hold on.” Moments later, he was back. “Just let her in.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered, and walked back into his shack and punched the button that operated the gate. It noiselessly swung open on its hinges. The paps all moved forward like a pack of rabid dogs, so he walked back out, his hand on his truncheon, and gave them his best menacing glare. “Back off!” he yelled. “Back off, you bunch of frickin’ vultures!”
He shouldn’t have bothered. The little old lady had gotten back in her car, stomped on the gas, and the car practically ran over the paps, then zoomed up the drive, pelting them all with gravel, and almost hitting a small stone statue dedicated to one of Emerald’s dogs that had passed away.
“Chief’s mother, my foot,” Franklin muttered, and punched the button again to close the gate. This time he hoped a pap would be dumb enough to get his head stuck between it, or his butt up on the spikes, but no such luck. Instead they all stayed on their side of the gate and so the long day wore on.
Chapter 21
Chase stuck his head in the door and announced, “Your cats are here.”
“What?” said Odelia, getting up.
“And your grandmother.”
“Wait, what?” she said, hurrying to the door.
Chase led her out into the hallway, where they arrived just in time to see Marge’s old Peugeot drive up and disgorge one little old lady and four cats.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Odelia in a low voice.
“Hey, I didn’t invite them, and neither did your uncle, which means you did, right?”
They shared a look, and Chase’s face took on a grim expression. “She invited herself.”
“Of course she did.”
“Only your grandmother would invite herself and four cats to the house of the greatest living acting legend and think she can get away with it.”
Behind them, Emerald had materialized. “Who is that woman?” she asked now. “And are those… cats?!”
“That’s my grandmother,” Odelia announced blithely, “and she’s brought my cats.”
Emerald looked stricken, but not furious. Still under the impact of the recent tragedy that had befallen her. “You know I
’m allergic to cats, right? I strictly told you over the phone not to bring cats into my home.”
“I know,” said Odelia. “But my grandmother has a way of inserting herself into places without asking for permission first.”
“And I can see why. It’s very hard for any homeowner to throw a little old lady out on the street.”
“So she can stay?”
“I don’t know,” said Emerald, shaking her head. “My allergies…”
“Oh, but I’ll keep the cats far away from you,” said Odelia, even though she didn’t believe for one second that Emerald was actually allergic to cats.
“They’re not very allergy-inducing,” Chase said helpfully.
Emerald stared at him for a moment, then said sweetly, “For a cop you’re not very bright, are you, Mr. Kingsley?”
It was probably the first time Chase had ever been called stupid, but he took it well. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s just that—”
“All right,” said Emerald, throwing up her hands. “I guess if I’m going to put with a horde of cops in my house, I might as well accept their cats along with them. Though I always had the impression cops favored dogs. But then what do I know?” And she stalked off, only to be replaced by her husband, who looked even more nervous than usual.
“About those cats…” he said.
“It’s fine, Pete,” said Emerald, walking away. “I dealt with it.”
“But you’re allergic to cats, my pet,” said Pete.
“I’ve dealt with it—now you deal with it!” she shouted, and husband and wife returned to the library, slamming the door as they did.
Odelia watched on as her grandmother returned to the car, started the engine and parked it a few inches more to the right, almost clipping a nice marble statue of a dog with the rear fender. She got out and trudged up the steps.
Odelia met her halfway. “Gran! Didn’t I tell you not to come?!”
“Now is that the way to greet your beloved grandmother?” She looked around the marble entrance hall. “So this is how the other half lives, huh? Oh, hi, Chase. Didn’t know you were here, too.”