by Brian Bakos
44. Frank’s Last Hurrah
“If your mother says she loves you, check it out.” – Ace in the Hole Detective Agency mission statement
The next few days were very hectic for Laila with much time spent in the presence of John Hogan and his varied associates. The funeral home visitation had been delayed to allow time for the highly detailed autopsy Henry and Patricia had demanded. Some legal wrangling with Blackjack over the specifics delayed things further.
Laila spent a lot of time reading documents, signing papers, even taking a firearms lesson during which she’d shot practice rounds with the 9mm pistol. She’d very much enjoyed the feeling of power it gave her. Among the many other pieces of business, she applied for a gun carry permit. Never again would she be subjected to the whims of any man.
Things were going quite well, according to Hogan, and her financial future was increasingly secure. For the first time in her life, she would be safe from the terrifying threat of poverty.
There were other errands to handle as well, involving the house and the final preparations for Frank. Propriety suggested that Laila visit the funeral office to check on things, even though Henry and Patricia were handling the actual arrangements, in accordance with their father’s wishes.
The office was kind of a one-stop shopping affair, since the funeral home and cemetery were under the same ownership. Laila and Debbie sat at a table with an extremely sympathetic representative who went over all the details with them. This office also served as a display room for the various casket models. Coffins lurked around the walls on two tiers, lids open, promising blissful rest for their occupants.
The representative assured them that Frank’s coffin was the “top-grade model.”
At one point, the representative excused himself to get some paperwork. He was so accommodating that Laila half expected him to gesture to the open caskets and say, “Please make yourselves comfortable.”
He did nothing of the kind, of course. He maintained his polished demeanor throughout. He was an “oily bastard,” in Frank’s parlance.
Debbie often accompanied her on these errands, despite the disapproval of Henry, and when Debbie wasn’t available, one of the Musketelles filled in, usually Sharese. A hulking security man also came along, driving the car or standing unobtrusively in the background ready to brush aside any pesky individuals who might try to approach the grieving, and very rich, widow. On a couple of occasions, such people did appear, but one glance at the bodyguard convinced them to make themselves scarce.
Laila went with Sharese to pick out an appropriately somber outfit for the funeral parlor visitation. Sharese was happy to go, especially since her favorite bodyguard, Lonnie, was coming along.
“He can guard my body any time he wants!” she said.
After making the purchases, they headed to Gemrock for lunch.
$$$
Since her Ace in the Hole investigator had been driven off from his cover across the road from the Armstrong estate, Ilsa McIntyre had no way of telling who was coming and going from the house. In fact, the detective agency wanted nothing further to do with the case.
Weak as water! Ilsa would not be dealing with that outfit again.
Her mole inside the agency had been glad to take her money in exchange for confidential information, as when he’d tipped her off about the plot of the rich man’s daughter. He’d been abruptly dismissed; however, and nobody else in the agency wanted to talk to her any more.
So, she simply trusted to luck that she could bump into Laila Armstrong somehow. Ilsa had come to respect her, considering her as a type of colleague, almost. Laila was a beautiful young woman, as she herself had once been before marriage to an inappropriate man had stolen her best years. She wanted to give the young widow a final piece of advice.
Gemrock or the shopping mall seemed the most likely places to make contact. Ilsa considered the casino for a while but then dismissed it. As much as the new widow might need some R&R, appearing at the gambling casino would not be wise; it would make a bad impression on the sharks who were circling around sniffing money in the water.
Ilsa knew about such things from her own battle to retain her late husband’s assets. Thank God she’d had a sharp, reliable lawyer on her side!
Ilsa spent her time hanging around either Gemrock or the mall, hoping that Laila would show up. Margaret and Pauline covered whichever beat she couldn’t get to on any given day with firm instructions to phone if they spotted the quarry.
Today, Ilsa was at the Gemrock bar, seated at a side table with a clear view of the main restaurant. Or rather, Carlita Blade was there, sipping rum punch and jotting notes about her latest novel, fine tuning the climax for Death on the Lawn.
The lovers plot the death of Lord Albert, in which he gets “accidentally” plowed under by a rotary tiller. But before this can happen, Lord Albert, in a fit of jealous rage, abuses the heroine as she’s feeding the birds. The hero, Gaston, rushes to her defense and challenges Lord Albert to an “affair of honor.”
Lord Albert is happy to oblige. Before Gaston can draw his sword, Lord Albert treacherously nicks the hero’s arm with his blade. The tip of Lord Albert’s sword contains a poison that will bring certain death unless it is promptly treated.
Carlita paused and glanced about her surroundings. No sign of Laila Armstrong. She went back to her notes.
As the men duel on the back lawn, a parallel battle takes place between a large blue jay and a heroic, though seemingly overmatched, male cardinal. The cardinal is defending the food supply for his lady love perched on the rooftop.
Gaston gains the upper hand, but the poison starts to take effect and he weakens. The heroine looks on, horrified. Lord Albert knocks Gaston’s weapon away and is about to inflict the killing blow when he is suddenly seized by a massive heart attack. He drops his sword, stumbles up the steps to the back door, then collapses dramatically back down the stairs.
At the same moment, the cardinal triumphs, and the blue jay flies off, defeated.
The heroine calls 911. A big ambulance arrives and hauls both men toward the hospital, the heroine rides along. Lord Albert expires, cursing his misfortune and expressing his forlorn love for the heroine – but it’s all too late.
Gaston gets to the poison control center on time and survives. They live happily thereafter, carried along by great sex and Lord Albert’s money.
The main problem was, Carlita couldn’t decide exactly when the story was taking place. The setting wavered between modern times and the old ‘genteel’ South with its self-righteous slave owning aristocrats. The hero, Gaston, kept switching between a blue collar guy from the local lawn service and a crypto-abolitionist slave overseer with Northern sympathies. Sword duels and ante-bellum mansions existed side by side with automobiles and cell phones.
Did they even duel with swords back then, or were pistols the preferred method of slaughtering each other? Swords were so much more romantic, in Carlita’s opinion.
Oh well, things would just have to get smoothed out in the second draft. Or maybe the story could simply change back and forth between eras, adding a science fiction element to the drama. The main thing was that she already knew the novel’s beginning and end. It was just a matter of populating the in-between spaces with sex and violence.
Voila! Another best seller.
Maybe ... a lot depended on the publicity hype. She jotted down some possible blurbs:
Carlita Blade, literary alias of Ilsa McIntyre – a woman charged with one of the century’s most sensational murders – has burst upon the scene with a new novel of lethal passion and forbidden love ...
or:
There are times when the path to true love must lead through the dank wilderness of homicide. So says Carlita Blade, literary alter ego of Ilsa McIntyre – a woman accused of ...
Carlita spotted Laila Armstrong. She was with her blond friend and a huge man, a bodyguard no doubt. They were walking past the bar area toward the Garden Room.
$$$
As her cocktail took effect, Sharese began openly flirting with Lonnie. He remained his usual, impassive self, however – sipping fruit juice, eyes constantly roving about the Garden Room. It was filled with guests today, some of whom glanced curiously toward the man seated at the corner table with two attractive women.
Whatever that guy’s got, I’d like some of it! more than one male patron thought enviously.
Laila permitted herself a single drink to settle her nerves. Picking out her drab funeral outfit and shoes had taken a lot out of her. Thank God, society had moved beyond the veils and black dresses that widows were once forced to wear, but this attire was bad enough. Laila determined to get rid of it immediately after the funeral home visitation.
Faced with Lonnie’s granite aloofness, Sharese finally gave up her seduction attempts.
“Think I’ll visit the ladies’ room before the food gets here,” she said. “Coming, Laila?”
Laila shook her head. “Not right now.”
Sharese left, and Lonnie relaxed a bit.
“She’s really quite nice,” Laila said. “Maybe sometime, when you’re off duty ...”
She let the topic fade out. Lonnie replied with a reserved little smile.
They’ll be in each other’s pants soon enough, Laila thought wickedly.
The idea brought a smile to her own lips. Then it disappeared abruptly. Right beside her, seated in Sharese’s vacated chair, was her late husband.
He wore the same awful black suit as before, but there was no blood on him now. His face was ghastly pale, and his head was twisted at an odd angle, indicating his broken neck. There was no anger or accusation in his eyes this time, just bleak, inconsolable sadness. A heavy odor of roses attended him.
Laila gaped at the apparition; emotions of fear, guilt, and loss struggled within her.
“Ma’am?” Lonnie said.
She tore her eyes away from Frank Armstrong.
“I ... uh.”
She glanced back. Sharese’s chair was blessedly empty.
“I-I’m fine, thank you, Lonnie,” she said.
She reached for her glass of water, but then another phantom appeared. The old lady she’d encountered at the mall was standing right beside her!
“You’ve been granted a wonderful reprieve,” the woman said. “You must beware the perils – too much grief and too much joy.”
“W-who are you?” Laila stammered.
“A friend, perhaps,” the woman said, “certainly not an enemy.”
Lonnie was on his feet now, towering above the woman like a church steeple. He looked powerful enough to flick her away with one finger, but there was an unmistakable hint of trepidation in his eyes.
The woman smiled up at him innocently, then turned her attention back to Laila.
“I’ll not interrupt you further,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you again in happier times, or maybe not.”
She moved away and disappeared into the crowd like a puff of smoke.