One cloudy afternoon last winter, during an anemic rain storm, Spenser was enjoying a slow, albeit damp perambulation of the grounds. She rounded the north bend of the wisteria arbor and saw the stoic attendant ministering to an injured sparrow. Spenser watched, fascinated, as Kanesha, the tyrant, spoke soothingly to the frightened creature, cleaning its wound and setting it gently in the protective branches of a maple tree. She never forgot Kanesha's nurturing look. Some tyrant.
"Hey, Kanesha."
"Hey, Spenser."
"Sarge," called Bea. "You are looking exceptionally spiffy this morning."
"Thank you, Bea. And you are looking mighty fine yourself."
"Clean living, my friend."
Spenser raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, right."
"Hey, now," warned Kanesha in mock seriousness. "Compared to me Beatrice does live clean."
Bea and Kanesha enjoyed a friendly high five, then Bea sashayed toward the theatre, a farewell wave lingering in the air.
"Kanesha..." Spenser moved closer and spoke quietly. "Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did."
"Right. Well, here's my real one. Have there been a lot of thefts here lately?"
Kanesha's gyrations slipped into a lower gear. "Thefts? What’s brought this on?”
“Just something I heard. Nothing specific. I was just curious.”
Spenser didn’t think Kanesha was going to answer. But after a few seconds she said, “Well, between you and me, we have had a few items go missing.” Kanesha emphasized the word ‘missing’. “Maybe three, four in the last five months or so."
"That sounds like a lot."
"It happens." Kanesha shrugged. “Someone’s ring gets left behind at a restaurant bathroom; someone else’s earrings are under one of the oleander bushes and we just haven’t found them yet. People are people, Spense. They lose things all the time.”
Spenser was trying to hide her disappointment. Maybe her burglary theory wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Dang.
Casting out another line, Spenser asked, "What do you think of Overoye?"
"Ival the Awful?” Kanesha snickered.
"I haven’t really worked with him, but he really bugs me, you know?"
"Bug is the right word. Man is like some slimy insect always popping up in someone's soup. Sometimes I wish I could just swat him. Know what I mean? Gives me the creeps."
"You noticed anything...I don't know...odd since he got here?"
"You mean like nothing ever getting fixed?"
"He's not very good, is he?"
"Girl..." Kanesha's head began undulating. "If I was doing the hiring and firing around here, you better believe that man would not have lasted six days let alone six months."
"So, why's Shumway keep him?"
"Personnel are Brianne's purview."
That can't be right. "Saunders doesn't mind his incompetence?"
"Seems to believe his résumé over his work." Kanesha eyed Spenser. "What's up with this, Spense?"
"Nothing. He just makes me nervous is all."
"I heard that." Kanesha placed her hands on her hips. "And believe me, I'm keeping an eye on him."
Spenser couldn't help but smile. She called up a mental image of ex-Army sergeant Kanesha, her knee digging unmercifully into Overoye's ribs, his scruffy neck firmly clenched between her petite but powerful hands. What an uncharitable thought. Three Hail Marys for that one. Spenser's smile broadened.
Kanesha began weaving her way toward the reception area. "Gotta go, Spense. You take care."
"You too. See ya."
Spenser caught up with Bea who held open the auditorium doors. "What was that all about?"
"Girl talk," lied Spenser.
They strolled down the aisle toward the orchestra pit fascinated by the sight before them. Dr Saunders was in the pit gesturing expansively at the actors. Overoye was standing center stage watching with amused disdain as the tiny troupe of stage hands tried to put up lights. In vain. And Spenser knew why. They were trying to fasten leakos (long, tubular light fixtures) to battens (long poles stretched from wing to wing) designed for Fresnels (squat, square fixtures).
This is a job for super stagehand.
Somehow, even with his back to her, Overoye knew she was there. He turned slowly and cast his malevolent eyes on Spenser.
"Expert's here." His voice was as scratchy as a used razor on a two-day stubble, his face dull and vacant. He picked up his carpenter’s knife, shoved it in a pocket and headed for the backstage exit.
"What a warm, sensitive man." Bea finally understood Spenser's reservations. "Overoye, I presume."
"'Fraid so."
"Spenser..." Brianne waved, beckoning with her smile. "Glad you made it."
"Wouldn't've missed it." Spenser suddenly remembered her mom's admonition that she could go to hell for lying as well as stealing. Another Hail Mary and an Our Father for sure.
"Brianne, this is Bea."
"Hi, Bea." Brianne cupped Bea's hands in hers, genuinely pleased. "It's really sweet of you to give us your Saturday morning."
"Glad to help."
"Where's Tucker?" asked Spenser, scanning the Sunflower Players.
"I asked him to find Gina Mae. She was late for rehearsal." Brianne checked her watch. "Hmm. I just may have to send someone to find Tucker now. I'll wait another ten minutes then call out the cavalry."
Spenser and Bea mounted the stage and were greeted by the frantic volunteers with questions and doubts. Spenser began explaining why Fresnels were used on stage battens while Bea assimilated quite nicely into the paint and clean up brigade. Bea knew almost every parent, her memory, unlike Spenser's, retentive not only of names but bits of familial trivia as well. The next fifteen minutes flew by unnoticed by all.
Suddenly, Kanesha's cannonball voice exploded in the theatre. "Dr Saunders..."
A startled Brianne hurried to her chief attendant. Whatever Kanesha was saying upset the director tremendously. She turned, and in a tremulous voice said, "Lois, would you mind continuing the rehearsal." Then she and Kanesha raced out of the auditorium.
Spenser had a bad feeling about this. She looked at Bea then, in unison, they jumped off the stage and hurried after Brianne and Kanesha.
The two friends caught up with the director at the reception desk. All four women followed the contour of the eastern corridor. The silence was heavy, weighing portentously on their shoulders. Spenser's stomach was hurting. The women slowed outside Gina Mae's room. Brianne's hand shot trembling to her mouth. Kanesha entered the room, followed by a shaken Brianne.
Spenser and Bea came up slowly to the door, the horror of what was before them contorting their faces. Lying in bed was Gina Mae, her eyes cold in death; her hands still frantically clenching the bedcovers; her tongue swollen and protruding from her mouth. Bluish marks were beginning to appear around her throat, Tucker's Special Olympics medal around her neck, the ribbon cutting into her flesh. And on the floor, lying in a grand mal stupor was Tucker, Regina Hungerford holding his head in her lap.
"I called the coroner," said Regina to Brianne.
"And the police," added Kanesha hesitantly.
Oh, god. None of this was registering. Spenser saw the evidence but still the comprehension eluded her. She wanted to pinch herself out of this nightmare, turn off this sick television show. She scanned the room looking for the murderer. But there was no sinister hit man cowering in the corner. There was only Tucker.
Curiously, the closet had been torn apart. Gina Mae's chest of drawers hanging open and every item of clothing thrown on the floor. Spenser's stomach was hurting even worse. She looked at Gina Mae and became nauseous. She had to lean on the door jamb because her knees were buckling. Bea was in the hallway, breathing as though she'd just run a marathon.
"I was walking by," began Regina, "the door was ajar. I came in and saw this. I screamed." She lowered her head toward Tucker who was beginning to groan. "Kanesha heard me."
Spenser heard
sirens coming close. Brianne gently placed a blanket over Gina Mae.
"CC," whispered Spenser. "I should call her."
"No, Spenser." Brianne's words were calm, steady. "We have to leave this to the police."
"She shouldn't hear this from a stranger."
Bea touched Spenser's hand. "They know what to do, Spense."
Brianne came and stood beside Bea and Spenser in the hallway. "You could do me a big favor, Spenser." Spenser tried to listen. "You and Bea could find Kay, tell her what's happened, and ask her to gather everyone in the theatre. It'll be easier for the police to interview everyone there."
Spenser marveled at her composure.
"Fortunately, most of the staff are off. And quite a few residents are visiting family."
Spenser must have looked like an extraterrestrial trying to understand Urdu. Brianne touched Bea's arm pleadingly.
"C'mon, Spense." Bea gently pulled on her friend's arm, but Spenser was afraid if she unlocked her legs she'd collapse.
"I think Kay's in the solarium." Brianne smiled wanly. Sirens were blaring at the entrance; car doors opening and closing.
"Let's find Kay, Spense."
Spenser moved, relieved to find that she was still upright, and walked solemnly to the solarium. Kay was standing alongside a baker's rack filled with African violets. Spenser listened as Bea told the disbelieving doctor what had happened. None of it seemed real. Spenser's ears were ringing and she was lightheaded. She kept expecting the alarm to go off any minute now waking her from this insane nightmare.
Bea and Kay were walking out of the solarium and Spenser was aware of following them. She couldn't remember at what point she left their company, winding up back at Gina Mae's room. Tucker was still on the floor, but sitting up with Brianne's help, his shocked eyes glued to Gina Mae, who was uncovered and being photographed.
Standing at the foot of the bed was a Harry Guardino lookalike, taking notes. A uniformed officer was digging through the debris on the floor. A plain clothed officer was inventorying everything in the room. Yet another was twirling a brush against solid surfaces looking for fingerprints.
Kneeling next to Tucker was a light-complected African-American woman whom Spenser's mom would have called handsome. She was beautiful in a down to earth not too cute way. She had a square face, unadorned with makeup, large brown eyes, and a pouty mouth. Her voice was soft but commanding. She was asking Tucker what had happened, but with no success. Tucker was still fairly dazed from the epileptic seizure.
Spenser knelt down beside him and turned his face toward her. "Tucker..."
"Excuse me." The policewoman's tone was not hospitable. "Who the hell are you?"
"Tucker," reiterated Spenser, ignoring the cop.
"Morris..." The woman's bark brought a uniformed officer rushing into the room. "How'd she get in here?"
It was a rhetorical question and Morris took it as such. The embarrassed officer grabbed Spenser's arm and began hauling her out of the room.
"No, Lieutenant, wait." Brianne spoke to the woman. "Spenser's a good friend. Tucker may respond to her."
The cop reluctantly assented. Morris let go.
"Spenser, this is Lt Youngquist. Lieutenant, Spenser Isaacs."
The women barely acknowledged each other. Spenser once again knelt beside Tucker. "Tucker..."
His eyes cleared slightly as recognition sank in. "Aunt Spenser..." His voice quavered. His arms encircled her with such ferocity it frightened her.
"It's all right, honey." She deliberately kept her tone calm. His entire body was shaking. "Tell me what happened."
"Listen, Missy..." Harry Guardino was talking. "This is a police investigation."
Lt Youngquist rose and faced her subordinate. "Keith, do me a favor. Find out what's keeping the DA. All right?"
Sgt Keith Rysanek's temperature rose to just slightly shy of a solar eruption. He had yet to deal completely with the fact that his young, new lieutenant was a woman. He was an eighteen-year veteran of the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department and still a sergeant, all because of politics, dammit. She, on the other hand, was a snot-nosed seven-year rookie, promoted to looey simply because she had tits and permanently bronzed skin. Life sucked.
"Yes, sir." The words sounded like an invective. Chauvinism was alive and well in Keith Rysanek.
As the sergeant left the room, Spenser tried one more time to get a response from Tucker. "Tucker, honey, please tell me what happened."
"Don't know." His speech was slurred, his eyes still having trouble focusing. Just then, two coroner's assistants lifted Gina Mae's body, placed her on a gurney, and wheeled her from the room. "Gina Mae." Tucker's call was pathetic. "Gina Mae."
"Tucker," said Brianne, kneeling next to Spenser. "Gina Mae has to go away."
"I want to go with her." Tears were streaming down his face.
"Not this time, Tucker." Brianne gently wiped the tears from his face with the palm of her hand.
"But, we're going to the mall." He began rocking back and forth.
"Doctor..." Youngquist motioned for Brianne to join her in the hallway. Spenser was right behind them. "You understand I have to take him in." The lieutenant was matter of fact.
"But he doesn't know what's going on." Brianne's voice broke.
"I'm sorry." Youngquist was sympathetic, but firm.
"He's mentally challenged," offered Spenser.
"I understand that..."
"His mental capacity is that of a ten-year-old," added the director.
"Most ten-year-olds know the difference between right and wrong, Doctor." The lieutenant shifted uneasily. "Look, we have people who know how to handle situations like this. I've got a call into the D.A. You can talk to him."
"This is ridiculous." Spenser was not in the least concerned with the precise flow of justice as championed by the procedurally righteous lieutenant.
"We'll be interviewing him at the substation. We've already called his mother so he won't be alone." She turned to the still slightly embarrassed deputy standing just outside the door. "Morris, please escort Ms Isaacs to the theatre so she can give us her statement."
Spenser was about to protest, but the look in the policewoman's eyes warned her against any further antagonism. She made a face of disdain, calculably out of Youngquist's peripheral vision, then allowed Morris to lead her down the hallway.
Spenser stopped just as they reached the lobby and pointed to a payphone. “Please, I need to make a call. It’s to an attorney I know. For my friend.”
She must have looked so incredibly pathetic that Morris simply nodded. Spenser dug out fifty cents and Jesse Day’s card and dialed. Once Spenser had filled in Jesse on the scant information in her possession, Jesse agreed to run down to the Sheriff’s substation and introduce herself to CC.
Then Spenser and the stoic officer continued their walk to the theatre in profound silent. At least no words were spoken. But Spenser's thoughts tumbled loudly inside her head. She was trying to formulate a plausible theory. Tucker had walked into Gina Mae's room, saw her dead body, and went into a grand mal seizure. That was obvious. Also obvious was the fact that the murderer had already left before Tucker's entrance or Tucker, too, would be bundled into a body bag at this very moment.
Much less obvious was why on earth anyone would want to kill Gina Mae. She was hardly the type of person to engender that much rage. So it probably wasn't personal. That leaves, what, burglary? A definite possibility. That also presents the possibility that Chloe's death was murder and that burglary had been the reason behind that one as well. Which brought Spenser's thoughts round to the one person she felt was capable of such a thing. Ival Overoye. Well, her worst fears had been realized. Maybe now someone will take her concerns about Overoye seriously.
Spenser and the enigmatic Morris walked into the theatre. The volunteer stage hands were seated in the pit, their terrified adult children clinging to them, as a uniformed Sheriff's deputy asked questions and took notes. The sa
me scene repeated itself in the auditorium where small pockets of staff and residents were being interviewed by a handful of deputies.
"No more wandering around, Miss." Morris' tone was soft, barely causing a ripple in the still theatre air, belying his true emotion.
Bea rescued Spenser from the deputy and guided her to a row of seats near the middle of the house, joining a group of two residents and one attendant.
Death on Planet Pizza Page 12