by V. M. Burns
“If you’d prefer not to perform—” Horace said with a certain amount of eagerness.
“No! A star must adapt. I would never disappoint my audience.” She smiled. “Besides, the show must go on, despite the . . . obstacles.” She gave a condescending look to Freddie. “As my Eddie used to say, you cannot deprive the world of your gift.”
I could feel the steam emanating from Nana Jo. She huffed and pursed her lips.
I frowned. “Who’s Eddie?”
“Supposedly Edward the Eighth.”
“Edward the Eighth? King Edward the Eighth who married Wallis Simpson and abdicated the throne of England? That Edward the Eighth?”
Nana Jo nodded.
“But no one called him Eddie . . . ever.” I’d just finished writing a book which featured Wallis Simpson. I had tons of books on the abdicated king and his American wife. “His family and friends called him David.”
She nodded. “Yep. The dumb twit has no idea.” She fumed.
“Why don’t we take a short break,” Horace said.
Nana Jo’s eyes narrowed and she marched to the front of the room. When she got to the stage, she flung the costume at Horace and walked up to Maria. “Now listen here, you no-talent two-bit hack. If you ever insult my friend again, I’ll take that microphone and wrap it around your neck.”
Freddie hopped up from the piano and hurried to Nana Jo’s side. He placed a hand on her arm to calm her, but she shook it off.
Maria’s smile looked more like a grimace. “You are jealous. Did you come to see a real actress perform?”
Nana Jo snorted. “When you find one, let me know.”
The argument got louder and the ladies attracted a crowd. Not only were the performers watching, but several of the employees, including property manager, Denise Bennett, entered the auditorium to watch.
Maria bristled. “I see you’ve brought my costume. I shall, of course, have to have it altered. You are so tall and masculine, it will not fit.” She straightened her back and thrust out her huge chest.
“Right. You’ll have to add fabric to cover those watermelons you’ve got strapped around your neck.”
“Why, you . . . you . . . brute. How dare you.” She turned away from Nana Jo, took two steps, and then stumbled. She would have fallen if Freddie had not instinctively reached out to steady her. When he did, Maria leaned into him and clutched him as if he were a life preserver.
“I have a very delicate disposition. I’m not accustomed to being treated in this way.”
Freddie was holding up Maria while Nana Jo scowled and steamed. He looked panicked.
Maria heaved a heavy sigh and flung her arm around his neck. “You are so kind.” She stared lovingly at Freddie. “If you will help me back to my room, please, I must take my medicine.”
Her face was mere inches from Freddie’s.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to sit down. I can go and retrieve your medicine.” He attempted to steer her to a nearby chair, but Maria refused.
“No. No. I moved into a new apartment. Everything is in turmoil. You would not find it. I alone can find the medicine. I knew you were a gentleman.” She stared into his face. “You have kind eyes. I know you will not fail to help me.”
Freddie turned to Nana Jo.
If she weren’t so angry, she would have seen the anguish in his eyes, but Nana Jo was furious. “Freddie, if you go off with that hussy, then you can just stay with her, for all I care.”
His eyes pleaded. “Jo, you don’t mean that. Look, I’ll just help Miss Romanov to her room and I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Maria gasped and clutched at her chest. “Oh, please, I am unwell.”
Freddie helped Maria out of the room. He looked back at the stone-cold wall of Nana Jo’s face one last time as they went through the doorway.
“If I had my gun, I’d deflate those weather balloons and turn Freddie from a rooster to a hen in one shot.” Nana Jo turned on her heels and marched out.
Chapter 4
I caught up with Nana Jo in the parking lot. “Are you okay?”
She paced. “I’m madder than a wet hen.”
Irma, Dorothy, and Ruby Mae hurried out to the parking lot.
“Calm down, Josephine. You’ll send your blood pressure through the roof,” Dorothy said.
“I think we should go up there and kick her—”
“Irma!”
Irma broke into a coughing fit and then pulled a flask from her bag.
“Gimme that.” Nana Jo held out her hand and Irma handed over her flask. Nana Jo took a swig. “New apartment, my big toe. That tramp might as well strap a mattress to her back. It’d be easier.” She wiped her mouth and handed the flask back to Irma.
“Josephine, you can’t let that pumpkin-haired hussy get to you,” Ruby Mae said. “No self-respecting man would have anything to do with her. There’s no way Freddie would lower himself.”
Nana Jo paced. “According to her, she comes from a long line of trollops. Her grandmother was a courtesan to King George the Fifth, and she had an affair with Edward the Eighth after he tired of Wallis.”
“If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge I can sell you,” Irma spat.
“Pshaw.” Ruby Mae snorted. “Edward the Eighth wasn’t a rocket scientist, but he had better taste than that.”
Dorothy nodded. “Ruby Mae’s right. Now, let’s get out of here and get a real drink.”
Nana Jo stopped. “Look, I know we’re supposed to go out tonight and I know you all mean well, but I’m just not up to it.”
“We don’t have to go out. We can go home,” I said.
Nana Jo shook her head. “I’m fine and I appreciate you all, but I need a little time alone. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
We looked at each other. Ruby Mae shrugged.
Dorothy stood toe-to-toe with Nana Jo and looked her in the eyes. “Josephine, you’re my oldest friend and you know I’d do anything for you.” She paused. “Are you sure?”
Nana Jo hugged her. “Yes. I’m sure.” She straightened up. “Just because I don’t feel up to going out on the town doesn’t mean you all shouldn’t enjoy yourselves. Go out and kick up your heels. Have a good time.”
It took a little convincing, but Nana Jo finally convinced Ruby Mae and Dorothy they should go out. Irma didn’t take much convincing. She was always ready to have a good time. In fact, she suggested a male stripper might perk Nana Jo up, but once that idea was vetoed, she resigned herself to a night out with the girls instead.
We ended up at the Four Feather’s Casino. It was a good one-stop shop. We got food, drinks, and entertainment all in one location. Ruby Mae had a large extended family that always managed to arrange free buffet meals for us, so the evening would be relatively inexpensive, especially considering we weren’t hard-core gamblers.
Ruby Mae never gambled much more than twenty or thirty dollars. She spent most of her time knitting by the large fireplace in the lobby and talking. Everywhere we went, she ran into people she knew. People liked her and they talked to her. She had one of those faces people trusted. The old saying, she never met a stranger fit her like a glove. It was a trait that meant it took her twice as long to go through the checkout at the grocery store while the clerk shared their life story; however, it came in handy when investigating murder cases.
Irma didn’t gamble much either. Instead, she spent her time, as Ruby Mae described it, chatting up men at the bar. Dorothy and Nana Jo were the biggest gamblers. As soon as we finished dinner, Dorothy headed for the high-limit room. She played twenty-dollar slots and table games. When I started hanging out with my grandmother and her friends at the casino, I worried. I didn’t want them to end up gambling away their pensions. When I broached the subject with Nana Jo, she laughed. That’s when I learned Dorothy Clark was a millionaire. Her husband owned a string of dry cleaners, which she sold after he died. She played and probably lost more than the rest of us, but she still stayed within her comfort zone.
&nb
sp; Hanging out with an older crowd caused me to notice seniors more than I had previously. A lot of them came to the casino for companionship and cheap entertainment. The retirement village even had a bus that transported seniors on weeknights, as did several other facilities in the area.
I sat at a penny-slot machine with a picture of a wolf on the front and tried not to jump every time the machine howled. It took thirty minutes before I figured out the basics of the game. It was a bit of mindless fun, which allowed me to think without taxing my brain. I was a low-budget gambler and twenty dollars went a long way on penny slots. A few weeks ago, I had a big win at the casino in Michigan City, Indiana. However, a lifetime of scrimping and saving didn’t vanish overnight.
We stayed until midnight and then settled up. The girls had a strategy whereby they always split their winnings at the end of the night. That way if someone had a losing night, it wasn’t devastating. Between the five of us, someone usually won. I felt guilty initially, especially since I didn’t gamble as much as Dorothy and Nana Jo. However, I felt much better after I won over fifty thousand dollars and could share my windfall.
I dropped the girls at the retirement village and drove home. Tonight Nana Jo stayed in her villa at the retirement village, so it was just my dogs, Snickers and Oreo, and me. After my husband, Leon, died, I sold our home and moved into the space over the bookstore. When a dead body was found in the back courtyard, Nana Jo moved in and stayed with me off and on. With both Dawson and Nana Jo away, the house was very quiet.
Snickers barely rolled over when I turned on the bedroom lights and refused to get up. I carried her downstairs to go potty. I opened the door and she squatted where I placed her, did her business, and looked up as if to say, now return me to where you found me, wench. Oreo normally barked at leaves blowing across the yard and sniffed every blade of grass before taking care of business, but apparently he was too tired to bother tonight. They were both slowing down. Their muzzles had a lot more white and, while their hearing had always been selective, I could now open a bag of potato chips without waking them. I had to face facts. My poodles were old. The very thought that I might not have many years left with them made me weepy. Snickers was a good cuddler and endured a tight hug while I carried her back upstairs. She was also fickle and her concern waned quickly. She yawned, licked my nose, and wiggled out of my arms and got in her bed. She turned a few circles and then settled down. Oreo wasn’t a cuddler and ran into his crate and waited for me to close the door before he settled in.
I undressed and got in bed. I was tired, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Nana Jo. She and Freddie would probably be okay. He was a nice guy and I think they really cared for each other. Normally, she was very self-assured and wouldn’t have blinked twice at someone like Maria Romanov flirting with him. Losing the part in the Senior Follies had been a serious blow and had eroded her confidence. I wasn’t sure how to help her. Eventually, I got tired of tossing and turning and got up.
“I can’t believe I spilled tea all over your mother.” Daphne looked stricken.
James FitzAndrew Browning, the 15th duke of Kingsfordshire, fought to hide the smile that threatened to break out on his face.
“She hates me.”
James pulled Daphne into his arms. “She doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t know you.”
Daphne stared into James’s face. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so. How can anyone who knows you not love you? Trust me.” James bent down to kiss Daphne but was interrupted by a sudden noise.
“Ah, sorry, old boy.” Randolph Churchill stumbled into the studio. “I thought his majesty was here.”
“Randolph, how are you?” James extended his hand and he and Randolph shook.
Randolph Churchill, the only son of Winston and Clementine Churchill, was a handsome man in his late twenties. He was tall with movie star good looks. He had light hair and eyes which held a spark of intelligence behind lazy, droopy eyelids.
“Now, who do we have here? Don’t tell me this is the delectable Lady Daphne Marsh.” Randolph leered. “How about a kiss for your cousin?” He reached for Daphne, but she stepped aside and Randolph stumbled.
“Hello, Randolph. Your mother warned me you’d be here.” Daphne crossed her arms in front of her and created a barrier of separation.
Randolph chuckled and stared at Daphne as a starving man looked at a steak dinner.
James’s fist clenched by his side and he took a step forward.
Daphne gently touched the duke’s sleeve and recalled him to her side.
Randolph noticed the gesture and threw back his head and laughed. “Steady on, old boy.”
“She said you were bringing a guest.” Daphne said the last word as though it were a disease.
“Yes, well, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to introduce Jessica to the great one.” Randolph smirked.
Daphne looked scathingly at her cousin. “Uncle Winnie isn’t here. I believe he was to meet with that BBC producer. Perhaps you should try his study.”
Randolph gave Daphne one last lecherous look, smiled, bowed to the duke, and walked out.
Daphne shuddered. “What an odious man. I pity the woman willing to put up with him.”
James put his arm around her. “If he bothers you, I’ll wring his neck.”
Daphne smiled. “I can handle Randolph. He’s a tiresome boor who’s been indulged and pampered his entire life. Uncle Winnie raised him as though he were the dauphin.”
James frowned. “Heir apparent to what? He isn’t a peer. His uncle inherited the title.”
Daphne sighed. “Chartwell, The House of Commons, England. Randolph told me once he has two goals. He wants to be rich and he wants to be prime minister.”
James stared in disbelief. “Well, I suppose anything’s possible, but . . .”
“Randolph’s a fool. He’s a drunkard and he’s rude.”
“I’d heard he inherited his father’s gift for oration.”
“Oh, he’s smart enough, but that just makes it worse. He’s intelligent and he knows it. He looks down on people. I’ve never liked him.”
James smiled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking. If Randolph continues the way he’s going, my mother will have someone else to focus on. He’s bound to deflect some of her ire away from you.”
“I just hope he doesn’t pick a fight with his father. That will make both of them cross. Uncle Winnie will get in a funk and Aunt Clemmie will worry and fuss, and then she’ll get angry with Randolph. It’ll be a horrible mess.”
James kissed Daphne. “Well, come on, old girl, we’d better get back to the house and see what trouble is brewing.”
I was startled out of my 1938 reverie by my cell phone. In the early hours of the morning, the sound reverberated off the walls and echoed. I looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. I picked up my phone and saw my grandmother’s picture.
“Nana Jo, do you know what time—”
“Sam, get over here quick.”
The sound of my grandmother’s voice acted like a freezing glass of water to wake me.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Maria Romanov’s dead. She’s been shot and that twerp, Detective Stinky Pitt, thinks I killed her.”
Chapter 5
I was so frazzled by Nana Jo’s call, I didn’t remember getting dressed. I should’ve been suspicious when I saw smirks on the faces of the policeman who tried to prevent my entry into the retirement village. However, I was focused. Eventually, I was admitted and walked to the security desk.
“I’m looking for my grandmother, Josephine Thomas.”
He stared for a second. The sides of his mouth twitched but he quickly contained them. “Down the hall and to the right, but—”
I was halfway down the hall and never caught the end of his sentence. When I got to the room, I looked through the window. Nana Jo and Detective Stinky Pitt were inside. I opened the
door and went in without knocking.
“Nana Jo are you alright?” I hugged her. “I’ve been trying to call Jenna, but I keep getting sent to voice mail. Did you call her?”
“Mrs. Washington—”
“You better have a darned good reason for holding my grandmother, Detective Pitt. This is ridiculous. My grandmother wouldn’t kill anyone. Just because she threatened to kill her and is an excellent shot doesn’t mean she actually did.” I was rambling and pacing in the small office.
“Sam!” Nana Jo held my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “Stop. You’re going to get me hung if you keep talking.” She hugged me. “By the way, what’s that in your hair?”
“My hair?” I instinctively reached up and felt my hair and landed on a comb tangled in a bird’s nest of frizz. It took a bit of manipulation, but I got it out and stood holding a large-toothed blue comb. It must have gotten stuck when I was dressing. In my nervous state and haste, I’d apparently forgotten about it.
Nana Jo reached in her purse and pulled out a handkerchief, licked the corner, and then wiped under my eyes. “You’d better start removing your makeup before you go to bed, or you’ll regret it when you’re my age.”
Under normal conditions, having my grandmother spit clean me like a mother cat cleaned a kitten would have embarrassed me beyond belief. Whether as a result of the unusual circumstances, or sheer relief my grandmother appeared to have the situation in hand, I couldn’t say. Whatever the reason, I allowed myself to be cleaned up.
“Now, that’s better.” She handed me the handkerchief, which was stained with eyeliner and mascara, and patted my hair down.
“Are we done? May I continue my interview?” Stinky Pitt’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Detective Pitt was a short, fat, balding detective with a penchant for short, tight polyester clothing and an overabundance of cologne. He’d been labeled “Stinky Pitt” by his boyhood classmates. Nana Jo was his third grade teacher and enjoyed using the old nickname to annoy him whenever she could. I first encountered Detective Pitt several months ago when he accused me of murder. Needless to say, we weren’t exactly the best of friends.