Designed for Death, page 14
I let go of the ivy stem and grabbed the scissors.
A door creaked open, its seldom-used hinges aching in protest. I inhaled a sudden whiff of aftershave. Something pungent and cheap. Old Spice? Senses at terrorist alert, I tightened my grip on my weapon. Turn around. Face the danger. Immobilized by fear, I waited too long, the scissors useless in my clammy fist.
A hand of steel grabbed my wrist, pinning it to my side.
“Drop it,” a deep voice commanded, “before you stab somebody.”
“Dick! For Pete’s sake, you nearly scared me to death.” Twisting out of his armlock, I whirled to face him, mad enough to sock him on the jaw. “What are you doing here?”
“I own the place, remember?” He glanced at the scissors. “Be careful with those things.”
“That’s not the answer I want, and you know it. Sneaking around like that, coming up behind my back. Good grief.”
I put the scissors close by on the table, but I doubted I’d need them. He’d overheard my chat with AudreyAnn and knew she’d nail him if anything suspicious happened to me. I think. So I was pretty safe. I sank onto one of the dining room chairs and tried to calm down. “Where were you? Hiding in the entry closet?”
“Yeah.” He had the grace to look sheepish.
“Why?”
“I was looking for something. The door opened and I got a whiff of that perfume…so I hid out in the closet. I figured AudreyAnn had come back for the bracelet, and if she caught me in here alone, she might want to…you know…start up again. Marilyn’s mad enough now. She’d kill me if she ever found out.”
I eyed him openly, not even trying to hide my disdain. But after a split second, not wanting to play judge and jury, I looked away. “So why didn’t you leave when she went into the bedroom?”
“That’s when you came in, and I was kind of embarrassed. You know, about hidin’ out. But you’ve been fiddling with those greens so long, I was afraid I’d suffocate.”
“Poor baby.” I arched an eyebrow. “Did you find it?”
“Find what?”
As I stared at him, his face took on the familiar color I’d christened Deep Dick Red. With a sigh, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a gold chain bracelet. A tiny ruby heart dangled from one of the links.
“Now that you have it, what are you going to do with it?” I asked.
He looked at me as if I couldn’t put two and two together. “What else? Give it to Marilyn.”
Egads, Dick was such a dick. “Supposing AudreyAnn sees it on Marilyn’s wrist?”
“She’ll know we’re over. Once and for all.”
Who could argue with logic like that? “Do me a favor, Dick?”
“Sure. I guess I owe you.”
“Look in the closets before you leave. And behind the shower doors. Under the bed, too. I need to finish the arrangements, and I don’t want any more surprises.”
“No problem.” He glanced around. “You’re doin’ a good job. The place looks better already.”
Though I didn’t agree, I nodded anyway. At least the sounds I’d heard hadn’t come from Simon’s condo. So chances were good that when I went downstairs, the Ferrari would still be gone. Not that I care, Jack.
Chapter Seventeen
“It’ll be a funeral to die for,” Faye said when she called me the next day.
“Aren’t they all?” was on the tip of my tongue, but I choked back the retort. “Where and when? I’ll put up a notice on the Surfside bulletin board.”
“Tomorrow, lovey. Moorings Beach at twelve. The obituary’ll be in the morning paper.”
“I’ll look for it and be sure to post the notice. Chip’s planning a luncheon for afterwards. A lasagna feast, actually. So invite anyone who’s coming to the funeral. We’ll meet in the Surfside clubroom after the ceremony.”
“Marv. I’ll bring dessert.”
At high noon the following day, the Surfsiders, ready for action in assorted cutoffs, shorts, halter tops (AudreyAnn) and T-shirts, assembled on the beach. Huddled together under the row of Australian pines that divided Moorings Beach proper from the parking lot, a group of six or seven other people waited on the tarmac. I recognized Hedda and Roy, the handsome blond waiter from the Foxy Lady, but not the rest.
A bright blue Taurus drove into the lot. Two young women in sundresses and sandals stepped out and stood next to Hedda and company. I’d never seen them before but assumed they must have known Treasure.
I huffed out a worried breath. Treasure’s sendoff was about to begin without a hearse, a cortege, a church, a clergyman, a eulogy. Without a casket. Without a body.
Not even organ music rising in the air.
What was left? Then I realized I was underestimating Treasure. Forget the organ music. She would do the rising herself.
“Jeez, he’s back. Can’t I get rid of that guy?” Dick muttered as a travel-stained Mustang badly in need of a wash cruised in next to the Taurus.
Lieutenant Rossi emerged from behind the wheel. He’d dressed for the occasion in yet another Costco version of the Hawaiian shirt—this one in black and blue palm fronds. If his fiancée picked out his clothes, she sure had horrible taste. What would he look like in a white shirt, chinos and polished loafers for once? Not like a fugitive from a circus, anyway, I sniffed. Making no attempt to speak to anybody, he stood alone and aloof, leaning on the hood of his car, twirling one of those stubby pencils between his blunt fingers.
I’d been dreading this moment, afraid memories from Jack’s funeral would flood back and I’d fall to pieces. But somehow I didn’t. Maybe I needed ice and snow and incense and organ music and a mahogany casket holding my beloved to relive the worst day of my life. Instead, the sun beat down with its usual ferocity, turning the sky azure and the gulf waters true blue. Gulls rode the wind currents, the pines murmured to each other in the salty air, and Simon smiled at me as we stood there waiting for Treasure to arrive.
“Okay, here we go, everybody,” Neal said suddenly as a panel truck drove into the lot followed by a familiar Camaro.
The cortege.
“I freakin’ don’t believe it,” Dick said.
“Dick, pack it up.” This moment belonged to Treasure, and I wanted him to keep quiet and respect her memory.
From behind me, I heard a high-pitched whistle as if someone had spotted the unbelievable. I turned and caught a glimpse of Chip staring openmouthed. “Holy cow!”
What else can you call a funeral hearse with big red, blue, yellow and green balloons painted all over its sides and the words Heavenbound Burials, Unlimited lettered underneath, along with telephone and fax numbers, an e-mail address and a web site?
Fayette had raided the male side of his closet today. Looking positively clerical in a black sports shirt and black slacks, he exited the Camaro, his bald pate shining in the sun, huge rhinestone sunglasses hiding his eyes. The driver hopped out of the panel truck. He wore a white dress shirt, black slacks and a black tie. Treasure had admired well-dressed men. She would have liked the tie. He hurried to the back of the truck and opened both doors.
In unison, as if we all had been to this kind of funeral before and knew exactly what to do, the Surfsiders, the Foxy Lady entourage and the two young girls in sundresses—everyone except Rossi—gathered at the back of the truck and peered in.
A gigantic fire-engine-red balloon sat there filling up the space, straining at the tethers, eager to lift off and ride the skies.
As gravely as any mortician anywhere, the truck driver, an athletic-looking man in his early thirties, turned to Fayette. “I’m George, your funeral director.” He extended his hand, wincing a little when Fayette gripped it. “Have you selected a place for the ascent, sir?”
“Yes. The water’s edge,” Fayette said, his voice cracking.
“As the next of kin, would you like to carry the deceased to the site, or would you prefer to have me escort her?”
Fayette’s sunglasses had slipped down on his nose. He pushed them up and said, “I’ll go with her. She’d want that.”
“Very well, sir. Before I release the restraint, please hold onto this cord. You’ll feel a strong pull. Don’t let go until you’re ready. If your arms should tire, tell me and I’ll spell you.”
“Darling, I have pecs like Arnold. Need I say more?” Fayette raised his sunglasses and treated George to an eyelash flutter.
“No. No, of course not, sir,” George sputtered. “Are we ready, then?”
“I’ll never be ready, darling. But let’s begin anyway.”
“Very good, sir.”
George untied Treasure and we all stepped back. Carefully, as if he did hold a treasure in his hands, Fayette clung to the short cord dangling like an umbilical from the end of the balloon and slowly, majestically, strode toward the water.
Like a Pied Piper, he soon collected a crowd. Little kids with pails and shovels, teenagers trailing towels and plugged into iPods, adult curiosity seekers in bikinis and trunks, and the official mourners, of course, kicking off our sneakers and sandals as we approached the surf’s edge. All in all, we were quite a throng. To think I’d worried Treasure would go to her final rest unnoticed and unmourned.
Ankle-deep in gulf water, Fayette stopped and, ignoring his pants’ sodden cuffs, turned to face us. We all stood quietly, even the curiosity seekers. The little kids stopped giggling; the teens with the iPods removed their earbuds.
Fayette cleared his throat. “We’re here today to honor Treasure Kozlowski, who used to live with me and now lives alone in this balloon.” With his free hand, he reached up and gave the balloon a love pat. “I chose red for her. Not green, or blue, or yellow, but red. Red’s the color of passion. The color of fun and excitement and fire engines, and lollipops.” He paused, deciding, I guess, he wouldn’t pursue that thought. “It’s the color of life. And Treasure, my beloved friend—” he choked a little on the word friend, “—was full to the brim with life. I’m holding her now, in the only way I can, and I hate to let her go.”
He glanced skyward. The wind had picked up, pummeling the balloon like a sparring partner. “Look at her! See what I mean? Even now, she’s anxious to get away, ready for the next adventure.”
I looked around at the mourners and the merely curious gathered around us. No one spoke a word. Like a church at midnight, the beach had fallen silent, except for the soft lapping of the waves and the distant hum of a boat engine.
Hedda threw back her head and, singing into the silence, sent her contralto floating in the air with the gulls. “Amazing Grace, how great Thou art…”
When Hedda’s last note faded away, calmly, like a mother bird releasing a fledgling from the nest, Fayette let go of the cord. The red balloon, freed from all constraints, took off, a bright globe soaring into the sky.
“Aaaaaah.” The gasp left all our throats in a united sigh of farewell. Without hesitation, the balloon shot straight up, buoyed by the offshore breeze and, I like to think, by Treasure’s eager spirit hurrying toward a new excitement. For sure, her last show on earth had been a smash hit.
I murmured, “Say hello to Jack, Treasure.”
Standing across from me on the damp sand, Marilyn tipped her head back and raised a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the glare. As she did, a gold bracelet slid along her tanned arm. Suspended from one of the links, a tiny ruby heart glittered in the sun.
Uh-oh.
I darted a quick glance at AudreyAnn. Had she seen it?
Yes, indeed. Her jaw, her mouth, her shoulders, her halter top all sagged. Poor AudreyAnn. At any moment now, she’d burst into tears. Well, this was a funeral. If she did weep, no one except Dick and me would guess the real reason.
As the balloon soared out of sight, becoming a pinprick in the vast blue sky, then…nothing, Dick said to nobody in particular, “I need a drink after this one. Come on, everybody, back to Surfside. We’ve got a party waitin’.”
Both Dick and Chip, with Marilyn and AudreyAnn following them, hurried off the beach, heading back to the clubroom to put the lasagna in the oven. As I watched, the two women chatted up a storm, so intent on their conversation, they fell way behind the men. If I were Jimmy the Greek, I’d lay odds AudreyAnn was staking claim to that bracelet.
His sunglasses riding the top of his head, his face hidden in his hands, Fayette collapsed on the sand.
“Fayette. Hey, buddy,” I said bending over him. “That was beautiful. You did a wonderful job.”
He raised his head and tried to smile. “I called him Treasure. That’s what he would have wanted. But I loved him as Tom.”
I squeezed Fayette’s shoulder. It was as hard as his knees. “He had to be true to himself.”
“Even if he couldn’t be to me.”
I had no answer for that and fell back on my grandmother’s solution for every sorrow. Food. “Chip’s lasagna has homemade pasta and his mother’s secret meatball recipe. Buffalo mozzarella. The works.” I upped the temptation. “He’s serving antipasto. Garlic bread. Chianti to wash it down.” No response.” I gave Fayette’s shoulder another squeeze. “Will Hedda and Roy join us?”
I must have struck a chord. He nodded and stood, sliding the Ray-Bans down over his eyes, slipping on his loafers. “But of course, lovey. Wait till you see the cake I brought. You’ll love it. It’s in my trunk on dry ice. Come on.”
Together, we strolled off the beach and headed for the parking lot. Simon looked over at us and frowned. So did Neal, who was standing by his side. From that night at the Lady, Neal had obviously formed a negative opinion of Fayette. But Simon hadn’t even met him, and still he was looking like a bad day in July…or a boyfriend with prior rights. Ignoring the two of them, I hurried to keep up with Fayette’s long-legged stride.
In the parking lot Lieutenant Rossi was still leaning on the Mustang. As I glanced across the tarmac at him, he caught my look and nodded, his hooded eyes flickering over me. Police procedure or something else? Whatever. Truth was I liked the way his eyes scrutinized me. I liked it very much, though considering the circumstances, it was totally inappropriate. I guess that’s what happens when you wear shorts and a T-shirt to a funeral.
Fayette strode over to his Camaro and popped the trunk. Inside, sitting on a liner of dry ice, was a white sheet cake the size of a bedspread with Rest in Peace piped on in blue. The center, the place of honor, held a ten-by-fourteen-inch photo image in vanilla crème of Tommy Kozlowski.
“It’s the picture I found next to his bed. How did they do that?”
“Modern technology, darling. It’s hit the bakeries.” Fayette gazed at the image fondly. “Isn’t he gorgeous? No wonder I was mad about him.”
Hedda and Roy had joined us and they both nodded, all of them looking like they could burst into tears at any second.
“I thought Treasure’s identity was going to be kept secret,” I said. “Nobody at Surfside knows the truth except for me. And him.” I upped my chin at Lieutenant Rossi.
“The funeral’s over. Treasure’s gone. Tommy’s the one I’ll remember.” Fayette sounded bitter, but I guess he had reason to be. He closed the trunk and glanced over at Rossi. “That lieutenant over there,” he whispered. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I got here. You notice that?”
On some level I had, but during the ceremony I’d pushed Rossi to the back burner of my consciousness and kept him there.
“He’s been snapping pictures, too. He wants a picture all he has to do is ask. In drag or out. The same for Hedda. The same for Roy.” They nodded in agreement.
“Was he snapping you guys only?” I asked.
“No. Everybody,” Hedda said. “Like he was looking for the murderer in the crowd.”
I’d heard that murderers often attend the funeral of a victim. A creepy thought. One that might be absolutely, frighteningly true.
“Serving’s my karma, dearest,” Roy said, tying on a chef’s apron and shooing me out of the clubroom kitchen. “I’ll help Chip in here. Go enjoy. If you can,” he added quickly, no doubt remembering the solemnity of the occasion.
Chip had set the tables with red-and-white checkered cloths and green napkins, the colors of the Italian flag happily at war with the yellow walls. I tried not to look down at the spattered carpeting when I took a seat beside Simon and sipped at a plastic glass of Chianti.
Simon held a cold can of Bud, savoring it slowly, sending curious glances across the room to where Fayette sat chatting up a storm with Neal, who looked as though he was caught in a trap.
“That big guy over there?” Simon asked.
“Treasure’s former roommate?”
“Yeah?” Simon’s brow furrowed. “Is he…?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Strange then that he and Treasure were roommates.”
I stood and tugged on his hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you and ask him to bring in the cake. That’ll explain everything.”
Simon refused to budge out of his chair. “An introduction isn’t necessary. Furthermore, what’s cake got to do with anything?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re homophobic.”
After enough tugging, he finally yielded, but we’d only taken a couple of steps in Fayette’s direction when the door to the clubroom opened and Dick rushed in, his face red and sweaty. He wove through the crowded room to get to me. Keeping his voice low, he whispered in my ear, “I need you, Deva. Bad.”
I let go of Simon’s hand. “What’s the matter?”
“You gotta see it to believe it. Come on. Not you,” he snarled at Simon, who was moving along beside me.
“She’s not leaving without me,” Simon said in a carrying voice.
The festivities lurched to a hush. I looked over my shoulder. Everybody was staring at us. “A private joke,” I said, forcing a chuckle. “No problem.”
I took Dick’s arm. “Where are we going?”
“Treasure’s condo. I went up to see the changes you made. Oh my God.”
“I’ll be in 301,” I said to Simon. “Please wait here. Don’t cause a scene. I’ll be fine.” Of course I’d be fine. A room full of people was watching Dick and me leave.
