| |
––––––––
“IT’S A LOT peppier than what I’m driving now.” I was behind the wheel of a nice-looking three-year-old red Mazda 6, negotiating lane changes on a six-lane highway. Sophie’s ex-husband, Dean Phillips, sat in the front passenger seat.
“A rickshaw would be peppier than what you’re driving now,” he said. “How long did you say you had it? Eleven years?”
“Well, it’s eleven years old, but I’ve had it for seven. Bought it used.”
“You’re smart to stick to pre-owned.” He ran his fingers through those unfortunate hair plugs. “New cars lose half their value, eh, the moment you drive off the lot.”
“So you said.” If he wanted to pretend I was looking for a used ride because I was a savvy shopper, and not because it was the only thing I could afford, I’d play along. The first car he’d tried to get me into had indeed been the nearly new Lexus convertible he’d mentioned at Sophie’s house. It was, as he’d said, a beaut, and I’d allowed myself one lingering, wishful gaze as I took in its gleaming sex appeal. An experienced salesman, he’d managed to conceal his disappointment when I’d confessed that my car budget would maybe cover the Lexus’s leather upholstery and one of its fancy wheels.
Which is how I’d ended up test-driving the Mazda. It was late afternoon on a brutally hot Saturday, a good test of the car’s air conditioning, which performed like a champ. The flip side of using AC was the closed windows, which resulted in a concentrated, eye-watering miasma composed of Dean’s spicy cologne, his liberally applied hairspray, and his stale smoker’s breath. If I did take the car, I’d probably need to fumigate it.
Dean had yet to mention my television debut on Ramrod News the previous evening. Either he was exercising discretion in the interest of making a sale or he simply hadn’t seen the show. My money was on that first thing. It seemed the entire town of Crystal Harbor had watched the show.
As much as I needed a car, I could have shopped a lot closer to home or scoured the used-car ads. The fact is, I felt kind of sorry for Dean, a hapless nobody who’d never managed to find a stable career, much less joy in what he did for a living. If I was going to spend money on new wheels, he might as well be the one getting the commission.
But I had another reason for seeking out Sophie’s ex.
He said, “Have you thought about buying a hearse?” His Canadian accent turned about into something closer to aboot.
“Uh, can’t say that I have,” I admitted.
“Think about it. It’d be great for business,” he said. “You can leave it plain or put a fancy ‘Death Diva’ design on it. Maybe a cartoon of you wearing sexy underwear.”
So much for discretion. “Well, that’s an interesting idea, Dean. Maybe for a second vehicle down the road. Right now I need something a bit more sedate, for when my job is kind of, you know, undercover.”
“Oh, sure, sure. Just say the word, eh, I’ll put out feelers for the right hearse. Think about the cargo space.”
That was about as good a segue as I was going to get. “So,” I said. “How long were you and Sophie married?”
“Huh? Oh, just ten months.” I felt his eyes on me as I steered into the left-turn lane to make a U-turn and head back to the dealership. “Listen,” he said, “I know I came off as kind of, uh... worked up at her place a couple of days ago. Well, I was worked up. It’s not every day the cops question you about some murdered guy.”
“At your place of work, no less.” I tried to sound sympathetic. “You’re allowed a normal human reaction. I know something like that would’ve freaked me out for sure.” As indeed it had a few months earlier when Bonnie had considered me a suspect in Irene’s murder, but that didn’t bear mentioning at the moment.
I’d been nervous about calling Sophie the evening before, to apologize for unwittingly calling her a greedy murderer on national TV. She’d dismissed my concerns, claiming to have been amused by the absurd coverage. She’d even recorded it for posterity. That’s the kind of friend she was, and why I felt obligated to help clear her name.
The sad fact was, even the legitimate press had turned Sophie into a punching bag. Even if she was proved innocent—I mean, when she was proved innocent—it would probably be too late to salvage her local political career. Nina Wallace might very well be our next mayor. The thought made me want to follow Teddy Waterfield’s example and become a well-heeled hermit.
I said, “You mentioned you were out of state when Ernie was killed?”
“Boston. Flew there for an info seminar about a franchise opportunity,” he said. “One of those drive-through convenience-store chains. Didn’t work out.”
What a shock.
“You know this crap I’m going through now, with that girl detective?” he said. “It’s all Teddy Waterfield’s fault. That crazy old bat convinced herself that Sophie and I killed her son for the money. This was back when everyone else thought he offed himself. I figured that nonsense was ancient history, but whaddaya know? Turns out the guy really was murdered.”
I played dumb. “What money?”
“Sophie didn’t tell you about that, eh? Better get over.” An emergency vehicle was coming up fast behind us, whooping and hollering. I moved to the right lane and we watched it race past. He continued, “So Sophie marries the love of her life only to find out he’s a f— he’s gay. I mean, how dense do you have to be not to figure that one out before you start choosing china patterns, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘dense.’ Maybe too innocent for her own good.” I honked at a driver who’d never heard of checking his blind spot before changing lanes, forcing me to swerve and tap the brakes. This car was responsive, another plus.
“Okay, whatever,” he said. “I know you two are tight. You gotta stand up for her.”
Dean fell silent and I gave myself a mental kick in the pants for defending his ex when I’d had him talking. “I love this car, by the way,” I chirped. “You’ve made a sale, Dean.”
“Now, that’s what I like.” He thumped the dash. “A girl that knows her mind. I can’t tell you how many female customers bust my chops over colors and cup holders.”
Now that he knew the sale was in the bag, I said, “So if there was money involved like you said, where did it come from? I thought Ernie and Sophie were just scraping by.”
“The Wicked Witch of Crystal Harbor.”
“Teddy?” I asked.
He nodded. “You know she’s loaded, right? I guess you never met her?”
“Yes and no.”
“Yeah, she’s not what you might call a social butterfly, eh, not since her precious boy died. Consider yourself lucky your paths never crossed. That’s one serious ball-buster. ’Scuse my language.”
I waved off his apology. “Why mince words? If she’s a ball-buster, she’s a ball-buster.” That’s me, Jane Delaney, your friendly, foulmouthed Death Diva. Anything to keep him talking.
He chortled. “Ain’t that the truth. You know what, Jane? You’re okay.”
“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself, Dean. So. Ernie’s mom gave the newlyweds money to live on. Not exactly the actions of a ball-buster.”
“Wait, I didn’t get to the good part. Mama Waterfield is thrilled that her son the, uh, the gay guy is married. Her cute new daughter-in-law will turn him around, she thinks—Sophie was hot stuff back then, believe it or not.” He made a hot-stuff gesture, and I held my breath against the chemical onslaught of the cologne he’d splashed on with such enthusiastic abandon.
Dean went on. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Teddy thinks. She’ll get the grandkids she’s always wanted and all will be right with the world. Only problem, the new Mrs. Waterfield isn’t getting any from her bridegroom, eh, and when he finally admits the reason, she’s ready to give him the old heave-ho. Are you with me?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Like a tick.”
“Teddy isn’t about to stand for that. She just knows that a little hetero whoopee will cure her boy. So she makes Sophie an offer she can’t refuse.” A pause for dramatic effect, then: “Three. Million. Dollars. That’s how much Teddy paid Sophie to stay married to her homo son. Three million smackers.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of money,” I said.
“She couldn’t divorce him, is all. Otherwise the dough was hers to keep.”
And Dean’s, too, I thought, if he somehow ended up married to her. Which could happen only if her first husband kicked the bucket. Technically the money would be Sophie’s, not his, but as her husband, he’d benefit from her windfall.
I said, “Were you and Sophie, um... No, I shouldn’t ask.” Oh, that Jane Delaney, such a coy wench.
“Were we getting it on when she was married to Ernie?” He grinned. “Is that what you’re too polite to ask?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Nah, she kept it under lock and key,” he said. “Wouldn’t cheat on him, even though nothing was happening between the sheets.”
“That must have been frustrating for you.” I passed the dealership on the left and got ready to make another U-turn.
His bark of laughter reverberated inside the close confines of the Mazda. “You’re telling me. I was a horny young buck back then, eh, used to getting what I wanted—not bragging, just telling it like it was—and she was, well, she was hot stuff like I said. Tell me I can’t have it, I want it all the more. Sexy and rich, an irresistible combo, you know what I mean?”
“I’ve always thought so.” He was describing Dom.
His arm snaked over the seatback behind my head. “So why aren’t you married, Jane? I don’t see a ring.”
No no no, we’re almost at the dealership. Don’t get sidetracked now. “I was. Didn’t suit me. So nothing happened between you and Sophie until Ernie died?”
“I moved in fast then, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Who could blame you?” I said. “If you hadn’t acted on your genuine love for Sophie, someone else might have grabbed her on the rebound and married her for the wrong reason.”
“Wrong reason?”
“Her money?” I said.
“Oh, right. Turn here,” he said, unnecessarily.
I got into the turning lane and waited at the blessedly red light. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you and Sophie,” I said.
“Yeah, me too, but what are you gonna do? Marriage means mutual support, you know? Like doing for each other.”
You were never willing to help me when we were married, Dean had said that day at Sophie’s house. Why start now? The house she’d bought for him to live in wasn’t enough?
“She didn’t support you?” I asked. “You mean emotionally?”
“In all ways. When it came to groceries and whatnot, I mean sure, we both pitched in. But I had a dream, you know? A no-lose business idea. All I needed was capital. Woulda barely made a dent in her bank account.”
“What was this idea?”
“Okay.” He ran his palm across an imaginary sign. “Robot vacuum cleaner.”
“Wow.”
“Incredible, right? And remember, eh, this was thirty-something years ago. Was I ahead of my time or what? Would’ve made millions. Only, my robot vacuum cleaner’s nothing like that dopey little round thing that cats ride on. Mine looks like a...” He made a va-va-va-voom gesture in the vicinity of his chest. “Like a sexy girl, you know? Dressed in a little apron. High heels.”
“Wow.” Words, as they say, eluded me.
“Well, that’s what she would’ve looked like if I had the dough to get a prototype made up. But Her Highness wouldn’t part with a nickel.” His wary gaze flicked to me. “Don’t mean to be running her down.” Suddenly worried about his sale.
“Forget about it.” I executed my U-turn. “Listen, I’ve been friends with Sophie forever. There’s nothing you can tell me about her faults that I don’t already know.” I gave Sophie’s ex a conspiratorial wink, feeling like the worst friend in the world.
Get over it, I admonished myself. You’re doing this for her.
“I’ve done the math,” he griped. “How much money I would’ve made if she’d just loosened the purse strings a little. Like, seventy million, that’s how much her pathological stinginess cost me. And after everything I did for her.”
Like what? I wondered. “Maybe she thought your idea wouldn’t work,” I suggested, “and she’d lose her investment.”
“Yeah, she made all those noises, but bottom line, she sabotaged my dream. Which should’ve been her dream too, eh, if she was a normal, loving wife.”
I’d told Sophie I didn’t know anyone who didn’t like her. I supposed I could no longer make that claim.
I turned off the highway and into the dealership’s lot. After I parked, Dean insisted on demonstrating, in exhaustive detail, the climate-control system, sound system, seat adjustment, wipers, lights, console storage, fold-down backseats, how to access the spare, etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam. No feature was too inconsequential to rate mention. Did you know you can change the taillight bulbs from inside the trunk? Well, okay, you probably knew that, but it was a revelation to me. Not that I’d stop paying my mechanic to perform the task. I mean it’s, you know, car stuff.
I followed Dean to his desk on the sales floor, where we haggled over the price and I eventually prevailed. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s drive a hard bargain. We talked about the warranty and all that boring grownup stuff. I stood to leave. Dean stood too, glancing at his fake Rolex.
“Listen, it’s quitting time,” he said. “There’s a nice bar down the road. Fifty-two beers on tap. Great fried mozzarella. Feel like getting a drink?”
That was just what I needed, two shoot-me-now dates in less than twenty-four hours. Last night’s dinner had been memorable, to put it politely. My date, Ralph, not only loved dogs, he bred them. Wait, that didn’t come out right. You know what I mean. My date hauled a fat grandma’s brag book out of his man-purse and proudly displayed dozens of photos of golden retrievers—thirteen at last count—of all ages and in various stages of sleep and activity throughout his house.
All floor space not strewn with well-used newspapers was thickly carpeted in dog hair, as was the furniture, including the kitchen table and counters. It drifted in corners and collected into balls like golden tumbleweeds. I’d assumed my itchy nose was psychosomatic until I noted that Ralph’s clothing bore a liberal coating of the same yellow hairs. He even, yes, smelled like a golden retriever. After dinner, he invited me back to his place for dessert.
Okay, that gagging sound you just made? I’d manfully refrained from making that same sound while I’d graciously declined his offer.
I smiled at Dean. “Sounds like fun, but I have an important assignment.” The important assignment was to pick up some General Tso’s and fried dumplings, park my carcass in front of my gargantuan TV, and channel-surf until I inevitably stumbled across an episode of Law & Order. “Give me a call when the car’s ready.”
