Fifty-five

“CLARE!”

“Tuck?”

What followed was a very un-Tucker-like stream of Spanish, going by way too quickly for my rudimentary skills to comprender.

“Punch, is that you?”

“Give me a minute, Clare. I have to catch my breath . . .”

Tucker’s boyfriend, Punch, was a gifted dancer, a skilled martial artist, and one of the most popular drag performers in New York City. He wasn’t usually that excitable, so I was getting worried.

“Is something wrong with Tucker?”

“I’ll say. He’s gone loco en la cabeza!”

“Crazy in the head? Why?”

“Tuck’s decided to move back to Louisiana to work in his cousin’s coffee shop—”

“No!”

“You have to do something, Clare. I can’t live down South. I’m allergic to okra, and I can’t stand grits!”

“Calm down. You and I need a plan—”

“Yes, please, talk some sense into him, because he’s too hardheaded to listen to me. Convince Tucker to stay in New York—”

“Punch, I can’t even convince him to return my calls. He’s ghosting me!”

“You have to try again, for both our sakes. Moving will surely end his showbiz career, and mine. You know I don’t do Scarlett O’Hara. Carol Burnett ruined that whole Southern belle shtick with that curtain rod. And I’m way too svelte to impersonate Dolly Parton!”

“So what do I do? The last time I tried to speak with him in person, he ran away.”

“That’s why I called. Tucker and I are going to some trendy, expensive gym this afternoon. The producer of Swipe to Meat is footing the bill for the cast as a morale booster after the police investigation shook everyone up.”

“You’re in Swipe to Meat, too?”

“Tucker got me in as an extra. No lines, but I have some nice on-camera moments prepping veg for the Killer-Lover Chef. Anyway, listen! There’s a juice bar at this club. I’ll take Tucker there after our class, and we can just happen to run into you. Okay? Together we can force Tuck to listen to reason.”

“Okay, which club?”

“Equator—that luxury gym by Chelsea Park.”

Oh, brother. “I’m not a member of Equator, Punch. I can’t afford it.”

“I’m just a guest myself. So I can’t get you in. How about your barista? You know, the little fresh-faced farm girl with the Judy Garland Dorothy braids—”

“Nancy Kelly?”

“That’s the one! Tuck told me she works there part-time. I’m sure she can sneak you by their muscle-bound bouncers. Please come. For your sake, and mine— Oh, no! Tuck’s out of the shower. I’ve got to run! Remember, we’re in the noon Critter Crawl Workout class. Equator at Chelsea Park. We’ll see you at the juice bar at one!”

I checked my watch.

Things were slow downstairs, preparations were in hand for this evening, and Esther would be here within the hour.

I was planning to squeeze in a nice swim at my YMCA to work off those scones. But if I could convince Tucker to come back to the Village Blend, it would be worth my time to have a smoothie at Equator. And since I would be in the gym, anyway, hmm . . .

Would Nancy be able to get me into that workout class, too?

It would give me a chance to check out Tristan Ferrell, “creator of The Critter Crawl.” According to AJ, he’d bribed Haley well to lure her away from Cinder. I’d like to know why, and whether or not this guy had an alter ego named Richard Crest.

Tucker and Tristan: time to kill two critters with one call.

And I placed it to Nancy.