A Corpse in a Teacup (11 page)

Tuesday spotted
Holley in front of the precinct looking like a child who had lost her mother. She slowed down the Civic and waved, indicating she should hang tight until she found a parking space. When Tuesday ran across the street to her a few minutes later, Holley collapsed in her arms.

“What? Has something else happened?”
Tuesday steered her towards the doorway she recognized from her previous visit. A brief image of Mr. Gorgeous flashed across her mind.

Holley shook he
r head and blubbered, “A lineup Miss Tuesday, is that why I’m here? Are they going to make me stand in a line up? Suppose that gets on Facebook? My fans, would they stand by me? And look at me. I’m a mess. Will they give me time to fix my makeup? Am I going to have to wear one of those jumpsuits? I look hideous in orange.”

“Whoa, Holley Molly.
Slow down.” Tuesday took her arm and guided her inside, feeling like a veteran, having been here the day before.

“
You need to calm down, dear heart. You are here to answer some questions. You aren’t going to be in a lineup and you’re not going to jail. You don’t change clothes for questioning. Unless, I mean detective what’s her name didn’t say it was more than that, did she?

Holley shook her head
.

“Okay, then
. Let’s take it one step at a time. First, we go inside, okay? This isn’t going to be on Facebook unless somebody posts it. You know I won’t.”

“It would go viral
”, Holley said sadly.

“Probably. If it was a slow news day
. C’mon. Let’s find out what they want from you.”

A uniformed police officer took Holley’s name and directed them to take a seat in the waiting area. They settled into the uncomfortable seats, Holley looking rattled and, as if on automatic pilot, pulling her phone out of her purse to check for messages. Then she began pushing buttons, answering an email or texting someone, Tuesday couldn’t be sure. She smoothed back Holley’s blond bangs, which had escaped the usual plastering with hair spray. This was a motherly gesture that was becoming more frequent but still out of character for Tuesday. She needed to ask her about Alicia Wayne, but perhaps not yet. She wanted her to remain calm during her interview with Detective Jameson.

“Listen, d
on’t let this interview with the detective of the never ending gams get you down. You haven’t done anything wrong and you aren’t in any trouble. This is routine.”

God
, she was sounding more and more like a character out of a cop show by the hour.

Holley’s cell phone sti
ll held her attention. Without looking up she asked, “What’s a gam?”

Tuesday shook her head
in disbelief. “Honey, didn’t they teach you anything in acting school?”

“I didn’t go to acting school
. The director, the alients one not the vegetarian one, said I was a natural.”

Tuesday rolled her eyes. “That may be, but
you need to research film noir.”

Holley
hadn’t paid attention. She slipped her phone into her purse. “Mr. Gregory is so nice.”

“
Who? Oh, your neighbor. Does he hang around you a lot?”

“He
just thinks I need my friends around me right now.”

“So you’ve told him what’s going on.”

Holley nodded, then took a deep, sad, snuffling breath that spoke to Tuesday of the stress she was under. She’d heard Olivia heave those same sighs when she was under suspicion for murder.

“I
s he volunteering to be that kind of friend?” Alarm bells were going off.

Holley nodded yes.

“
Is that who you were texting?”

Holley’s face bloomed into an unexpected smile
. “Oh no. I was describing the police department to my Facebook fans.”

Tuesday exploded, “You were doing what?” so loud the people on
the bench next to her moved down a few spots and a police officer came over and said, “Keep it down ladies or I’ll have to take you in the back.”

After a twenty minute wait, Detectives Jameson and Butel came into the reception area. They’d become Laurel and Hardy in Tuesday’s mind—Butel with Hardy’s ample torso but the sidekick Laurel’s mischievous twinkle in his eye. Jameson on the other hand was long and tall like Stan Laurel but with Oliver Hardy’s continually exasperated disposition. Jameson was surprised to see Tuesday.

“Do you have something to add to our investigation, Miss Tuesday? I don’t believe you were called in.”

“Nope. Just here to support my friend. It’s been a rocky couple of days for her, what with a corpse showing up at her workplace. Or, close to it.”

“
Yes, I can imagine. But we’ll need to speak to her privately. There’s a coffee machine down the hall if you’d like a beverage while you wait.”

Tuesday shook her head. What was it about the word beverage that sounded so dry and
unappetizing? She’d once thought that if she were dying of thirst in the desert and someone offered her a beverage her brain wouldn’t be able to compute and she’d turn it down.

She was nervous about leaving Holley alone with the police. No telling what could come out of her mouth that would get her in trouble. But she had no choice. “I’ll just catch up on my reading,” she said and pulled out her phone.

She squeezed Holley’s hand before she walked off with the two detectives, feeling a surge of compassion and fear for her. Did she have a target on her back?
It was too awful to contemplate, that someone might be after her. Who could do such a terrible thing and why? What about Alicia Wayne? Her alleged behavior was malicious, but compared to murder, quite petty. But if the girl had a sliding moral compass? What else might she do to get what she wanted?

She
called up the Internet, but the reception was poor, so she headed outside. She recalled sighting Mr. Gorgeous here, and looked around to see if she would spot him again. No luck, so she studied her phone now that it had better reception.

Deeper research revealed that the mysterious Miss Wayne might very well be a suspect. She liked bad boys, for one thing. So far her own criminal record was clean, at least she had not been caught in any dirty dealing. But her associates were another story. Drugs, violence and prison terms colored the histories of at least four of her boyfriends, with photographs of her with them popping up on various gossip sites.

Here was a possible
explanation for Holley’s intimidating threats. Perhaps Miss Wayne had induced one of her male friends to make the calls. Maybe it was a coincidence that Ariel Cuthbert had died and Holley had received threats, but she remembered that Detective Richards in Darling Valley didn’t believe in coincidences and she decided that she wouldn’t either.

She paced outside
in the late afternoon sun, trying to decide what to do next. Squad cars entered and exited the parking area, but only once did she see officers deliver a handcuffed suspect to the precinct, an inebriated woman who squawked loudly that her rights were being violated. Tuesday instinctively turned away, afraid she might recognize the woman as her mother, though that was preposterous. Tessa lived in Arizona and she wasn’t planning a visit. How could she after the last time they had spent time together when Tuesday ended up telling her she was forbidden to step foot in any state where Tuesday lived. That was a year ago and so far Tessa had respected it the ban. A world’s record.

She had to get her mind off her erratic mother. And besides, Tessa would never let herself go like the unfortunate woman being led into the station,
stringy-haired, in need of a bath and some dental care. Tessa had the extraordinary gift of being able to stand up so drunk that she was in a state of total blackout after a three-day bender, with nary a hair out of place, her makeup perfect and her stylish clothes looking like she had just taken them out of the box. Of course, what the years had done to her face was a different story. No designer in the world could cover up the ravages of her binges and two-pack a day cigarette habit. Tuesday got her fashion sense from Tessa, she’d give her that. But she refused to own most of her mother’s other qualities, even the good ones she drowned in tequila.

Enough about Tessa. That woman was on her own now. Tuesday had someone else to care for, someone who wasn’t going to break her hea
rt. She saw herself paired with Holley. Were they both motherless children? Was Tuesday giving Holley the nurturing she wished she had received from Tessa? Better not go there, too many difficult memories. She decided she would tell Detective Jameson about Alicia. Or at least share her suspicions. She stuck her phone back in her tote and went back inside the building, only to find Holley on her way out.

“All done? Where is Detective Jameson?”

“She said she was going home for the day. Mine was the last interview. I’ve had it with the police, Miss Tuesday. They scared me for nothing. They wanted to know what I knew about Director Vitale. Duh. Like nothing. Let’s go to the memorial for Ariel.”

This time he made the call
, and Zeus’s Thunderbolt picked up.

“So I got the folder
, but I have some questions.”

“Everything’s there. What more do you need to know?”

“Now we have two targets.”

“
Double the fun. What’s that sound?”

He was sitting on the cold concrete floor, back against the door, one metal-toed work boot balanced atop the other, noisily sorting through a box of screws and bolts, phone cradled under his ear.

“I’m multitasking. You didn’t tell me there were two jobs.”

“What difference does it make? You figure out how to do one, you know how to do the next one.”

“This isn’t a twofer.”

“Come on, Clipper. Don’t bust my balls.”

“Don’t bust mine. You want the job done, I do it right. One at a time. Payment due for each. You know how I roll.”

“Yeah, like a sonofabitch.”

“You can always go to the shop down the street. Maybe they’ll offer bulk prices. Oh, yeah. There is no shop down the street.”

“Time’s awasting on this gig. We have to get it underway.”

“Then you have to work out the d
etails of my contract. I’m ready to start as soon as you give me the green light. As in green cash.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

Goren Vitale
greeted them at his door with a bottle of champagne. Not for his guests. He was swigging out of the bottle.

“Holley,” he slurred
. “My intergalactic princess. Thank you for coming.” He took another swallow and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his suede jacket before giving her a slobbery kiss meant for her forehead but which landed on her eye. He then aimed for Tuesday, but she ducked out of the way to avoid a burn from his 5 o’clock shadow. She stuck out her hand instead.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Vitale. Thank you for having me.”

With an expansive sweep of his hand, he ushered them inside a wide vestibule. “Welcome to the wake.”

“Yes,
Ariel’s death is a tragedy.” Tuesday was trying to focus on expressing the correct degree of grief at the death of a woman she had never met, but her eyes kept traveling to the living room. It looked like the cockpit of a space ship, with electronic music whining eerily in the background.

“Oh, this gathering isn’t for
Ariel,” he said, an answer that surprised Tuesday. Why else were they there? Then he amended his statement. “Well, it is, of course. But that’s not all that may die an unseemly death if I don’t have a stroke of luck.”

Tue
sday realized he meant his film.

The woman Tuesday recognized as
his wife came up behind him, the Cat’s customer the paparazzi had hounded at lunch. He introduced them, forgetting Tuesday’s name, then turned to his wife. “Darling, we were just saying what a terrible thing it is. Poor Ariel, I mean.”

Tuesday didn’t get the name Goren slurred as he
introduced his wife, but it sounded Balkan, befitting her dark looks.

The wife wiped tears from her eyes. “I don’t know how we’re going to cope with this. I didn’t know her, but I feel as if I did
. Goren spoke so well of her. You know they did two other movies together.” Said as though she assumed Tuesday knew his entire body of work.

Tuesday
nodded knowingly, as if she did.

The wife continued. “His cast
members are like family to him. And then, of course, by extension to me.” There was a trace of an accent but Tuesday couldn’t place it.

Goren took another swig from his
champagne bottle, then wrapped a comforting arm around his wife. She leaned her head on his shoulder, artfully reaching across his chest to remove the bottle from his hand. “You want to leave some for our guests, darling.”

“Not this one,” he snapped
, rescuing his champagne. Then he turned his focus on the effect of the actress’s death on his career. “If they don’t find who did this awful thing to Ariel, this movie is dead in the water. Even though we had nothing to do with her murder. That’s what the public will remember. And the backers. Bad luck for me finding money to continue. If the culprit isn’t in jail by the end of the week I’ll be washing dishes at,” he turned to his wife. “what’s that place you like to go that has the chicken you love?”

“The
Mulberry Cat.”

Holley said, “But
it hasn’t been confirmed a murder. I’ve heard it could also be a heart attack.”

Goren said, “What difference does it make. Leaves her just as dead and me just as screwed.”

His wife ignored him to address Tuesday and Holley. “Do you know the Cat? Their chef is beyond fabulous. He does a chicken with lemongrass that is to die for?”

Holley popped up with, “Oh I go there all the time. Especially since I met Miss Tuesday. She reads my leaves
there.”

Goren
cocked a bleary eye at her. “Your what?”

“She is the most amazing tea leaf reader
,” Holley enthused. “You should try her.”

“Oh, you’re
that
Tuesday,” the wife said, as though she knew too many women named Tuesday to keep track. “I’ve heard of you. They have a sign up or something.”

“That’s me,” she said.
This was Tuesday’s first memorial for anyone. She was trying for the right tone, somewhere between mournful and hopeful. She looked around the living room for guidance. The guests were not helpful, their expressions ranging from giddiness to tears.

“Then you must know Marco
,” said the wife. “He catered the buffet.”

Mrs. Vitale
gestured toward a long conference table groaning with trays and bowls of food. Tuesday realized she hadn’t had lunch. Except for that one candy bar. Well, two if she was being honest. She overcame her urge to grab a plate and dig in. If Marco had prepared the food, it had to be good. She forced her attention away from the banquet and back to her hostess.

“Well, I know
who Marco is, of course. But I don’t really
know
him. He’s always so busy in the kitchen and I’m only there a few hours at a time. We mostly just say hello, if that.”

The doorbell rang and
Mrs. Vitale lost interest in Tuesday and her readings, smiled a goodbye and rushed off to greet the next round of guests.

Goren waved to one of the women
walking through the door in a long, flowing swath of fabric that Tuesday couldn’t identify. Bed sheet? Curtain? Remnant from a fabric sale? It certainly didn’t resemble any garment she recognized.

“
Electra,” he called. “Come join us.”

Electra
wafted over in long layers of what turned out to be pastel chiffon, hooked at the shoulder with a multicolored rhinestone broach. Very Elizabeth Taylor without the ethereal eyes, real jewels, awesome breasts or adoring man in her wake. Tuesday blinked. Was that really a tiara wound through her dark hair or streaks of gray that had escaped her last dye job? No, it was a tiara, though up close Tuesday could also see the beginning of a raccoon stripe down her part. Tuesday might give her props for the crown, but even she wouldn’t wear it to a solemn occasion such as this.

Holley did the introductions.
“Miss Tuesday, this is Electra, Mr. Vitale’s costume genius. Miss Electra, this is Miss Tuesday.”

Electra
looked Tuesday up and down, her scowl delivering her opinion on Tuesday’s outfit. “And what kind of genius are you?”

Holley answered, “Oh she’s a genius at reading tea leaves,” but she had already lost
Electra’s attention. Goren snatched a glass from a passing server, filled it from his dying bottle and handed it to Electra. Then he waved the empty bottle over his head. “Kiss this one goodbye, girls. Let’s get a real drink.” He circled his arm around his costume genius and led them all to the bar.

Tuesday and Holley
watched Goren open another bottle of champagne. He gave a broad wave to introduce the bartender. “This is
my
Marco. It’s not his real name but his lemon vodka martinis are as good as a chicken leg any day. Have one. A round of lemon martinis for everyone, Marco.”

Tuesday
said, “Thanks, but I don’t mix my poisons.” She held up her glass for a champagne refill instead.

T
he bar tender obliged her as Goren baptized his new bottle with a long swallow. He smacked his lips and, bottle cradled in the crook of his arm, strode off to say hello to a mournful group sitting on the couch, leaving Tuesday, Holley and Electra to an awkward silence. They didn’t have to wait long for someone to come and cut the tension. Mrs. Vitale wedged herself into the middle of the triangle and raised her glass in a toast.

“To the departed.” She
took a dainty sip and then gave Electra the once over. “Borrowed the bedroom curtains again for your night out, Ellie?”

Electra
managed to cough up a fake laugh and raised her glass to acknowledge the jibe. She waited a few beats then said, “At least I don’t go digging around in my sack of dust rags.”

The retort caught the director’s wife by surprise and she actually looked down as if to
check her outfit. She returned a cold smile, but Electra was walking away.

The hostess snarled,
“Bitch on wheels, that one. If she didn’t prey on other women’s husbands she’d never have a man in her bed.”

She took a sip of her drink. “
Holley, I’m sure you’ve seen the way she throws herself at Quentin Tarantula.”

Holley gulped but said nothi
ng. Quentin was the director of her current movie.

Marco the bartender had been hovering on
his side of the bar. He broke in to ask if he could give anyone a refill. Tuesday guessed he had overheard the conversation and was being diplomatic to prevent a scene. She welcomed the interruption. It gave her a chance to give him a long look. Were her stars aligned today or what? Marco whose name is not Marco was easily as dishy as the cop/crook at the police station. But this time she had a chance to flirt. She fluffed her pink Afro and draped herself over the bar in her best Ralph Lauren print ad imitation.

“How about a glass of champs for me, Marco who is not really Marco? I’ve had a day that needs a makeover.”

The bartender winked and flashed her a smile that lit up her end of the room. Oh, yes. Her luck was definitely picking up. She coyly sipped her champagne as he poured another glass for Holley. Tuesday was about to ask his real name when a cute guy in an apron came out from the kitchen and kissed him on the lips.

“How
ya holding up, sweetie,” he said.

Tuesday turned toward the door
disappointed. How did that happen? Her gaydar was usually spot on. Holley, who had watched Tuesday make her move, pulled her mouth down in a show of sympathy.

Tuesday shrugged and said,
“Not my night, girlfriend.” Then she raised her glass to the bartender and his boyfriend, who laughed and sent an imaginary toast back to her. Tuesday turned to Holley. “But listen, what was all that about Electra and Mrs. Vitale. They had their claws out for each other.”

Holley shook her head.
“I don’t like to speak ill of people, Miss Tuesday. I believe in being positive. Anything negative you say about someone else will come back to you threefold.”

This explained her discomfort at hearing that her director might be playing around. However, when Tuesday said,
“I know, deario, but what’s up with Electra,” Holley looked over her shoulder.

T
he decibel level of the music and voices was rising and there was no danger of anyone overhearing, yet she whispered in Tuesday’s ear, “I’ve heard that Hollywood wives won’t let their husbands out of their sight if Miss Electra is nearby.”

Tuesday let her eyes wander until they found
Electra across the room. She had her back to Tuesday and was surrounded by three couples, a man on either side of her. Tuesday blinked. Twice. Electra was pulling off a neat trick. In the folds of her voluminous chiffon gown, the costumer was holding the hand of one of the men while the other stroked his thumb along her backside. Each of the men had a free arm around the woman he came with, presumably the wife. With the dim lights and growing crowd in the room providing cover, the subterfuge was successful. Tuesday realized that the two women had no idea their men were playing handsies with Electra.

Tuesday gave a little laugh as a thought flitted across her mind. If the men were to move their fingers jus
t a few inches, they could hold hands with each other. How best to discover they were rivals for Electra’s affections, though apparently, from what Tuesday just heard and was currently witnessing, that wasn’t a difficult contest to win. She nudged Holley, at that moment waving to a young woman coming toward them. “Check out Electra. Wait until she moves and her skirt swishes. You’ll see what I mean.”

Holley studied
Electra, then as the wardrobe mistress turned to speak to one of the women, the folds of her skirt parted to reveal that now each man had a handful of her behind. Holley gasped. “Miss Tuesday, that is really bad karma. Someone should tell her.”

Just then
, Holley’s friend, covered in piercings and tattoos, reached them and they air kissed. “Miss Tuesday, this is Harry. She makes me look beautiful for my fans.”

“Not a difficult job.” Harry smiled at Tuesday, who liked her immediately.

Tuesday heard a commotion in the middle of the room, and turned to see Goren and his wife preparing to make an announcement. He picked up a serving spoon from the food table and tapped his half-empty champagne bottle until he got everyone’s attention.

His speech was slurred and wandering. “I want you all to know how grateful I am that you came tonight. Your show of support is nothing short of amazing. You are my people, the people I want beside me in a crisis.”

His eyes fell on Tuesday when he said this, and she looked around. Nobody was behind her so she assumed he confused her with someone else. Some other close friend with loud clothes and a drooping pink Afro.

“I want you all to know I believe in this movie and I believe in all of you. I couldn’t make it without you. This film is go
ing to be the highlight of my oeuvre.” He pronounced it oover. “It’s going to make a statement about modern life that needs to be heard.”

He burped, and continued. “We live in a materialistic world and need to get back to the basics.” Several in his audience said amen as though he were conducting a prayer meeting. “We need to give up our possessions. They control us, we don’t control them.”