A Corpse in a Teacup (13 page)

Marco’s reputation came in part because he was
a chef and a farmer, growing his own artisanal vegetables, fruits and herbs that he served in the restaurant. Also, he partnered with ranchers to provide specially fed and cured meats and poultry so that his food had become known in all the important food magazines. She helped herself to three more skewers before she realized she was embarrassing herself, and that there were so many other delicacies on the table she wanted to sample.

Like the cornucopia on the table, her thoughts were varied and crowding each other for prominence.
She needed to think about what Holley had said about Zora. She’d get back to that another time, but for now she asked, “Holley, how well do you know Roger?”

Holley was jamming Lemongrass Chicken into her mouth. “Mfpmph. ‘Scuse me.” She swallowed. “Well enough, I guess. We met on the set of my last movie and he kind of liked me
. But you know, me? Not so much. You can see why, right? He’s just so, I don’t know. Ordinary.”

Tuesday was beginning to understand why Holley succeeded in her strange movie parts. She was a few moons short of a galaxy. “You think so? I don’t know
. Most women would go nuts for a chance with him.”

“I know. Like Zora.”

“No, you’re wrong there. You heard her. She practically accused him of murder. She can’t stand him.”

“Yeah, well. Zora hates on everybody. Especially
Ariel. See, she has it bad for Roger, but he won’t even look at her. I could see that at the audition.

“
She even offered to pose for him, but he turned her down. Told her she didn’t have the right
look
. Told her in public at a party. I don’t think he meant it in a mean way, that’s she’s ugly or anything. Just that she wasn’t right for the part, so to speak. He just told her the truth. I wasn’t there, but those things get around. She tries to put the hurt on him now every time she sees him.”

So maybe Roger was off the hook again.

“Then she became obsessed with the idea that he was in love with Ariel. I wish he would be. Get his mind off me. Oh, wait. What am I saying? She’s dead.”

Tuesday interjected,
“Well, he claimed he didn’t know her. And wouldn’t it be tragic if he was into Ariel and she ended up dead like his wife? Two in a row? What would that do to him?”

“What wife? Roger’
s never been married.”

Tuesday put down her fork to deal with the shock. No wife? Who was he lying to? Her or Holley. Tuesday moved Roger back into the suspect column. But Zora was a piece of work, too. She could have killed Ariel in a jealous rage. But why would Holley get death threats? And in her brief speech, the director’s wife hinted that she or possibly both of them had been threatened also.

Tuesday
’s head was spinning trying to sort out this puzzle when she heard a commotion by the front door. She turned to see Zora throw her glass of champagne in Electra’s face. The entire room drew a giant, shocked intake of breath. The wine dribbled down the front of the designer’s shapeless chiffon tent, which now clung wetly to her breasts, clearly outlining her nipples. Tuesday couldn’t make out all of the angry words they exchanged, but Electra, covering her chest with her hands, opened the front door and ran out screaming into the dusk, “You’ll pay for this, Zora. You make phone calls for him. That’s not the same thing as having talent.”

Brava Vitale came up behind Tuesday and muttered to no one in particular, “That was a long time coming,” then walked over to her husband.

Tuesday stared openmouthed at Holley. “This is a toxic environment, Holley. Methinks someone should get the EPA in here.”

Holley brushed her away. “Oh, Miss Tuesday. You haven’t spent much time around movie sets. This is nothing.”

Maybe so, but Tuesday was pretty sure not many movie sets had rumors of murder and curses swirling around them. She remembered the reading she had done for herself that afternoon. An M had shown up in the leaves. What did that refer to? Money, movies, murder? Then Mulberry popped into her head. Did M merely signify the name of the Mulberry Cat Café, the home of the readings? That was probably it. The mundane, obvious answer getting lost in the hunt for the exciting and mysterious.

But
wait. What about the body in the teacup? Who could that refer to? Ariel’s body had already been discovered. She tried once again to sort out the puzzle, then decided she’d had enough for one day. “Holley, I’m going to head home.”

Then the front door opened, and in walked
Mr. Gorgeous, the police station guy, who gave her a big, happy smile of recognition.

“Next time change it up. I’m getting tired of these heart attack jobs. How about tampering with the brakes, or
a fall down a flight of stairs.”

He adjusted the tarp as he spoke, rearranged his tools, always the perfectionist.

“You know I don’t have control over these things. I take orders, we both take orders.”

“Yeah, well this one is complicated. I need more time.”

“We don’t have more time. Get on it.”

He threw a rag against the wall. He hadn’t bargained for this when he
went out on his own. He thought he’d be able to call all the shots. He hated taking orders.

He opened his computer. Maybe a little gardening would take the edge off. He’d look at pretty flowers for a while.

Of all the reasons
why Tuesday staggered into the kitchen the next morning bleary-eyed and searching for her coffee grinder, obsessing over butterfly earrings was near the top of the list. The pole position, though, belonged to her obsession with Mr. Gorgeous. How many ways could an ex-cop inventor break a girl’s heart? She hadn’t wanted to think about it, so she tossed and turned during the night mulling over her shopping budget. No matter how she did the math, she couldn’t see a corner to squeeze in the earrings without making deep cuts in appropriations for shoes and purses. No, the earrings did not have her name on them, but in the light of day that made good, if painful sense. She wasn’t sure the new guy should have her name on his person, either, though it was too late for that. He had kissed her business card just before he kissed her goodnight.

Nevertheless,
several hours later heading to the Café for her afternoon clients, she drove two freeways out of her way and pulled up in front of Designer Considers. Marci and Darci were dressing the windows with new finds. They waved, and even though their shop wasn’t officially open for another half hour, they unlocked the door for her.

“Ah
, Tuesday,” one of them said “You’ve decided to say yes to the cashmere twin set and a-line skirt. Let me get them for you.”

“No, no
. I really have said no to them. But the earrings? The butterflies? They were calling to me all night. I’m not saying it’s a definite yes, but I’d like to at least take another look.”

Who was she kidding?
She knew they were as good as hers. She had her hand on her wallet.

Marci and Darci each
gave her a woeful
I told you so
look. “Honey we knew you’d be back for them.”

“Yes
,” Tuesday smiled, “and here I am. You know me so well.” So it meant extra shifts at the Café. Those beauties were worth it.

“But we’re so sorry
. We told you they wouldn’t last at that price.”

Tuesday’s face fell.
“You mean they’re gone?”

“Just before closing an old
customer came in. She’s the wife of a director. He makes those vampire movies? Someone just died on the set or something. Maybe you saw it on the news.”

Tuesday’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Mrs. Vitale?”

“That’s the one. She can afford Rodeo Drive but she likes a bargain once in a while so she comes in here. She was browsing just as we put them on display. She snapped them right up. Didn’t even haggle over the price.”

Tuesday was kicking herself for not snapping them up herself. It was the Dior suit all ov
er again, but what could she do? The universe was telling her to be practical. Never a welcome message, but so be it.

“I
can see how she’d need retail therapy right now,” she said trying to be philosophical. “It’s been a bad news week for them. I can relate.”

She forced herself to be upbeat, yet
her heart was sinking into her solar plexus. “Well good for you two. That was a nice sale for the shop. I should know by now that when it comes to your inventory, she who hesitates is lost. If something like that shows up again, you’ll save them for me, okay?”

Marci had quietly rescued from the racks the clothes Tuesday
had rejected yesterday. “You bet we will, dear. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink the sweater set?” She shook the hangars temptingly.

Tuesday made a show of putting her hand to ear to listen for something. “No,
sorry. They’re not speaking to me today.”

Marci
shrugged, said, “Can’t blame us for trying,” and Tuesday waved goodbye. She hoped the new owner of the gorgeous butterflies wasn’t going to show them off until she got over her jewelry envy. She was afraid that if she ran into her wearing them at the Café she’d cause a scene ripping them off her ears. Oh well, now she had nothing to distract her from thinking about the new man.

The first night they had leaned against Tuesday’s Civic
for half an hour, lingering outside Goren’s house making chitchat to see if the initial lightening bolt they both felt was real. They argued in a flirty way about who spotted whom first.

“I was standing outside with the gangbangers trying to get your attention and you walked right by me.” He feigned hurt feelings, and Tuesday declared him the winner. He asked for her email, and she handed him her card, grazing her lips ever so slightly as they said goodnight.

Now, two nights later,
they were letting their steaks grow cold staring into each other’s eyes. She would have shown the door to any other date who suggested a restaurant chain. But when he emailed, “Ozzie’s Steaks good for you?” she joked, “Whither thou goest I will go,” and she knew she wasn’t just quoting Scripture.

He wrote back, “There’s one about a mile from my house. Sorta my second home.”

Tuesday found it easily. She had a rule to stay safe on a first date, so she drove herself to the Australian themed steakhouse. First they established how they each knew Goren Vitale--if they had mentioned that while they stood watching the rising moon that first night, Tuesday couldn’t remember, in fact she couldn’t remember much except him saying, “We gotta do this again. Soon.”

They sat in a booth near the bar and gigantic TV so she leaned in to explain,
“I’m twelve degrees removed. A friend of a friend of Goren’s.”

He answered
, “I’m a zillion degrees removed. I was supposed to meet a friend there, but he went to the wrong party. I guess it wasn’t exactly a party.”

Tuesday
brought Ariel’s death. He’d told her he’d once been on the force. She figured he might have some clues.

“How do you think
she died? They’re looking at foul play, right? I haven’t seen any details on the news.”

He put up his hands to slow her down. “
Whoa, Nellie. I’m just an ex-cop. I don’t have inside info.”

The waitress came over and
said, “Nice to see you, Charlie,” then smiled at Tuesday. “What can I get for you, hon? Something to drink while you scan the menu?”

They agreed to split a Caesar s
alad and he ordered rib eyes for them, medium rare. He handed back the menus and asked, “How the kids doin', Betsy?”

She made notes on her pad while she answered,
“Oh you know. They keep me wondering how much time I’d get for stringing them up by their toes,” then stuck her pencil into her over permed, frizzy ponytail before she gathered up the menus.

“A lot
, Betts.”

“Some days it’d be
worth it.” She walked away chuckling, the sound of her pantyhose scraping against her ample thighs.

Tuesday cocked an eye. “Charlie?
You told me your name was . . .”

For a moment she thought he was going to reach
for her hand, then he changed direction and toyed with the salt and pepper shakers.

“
It is. She never gets it right. Sometimes I’m Clyde or Marty. At least she remembers how I like my steak. Usually I eat at the bar and watch a game if I don’t have plans. But that’s only, you know, six, seven nights a week.”

Tuesday gave him a flirty smile. “We could change that. I know restaurants that serve better steaks.”

She melted when he looked deeply into her eyes, settling a grin on her. “Well, we just might have to talk about that.”

To catch her breath she brought up
Ariel’s death again, but he was reluctant to discuss it. She pressed him. “If you’re a retired cop, don’t you have some theories?”

They were sitting side by side in a booth and Tuesday stretched to
pull her jacket off, a Moschino Cheap and Chic original. He helped her slide it off her shoulders and set it on the opposite bench. He pointed to it and said, “That’s why I like you. You’re not afraid to make a statement. I don’t know anyone else who would wear shoulder pads in the twenty-first century.”

Her eyes popped wide.
“Do you know why I like you? I don’t know another man who knows that shoulder pads are so twentieth century.”

She told him about the jacket.
She’d had a friend who was an assistant to the designer when he was up and coming, before AIDS cut short his dazzling career. Her friend left it to Tuesday in his will when he died of old age at eighty-four. It was her most treasured piece. She had lent it to an east coast museum when they did a show on designers of the eighties.

She preened a bit. “I thought it was just the thi
ng for an important first date.” She wore it over a tulle skirt, ankle tights and ballet flats. “I know it’s a little conservative but I don’t know your vibe yet.”

He did something with his eyebrows that set o
ff nice sparks in her stomach. He said, “I like your vibe just fine.”

She lowered her eyes shyly and
he took it as an invitation to change places. He slid into the seat across from her, next to her jacket. “I need to look into those baby blues. This is better. I get the full frontal. Ouch, don’t take that the wrong way. You know what I mean.”

She threw her head back, laughing. “You’re making me blush. Not my best look.
And they’re hazel, not blue. Pay attention.”

It was his tur
n to laugh. Tuesday needed to keep the flirting under control until she got her bearings. This was fun, but she wanted to be sure he wasn’t playing her. After all, she was breaking one of her major rules. No dating cops. But he was ex, so maybe that made it okay. She turned serious. “Let’s get off the hot seat and talk about Ariel.”

“Wow, from the frying pan into the fryer. Do we really want to spoil the mood by talking about a dead girl?” He looked skyward. “No offence,
Ariel.”

Tuesday grimaced.
“Oh, maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe you didn’t work in homicide. I just assumed since you were a detective . . .”

“Oh I did my stint
on the mean streets.”

“I have an ulterior motive for talking about the case.”

But just then
Betsy returned with bread and their salads. Tuesday tried not to make a face when she tasted the bottled dressing. She wasn’t a food Nazi but she did like fresh and organic. Unless it was ice cream. Or candy bars.

He
took a bite and winked at her. “Best Caesar in LA,” he said, talking around a mouthful. “Am I right?”

Tuesday chewed
and smiled gamely, then pushed her plate away. “Saving myself for the steak.”

“Wait till you try their ribeye. Man o man.”

Tuesday wanted to get back to the subject at hand. “As I was saying, my sources tell me . . .”

He grinned. “Sources? Now you sound like me. When I used to have sources.”

She grinned back. “I’m not trying to go all CSI on you. It’s just that I’ve been hearing things. If the police are looking into this, something’s up. This crisis has taken over my life, and I didn’t even know her. But it’s affecting my client and she means the world to me. I’d like to find out what I can, so I can be a support to her.”

Betsy returned with the steaks.
He was still evasive, dug into his ribeye before he answered. Tuesday noticed that he liked his beef well salted. “But why are you drilling
me
? Like I said, I quit the force a couple, three years ago. I have no inside contacts. I don’t know anything you don’t know.”

She had stepped on his toes. She could see that in the uncomfortable shrug he gave her, so she backtracked.

“I’m
overstepping my bounds. We don’t have to talk about this at all. No way. It’s just that I’m really worried that Holley is in danger. But that’s not your problem. I’m sorry if I upset you. I know she’s okay tonight. She has a friend who’s coming over to stay with her.”

Holley had assured her that s
he would keep trying Roger. If he couldn’t come over and sleep on her couch, she would ask Harry, the hairdresser, who had a black belt in Tae Kwan Do. Tuesday had promised to check in as soon as she got home from dinner.

He
put his fork down to reach across the table and take her hand. “Listen, I’m being a jerk. Of course you’re worried for your friend. I should have gotten that. I’ve just tried to keep a lot of distance between me and my former life. I was trying to sideline the conversation. Forgive me?”

“Of course. It’s just that since you were at the police station, I thought . . . “

“I don’t have connections, but I have friends there. I was just meeting up with some of the guys.”

“I get it. You’re a man of mystery.” She cut into her steak. At least it was medium rare, just the way she liked it. Not that she ate a lot of meat. She tried to keep vegetarian, but she believed a steak once in awhile was good for her iron levels. And her taste buds. Was she ever going to stop having arguments with herself over what she ate?

“
Listen, I won’t say I’m not interested in this case. Occupational hazard. I can quit the force but my curiosity comes with me. I have some theories, sure. But I’m not in the pipeline anymore, so this is just speculation. If they say it was a heart attack, I’d go with that. Killer would have to be pretty savvy to make a young woman’s death look like natural causes if it wasn’t. In an older person, yeah, but how old was she? Mid-twenties? You just can’t fake that.”

“What about poison? Couldn’t that make a death look like natural causes?”
She thought about the Darling Valley case.

He was a fastidious eater. He broke his bread over the side dish so there were no crumbs on the table and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin from time to time. Tuesday liked a man who was neat and tidy
He finished his steak before she did, crossed his knife and fork across the plate.

“You know that I’m not a forensic expert. But in my experience, the poisons someone in the general public could acquire, and there are plenty--poison isn’t that hard to get your hands on--but the common ones? Available to the consumer? Rat poison and the like? They leave traces. Even poisonous garden plants like oleander. Soon as the medical examiner goes to work they find it in the bloodstream, the tissues, the stomach. Nothing like that’s been reported.”

Betsy came by to take
his plate away, but he stopped her. He pointed to Tuesday. “My friend hasn’t finished yet.”

Betsy smiled and turned to the next table. Tuesday
was impressed. “How very polite of you.”

He shrugged. “It’s in my blood. My mom was a caterer. Russian service in our house, every night. Everybody gets served at the same time, everyone’s plate is cleared at the same time. It’s nice when you think about it. No one is left eating alone after everyone else i
s finished. Nobody notices if you finish first, so nobody calls you a hog.”

“I take it you had an older brother.”

“Two. The teasing? They were on me for everything, but not at dinner. They had to follow the same rules.”

Tuesday shrugged. “I’m an only child.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Maybe.” She wasn’t going to get into her family history. She’d have to run up her cholesterol numbers with a lot of steak dinners before she’d agree to go there.
He seemed to get it and pushed on with his version of Ariel’s death.

“
I’m not saying you couldn’t make a young person look like they had heart failure. I’m saying it isn’t easy to fake it. A person falls down the stairs and it could be an accident or maybe they were pushed. But there’s no accident that gives you a cardiac arrest. An electric shock, poison, whatever you try. Any coroner will spot the signs right away. If LAPD isn’t coming up with anything, I’d go with heart attack. It happens. You read about these young kids, high school athletes fifteen, sixteen years old. Perfect specimens you think. They work out one day and bam.” He punched his fist into his hand and Tuesday jumped. “They’re gone. And another thing. Nothing was disturbed in her house. So there you go. Heart attack.”

There was a note of finality when he said
heart attack
. Perhaps his memories of his time on the force troubled him and he wanted to stay away from murder and mayhem. Tuesday got that. But she couldn’t let it go. Holley’s safety could be at stake. “The news shows are calling it a suspicious death. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

He took her hand again. “Here’s what I think. You
r friend Holley should do everything she can to make herself feel secure until this is all worked out. Not because I think anything is going to happen to her, but double bolted doors, a great big dog, police cruising her neighborhood a few times a night? All that promotes mental health. Can’t hurt. Beyond that, I think you should let the police do their job and let it go. Take care of your own mental health.”

“You’re probably right.” That’s what she said. But no way was she going to let this drop. If there was anything she could do for Holley, she wouldn’t leave a tern unstoned, as the old joke went. She wasn’t sure what her next move would be, but there had to be a way she could get information from the police that would help Holley.