Blowing Smoke (12 page)

“What are you still doing here?” he said. “I answered your questions. Now get out.”

“All in good time.” I picked up a paperweight containing the Empire State Building and shook it. Little flurries of snow swirled around. I'd had one like it when I was a little girl. My father had bought it for me. It had stood on my nightstand for years. I shook it again, wondering what had happened to it.

“Put that down,” he ordered.

“Sorry.” I gestured toward the tables. “What do you do with all of this stuff?”

“I sell it to people that want to buy it.”

“You're a dealer?”

“In a small way. Yes. Now, will you leave.”

“In a minute. Who do you sell to?” I asked as we moved toward the dining room/kitchen area.

“Other dealers. Collectors.”

“Do you ever sell to your mother?”

Louis snorted. “Get real. The most expensive thing I have sells for five hundred. Even the ashtrays in Rose's place cost more than that.”

I picked up a rhinestone crescent. “I used to have a pin like this. I threw it out.”

Louis took it out of my hand. “Too bad. Because I can sell it to a store in New York City for about four hundred dollars. Now will you go? I've told you everything I know.”

“Somehow I don't think that's the case.”

“Somehow I don't care.”

I pointed to a piece of blue-and-white pottery. “That looks like something your mother has.”

“My mother's is antique. That is a copy.” He smoothed his dress down. “Unless you have anything more to say. I suggest you leave and let me finish getting dressed.”

But I didn't want to. Something on the table was making Louis nervous, and I wanted to find out what it was. I took another look. All I saw was a jumble of costume jewelry. And then I saw it. The thing he didn't want me to see. A gold chain with a pansy charm lying on top of a pink poodle. A similar piece of jewelry had been hanging around Patricia Humphrey's neck when I'd spoken to her. Louis followed my gaze. He went to pick up the chain, but I scooped it up before he could and inspected it. The petals were enameled. A small ruby chip was imbedded in the center. Two tiny emeralds gleamed on each small leaf.

“Nice. Where'd you get this?”

Louis glowered at me. “Forget what you're thinking.”

“And what would that be?”

“For your information, Pat gave that to me. She wants me to sell it for her.”

“If she gave it to you, why are you so nervous about me finding it?”

“I'm not. I don't give a shit what you think.” He extended his hand. “May I have it back now?”

“No, you may not.”

“That's not your property.”

“Too bad.” I slipped the piece of jewelry in my jeans' pocket. “I think I'll let Pat Humphrey tell me what she wants to do with it when I find her.”

“Give it back.” Louis's voice rose.

“That's if she can talk when I do.”

He clenched his jaw. “That's stealing.”

“That should be the least of your concerns. But”—I pointed to the phone—“you can always call the police and report me. Go ahead,” I urged. “What's the matter? Afraid to dial the number?”

“If I were responsible for Pat Humphrey's disappearance, why would I be stupid enough to leave a piece of her jewelry around? Why wouldn't I have gotten rid of it?”

“I've observed that people are inclined to do remarkably silly things when they're stressed.”

Louis moved toward me. “Let me have it.”

“I don't think so. Perhaps it's time you called your mother's lawyer and had a chat with him.”

Blotches of color blossomed on Louis's cheeks. “Like hell I will. God, you really are some piece of work,” he ranted. “You barge in here without calling. You insult me. You steal something that isn't even mine, and to top it all off, you're telling me I had something to do with Pat Humphrey's disappearance. Trust Hillary to hire some brainless piece of shit like you.”

“Brainless?” I snorted. “Unlike you, you fashion-impaired cocksucker.”

As I watched Louis clench his fist and draw back his arm, I wondered which words he'd found more objectionable: fashion-impaired or cocksucker? Probably fashion-impaired.

It occurred to me a little too late that this man weighed at least eighty pounds, maybe even one hundred pounds, more than I did. Plus he'd fought professionally. He was not a good person to piss off. And it was too late to take my words back.

I tried to knee him, but he was too fast for me—even with his dress on.

I should have tried ducking instead.

Not that that would have done too much good, either.

There was really no place to go.

Louis caught me on the side of my jaw with an uppercut. I felt my head snap back, I felt a blinding pain behind my eyes, and then I didn't feel anything at all.

I
felt something warm on my cheek. The warm became wet. Something tickled my skin. Then I realized Zsa Zsa was licking my face. I opened my eyes. The light on the trailer ceiling seemed to be pulsing on and off in time to the sound of a baby crying. Probably the same baby I'd heard earlier. Why couldn't someone shut that kid up, for God's sake? I wondered how Louis dealt with it. Louis! That cross-dressing putz. I saw his fist smashing into my jaw and closed my eyes again.

Zsa Zsa barked and started licking the corner of my mouth. It tickled. “Okay.” I turned my head. “Enough. Go away.”

But she kept right on doing what she had been, and I let her, mostly because I couldn't summon up the energy to push her off. Besides, I liked the floor. The linoleum tile was comfortable. Nice and cool. I decided I could stay there for a while. A really long while. I was drifting off again when I heard something ringing. A phone. It went on and on. Someone should get it. Jeez. Couldn't anyone get any rest around here? Then I realized it was my cell phone. Which was where? I searched my mind. Floor? Backpack? In the car? And then I remembered.

“Hello,” I groaned into it after I'd managed to extract the damned thing from my pocket.

“Robin? Is that you?”

“No, Manuel. It's Zsa Zsa.” I sat up and instantly regretted the action. The room started spinning. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“You sound funny. Are you okay?”

“Not really. But I'll live.”

“Where are you?”

I explained.

“I'm coming over.”

“Don't. I'll be fine.” I massaged my temples with my free hand. “What did you call about?”

“I just wanted to tell you that Bethany didn't go back to that shack tonight. But I've got a couple of other places I think she might be.”

“Call me when you get something.”

“You sure you're all right? I can come get you.”

“I'm fine, honestly. I promise to call you if I need any help.” And I hit the OFF button.

Zsa Zsa wagged her tail and began cleaning my fingers while I ran my tongue over my teeth—mercifully, they were all there. I moved my jaw up and down. It hurt—and would probably hurt more tomorrow—but I'd been lucky. Nothing seemed to be broken. It took me another couple of minutes before I was able to push myself up from the floor. Zsa Zsa stayed by my feet, encouraging me with little barks. I dug through my pockets. Pat Humphrey's chain was gone, along with Louis. It looked as if Rose Taylor had been right to be worried about her children's involvement in Humphrey's disappearance, after all. What is it they say about a mother's intuition?

I wondered how far Rose Taylor's extended as I saw the wig and the dress her son had been wearing thrown in a pile by the bed. Guess the party was off. I looked in the bathroom. The wastepaper basket was filled with torn pieces of paper with makeup on them. Louis's false eyelashes were sitting on the bathroom shelf, looking like the spider that had been crawling on my arm earlier that evening.

I wondered where Louis had gone off to as I contemplated them. To where Pat Humphrey was—if she was alive? To move her body if she wasn't? To K mart? To see Debbie? Or maybe he had just panicked and was out riding around, trying to figure out what to do, like the rest of us poor slobs.

I picked up the lipstick sitting on the edge of the sink—Passion Pink. For a few seconds I pictured him buying it. Had the girl at the checkout counter said anything when Louis had bought it? Had he told her it was for his girlfriend? Or was it Debbie's? Then a picture of Pat Humphrey flashed through my mind. Had she been wearing lipstick? I couldn't remember. Not that it mattered.

As I put Louis's lipstick down, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. God, between my swelling jaw, my hair plastered to my head, and the big black circles under my eyes, I looked like a poster child for abused women. Or an accident victim. I just hoped George wasn't at my house when I finally made it home. I really didn't want him to see me looking like this. I didn't want to have to listen to what he had to say. It would be nice if he'd hug me and bring me an aspirin and an ice pack. But he wouldn't. He'd get angry and tell me what an idiot I was for getting myself in this situation in the first place. What made it even worse was that he was right.

Oh, well. I opened the medicine-cabinet door and examined the contents. Louis had stocked up on plenty of Q-tips, mouthwash, various pimple creams, and a variety of pills. I took the vials out and examined them. We had sleeping pills and the latest antidepressants, prescription antihistamines, something for heartburn, and over in the corner, buried behind a bottle of aspirin, something a little more interesting. Fifteen tabs of ecstasy in a bottle. The feel-good drug of the nineties. It's not just for kids anymore. Also known as E. Originally used by psychiatrists to help their patients open up, then at raves by club kids, and now by all sorts of people. A couple of tabs are supposed to relax you. Makes any sort of physical contact really nice. Side effects are minimal if you use it once in a while.

Personally, I'd never tried it. It had come on the scene after my druggie days. I swallowed about five of Louis's aspirin. I was thinking that maybe I should take a couple of tabs and go rollin', as the kids like to say, when Zsa Zsa ran out of the bathroom and started barking. Please, don't let this be Louis coming back, I prayed as I went to see what was going on. I sure as hell wasn't up for another dance with him. Maybe I should have let Manuel come get me, after all.

But it wasn't Louis. Zsa Zsa was barking at an attractive skinny girl standing in the middle of the trailer. She was in her mid-twenties. She'd buzzed her hair and bleached it out so it was platinum. She'd colored her lips a deep purple-brown and applied lots of eyeliner and mascara. She had a tattoo of a barbed-wire strand circling her upper left arm. She was wearing a very short black skirt, a tight white T-shirt, and a pair of strappy wedges.

“Where's Louie?” she demanded.

“He's gone.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Friggin' great. Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He just left.”

“Is he coming back?”

“I don't know. He didn't tell me.”

The girl moved closer. She put her hands on her hips and scrunched her eyes up. “So who are you, anyway?” she demanded. “I don't think I've ever seen you before.”

“My name is Robin Light. I'm guessing that you must be Debbie.”

She started. “How did you know that?”

“He thought I was you when he answered the door.”

“I got held up.” She plunked her backpack on a cabinet top. “Was he pissed?”

“A little.”

“You saw the dress he was wearing, right?”

I nodded.

She grinned. “I helped sew it. I want to be a fashion designer. We're gonna kick some butt at the party tonight.” And she threw her arms up and did a little victory dance.

I almost felt guilty disillusioning her. “I think he might have changed his mind.”

She came to a dead stop. “Whaddaya mean?”

“I don't think he's going to the party.” I pointed to the bed. “He took the dress off.”

“Oh, no.” She ran over, picked the dress off the bed, and cradled it in her arms. “I don't believe this,” she cried. “I worked for hours on this. What happened?” Then another thought occurred to her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“What did I do to him?” I indicated my jaw. “Look what he did to me.”

Debbie hugged the dress to her. “Louis would never hit someone outside the ring.”

“Well, he did.”

“I don't believe you. I think you're making it up.”

“I'm not making my jaw up.”

“Then he must have had a reason.” She squared her shoulders. “You must have done something to make him.”

“Yeah. I asked him about Pat Humphrey.”

Debbie tugged the front of her skirt down. “The pet-psychic lady? The one that's practically shacked up with Louis's mother?”

I perked up. “You've met her?”

“No. I've just heard about her. Louis talks about her all the time.”

“What does he say?”

Debbie moved her ring finger up and down. “That she's a fake. That she's ripping his mom off.”

“And?” I asked hopefully.

“That ever since she came on the scene, his mom doesn't want to talk to him anymore. Not that he really cares,” she added. “Now, why are you here? What does he have to do with her?”

“I'm not sure. She's disappeared, and his mother hired me to find her. I came by to ask him if he'd seen her, and he punched me.” Not exactly the way it happened but close enough.

Debbie carefully folded the dress and put it back on the bed, then took Louis's wig and put it on the stand on top of the dresser drawer. “So, you're some kind of private detective?”

“Something like that.” I gave her my card.

She tossed it on the bed. “He didn't have anything to do with Pat Humphrey disappearing.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he's a dear, sweet man. That's why.”

The room started spinning again. I steadied myself against the table. “I take it you're more than friends?”

She held out her hand. On it was a tiny diamond ring. “He's my fiancé.” Her grin was back. “We're going to be married next month.”

“His mother didn't say anything about that to me.”

“His mother doesn't know. And we're not telling her until afterwards. If she could, she'd control when he takes a leak. We're going to get married at the speedway. Then we're going to travel around the world. To Africa and India and Australia. I'm totally psyched.”

“Doesn't the fact that he's a transvestite bother you?”

“No. It's totally cool as far as I'm concerned.” Debbie ran her hand through her hair. “So what if he gets off on that kind of thing? People should be able to do what they want. I mean, guy, girl, age, race. They're irrelevant. Pretty soon they'll have a pill so you can change them at will.” Debbie hit her chest with her fist. “It's what's in here that counts.”

“That's what I'm worried about.”

“You are so wrong. What gives you the right to come in here and invade his space and make those kind of accusations?” Debbie was going to say something else when her beeper went off. “I gotta take this.” And she went out onto the steps. While she was out there, I took the opportunity to take a quick peek through her backpack.

She had a lipstick, lip gloss, mint-flavored condoms, and a key chain with a can of mace hanging from it—just like I did—jumbled up in the bottom. I lifted out her billfold and opened it up. Her license read “Debbie Wright.” I glanced at the address. She lived close to Bethany's friend Michelle.

I wondered if they knew each other as I did a quick count of the money she was carrying. It was all twenties and fifties. She had at least five hundred dollars, maybe more. I put that back and picked up a small plastic Ziploc bag. It had ten ecstasy pills in it. I pulled out another Ziploc bag. It contained twenty. I guess I knew where Louis had gotten his. I was holding one of the bags when she came through the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “Put that back.”

I did. “Do you sell this stuff?”

She grabbed her backpack. “No wonder Louis popped you one. I would myself if I did things like that.”

“So do you?”

“We were going to a party. These were for my friends, and please don't give me that archaic drugs-fry-your-brain crap. Because they don't.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“You guys give your kids Ritalin and all those serotonin reuppers, and that's okay, but this isn't.”

“I don't have kids.”

“Don't confuse the issue.” And she stormed out the door. I followed.

“You see Louis, you tell him to come talk to me,” I called after her.

She paused long enough getting into her Honda Civic to tell me to go fuck myself.

“Maybe I can keep him out of jail.”

She slammed the door and drove away.

So much for that. I motioned for Zsa Zsa and went back inside. I spent the next half hour going through Louis's stuff. I looked in his file cabinet and found the DBA for his antique business as well as his tax returns. A cursory glance told me he was getting by, but that was it. As I closed the drawer, I wondered where he was going to get the money to take his bride on her wedding trip.

I went through his dresser drawers next. Half of them contained the usual socks and underwear, while the other half contained bras and silk panties in sizes I didn't know they made. In a box by his bed I found what appeared to be every birthday card his mother had ever sent him, two pressed roses, plus clippings of his fights. An interesting mix.

Then, off to one side, on top of a stack of local newspapers, I found a bubble envelope addressed to Shana Driscoll. I opened it up. Three Tommy Makem and The Clancy Brothers CDs fell out. A fact that indicated what? I sighed and put them back and checked my watch. It was still early enough to go back and talk to Shana. I had a couple of more questions that I wanted to ask her.