3 A Brewski for the Old Man (14 page)

“Detective Styles, the guy in charge of the investigation, came to see me,” I explained. “I’m right up there on the hit list of suspects.”

“And did you do it?”

“No.”

“Well, if you did they should give you a medal.”

“No medal for me. I’d like to meet Thia Charters.”

“And her mother.” She wagged her finger at me. “You have to meet Anita too.”

“Would Anita kill Ray John if she knew he was fooling around with Thia?”

She squinted her eyes at me, probably trying to focus but looking like she was concentrating real hard and expecting me to know the answer. “Don’t know,” she finally said. “But I’ll tell you one thing — RJ only had to crook his little finger and Mommy would have been jumping into bed with him. She had the hots for him. Well, to be honest she goes for anything in pants, gay divorcee.” She giggled. “Don’t mean that, can’t use gay like that anymore.” She gave a big yawn. “Shit, I’m bagged.” She yawned again. “Got to go out tonight.”

“Have a nap. I’ll call you in the morning. I’d really like to meet Thia. See if you can arrange it, will you? If you do I might even let you win a golf game.”

“What?” She jumped to her feet to protest, misjudged and sat back down hard.

I held out a hand to her and pulled her off the couch. “You can’t beat me,” she said when she was on her feet. Her right hand was making wide vague circles like a hawk looking for a place to land. “Even if I gave you strokes you couldn’t win.”

“Let’s find out.” I started walking to the front door.

“Wait.”

I looked back at her. She had this enormous smile on her face. “I know how you can meet them. I’ll check and call you tomorrow.”

Marley was waiting up for me when I got home from the Sunset about midnight. Normally an early-to-bed girl, she was curled up on the leather couch. As soon as I came into the room she sat up and said, “I can’t keep up this pace.” Yawning and stretching, she tossed back the mohair throw and planted her feet firmly on the hardwood.

“Go to bed,” I told her. “You look like you’re done.”

“We need to talk first. There’s something I didn’t tell you.” She sat very still with her hands folded in her lap.

This wasn’t good. I felt the great big axe hanging over my head drop closer. I was too tired for whatever grief was coming but I sank down in a chair across from her and waited for it. Marley’s eyes locked on mine. “Lacey went out last night.”

“Sweet Jesus, is this nightmare never going to end?”

“I came out of the bedroom about two-thirty — the door to the den was open. I peeked in. She wasn’t there. I thought she might be having a bad time, you know, with everything going on, so I went to look for her on the lanai. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere. I thought she was either in with you or had gone home to her mother. Either way, I let it lie and went back to bed. Then there she was in the morning. It didn’t really sink in until this afternoon that she was out of the apartment.”

I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “She took my keys off the bar and drove the truck out to the Preserves.” What she’d done next was beyond my ability to say.

“But she doesn’t have a license,” Marley protested.

“I knew those Baptists were going to be a bad influence on you. You’re talking like a tight-ass Sunday School teacher. Driving without a license is still a lesser sin than murder.”

“But can she drive?”

“Seems she knew enough to get out to the Preserves. Ray John was paying for lessons. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Marley’s brain made the next connection. “Now we know what your truck was doing out there.”

I pushed out of the chair and headed for the kitchen to look under the bar where I’d left my pouch with the Beretta in it. It wasn’t there. I’d picked up my keys to take Lacey home and never noticed it was missing. With Ray John dead I didn’t need it anymore.

Marley had followed me into the kitchen. “What is it?” Marley asked.

“My gun is gone. I left it under the bar but it’s not there anymore. Lacey must have taken it.” “Gun. You have another gun?”

“Yup, well at least I did. It was in the fanny pack. It’s gone now.”

“You have to tell Styles.”

“I have to think about that.”

“Sherri, you can’t protect her. If you try, you’re only going to land in it yourself.” “I’m already in it.”

“It’s going to come out that it was your gun.”

“Only if Lacey tells them.”

“She will once we explain to Styles that she was out of the apartment. Besides, can’t they check and see who owns a gun? They’ll know from the registration, won’t they?”

“I’m not sure about that. The gun came from Tully. What are the chances of it being registered?”

“Zip,” Marley said. “Call Styles first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll probably be charged with some gun offense. All the gossip and stories will start up again. This is going to be nasty.” “You’re thinking about Clay, aren’t you? He loves you.” I laughed. “Miss Emma used to say that when trouble came in the door, love went out the window.”

“That old lady just had far too much to say.” Marley turned away and started for her bedroom.

“Oh my god,” I said.

“What?”

“Miss Emma also used to say, ‘Don’t rake the coals if you don’t want to start a fire.’ I sure as hell raked the coals, didn’t I — getting involved in other people’s lives? Do you think I’m responsible for Ray John’s death?”

“Yes, and you’re probably responsible for the sun coming up tomorrow. Go to bed.” She started for her room and stopped again. “My first two patients cancelled and I didn’t rebook. I’m all yours. Quality time, babe — a morning walk on the beach and breakfast. I want to hear all about Tully, the white knight.”

Marley dragged me out of bed obscenely early. Out on the beach not another soul disturbed our view of the crashing waves and diving pelicans. Marley had the shells she could never resist all to herself. Walking a beach with Marley is a waste of time; she never gets farther than a few yards before she’s bent over and moving like a snail. But that was okay with me. I used the time to think things through.

We were back at the apartment and Marley was frying bacon while I was mixing pancakes when the phone rang.

“Hi, it’s Sheila.”

“How are you?” I asked.

“Better than I deserve. My head is about the size of Mt. Rushmore and my stomach is a Maytag, but I’m functioning. That’s the trouble with that kind of partying. It’s no fun the next day.”

“God got you for celebrating someone’s death.”

“You mean you weren’t too?”

“Oh yeah, but I was a little bit more distracted by the details.”

“Anyway, I’ve solved your problem of meeting Thia and Mommy. You and I are lunching with them today at the Royal Palms.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I’m the chair of this charity luncheon and fashion show. Mommy’s on my committee and Thia is in the fashion show. I found an extra ticket.” “Now that’s a good thing.”

Ever notice how one good thing is always followed by numerous bad things? I didn’t even have time to drop a pancake on the griddle before my mobile rang.

“Ziggy had a fire out at his yard last night,” Tully told me.

“He’s in the hospital.”

My heart rate shot up. “Uncle Zig? How bad is it?” “He suffered some burns but it isn’t life-threatening. His trailer is gone though.”

“Son of a bitch! This was no ordinary fire, was it?”

“Fire marshal is still investigating but one of the firemen told me it started in more than one place.” “Why, why would anyone do this?”

“Those folks have been trying to drive Zig out for a long time. Things started to get real nasty about five months back. It’s in the courts but it looks like they didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“I’m on my way to the hospital,” I told him and hung up without a goodbye.

I was stopped at the nursing desk and told only immediate family could see Ziggy. I was still begging to be allowed to see my father, Ziggy Peek, when someone touched my arm. I swung to face Tully who just walked away without speaking, heading for a door down the hall. I followed.

Nothing creates panic like the foreign and inhuman environment of an ICU room. Stark cold surfaces, mixed with strange sounds and smells, ensure thoughts of the worst outcome. Nothing like the clang of metal, the silent drip of liquid into a vein, measuring out life drop by drop, to say, “This is serious shit,” and grab your attention.

Uncle Ziggy’s big belly, covered by a blinding white sheet, was the only part of him visible from the door. It didn’t seem to be moving. Tully gave me a nudge forward and I slid cautiously into the room. It was strange to see Uncle Ziggy in all this whiteness and neatness; I was accustomed to seeing him against a background of decay and destruction.

Closer now, I could see the devastation. His shaggy grey hair was gone. What was left was blackened and singed, the skin blistered below. His eyebrows were gone, his fine lashes burnt away. He’d never been an attractive man but now he looked grotesque with his greased red face, the features obliterated by swelling. On the flame-colored cheek closest to me were stitches. His graceful hands, with their long slim fingers, were encased in what looked to be plastic bags. Everything that was beautiful about Uncle Ziggy had been destroyed by the fire.

“Oh, Uncle Zig.” My low wail of pity brought his pale blue eyes around to find me. Now I could see the man I knew and loved. I moved closer, wanting to touch him, to comfort him but afraid of causing him more pain. “What have they done to you?”

“Hi, pumpkin.” Even the voice sounded charred and raw, the melodic bass turned into a harsh rasp.

“Don’t talk.” I reached out a hand for him and then drew it back. “There isn’t even any place left for me to kiss you.” He gave a harsh huff of laughter. “Ain’t no big thing, girl.”

The oxygen tubes in his nose, the IV bag stuck to his arm, told the lie. Uncle Zig was in real big trouble here. Uncle Ziggy’s eyes shifted to my father.

“Is the old buzzard still alive?” Tully asked, moving up beside me. “When I was in before you didn’t open your eyes. Thought you might be planning on checking out.” “Too mean to die,” Uncle Zig wheezed.

“And too ugly.” Dad reached past me and laid a hand on Uncle Zig’s chest. “You hang on, you hear?”

Uncle Zig lifted his chin, as much of a nod as he could manage. “Want to tell you,” he wheezed out, “before the nurses come and chase you off.”

“It can wait,” I said, but he ignored me and concentrated on Tully.

“No accident.”

“I know,” Tully told him. “I talked to the firemen.”

“Tried to burn me out. Ohio, two of them.” He stopped and concentrated on his breathing. “Something else, pickup with a cap on it and a trailer hitch.” Some more time out as he let the prongs blow more oxygen down to his lungs. “Bet they’re camping somewhere.” “Tell the police,” I urged him. His eyes stayed fixed on Tully.

I turned to see my dad give Uncle Zig a little nod. “Now listen you two, none of that.” My voice rose an octave. “Leave it to the police.”

“Sure,” said my father. His tone wasn’t convincing and I wasn’t believing him.

“Look after Ralph,” Uncle Zig said. His eyes fluttered closed, tiredness or drugs overtaking him.

I turned to my dad. “Ralph?” “The peacock.”

“Damn, you mean that peacock has a name?”

“Didn’t I just tell you?” He turned away, now everything had been said, he was gone. We stopped for a nurse pushing a cart of equipment out of the next room.

“Ralph?” I asked. “Who would name a peacock Ralph?”

“Apparently Zig would.”

“Thank god he never had children.”

“Well, a man named Zigfried is bound to be partial to the unusual,” Tully said and pushed the elevator button.

“So, what are you planning?” I asked as I watched the numbers.

“You’ve always had a vivid imagination, haven’t you?”

“Along with a crazy old man — two things that can deliver interesting possibilities.”

We left the hospital together. Another fine clear day, the kind you see on brochures, palm trees waving and birds singing, it was about seventy-five degrees at eleven in the morning but Tully didn’t notice. He was in a world all his own, plotting and making plans — revenge was his new mistress.

“I’m asking again.” I tugged on his shirt. “What are you planning?”

He let his breath out slowly and snarled, “The sons of bitches, they were going to drive him out, going to win in the end, but they just couldn’t wait. The city already passed a law that he couldn’t live there anymore, said it was for commercial purposes only, not residential. He was coming out to live with me. Every month they’re finding more and more ways of making it difficult for him to hold onto his property. Zig was coming around to the idea of leaving, had even made plans to sell out, but they just couldn’t wait.” Tully kicked a pebble off the sidewalk.

“I understand how he feels,” I said, “losing his home and the business he built, but won’t he get filthy rich off the sale of his property?”

Tully glared at me. “What good is money going to do Zig?” “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t right. Is that what we gave up three years of our lives for, so some dickhead with a lawyer can push him off his own land? A man can’t live his life the way he wants anymore.”

“That could almost pass as a political opinion. You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you? You think this is right?” he roared.

“Nope, but I’m not planning on doing anything dumb.”

“And you think I am?”

“Absolutely. The question is just how dumb?’ His shoulders relaxed and he grinned at me. And then he did an extraordinary thing. He leaned forward and kissed the end of my nose. “See you later.”

I watched him walk to his truck in his loose-jointed amble. No use telling him to be careful or think twice before doing whatever stupid thing he was about to do. Dumb and getting dumber, that was my daddy.

I gave in to my fears as he squawked open his truck door and yelled, “Be careful.” He didn’t respond, just peeled out of there like some brainless teenager.

At the restaurant no yellow police tape cordoned off the elevator or the stairs, so Miguel and Isaak hadn’t swung for each other with cleavers. No one had been killed in the kitchen yet. The two of them were getting closer and closer to open warfare every day, something I was putting off dealing with as long as I could. I liked them both, needed them both, but honest to god the drama of them each trying to be top dog was giving me an ulcer.

I ignored the pokey little elevator and took the stairs two at a time, racing to my office to check my messages. All the disasters were manageable. No supplier had closed me down and only one waitress had to be replaced for dinner.

I headed to the kitchen to see that all the food supplies had arrived. I stepped through the door and was overwhelmed with delicious odors, spices mixed with the smell of roasting meat, reminding me that I hadn’t had any breakfast.

It was strangely quiet in the kitchen, everyone had their head down, working like crazy, beating and chopping and flipping. Watching a good kitchen work is like watching a dance routine — it’s organized and smooth and flowing. I checked with Isaak. He said, “Yes, yes, everything is fine, now go away.” I went to check that the beer order was in.

By the time I’d returned my calls, yelled at a few suppliers and sweet-talked a few more it was too late to go home and change for Sheila’s luncheon. My black staff skirt and the white blouse that I wore when I filled in for missing staff would have to do. There was a spot on the blouse, which I removed in the ladies room, leaving a large wet blob, and of course I had to be wearing a lacey black bra which showed through the white blouse. I undid the top button to show more of my black bra. Perhaps it would look like a fashion statement, trashy but hip.

Or perhaps they’d throw me out of the Royal Palms where the dress code was probably tougher than at Buck House. I put on extra makeup and found a pair of Fuck-Me black-patent stilettos under my desk. It would have to do.

Downstairs, I went around to peek in Rena’s store. There were no lights on and the door had a sign saying, “Closed due to a death in the family.” I recognized Peter Rowell’s handwriting. The fact that Rena hadn’t asked me to put up the sign told a story in itself.