Drag Queen in the Court of Death (22 page)
Read Drag Queen in the Court of Death Online
Authors: Caro Soles
Tags: #Fiction, #Gay, #Suspense, #General, #Mystery & Detective
So this is what a murderer looks like, I thought as I studied my face in the bathroom mirror next morning. I had killed Bianca, just as surely as Duane had killed Rey Montana. And I probably felt more guilty than he did. Duane was the organized one. The one who had the answers. The one who got results. And then he went away, and Bianca had never forgiven him for that. For being successful. Did he have help? Was it Nigel's money that had given him his start?
Bianca had finally made front-page news: Drag queen's suicide gives answer to thirty-year-old murder. They had matched the bullets from Bianca's gun to the one that killed Rey Montana. Ronnie was officially off the hook. With nothing to feed it, the whole thing would die in a day or two. They had no idea of anyone else's part in the murder, just that Bianca had known Ronnie. My name was mentioned as the landlord.
Thank you, Ronnie.
But in spite of this, I felt strangely divorced from it all. It was over. It really was over. It was as if now I could put it all behind me and get on with my life. All these years I had been marking time, in a way, waiting to find out why I had failed with Ronnie. And now I knew. He had pushed me away because he loved me. Because he didn't want me to be involved in his sordid past. And I had let him. But now, I knew, and it was because Ronnie had taken me back at the end, made me his executor, knowing I would dig around until I found all the answers. He had given me the key to my future.
The phone rang as I was making coffee. I glanced at the clock. Nine a.m. on the dot. I considered letting it ring but decided against it.
"Hello, Michael. This is Rhys Evans from Nigel Ross's office."
"Good morning," I said.
"We saw the news story about the suicide in the paper," he said. "So I'm just calling to see how..."
"Rhys, put Nigel on the line."
"But..."
"Now, Rhys, or I hang up."
"Just a minute." He put me on hold. At least there wasn't any ghastly music dribbling in my ear subversively.
"Michael, Nigel Ross here. So sorry to hear you were involved in that unfortunate incident last night."
I didn't answer.
"I'm paying for the poor thing's burial. She was a constituent, after all."
"Indeed," I said.
"I understand you're writing a book?"
"Shame on you reading the yellow press, Nigel," I said. "You know they rarely get it right."
"So you're not writing a book on queens."
"On queens, maybe. Drag queens, never. I've had quite enough of them to last me a lifetime."
"I certainly understand how you feel," he said.
"I just bet you do," I said. "Look, Nigel, let's cut to the chase here. You've got a loyal supporter in Duane Kelley. And you don't have to worry about me, either, so relax."
"I certainly wasn't worried about you, Michael," he sputtered. "But it's best to let bygones be bygones."
"Couldn't have put it better myself," I said cheerfully and hung up.
As I drank my coffee in the solarium, I made a list of calls to make to workmen. I would be glad to get rid of the old place, if anyone would buy it, now that two violent deaths had happened on the third floor. But when I called my real estate agent, she seemed unfazed. "It'll be forgotten in a week," she said. "Location is all that counts in this market. Don't worry about it." Poor Bianca. She couldn't make a lasting impression even in death.
I spent the morning on the phone, going through the yellow pages until I found some workmen who agreed to actually come right now to do some work for an exorbitant sum. It would be worth it to get the place back in shape. I spent most of the afternoon making sure they actually did what I was paying them for, and by four o'clock I was home again, walking up my street past Logan's place. He was sitting on the front step.
"You're doing stairs these days?"
"My first try on my own," he admitted. He grinned his lopsided smile. "I phoned earlier, but you weren't in."
I sat down beside him. "I was hounding the workmen who were repairing last night's damage."
"I read about it. Suicide, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Sure."
I shrugged.
"So, you're satisfied?"
I nodded.
Logan hunched his shoulders and looked at his hands. "Fuck, Michael, I thought we were past this straight, gay, thing."
Startled, I looked at him. "I know a wall when I see it," he said.
"You don't know shit, Logan," I said. "Look, I really don't want to go into details on the street, okay?"
"Oh." He looked a little sheepish. At least that's how I decided to interpret the look.
"Can you make it to my place around eight? We can sit in the garden and talk there."
"Ah, the famous garden. Site of upheavals, sweaty young men, and dead fish," he said.
I laughed and got to my feet. "When are you coming back to rehearsal?"
"Oh, I don't think so."
"What better place to start? No one will even notice what key you're in."
"True."
"See you later." I waved and left him there, sitting on the step, a little closer to the life he had been watching from his window for so long.
Back home, I opened the door to find Julie in the hall, balancing a box on one hip as she dug her key out of her pocket.
"Moving back?" I asked.
"Earl kicked me out. His place is too small for two people anyway. So, are you going to kick me out too like you said?"
"No. Not unless you refuse to pay your rent," I added.
"So you're not pissed at me anymore, right?"
"Wrong," I said.
"Shit, Michael, get over it, okay?"
"I have," I said, "but that doesn't mean everything's back the way it was. I'm going forward, not back."
"Whatever that means," she muttered, sticking her key in the lock.
"It means no more dropping in, no more muffins and bagels and hanging out in the garden. What you do is your own business, but don't ever involve me again."
"Fine. I'm a journalist. Deal with it."
"Oh, I have," I said and went inside where a list of messages lay in wait. I phoned my sister first.
"I see you're on the front page again," she said.
"I expect to become completely un-newsworthy very soon," I said.
"I sincerely hope so. Can you come to dinner next Tuesday?"
"Good God, I didn't think I was that presentable."
"Well, if you're going to keep turning up at events like the Dharman gala, with your wife, even, I guess you are."
"Who else will be there?"
"Remember Adrian? Our cousin from England?" "Of course. I haven't seen him in years."
"Well, he's in Toronto for a visit, and I'm inviting him." "And you want the tray," I said.
"Well, yes, but I was going to invite you, anyway."
"Oh," I said, surprised. "Sure. Tuesday it is. We'll be there."
"We?" she said cautiously.
"Me and the tray," I said, and she laughed. "And Trish," I added, as she was about to hang up. "You can keep the tray."
Silence. "Really?" she said.
"You were right, you know. I don't look after it. And I don't entertain much anymore. You keep it. If I do decide to throw a big party, I can always borrow it back."
"Certainly," she said, real warmth in her voice for the first time. "Thanks, Michael. See you on Tuesday."
I hung up and looked at my father's sword hanging on the wall next to Ronnie's picture. I shook my head. Family. What an odd skein of conflicting feelings we wind around ourselves. Half the time we've forgotten the cause of the deep-seated resentment we drag around. Poor Trish. At least she now would have one thing she had always wanted.
And what about me? What did I want?
I glanced at my watch, then picked up the phone.
"Michael!" said Jaym, sounding pleased.
"I hate these newfangled devices," I grumbled. "Can't ever give anyone a real surprise anymore."
"Are you okay? After last night, I mean? I read in the paper—"
"I'm fine."
"Good, and you did give me a surprise. A nice surprise too," he said. "Unless you've called to tell me the beer has exploded or something."
"The beer's fine. I'm fine, thanks for asking, and I want to see you."
"Now?"
"Now."
"I'm on my way."
That was easy. I stared at Ronnie's picture that Jaym had done for me. I smiled. Food. We'd need food. Luckily, there was some in the freezer. And wine. There was lots of that. And Logan was coming at eight so I wouldn't have time to make a total fool of myself. I hadn't felt like this in years.
I set the table in the solarium. Chose the wine, put on music. While I waited, I got out Ronnie's box of memories and lit the fire. I would keep the diary, that dog-eared scribbler from the '60s that had caused me so much grief and pleasure. I would keep the early photos and some of the later ones. Everything else would go. It was only my memories that were important. My memories and Ronnie's final gesture of trust.
How much was I going to tell Logan? How much was mine to tell? He would know I was leaving things out. He had sensed that already. So be it. No one knows the whole truth about anything.
Caro's mystery,
Drag Queen In The Court Of Death
, was short-listed for a Lambda Literary Award in 2008. She is the founder of Bloody Words, Canada's annual mystery convention. Writing in several genres, her work includes the mystery
The Tangled Boy
, the SF series
The Danger Dance
and
The Abulon Dance
as well as two short story collections and five erotic gay novels under the nom de plume Kyle Stone. Caro's short stories have been published in many anthologies and gay magazines and she received the Derrick Murdoch award from the Crime Writers of Canada in 2002.
Featuring a roll call of some of the best writers of gay erotica and mysteries today!
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Victor J. Banis
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William Maltese
Gary Martine
ZA Maxfield
Jet Mykles
L. Picaro
Neil Plakcy
Luisa Prieto
Rick R. Reed
AM Riley
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Jardonn Smith
Caro Soles
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Claire Thompson
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Check out titles, both available and forthcoming, at www.mlrpress.com
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