Maddie Cochere - Two Sisters and a Journalist 01 - Murder Under Construction (5 page)

“It will be fun, won’t it? We’ll be two sisters and a journalist.” A light bulb went off over my head. I sat back in my chair, grinned, and said it again, “Two Sisters and a Journalist.”

They both smiled and nodded in agreement. It was perfect, and I was forevermore going to answer the red phone with the phrase.

When we finished our meals, Pepper and Jackie went out to the car while I stayed behind to see if there was someone I could ask about Ruby.

I leaned against the bar and asked the bartender, “Is the owner or manager in?”

He pointed to a set of curtains over a doorway.

“It’s ok if I go back there?”

He nodded and continued to mix a drink.

I parted the curtains and walked through to find myself in another room full of patrons. This room wasn’t serving food, but there was a small bar for serving alcohol. Two girls were dancing in bikinis on a heart-shaped stage. I approached the bar and waited for the bartender to finish drawing a beer.

Before I had a chance to ask him about management, a loud noise caused me to jump. I whirled around to see a girl in a black bikini crack a whip as she strutted back and forth across the stage. It was eerily reminiscent of my dream. I had a strong feeling that Ruby used to work here.

“Hey, lady, what can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

I turned around and decided to show him the picture. “Do you know this girl?”

Recognition flashed across his face. “You’ll have to talk to the boss. He’s over there in the red shirt.” He pointed to a man talking with two girls in bikinis.

I didn’t want to keep Pepper and Jackie waiting too long, so I rushed over and interrupted. “Excuse me. I’m looking for some help. Do you know this girl?” I held Ruby’s picture out in front of the three of them.

The man grabbed my arm and escorted me away from the girls to the end of the bar.

“Do you know who she is?” I asked again.

“It’ll cost you,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. He wanted money from me. When I was a private investigator, was I going to have to carry around a slush fund to pay for information?

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. If you want to know, you can slip me a fifty,” he said.

I didn’t have a fifty, but I did have two twenties and a ten. I pulled the bills out of my wallet and begrudgingly handed them to him. I asked again, “Do you know who she is?”

He paused before saying, “Yes.”

“Well?” I was getting impatient.

“You asked, and I answered.”

My jaw dropped. “I just paid you fifty dollars to tell me who she is.”

“No. You paid me fifty dollars to tell you if I knew who she was, and I said yes. I might have told you more if you had come in a few hours ago, but a couple of suits were here and told me to keep my mouth shut, so I am. You can go out that door.” He pointed to a side door before walking away from me.

I contemplated making a scene. I hated losing my money, and my temper was rising. I was going to have to learn to word my questions more carefully if I was going to turn pro. I rushed out the door and into the parking lot. Pepper already had the car in gear and pulled out of the parking space when she saw me. I hurried over to jump in.

“Hey, lady! Hey!”

I turned to see one of the dancers who had been talking with the owner calling for me. I waited for her.

She was slightly out of breath as she said, “I’m sorry to hear about Ruby. I knew her, and she was a real nice girl. She hasn’t worked here for a long time. Over a year. Maybe even closer to two.”

“Do you know who her pimp is or was?” I asked.

The girl appeared confused. “She didn’t have a pimp. Ruby wasn’t a prostitute. I don’t know what you heard, but all she ever did was dance at bars, clubs, and sometimes private parties. She said she got caught up in a couple of raids on parties when she lived in Pittsburgh, but she was never a prostitute.”

This bit of news threw a monkey wrench into Jackie’s theory. “Did you know her real name?” I asked.

She shook her head. “She was super secretive about her identity. Even the boss wasn’t sure if she was using her real name or not. She swore to everyone that Ruby Rosewell was her true and born name, and she had an I.D. to prove it, but I overheard her on the phone once talking to someone about her mother being in the hospital. I didn’t hear her say her last name, but I heard her first name.”

I held my breath waiting for her to say
Paula
.

Instead, my ears heard, “It was Charlotte.”

I tossed the crust from my fourth slice of pizza onto the open lid of the pizza box. Even though we had eaten in Pittsburgh shortly after four, I ordered a pizza at seven. By eight, I had eaten half of it and downed two beers. My pants were stretched to the max and digging into my waistline.

Ordering food always seemed like a good idea until I overindulged, which I did nearly every day lately. Going to Figure Perfect with Pepper on Wednesday would be the start of putting a stop to my binge eating. I reached for another slice.

My mouth was full when the red phone rang. It took me by surprise. Pepper was supposed to be having mad, wild sex all evening, and Jackie was off to the movies by now. She would probably have mad, wild sex when she got home. I had a momentary overwhelming feeling of missing Alan and the mad, wild sex we used to have – sometimes in this very room.

But now the red phone was ringing, so someone’s night wasn’t going as planned.

I chewed fast, swallowed hard, and jumped into the oversized chair to answer the phone. “Two Sisters and a Journalist.” I smiled with delight at saying the name.

There was no response.

“Jackie? Pepper?” It had to be one of them. “Come on, what’s up?”

There was a noise on the other end. It was soft at first – a shallow, thin noise.

“Jackie? What’s going on?”

The noise became louder. It was breathing. Raspy, ragged, heavy breathing - like from a sex offender.

I slammed the handset down. Whoever it was had to be calling random telephone numbers. I knew Jackie and Pepper would never give my number to anyone.

The phone rang again a few minutes later.

I answered with a tentative, “Hello?”

The breathing started right away.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?” I demanded.

The sound was creepy and disgusting at the same time. The longer I listened, the more it intensified. I slammed the handset down again.

When the phone rang for a third time, I answered but didn’t say anything. The heavy breathing resumed and seemed to have reached fever pitch.

I calmly said into the receiver, “You know, God loves you even though you’re a pervert.”

Mama used to say that to all the heavy breathers when I lived at home. It had been at least twenty years since I’d heard her say it, and as gross as the breathing had been, the entire experience made me smile. I hung up the phone and unplugged it from the wall outlet. Whoever it was wouldn’t be bothering me for the rest of the evening.

~ ~ ~

The pizza rolled and roiled in my stomach all night long. I tossed and turned until I finally dragged myself out of bed at nine.

Pepper had instructed guests to show up between noon and one o’clock. Hank would have Mama and Pepper’s kids there shortly after noon, so I planned to show up at one on the dot. I loved Mama, but her incessant nagging and criticizing of me was tiresome.

I poured a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs to the murder room. The blinds were still open from when I had been in here on Sunday. The morning sun streamed in, giving the room a warm, cheerful appearance.

I flipped the blinds closed. A murder room shouldn’t be happy.

Coffee in hand, I settled myself on the loveseat and stared at the white board. Obviously, it had problems.

The owner and some of the girls at Pink Elephants had known Ruby. It was so long ago, there was probably nothing they could add to shed light on her murder. The owner might know more, but he certainly wasn’t going to tell me.

I yawned. The coffee was doing a poor job of giving me an energy boost. I slumped down and leaned my head back. I continued to stare at the board. The pimp theory at the top would have to be crossed off and a note made that she probably wasn’t a prostitute. The name of Paula needed to be changed to Charlotte. It was absurd to think she could come to me in dreams. I should have figured that out with the second dream when she said she was poisoned.

My eyes refused to stay open. I was holding the cup of hot coffee in my right hand, but I rested it on my stomach to close my eyes for a minute. I could certainly think about what steps to take next with my eyes closed. Maybe I would go back over to the construction site and look around more carefully. … Something may have been left somewhere … away from the dirt mounds … and … and I should try to find out … if her manicure was something special … or simply …

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Woman found with knife in chest!”

A young Charles Dickensish lad was hawking newspapers on the streets of London. A crowd gathered round to buy the papers. I didn’t have any money, but I was desperate to get a copy. I craned my neck to see the paper in the hands of people who had already bought one, but my view was blocked at every turn. I looked again at the boy just in time to see Paula crack her whip and wrap it around his neck. She yanked him violently to the ground and stomped her foot on his chest. Reaching into his bag, she threw one of the papers at me. It landed at my feet. The lead story wasn’t about a dead woman. It read: Ancient Earthworks Tour Pulls Record Numbers. I looked up to see the entire London scene fading away. A last glance at the fading newspaper showed it was the July fourth edition of
The Marietta Times
.

I twitched. A full-body twitch. Coffee spilled onto my chest and neck. I jumped up and spilled more of the coffee onto the loveseat and carpet.

My favorite swear word popped out of my mouth multiple times. I frantically searched for something to mop up the coffee, but there was only one tissue in the box on the desk. More swear words gushed forth with vigor.

I ran to the bathroom for wet towels. A wave of guilt rushed over me for swearing. I switched to yelling, “Shoot! Shoot!” Pepper would be proud of me, but it didn’t feel as good or have the same impact.

It took two trips to the bathroom for wet towels, and one to the kitchen for carpet cleaner, but the loveseat and carpet were finally clean and appeared none the worse for wear. After changing my t-shirt, I was soon staring at the white board again.

The dreams continued to bother me. I had never dreamed about any of the other victims. Why this one?

I made the few necessary changes to the board, but instead of erasing Paula’s name, I drew a large box around it and labeled the box:
Dreams
. I then added the additional information:

Soup killed her
The Marietta Times - Ancient Earthworks Tour

None of it made sense. The three seemingly bogus bits of dream information had to be a product of my overactive imagination, but I wasn’t yet ready to discard them.

I made a new column and titled it,
To Do
. I listed two items:

Check construction site
Ask at hair salons about manicure

There simply wasn’t enough information to form an opinion or discern any concrete leads. I’d have to be patient.

I yawned again. A quick glance at my watch showed it was only ten fifteen. I shuffled back to my bedroom, kicked off my fuzzy orange slippers, and climbed back under the covers. I needed more sleep, and, as disturbing as the dreams were, I hoped Paula would show up to give me more information.

~ ~ ~

“Where are the Jarts? Hank, go get the Jarts. I don’t want to play stupid cornhole.”

Mama was whining up a storm as I walked up Pepper’s driveway. Pepper ran down to meet me halfway and hissed under her breath, “Where have you been? And where are Mama’s cigarettes?”

“Sleeping. And I forgot the cigarettes.”

“Really?” Her look was incredulous. “No cigarettes, and you only brought a jar of olives?”

I felt bad for frustrating her, but I didn’t care if Mama had cigarettes, and since the chips and beer were covered by Stewie, I grabbed a jar of olives out of the cupboard at the last minute. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.

“I’m not late, and I know you have enough food for an army.”

Buck passed us with car keys in hand. “I’ll get the cigarettes. I want to pick up a couple more bags of ice anyway. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“Why can’t we play Jarts? We always used to play Jarts at our cookouts. The kids will love them.”

Hank wasn’t fazed by Mama’s whining. “Jarts have been illegal for over twenty years. They’re more dangerous than cars. That’s why we have cornhole. It’s fun to throw the little corn bag in the hole.” He was smiling, and I knew he thought Mama’s whining was funny.

I walked over to give her a hug and a kiss.

“Hello, Jo. Why no t-shirt? And where are my cigarettes?”

After spilling the coffee on my last clean t-shirt that was decent, I had rummaged through my closet until I found a white button-down shirt with a pretty detail on the front. It was now hanging loose over my jeans.

“I dressed up just for you, Mama, and Buck will be back with your cigarettes in a few minutes.”

The response appeared to placate her. She turned her attention back to the game.

I scanned the yard. It looked as though everyone was already here. I was surprised to see Jackie’s fellow reporter, that slug Doug Preston, sitting with her and her husband. Stewie was sitting in a lawn chair next to Jackie. He surely saw me come up the driveway, but he remained seated. He probably expected me to come to him. Instead, I followed Pepper through the garage and into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You seem tense.”

“I’m not,” she said. She took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Maybe a little.” She took the jar of olives from me and set it on the counter. “I’m uncomfortable that Doug is here, and Mama’s been barking about everything, because she smoked her last cigarette forty minutes ago.”

I could understand her being frustrated with Mama, but this was news to me that Doug Preston would upset her.

“Didn’t you invite him?”

“No. Jackie said his wife was in Wyoming for the summer, so she asked him to come along with her and Matt. I don’t mind the extra person, but I do mind him.

“Why? What’s he ever done to you?”

Even though we were alone in the kitchen, she lowered her voice. “Don’t you remember we dated in high school?”

“That was ages ago. Who cares? He probably doesn’t even remember.”

“Maybe he doesn’t, but I do.”

“So what? What’s the big deal?” She was obviously hiding something. It was my turn to be incredulous. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

She looked appalled. “No! But we went to the senior prom together and…” She hesitated. I could tell she didn’t want to say more.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “Doug was your first?”

“Snickerdoodles, Jo, keep your voice down.”

This was delicious information. I grinned from ear to ear. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? I thought Buck was your one and only.” I knew she was miserable, but I wasn’t about to give her a break. “Oh, man, this is really up there, Pepper. You were always so goody-goody, and how many times did you lecture me to never sleep with guys?” I was suddenly irritated remembering her hypocrisy.

She became defensive. “It was only the one time, and it was prom. I felt so special. He was captain of the football team, and he was dating me instead of one of the cheerleaders.”

I remembered the time well. I was a freshman and Pepper was a senior. Doug was the best-looking guy in school, and I couldn’t understand how Pepper managed to snag him. They had only been dating a few weeks when he asked her to the prom. I was jealous in a big way and thought he should have asked me. Pepper was a plump, plain-Jane, mousey girl, where I was tall, thin, and, in my own mind, beautiful – even if I didn’t have any boobs. Boobs! That was it! Pepper had the biggest boobs in the senior class. That’s how she snagged Doug Preston.

“After the dance, instead of going out to dinner with the rest of the gang, he drove over to Patterson and parked on the Northfield Ridge Overlook so we could watch airplanes come in at the airport. He was smooth and kept telling me he loved me and how beautiful I was. I fell for it completely. I was walking on air the next day. I felt so grown up and in love.”

Something about her story repulsed me. At the same time, some of the old jealousy about her and Doug started to surface.

“I never heard from him again. He didn’t call, and he never looked at me or talked to me at school either. I was humiliated and felt so dirty.” Tears started to well up in her eyes. “I hate him, Jo. To this day, I hate him, and I think he has a lot of nerve coming to my house.”

Any ugly feelings I had were instantly gone. I hugged her and said, “It was a long time ago. You were both kids. And you’re happily married now.” I didn’t know what more to say to console her. Instead, I opted for, “If karma really is a bitch, maybe I’ll find his dead body one day.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, Jo! Don’t say that!” She laughed again. “But I have thought of that very thing more than once.”