Murder Strikes a Pose (20 page)

We walked into the tiny, clean, and basically deserted office

a little after eleven. A busy-looking receptionist typed at a computer, while a balding, ponytailed man with a scruffy blond beard poured burnt-smelling coffee into a Styrofoam cup. After add-ing two sugars and a hit of nondairy creamer, he meandered to

a makeshift cubicle created from a single partition and two short filing cabinets.

Rene whispered in my ear. “You take her. I’ve got handsome

back there.” She ambled around the room, pretending to examine

the assorted newspaper clippings tacked along the wall. She even-

tually arrived at the coffee area, where she stopped to pour a glass of water.

“Good morning, can I help you two?” asked the friendly-look-

ing receptionist. She wore red oval glasses. They perfectly matched the heart trapped in the center of her spider web tattoo. Her name plate read Tali Rodriguez.

“Hi. I’m Kate, and I sure hope so. This is kind of awkward, but

I was hoping to talk to someone in your Human Resources de-

partment.”

“You’re looking at it. We all pretty much do everything around

here.” She took off her glasses, seemingly confused. “Are you here for a job? You don’t seem like one of our typical vendors.”

158

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m not. Actually, I’m a friend of one of your

vendors, or at least I used to be. He died recently. I’m trying to locate his family, and I thought you might have his emergency con-

tact information.”

I launched into Bella’s story. I basically stuck to the truth,

though I may have exaggerated about the direness of her circum-

stances. I might have even hinted that she only had a day or two

left before she’d be sent to the great doggy playground in the sky.

I certainly didn’t divulge the fact that I had already spoken to

George’s daughter.

As Tali and I talked, I surreptitiously monitored Rene’s prog-

ress. She continued to wander around the room, pretending to be

engrossed in the posted articles. She made her way to the pony-

tailed man’s makeshift office, leaned against one of the file cabinets, and started whispering. Not long after, I heard girlish giggles and the deeper voice of an appreciative male.

Did he seriously offer her a cigarette? And did she take it? I

couldn’t help but be amused at the thought of Rene, a militant

nonsmoker, trying to look sexy while gagging on a menthol light.

She leaned in closer, suggestively touching her hair and playfully punching her new friend in the arm.
Pulllease
. Sidekick indeed.

All she would get from this sort of behavior were the guy’s phone number and an embarrassing outbreak of some social disease.

Rene was useless. Our sleuthing success would be solely up to

me. I flashed a winning smile, fully expecting Tali to give me everything I requested.

She responded by shaking her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help

you. We don’t keep many records here. Frankly, some of our folks

have disappeared from their families for good reason. They’d just as soon stay lost, if you know what I mean.”

159

“Maybe you could connect me to some of George’s friends,

then. Did he hang out with any of the other vendors?”

Tali’s reply was firm. “I’m sorry. We don’t give out any infor-

mation about our staff members. These folks lead difficult lives.

Many of them have been traumatized—abused even. I understand

your dilemma, but our vendors are finally taking steps to improve their situations. We won’t do anything that could jeopardize that.

Unless you have a court order, my hands are tied.”

“But the dog—”

Tali’s courteous tone vanished.

“The dog is irrelevant. Society may not treat these people

much better than animals, but they are certainly more important

than some dog. Now, I’m busy, so if you don’t mind—” She put

her glasses back on and resumed typing.

I was completely out of cash, and I suspected bribery wouldn’t

work with Tali anyway. I was about to give begging a try when

Rene sidled up beside me and whispered, “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

Her ponytailed friend stood up in his cubical. “See you at

seven, Suzie! I’m looking forward to our date!” Rene grabbed my

hand and practically dragged me to the door.

“Suzie?” I asked as we bolted for the car.

“Well you didn’t expect me to give him my real name, did you?

I’m a married woman! Now hop in, we’re off to the U district!”

_____

“What’s at the U district?” I asked as we pulled onto West Margin-al Way.

Rene smiled in triumph. “While you were trying to defrost the

ice queen at the front desk, I was busy making friends with Ral-

phie.”

160

“Ralphie?”

“His real name is Ralph, but I call him Ralphie. Men love it

when you give them cute little nicknames.” She scowled. “But

that’s beside the point. Are you going to listen to my story, or not?”

I nodded for her to continue.

“Well, when Ralphie asked me what we were doing at the of-

fice, I told him about George and how sorry I was that he couldn’t fulfill his last wish.”

“And what, may I ask, was George’s last wish?”

“To tell his best friend how much he loved her.”

“Where in the world did you come up with that?” Rene was

obviously a much more accomplished fibber than even I realized.

“Isn’t that what people always wish on their deathbeds? That

they’d spent more time with the people they loved?” Rene took her wedding ring out of the glove box and slipped it back on her finger. “Ralphie was real sympathetic. I told him you found George

right before he died. I even got a little teary-eyed when I told him George’s dying words: ‘Tell her I love her.’”

She rebuttoned her blouse. “I begged Ralphie for help. I told

him you were desperate
to find George’s lost love so you could relay the message. One look in my sad, smoky-blue eyes, and he

poured out everything he knew.”

I could only hope “Ralphie” and Tali didn’t compare notes.

And I
really
hoped Ralphie realized that Rene had been kidding about that date.

“So what’s in the U District?” I asked again.

“Turns out, one of the vendors is quite a character. She calls

herself Momma Bird. According to Ralphie, she has sharp eyes, a

big mouth, and she knows everything
about everyone. If anyone knows who old George was hanging out with, it’s her.”

161

“Not bad, Rene, not bad at all.” I had to admit, I was impressed.

A little distressed at her methods, but impressed nonetheless.

“I know.” Rene replied, “I
am
that good. Now step on it. Momma Bird works until five, but all this sleuthing has made me hun-

gry. Next stop: The Thai Dive. This momma needs some shrimp

pad Thai. And some coconut ice cream with hot fudge sauce

doesn’t sound half bad, either.”

162

eighteen

“How can I possibly be Super Sleuth’s sidekick when I’m stuffed

full of noodles and ice cream? All the blood’s gone straight to my stomach!” Rene practically waddled as we walked from The Thai

Dive to the University Bookstore.

“Nobody told you to eat the whole thing, Miss Piggy. And ask-

ing for seconds on the ice cream was simply gluttonous. Not even

you can do enough sun salutes to burn off all those calories.”

“I know. Whatever was I thinking?” She turned to look at her

backside. “Does my butt look big? I think it’s already grown two

sizes from that fudge sauce.”

Ever the obliging friend, I looked at her rear. Size three as always.

“You know, I think it
does
look bigger.” Even the most enlightened yoga master couldn’t have resisted torturing Rene—especially when she so clearly deserved it.

“That’s it,” Rene replied, sulking. “We’re in training. Frankly,

your derriere doesn’t look so tiny itself. As of this moment, I formally decree: we are both running the Seattle marathon this year.

That should get our bulging booties back in line.” Her sadistic eyes 163

sparkled with visions of torture. “We’ll start training today with a six-mile run. That’s only twice around Greenlake. Even you should be able to do that much.”

Great. Now I’d unleashed a whole new side to the monster

masquerading as my best friend. And what did she mean, six

miles? The last time I tried jogging, I practically passed out after six blocks. “I was kidding, Rene. You look great as always. But can you pick up the pace a little? I’d like to get there before midnight.”

Calling the University Bookstore a mere bookstore would

have been a colossal understatement. It was, indeed, a massive

bookstore selling everything from romance novels to texts on ad-

vanced surgical techniques. But it also boasted a variety of other departments specializing in a wide array of non-literary products, ranging from office supplies and high tech toys to clothing and designer makeup. I had no idea how we’d find the woman we were

looking for.

I needn’t have worried.

Momma Bird loitered inside the main entrance, near a busy

espresso cart. She held a stack of papers in one hand and swigged a large cup of inky black coffee from the other. Wearing pink Crocs, a neon green muumuu and a hat shaped like a pink flamingo, she

definitely stood out from the crowd. I had no doubt this woman

could talk, but could she tell fantasy from reality?

I skipped the small talk and got right to the point.

“I understand you knew the vendor that was killed a few days

ago in Greenwood.”

“Sure, I knew George. But then again, I know most everyone

around here.” She paused and looked at me suspiciously. “But

what business is that of yours?”

164

Up close, Momma Bird didn’t look the slightest bit delusional.

Her unusual outfit may have fooled me at first, but as soon as I

looked into her sharp blue eyes I could tell: she might be a tad ec-centric, but she was nobody’s fool. She’d never buy into some lame story about a poor, abandoned dog. If I wanted her help, I’d need to drop my Bella ruse and use a different approach. So I decided

to try something unique. An option I had considered before, but

discarded as amateurish and completely ineffective.

I told her the truth.

“I’m investigating George’s murder.”

Momma Bird didn’t look surprised, but she didn’t reply, either.

She set down the papers, finished her coffee, and tossed the cup in the trash. She scrutinized me through wary eyes. “You don’t look

like no cop. What are you, some kind of private eye?”

“No, I’m just George’s friend. Or at least I was.”

She frowned and turned back to pick up the papers. “I ain’t got

no time to sit around here talking to amateurs, honey. Best keep

your nose out of things that don’t concern you. I don’t know who

sent you, but they wasted your time.” She pointed to the door.

“Head on home now.”

Momma Bird clearly thought I was a nincompoop. Frankly, the

way my investigation had gone so far, I couldn’t disagree with her.

But that was immaterial. She knew something about George, and

she was going to tell me. I simply had to convince her that talking with me wouldn’t be a waste of her time. But how could I convince a total stranger I was competent when I barely believed it myself?

I’d opened with the truth, so I might as well keep going. “You’re right. I’m a complete amateur, and honestly, I have no idea what

I’m doing here. I’d like nothing better than to let the police handle 165

the investigation, but they’re looking for the wrong person. I cared about George. I can’t sit back and let his killer go free.”

“What makes you think the cops are after the wrong guy?”

“They’re convinced George was killed in some sort of drunken

fight.”

“And you know better?” She sounded more than a little skepti-

cal.

“Not always, but in this case, yes. The detectives are wrong. I

can feel it.”

She snorted derisively. “Oh, you can
feel
it, can you? That’s a new one.” She mumbled under her breath and walked away, abandoning our conversation. She approached the espresso line new-

comers. “Care to buy a
Dollars for Change
today?”

Acid boiled up from the bottom of my stomach. Ralphie had

been right. Momma Bird
did
know something. She was my best lead, and I was blowing it. I followed her and kept talking.

“You have to help me!”

No response.

I may have upped the volume a tiny bit louder than necessary. I

certainly stopped using my yoga voice. “The detectives on this case are idiots! Why can’t anyone see that but me!”

The would-be coffee purchasers shuffled uncomfortably and

murmured amongst themselves. Rene traitorously wandered to a

magazine rack and acted like she didn’t know me. Momma Bird,

on the other hand, simply pretended to be deaf.

My frustration peaked, and the now burning, gurgling stom-

ach acid splashed up into my esophagus. I truly regretted the spicy Thai chili sauce I’d poured all over my lunchtime curry. My throat burned with chili paste and indignation. “Why won’t anyone listen? George was not murdered in some random street fight.” I

166

stepped directly in front of Momma Bird and grabbed her arm. “I

know it, and frankly, I think you know it too. No one but me may

give a rip, but I promise you, I’m not going to stop looking until I figure out who killed him and why.” I pressed my face close to hers and shouted. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

The people in the coffee line stopped murmuring and stared at