Steamed (A Maid in LA Mystery) (10 page)

 
I walked out then because sometimes saying less is more.

 
And because imagining Cal in his uniform was a picture that no amount of thinking about kids, or even my parents, could erase.

 
My living room was respectable looking, but I’d simply shoveled all the boys’ things into their rooms.  I thought about tackling them.

 
But I couldn’t find the energy. 

 
I called Tiny instead.  “Wanna chick-flick it tonight?”

 
“I’ll bring the ice cream.”

 
Half an hour later, Tiny walked in the door.  “You really should start locking the door.  You just cleaned a murder scene.  Door locking needs to be a priority.”

 
“I knew you were coming.”

 
“I’d have waited for you to unlock it.”  She stopped scolding and held a bag aloft.  “Hollywood Walk of Shame Ice Cream.  I got a whole gallon.”

 
“Do we need bowls, or just two spoons?”

 
“Spoons.

 
The Hollywood Walk of Shame Ice cream was my favorite ice cream, a concoction that no dieting Diva would ever consider.  Since I wasn’t a Diva, I didn’t worry about it and simply dug into the gooey confection. Chocolate jimmies, chocolate chips, brownies, chocolate-covered nuts, chocolate-covered raisins…  Well, you get the picture.  If it was chocolate, it was probably in it.

 
I turned on
Legally Blonde
. 

 
It had been on my mind since I met Shaley Banning.  It was a chick-flick, but it was also a murder mystery.  Elle needed to find out if Brooke Taylor Windham really killed her husband, and if not, who did.

 
I liked the parallel between Elle Wood’s journey and mine.  Elle had to keep a sorority sister out of jail…I had to keep my best friend and myself out of jail.  Thoughts of my uncle, wrinkled unicorn tattoos and bloodied Mortie’s kept flitting through my head.

 
Who killed Mr. Banning?

 
I didn’t think it was his daughter (spoiler alert) like in
Legally Blonde
.

 
I didn’t think it was either of his ex-wives.

 
“I need to go see his current girlfriend,” I murmured to myself. 

 
Tiny hit pause and stared at me.  “Mr. Banning’s?”

 
I nodded.

 
“Did you find—”

 
I cut her off.  “No, don’t ask anything, and don’t tell me anything more about your relationship with him.  I don’t think it’s wise for you to talk about it with anyone.  Not even me.  No one can be called to testify about things they don’t know.”

 
“Do you think it will come to that?” she asked, her voice shaky.

 
“No.  I don’t.  But we have to be smart and plan for every contingency. “

 
She nodded.  “But can’t you get in to see Cassandra the same way you saw his ex?”

 
Cassandra?  “Wait, you know who Mr. Banning’s girlfriend is?”

 
“Anyone who reads any tabloid knows he’s seeing Cassandra Yu.”  She paused, looked at me and said, “That’s right, you don’t read industry news.”

 
“I don’t mind industry news, I just don’t like gossip.” 

 
When Jerry and I divorced, there had been gossip.  I wasn’t a name, but Jerry was well known in the industry.  That was enough to make our divorce and his rapid remarriage an item.  I’d avoided the gossip mags ever since.

 
“Cassandra Yu.  I’ll make a call and tell Cassandra that she’s won a free cleaning.”  I wondered if Cal knew Mr. Banning’s girlfriend’s name.  Probably.  He was a cop. 

 
“Now, tell me about the wedding,” I said, wanting to change the subject.

 
Tiny started to talk.  All her excitement was back.  I’d been worried about her.  Nothing should dim her happiness about marrying Sal. 

 
I listened to talk of flower arrangements and bands, reception halls and pictures.  Tiny had been driving me crazy for weeks with her plans, but today, listening to my friend was soothing.  Things would work out.  I’d find out who killed Mr. Banning.  I’d find those pictures.  And I would wear whatever flouncy, pastel colored dress as I stood up for my best friend at her wedding.

 
Cassandra Yu only lived a couple blocks away from Tessa.  She was thrilled that she won Mac’Cleaners spruce-up services, at least that’s what she said when I called first thing Thursday morning and made arrangements to come by that afternoon.

 
However, she didn’t look like a happy winner when I showed up. 

 
“It’s the first good news I’ve had in a week,” she said as she opened the door and let me in. 

 
Cassandra Yu looked awful.  Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face was splotchy. Her dark hair looked as if it might spring to life and start hissing at me in a Medusa head-of-snakes sort of way. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants that were sizes too big and a ratty flannel shirt over a stained t-shirt.

 
“Please come in,” she said.

 
Her house was neat as a pin other than the couch.  It was piled with quilts and pillows.  There was a tissue box and waste can next to it.

 
“Are you okay?” I asked.

 
“It’s been a tough week.”  She sniffed.  “I lost someone—someone I loved.  He loved me, too.  We were talking about getting married.”  She shook her head.  “Sorry.  That’s more than you needed to know.”

 
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

 
“Thank you.”  She looked at my cleaning kit.  “What can I do to help?”

 
“Nothing.  Why don’t you just relax?  Your house is so neat, this won’t take me any time at all.”

 
She nodded and went back to the cocoon she’d built herself on the couch. 

 
I was right, her house wasn’t just neat as a pin, it was obvious that she cleaned it thoroughly on a regular basis.  I felt bad for her, so I threw in a few extra services like cleaning the windows of her small bungalow.

 
I hate cleaning windows.

 
When I’d finished, I asked, “Could I make something?  Tea?  A sandwich?”

 
“You don’t have to—”

 
“I’m a mom.  This is what I do,” I joked, hoping she’d relax and let me do something for her.  I didn’t have to really talk to her to know that she wasn’t the one who’d killed Mr. Banning. She loved him.  She was going to marry him—at least she thought they were going to marry.  Whether or not they were didn’t matter.  Whether he was the slime-ball I’d thought he was, or he was becoming a better man because of Cassandra didn’t matter.  She was in pain.  She was broken up because of his death.

 
And suddenly I didn’t see Mr. Banning as a dead client, or a blackmailer, or a louse of a father, or a cheating husband.

 
I saw him through Cassandra’s eyes, and he was someone who had been loved.

 
I guess that was enough of an epitaph for anyone.

 
“Please, let me do something.”  I wanted to do something to soothe her. 

 
She shot me a week smile.  “You just cleaned my house.”

 
“Something more than that,” I insisted.

 
“A cup of tea would be nice.”

 
I went to her kitchen and made myself at home, making us both a cup.  “I know it’s cheeky, but even though we don’t know each other, I think you could use someone to talk to.  Tell me about the man you love.”

 
“Loved,” she said sadly.  “He’s gone and…”  She hiccupped and took a sip of her tea.  “Steve wasn’t a saint.  Don’t think I don’t know that about him.  He was imperfect. He’d made some horrible decisions in the past and done things that hurt other people. But I loved him.  And he loved me.”

 
“Knowing he wasn’t perfect and loving him despite it, or because of it, well, that says something.  What did Steve…was it?”  She nodded and sniffled.  “What did Steve do?”

 
“He was a writer.  He won a Mortie, you know.”

 
I did know, but I didn’t want her to know I knew.  “He must have been good.”

 
“He was.  He’d had a bit of a rough patch.  He’d been looking for some inspiration.  He’d found it at a local bar.  He wrote this marvelous script. 
Hanky Panky
.  He said it was
Cheers
meets
Arsenic and Old Lace
.”

 
“It sounds wonderful,” I said. 

 
“It was.  He was convinced someone would snap it up, and then he’d have a second Mortie.”

 
“I’m sure he would have.”

 
She took a small sip of her tea.  Her eyes got all glassy and she murmured, “I loved watching him work through his process.  He’d leave every day and head to this bar, he said it was his muse.  Most women wouldn’t like that, but he didn’t drink anything stronger than coffee.  He’d take his gaudy laptop and sit at a booth and write all day.  He tipped well, so no one at the bar minded.  He said the bartender was his inspiration for the main character.”  She took another sip and her eyes were shining with unshed tears.  “I guess the guy’s a real piece of work.  He hits on every woman who walks in the dive and doesn’t score with any of them.”

 
She cried again.  “Like I said, Steve wasn’t perfect. He was talented as all get out, and he was perfect for me.  He told me his two other marriages were just warm up for me.  That was enough.”

 
“That was all the perfect he needed,” I assured her.

 
“I saw him the night he died.  We’d had a few friends over, and after they left I washed the dishes.”  She smiled, despite her tears, and I knew exactly who the underwear belonged to. 

 
Cassandra hadn’t killed him in a fit of jealousy.  She’d left her underwear at the house of the man she loved.

 
I looked at this woman who was mourning Mr. Banning’s death. 

 
I wanted to find out who murdered him for my own sake and for Tiny’s.  And suddenly, I wanted to find out who murdered Mr. Banning for Cassandra, too.

 
Steve Banning wasn’t perfect.  But he was perfect for Cassandra Yu.

 
That was a better legacy than any Mortie.

 
I headed home—another person crossed off my murder list.

 
I was getting good at eliminating suspects, but nearly as good at figuring out who did it.

 
I pulled in my driveway.

 
Another car came right in behind me, blocking me in.

 
“Hello, Detective.  It’s so nice to see you.  Can I help you with something?”

 
“You can.  You can help me by staying away from my investigation. I keep asking you to.  You’re not obliging.”  He stepped right up to me.  “What were you doing at Cassandra Yu’s house?”

 
Seriously, tomorrow I was checking my car for some kind of tracking device.  The man had an uncanny ability to find out where I’d been.

 
“Wow, that wasn’t a very nice greeting.”  I stepped around him and headed onto the porch and put my key in the lock.  “Try something like,
Why Quincy, don’t you look ravishing today in your black slacks and white blouse.  I think modern maid outfits are quite as sexy as the old-fashioned French maid ones
.”

 
He glared, so I added an “Oo la la,” for good measure, then I walked into the house and for a moment thought about closing the door on Cal.  It would make him nuts, which would be very satisfying.  But probably not wise.

 
There was a saying about don’t poke the bear. 

 
A vein throbbed in his forehead in such a way that I didn’t think annoying him any more than he already was would be wise.

 
“Come in if you like.”

 
“You cleaned?” he asked from the doorway, as if nervous about stepping over the threshold.

 
“A bit.  I’ve been too busy to do a proper job of it, but I’ll get to it.”  After I find out who killed Mr. Banning. 

 
He took the step and entered my house.  “So, what were you doing at Cassandra Yu’s?” he asked as he looked around.

 
“Would you believe she won a free cleaning, too?” I tried, then headed into the living room, trusting he’d follow.