Macdeath (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

CHAPTER 24

Things without All Remedy

In the hospital parking lot, I climbed into the passenger side of the detective’s car, over empty pop cans and Burger King bags. I rolled down the window, hoping to dissipate the stale smell of menthol cigarettes with fresh air. Nope, just a lot of other downtown-type smells—asphalt, exhaust, fast food grease—good stuff like that.

The detective hopped in and started up the car. We smiled at each other, both relieved, I think, that Uncle Bob was going to be fine.

“Thanks for driving me home,” I said, “Mr., uh, Pink?”

“Pink’s a nickname, but everybody calls me that. Short for Pinkstaff.”

I knew a drag queen with that name. I decided not to mention it.

“And you,” he said, “you like to be called Olive?”

“Olive or Ivy.”

“Isn’t that a Christmas song? The Olive and the Ivy?”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, to see if he was kidding. He chuckled. I was beginning to see why he and my uncle were friends.

We drove up Central Avenue to my apartment. “Oh crap,” I blurted. Pinkstaff looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing. Don’t worry. Just need to call my folks, that’s all.” Right: that’s all. I dialed their number on my cell. It had been weeks since I’d talked to them. No, months.

My mom picked up. “Olive? You’re not usually up this early.”

I glanced at Pinkstaff’s dashboard clock. 7:48 a.m. Not that early. But not too early for a jab at what she called my “bohemian lifestyle.”

“I just wanted to tell you that Uncle Bob is in the hospital.”

A pause. “And?”

“And?” I repeated.

“And is he going to be alright?”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s going to be okay.” I glanced at Pinkstaff, who was openly eavesdropping. “He was...in a car accident.” The detective nodded in approval.

“But he’ll be alright?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. I couldn’t wait it out. “Are you going to come down?” Uncle Bob was her brother, after all.

“He’ll probably be out of the hospital before we even get there.” My folks lived two hours away, not twenty. “Give him our best. And thanks for calling.” She hung up.

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” I said to the dial tone. “Me? I’m okay, a little shook up about Uncle Bob. He looks pretty bad. Did you get the review I sent you of
Macbeth
? It would be great if you’d come see it. My first pro gig, you know. Yeah, love you, too.”

I hung up. Pinkstaff stopped for a red light, looked at me and shook his head. “And I thought you were an actor.”

“I’m better onstage.”

“She hung up right before ‘Gee, thanks.’”

I nodded.

“I am a detective, you know.”

Pinkstaff looked at me before stepping on the gas, an awfully tender look from a middle-aged guy I didn’t know well. It could have been because of my relationship with Bob, or my non-relationship with my folks, but just in case it was something else, I decided to preempt any romantic strike.

“I really appreciate the ride,” I said. “My boyfriend had to...” Oops, hadn’t thought that far ahead. Where was Jason anyway? “Go to an early morning commercial shoot.” Maybe he did. We didn’t have a show today. I’d texted him last night after getting to the hospital and again this morning, but hadn’t heard back.

Pink shook a cigarette out of a pack of Kools stashed in the cup holder. “An actor, too, huh?”

“Yeah. You met him. In Uncle Bob’s kitchen.”

“That’s your boyfriend?” He looked at me sideways.

“Yeah.”

He rolled his window down an inch and lit his cigarette. “Huh,” he said.

I was dying to know what he meant by that but didn’t want to open the boyfriend can of worms again. Besides, I had a more important question to ask. “Do you think Uncle Bob was poisoned?”

Pink blew a stream of Kool air out the window. “I think he was damn lucky he crashed his car. Might not have gotten his stomach pumped in time otherwise.” He jerked a thumb toward the window. “There’s his light pole.”

I twisted around in my seat as we passed. I wouldn’t have known it if he hadn’t pointed it out. Uncle Bob’s car may have been totaled, but the light pole looked good as new.

“You never answered my question,” I said. “About poison.”

Pink sighed. “We know Bob passed out and hit a light pole. We think something he ingested made him pass out. We don’t know what it was, or if someone gave it to him on purpose. We gotta wait ’til the toxicology report comes in.”

“And that’ll be?”

He shrugged and stubbed out the Kool in the near-to-overflowing ashtray. “Depends on what else is coming down the line. Bob’s okay. We don’t have any proof that anyone is out to get him. Probably won’t be real high priority.”

“Not high priority? But someone tried to...” I took a deep breath and tried to be rational. “But there was a cop outside his room. Someone must suspect foul play.”

The detective slowed down, and turned into my apartment house’s parking lot. “Listen, Olive, Ivy, whatever I’m supposed to call you: that guy outside your uncle’s door? He’s a rent-a-cop I hired. It’s just a precaution. Your uncle’s a PI. Sometimes people get pissed at PIs. I like Bob, so I didn’t want anything else to happen to him. That’s it, okay? Just leave it.”

I looked at him long and hard, hoping he’d tell me something else. He stared back. “Okay,” I finally said. But I didn’t mean it.

CHAPTER 25

Angels Are Bright Still

“How’s your uncle?” Candy asked as she slipped out of her undies and pulled on her tights.

“He’s okay, probably getting discharged today.”

We were in our dressing room getting ready for the Thursday night show. Already in costume, I faced the mirror and slathered foundation on my face. I was still peeved at Candy for not giving me a ride on Sunday so I didn’t ask how her audition went. Petty, I know.

“So what happened?” she asked, as she stepped into her leotard. Her brown and black costume had the diamondback markings of a rattlesnake and no camel toe. I’d stretched and stretched my leotard, hoping it would ease up a little. No dice.

“Ivy?” said Candy.

I’d thought about this, how to answer without letting anyone know I suspected Uncle Bob had been drugged. I’d decided to keep it simple. “He crashed his car into a light pole.”

“Good lord! He just lost control or something?” She’d pulled her leotard up to her waist, and was unhooking her bra when there was a knock at the dressing room door. Riley stuck his head in. “How’s your uncle?”

Sweet.

“He’s okay,” I said. “It was just an accident. He should be getting out...”

Riley stared at the mirror, trying to get a glimpse of Candy’s half naked body. So much for sweet.

“Soon.” I shut the door in Riley’s face. He knocked again. I flung open the door. “Our bodies are not for public consumption.”

Bill Boxer stood there, his mouth open. Probably didn’t know what “consumption” meant.

“Oh, sorry Bill.”

He stepped into the dressing room. “Just wanted to see if your uncle was okay,” he said.

Bill? Really? How did he know about Uncle Bob? I slid a look at Candy, who was busy applying glittery gold eye shadow.

A sunglass-clad Jason stepped in behind Bill. “How’s your uncle?”

This would have been getting weird, except that Jason knew about my uncle from the half dozen calls and texts I’d left—which he’d never returned.

“He’s fine,” I said, a bit tightly.

Jason took off his sunglasses. His eyes, those beautiful marine-blue eyes, were swollen and ringed with prune-colored bruises. A butterfly bandage held together a gash across the top of his nose.

Candy whistled. “Where’s the mule that kicked ya?”

Bill and Jason exchanged glances. “Long story,” said Jason. He shook a pill out of a bottle and swallowed it dry.

“Way too long,” agreed Bill, too quickly. “Glad to hear your uncle’s okay.” He scurried out of the dressing room. Everyone seemed a bit too concerned about my uncle—my uncle who might have been poisoned at the theater. Huh.

I couldn’t think about that now. Had to get ready for the show. I turned to the mirror and started putting on my eye makeup. Jason came and stood behind me as I drew thick black liner around my eyes. He was so close I could smell the shaving cream he used.

“It’s gotten better,” he said looking at his reflection. “The swelling’s almost gone.”

I could tell he was trying to meet my eyes in the mirror, but I was having none of it. Black eyes or no, he could’ve returned my calls.

He gave a small sigh, then kissed me on the top of my head, like I was a five-year-old. What the hell?

“Let me know if Bob needs anything, okay?”

Bob! What about me?

He took the butterfly bandage off the bridge of his nose and gingerly touched the cut. “I’d better go cover this up.” He turned to leave. “Shit. I forgot to buy some pancake. Either of you have any?”

We shook our heads. Thick, heavy pancake makeup used to be the stage makeup of choice, but most of us don’t use it anymore, unless...

“Any of the boys here do drag?” Candy asked. Pancake works great for covering up a stubbly face.

I shook my head. Most of our cast was straight. Maybe Shakespeare draws straight guys. They do get to play with swords and stuff.

Wait. Shakespeare...makeup...what idea was knocking at the back door of my brain?

Jason sighed. “Edward’s going to kill me. Maybe they won’t be able to see it from the audience.”

Aha! The idea pushed its way into my mind. “Simon,” I said. “He used pancake.”

Linda stuck her head in the door. “Half hour ’til curtain—Man.” Linda stared at Jason. Guess she hadn’t seen him yet. “Better get to work covering that up.” She started to leave.

“Linda,” I said. “Is Simon’s makeup still in his dressing room?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “I wasn’t going to do anything with it ’til strike.”

“Brilliant, Ivy.” Jason kissed me, this time on the lips. I tingled in spite of myself.

“You doing anything after the show?” he said. “Maybe we could go for a drink, just the two of us?”

I was confused as hell, and pissed off he hadn’t returned my calls. I was also curious. Where the hell had he been these past few days? It seemed like he was always disappearing. Like during intermission on opening night—the intermission that Uncle Bob said gave everyone opportunity to do the dirty deed. Jason couldn’t have anything to do with Simon’s death or Uncle Bob’s poisoning, could he?

I finally met Jason’s eyes in the mirror and nodded. Curiosity got the better of me. And you know what happened to the cat.

CHAPTER 26

Some Sweet, Oblivious Antidote

Carved into the side of Camelback Mountain, The Spa at Sanctuary hid from the hoi polloi with discreet signage, a long drive up a desert lane and understated lighting along mesquite-lined paths. Burbling fountains and birdcalls replaced the sounds of sirens and car mufflers. In the middle of the city, the resort was a secret hideaway from the noisy world, designed to make the weary sink into a Jacuzzi and say, “Ahhhhhh.”

But as I sat across from Jason at the outdoor bar my stomach was in knots, my face tight from fake smiling, my legs crossed so tightly I worried about my circulation. Jason still hadn’t said a word about not returning my calls. I needed to know what was up, but I also knew from Uncle Bob that direct questioning rarely got you real answers. What was the right way to ask?

“Alone at last.” Jason smiled and reached a hand across the table. “Feels great.”

I didn’t take his hand.

“Ah,” he said, “I bet you’re wondering about...”

You bet I’m wondering, buster.

“My face,” he said.

Why did I like this self-centered guy?

A waiter wound his way through the tables toward us. I hadn’t decided what to have yet, so I picked up the menu I’d set down earlier. I scanned it again. I flipped it over. Nope. No prices. I didn’t know there were places where menus didn’t have numbers. Didn’t help the knot in my stomach. My credit card was maxed. I had twenty bucks in my wallet. I hoped Jason was paying.

I looked around to see if there were any other types of menus sitting on nearby tables. I didn’t see any. I did see people dressed in designer wear I’d only seen in magazines. I saw slate and wood and good design. I saw a deceptively simple place where the décor was minimal but cost a fortune. I really hoped Jason was paying.

“Welcome to Sanctuary at Camelback,” said the waiter. “How may I...Oh!” He smiled at Jason. “How are you this evening? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Jason’s eyes were still puffy, though the bruises were partially covered by the remains of his pancake makeup. “Yeah, hi.” He didn’t look at the waiter.

I looked at the waiter. He had perfectly white teeth, a trendy, expensive haircut, and waiter blacks that looked like they’d been custom tailored. I was suddenly conscious of my Target T-shirt and cotton skirt.

“Vodka martini with a twist?” the waiter asked. Jason nodded.

“And for you, Miss?” He emphasized the “Miss” and smiled at Jason. Huh.

“A margarita, on the rocks. Salt.”

The waiter slipped away, but not without glancing again at us over his shoulder.

“You a regular here?” I asked, thinking of the price-less menu. Maybe Jason had a trust fund I didn’t know about. He was dressed pretty nicely for an actor, in a fitted collared shirt and khakis that showed off his, um, assets.

“Been here with my agent, and with Edward. And my dad. In fact, my dad and I had an...exchange the last time we were here.”

“You had a fight here?” I couldn’t imagine people raising more than a glass in this environment.

“My dad hates that I’m an actor. Says it’s for sissies.”

Jason, a sissy? He swung a sword like he was born to it. “He might change his mind if he saw you play Macbeth.”

“That’s what we fought about. He said he would have seen the show if Simon was still in it.” He shook his head at the memory. “Maybe my mom will sneak into one of the matinees. Your parents going to see the show?”

“My folks? No way. They haven’t even come down to see Uncle Bob in the hospital.” There it was—the elephant in the room.

“Ivy...” He took my hand.

I waited. That was another PI trick I’d learned from my uncle.

“He’s okay, right?” Jason rubbed my fingertips absently.

That wasn’t what I was waiting for.

A sigh. “I should have called you back. I’m sorry.”

The waiter glided over and silently deposited our drinks. Jason dropped my unresponsive hand and thanked the waiter with a nod that told him nothing more was needed.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t enough,” I said once the waiter was out of earshot. “Unless there’s a good reason behind it.”

Jason leaned back on the banquette across from me. He looked at me, those beautiful turquoise eyes serious. “I am that rare animal,” he said, “an introverted actor.”

I was all ears. I had heard tell of such a creature.

“All the people and the attention and the activity—it overwhelms me sometimes. The only antidote is to hole up and hide out.” Jason closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead, like he had a headache. “I turn off my phone, don’t look at the internet, don’t do anything except eat and sleep and watch mindless movies.”

So not really self-centered, just shy and in the wrong business. Jason was letting me see his vulnerable side. First his dad, now this. I was beginning to thaw.

“As you can imagine, these past few weeks put me over the edge. And once I turned my phone back on and saw all your messages, I felt so bad that I was overwhelmed again. Do you know what I mean?”

“It’s like when your cousin calls and says he broke his arm, but stuff happens so a week passes and then it feels weird to call, so you put it off and then it’s a month later and...” I trailed off. I did understand. Maybe because I wanted to, but still, it seemed plausible.

“Jason?” He still had his hand to his head, his eyes closed. “You okay?”

“My face hurts.”

“Maybe you should take another pain pill?”

He nodded, shook a pill out of a bottle he’d had in his pocket, and downed it with a glass of water.

“And maybe you should tell me the long story of how your face got that way?”

Jason smiled then. Relaxing, I settled back on the pillows that lined the banquette. I took in our surroundings: the rising half-moon, the palm trees twinkling with white lights, the pool glowing behind Jason. I smiled back at him.

“Not such a long story,” he said. “Bill talked me into playing in a squash tournament, a charity gig. Said it would be good PR.” Behind him, the pool’s underwater lights changed from blue to orange.

“I beat Bill, of course.” No ego in his statement, it was a pretty foregone conclusion, a strapping guy like him beating a sixty-ish non-athlete. “After the game, he was pissed off and wound up. He decided to show off for the TV cameras, demonstrating his ‘form.’ Backhanded me in the face with his racket.” He raised an eyebrow, amused. “He swore it wasn’t on purpose.”

A shadow crossed his face. “There was something weird, though. When we were alone, he asked me about my ‘whereabouts’ on opening night. Wanted to know if I’d seen anything. He say anything like that to you?”

“Don’t think so, but then I try to forget everything Bill says to me.” It was true. The Face of Channel 10 tried my last nerve. But what a perfect opening. “Speaking of opening night...” I really didn’t believe Jason had anything to do with Uncle Bob or Simon, but I had to put that worry to bed. “I looked for you. At intermission.”

“Oh, Ivy,” he said, reaching for my hand again. This time I let him take it. “I’m so sorry.” He twined his fingers through mine. “Opening night always undoes me. I just find a dark corner backstage, hide out and try to stay in character. I should have warned you.” Jason let go of my hand, crossed to my side of the table and sat next to me on the banquette, his thigh touching mine. “Please forgive me. For everything.”

My body, which had just been starting to relax, began to thrum. This particular brand of tension didn’t bother me. In fact, it was fine. Very fine.

Jason brought my hand up to his lips, kissed it and held it against his cheek. His face was warm. “Do you? Forgive me?” He searched my eyes.

Candles flickered on the low table in front of us, the margarita’s heat coursed pleasantly through my veins, and that thrumming was revving up.

“I’m not sure.” My voice purred despite myself. “Maybe you need to convince me of your good intentions.”

He kissed my hand again, his lips lingering. “Did I say they were good?”