A Corpse in a Teacup (17 page)

“I’m not kidding. You need to promise to keep the lid on this. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You’re secret’s safe with me.”

He reached deep into his pants pocket and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one
was looking. Tuesday’s heart started to pound.

“Here goes,” he said, and pulled out a harmonica.

“You’re kidding me. You play a harmonica?”

“Tuesday if you want to feel happy you just have to
have a girl with pink hair on your arm and an ax in your pocket. If you can blow a little Charlie McCoy on top of it, you’re in heaven.”

Then he wet his lips, closed his eyes and started playing
some country western, a whining, lovesick tune she didn’t recognize, but which grabbed her in the gut.

Customers at the tables near them applauded and made requests. “Let’s hear Orange Blossom
Special. Know any Hank Williams?”

The owner shook his finger from the bar in a no-no.

Mr. G. threw some money on the bar for the drinks and said, “Let’s get out of here before I get thrown out.” He took Tuesday’s hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To the freak show.”

A minute later they were in the parking lot
approaching a red 1970 Mercedes 270SL convertible, which accounted for the wind tunnel effect she had heard. He helped her into the two-seater, walked around to the driver side, hopped over the door and slid down into his seat.

She applauded.
“How long did it take you to practice that move?”

“I used to be a stunt man for a while.”

He turned his head over his shoulder to back up, so she couldn’t see if he was kidding. “What was all that about a Malibu?”

“The Malibu is for business
. This is for sin.”

“Working Girl.”

“And you’re working it.”

“You know this red clashes with my hair color.”

“I’ll have it painted tomorrow.”

He headed for the Hollywood Freeway. Tuesday said, “Before you run off with me, I need to know where you’re taking me.”

“I’m taking you to see my baby.”

“Literally?” Tuesday didn’t do well with children.

“Don’t laugh, but I’m building an RV.”

Tuesday tried to hide her surprise, and disappointment. The closest she ever got to camping was falling asleep by the side of somebody’s pool while they barbecued. And that was close enough for her.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “Can’t you see yourself crossing the country in your own vehicle, stopping by the side of a remote mountain stream, catching trout for your dinner?”

She avoided his eyes and studied the view as he wound up through the hills. For the next twenty minutes he described his love of building things with his hands and occasionally inventing things. He had filed a patent on a new lawnmower and was still describing the mechanism when they pulled into his driveway atop a hill that overlooked the reservoir and all of downtown LA. He eased the car next to a black SUV he had parked in the driveway.

As they got closer, she saw it was a Porsche Cayenne.
A tan Malibu was parked on the street. “Do you have a fleet license for all these cars?” she asked. He just grinned.

The stunning view took
Tuesday’s mind off the fact that her dreamboat turned out to be Handy Man Hank, definitely not her type. “Very nice,” she said, definitely impressed with his real estate, though.

He turned off the
ignition and raised the soft top on the convertible. “If you work hard for your money, you should be able to enjoy it. I don’t like to feel cramped.”

Tuesday wondered if that referred to his relationships as well as his living space, but before she could ask he hit the garage door remote.

A bank of fluorescent lights flicked on and Tuesday understood why he was putting the top up on his car. It wouldn’t fit in the garage, which was jammed with tools and worktables set up around a large vehicle covered by a tarp.

“Shall we,” he said, his face beaming with pride.

Tuesday wondered how she was going to fake enthusiasm for a mode of transportation she loathed.

Her heavy boots crunched over the driveway. He explained that paving it was in his budget for next year, but as for now he and his guests had to put up with gravel. Tuesday was glad she wasn’t wearing any of her vintage Chanel heels.

“Well at least this wasn’t a scam to get me inside to,” she hooked air quotes, “see your etchings.”

“Aw,” he said, his mouth drawn down into a frown. “I was hoping you’d show me your etchings.”

“In my apartment it would be mandalas.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

She told herself to put the brakes on the flirting. If Mr. Gorgeous turned out to be a fish and stream kinda guy, she was going to have to let him down easy. He was cute, but not that cute.

The RV, what she could see of it, was o
n blocks. She recognized an engine sitting on a table in the corner. The other pieces of machinery were a mystery to her that he began to unravel by introducing her to a crankshaft, carburetor and set of brake pads.

“They’re lovely,” she said, trying to hid
e her boredom with a bright smile. All that Tuesday cared about in the way of the internal combustion engine was that it started up when she turned the key. However, she did recognize band saws, sanders and several boxes of neatly organized nuts and bolts on the shelves. Had he built his kitchen cabinets, too? She hoped he would spare her that tour.

“So,” he said, a
ffecting a drum roll on a worktable. “Are you ready for the unveiling.”

Tuesday,
gritting her teeth behind a fake smile, nodded yes. He flipped a corner of the tarp and at first all she saw was gleaming wood. She gave him a puzzled look as he rolled the tarp up and over whatever it was he was building. Eventually she realized it was an antique car of some kind.

She did a double take.
“What the? I thought you said you were building an RV?”

He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“But that’s what this is. It’s a hundred years old. One of the first ever made. I found the parts and plans on eBay and started restoring it.”

“Are you actually going to take this on a cross country trip?”
She walked closer and looked into the small window on the side. She saw benches and a rudimentary sink.

“Nah. I was pulling your leg. I do like camping, but I never imagined that would be your sport. I do love restoring things, though. When I get this done I’ll get enough for it
at auction to buy a kit for an airplane. That will be our ride.”

She held her breath for a beat.
“You’re assuming there will be an us that far down the road?”

He had his back to her and couldn’t see his expression when he said,
“What’s wrong with being an optimist?”

When he turned around again, he became a tour guide. “
But first I have to finish the auto camper. That’s what they used to call them. Pierce Arrow made the first one. Very pricey car in those days. The chauffeur would take care of setting up the equipment and laying out the picnic and bar. Then people started adapting their Model T’s and what have you and making their own contraptions. Putting small sheds on wheels and covering the sides with canvas, towing them behind the family two door. They were hardly a step up from covered wagons. When they caught on, companies got serious about building rooms on wheels with toilets and kitchens. This one is about a hundred years old. Yeah, I told you that. I get excited.”

To prove that point, he reached his arms around her and gave her an enthusiastic squeeze.

“I already have two collectors bidding on it. I’m waiting for a guy in Elkhart to make some parts for me. Elkhart makes more RV’s than any city in the world. But you probably knew that.”

Tuesday
threw her head back and guffawed. “Oh, yeah. I knew that. Like I know how to build a space ship.”

But she
had to admit, she was impressed.

Then he reached into a cardboard box and pulled out an old fashioned driving cap and placed it on his head. “How do I look?”

“Expect GQ to knock on your door any minute.”

“Now the fun begins.”

He unpacked a bundle of gabardine and netting and an old suit. He answered the question on her face. “This is a ladies’ driving costume.”

Tuesday clapped her hands. “
Can I play dress up? Now you’re talking my language.” She grabbed the wide brimmed hat with yards of veiling and tried it on. She tilted her head coquettishly. “How do I look?”

“What did th
ey used to say? The bee’s knees? Here,” he said. “Try the whole outfit on. I’ll go check my mail and close the garage door. Knock when you’re ready.”

Tuesday
donned the heavy gabardine driving suit. The long skirt grazed the floor. She called out, “Come on in,” and the door raised. He stood there in a male version of the driving outfit, plus fours, argyle sweater and all.

“M
ine was in the house. Yours was in the box because I haven’t had anybody to try it on for me. Aren’t we a pair?”

She modeled for him
, and he applauded her look. “But wait,” he said. “You’re missing something.”

He went digging in the box again and pulled out a pair of high button shoes. Oh yes,
more dress up. He was her kind of guy after all.

“I don’t know if they’
re your size, but give them a try. I have a button hook somewhere here in the box.”

He
went looking and found it. She sat down on the running board and pulled off her Fry Boots and stood them next to the four wheels stacked like a tower next to the body of the camper.

“Look at this,” she said, “a perfect fit. But it’s going to take me all night to button them up. I like my shoes, but how did women do this?”
She pointed to the soft leather flapping around her ankles.

“They had help.
” He rook the button hook out of her hand, knelt down and buttoned up the shoes, then got out his phone and took pictures of them strutting in their duds, Tuesday with a huge grin breaking through the haughty pose she assumed for the photographs.

He
scratched his chin, making a big show of mulling over a thorny question.

“
I don’t want to seem pushy or anything, but I have a visitor staying with me for a few days who would love to see these outfits. I don’t want you to feel pressured, but if it’s okay with you, I’d love my mom to see these. She’s where I got my love of dress up.”

“Your MOM? On no.
Tessa. MY mom. I forgot all about her. Quick. Get me back to my car. I told her I’d only be an hour.”

Tuesday ran over to the table where she had dropped her clothes
. “Just turn around. You don’t have to leave the garage.”

She unwound the veil and ca
refully dropped the hat into its box, then looked at her feet. “Oh dear. I need help again,” and she held up the boot hook.

He
smiled broadly and gave her a slight bow. “At your service, madam.”

“I’m sorry I have to run off like this. I should have been watching the time.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun. It’s okay. I have some work to do, anyway.”

She was back in her own clothes and stuck out her foot to pull on her own boot. He gave her an odd look. “What’s that on the bottom of your sole?”

“I don’t know. What?” She hooked her boot over her knee and
examined the sole.

“T
hat,” he said pointing.

The light was bright and she had no trouble seeing
the object, the orange and turquoise sliver of glass, dulled from scraping against the concrete floor of the garage, and who knew where else it had been. Tuesday knew instantly what it was, but didn’t want to say, didn’t want to believe what her eyes were telling her was true.

He
said, “How long are you going to keep me in suspense? Is it a jewel?”

Tuesday
dug her thumbnail into the soft rubber sole of her boot and dug out the object. Then she dropped her head into her hands. “It’s the cat.”

P
uzzled, he said, “Cat? What cat?”

Tuesday held up the shard of orange and turquoise glass
“The Mulberry Cat. Somehow I stepped on a sliver of The Mulberry Cat. Where do you suppose the rest of it is?”

Tuesday checked one last time that Holley’s house was locked up tight, then slung her tote over her shoulder.
“Okay, girlfriends, I’m taking off now.”

Holley and Tessa took turns hugging
her goodbye.

“Don’t forget
,” she warned. “You MUST not open the door for anyone you don’t know.”

“For the third time, baby girl, we won’t.”
Tessa for the third time rolling her eyes to remind Tuesday that she was a nag.

Tuesday just ignored her, one of the few things she learned at Tessa’s knee.
“And call me as soon as you see a patrol car in front of the house. What time did Detective Jameson say they would show up?”

“Soon
, Miss Tuesday.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep on the couch with us tonight?”

“I can’t, Tessa. I have places to go and people to see. I’ll call you later.”

Despite
the reassurance of a police presence on Holley’s street, Tuesday was still uneasy about leaving her two charges behind, though they’d been fine while she was on her date. But right now, she had another date: with a thousand dollars.

On the way back down the hill Tuesday had time to think about her new dilemma. Holley was increasingly anxious about Roger. While Tuesday was gone, she had called all the friends they had in common and no one knew where he was. Holley hadn’t cracked a smile once during the Jerry Lewis comedy that Tuesday had recommended they all watch over the Thai takeout she had picked up for their dinner. Tuesday thought the manic clown would take everyone’s mind off the pressures of the day. But while it seemed to bore Holley, it made Tessa inexplicably anxious. Tuesday was worried that she was going through alcohol withdrawal and might be craving a drink. She had more than a twinge of guilt at refusing to sleep on the couch, but she had an important errand and promised to meet them for breakfast early in the morning. And the police would be watching the house. She’s wouldn’t have left them alone otherwise.

Now she had to focus on the cat.
Where had it come from, at least the sliver of glass that once resided on the cat’s head? After looking at it closely, Tuesday was sure it had once been part of an ear.

But how
had it attached itself to her boot? Two answers came to mind, one she refused to think about for now.

S
he retraced her steps that day. She had not worn the boots for a while, so she had to have picked it up when she swept the floor of the Café following Natasha’s orders. If that were the case, someone had broken the cat, swept it up but overlooking a sliver for Tuesday to step on. But why hadn’t she heard it click on the floor?

The Café had a carpeted entrance that would have muffled the chip, but not so around the counter, the dining areas, the kitchen and the patio, all made of wood or cement. Surely she would have heard it when she walked in those areas, but she hadn’t.

She wondered if it had
broken during the earthquake. While the shake didn’t do much damage, if the bottom of the cat was uneven, a slight shaking could have caused it to slide off the counter. But if that were the case, and someone came in and found it shattered, why would they have hidden the remains? Why not simply report what they had found? No, she decided. It wasn’t the earthquake. And besides, the earth moved in the evening while Natasha was in the Café. She would have known if it had fallen.

That meant someone
stole into the restaurant, broke it by accident and disposed of it. As far as she knew, four people had keys to the Café: Natasha, Marco, Peter the wine man and herself. But someone else had let themselves into the restaurant. Who was it? And why? It had to be one of the servers, cooks or dishwashers. The janitorial company arrived while Natasha was closing up and they didn’t have keys.

Mentally, Tuesday clicked off
all the possibilities among the staff. Two servers had been in Sardinia and were not due back until next week. The Café received a postcard and the couple, female roommates who had saved their tips for this vacation, had been posting photos on Facebook all week with verifiable landmarks in the background. So they couldn’t have done it.

That left eight servers, three line cooks,
the intern chef, two dishwashers and Rowena, the sous chef. To figure out who did it, Tuesday would have to come up with a motive. And that stumped her. Had the cat been smashed in an attempt to steal it? Who would want it? Nobody liked it.

Another attraction in the empty restaurant would be the wine cellar, with some bottles worth over a thousand dollars locked up in a special wine safe. But Peter checked the inventory daily and had not reported any bottles missing. He wouldn’t be a suspect because, as he once joked while he was setting up his
champagne buckets, he would be the first suspect if any of the wine or bar items disappeared. Besides, while the public salivated over the Café’s Burgundies and chardonnay’s, they didn’t compare to Peter’s personal wine cellar. Why would he want any of the Café’s inferior cache?

Peter
threatened to retire on the proceeds of his collection every time Natasha had a temper tantrum. Said he’d move to the south of France and write a wine newsletter to further pad his retirement income. Tuesday didn’t see how facing prison time over the theft of a few bottles of Natasha’s red if he got caught was worth the risk.

Tuesday didn’t know the
servers, cooks and dishwashers well enough to speculate whether they had motives. They all knew or could find out easily enough that Marco kept truffles, first press $100 bottles of olive oil and $200 bottles of balsamic vinegars locked up in a safe bolted to the floor of the storeroom. Yet he hadn’t reported anything stolen. There were no other items of value worth pilfering, and no evidence that anyone with light fingers had toured the restaurant unnoticed.

That left only one other suspect. Tuesday saved this name for last, because it broke her heart to even consider it. But if this person was a thief, she had to find out and e
xtricate herself from the relationship now. She was thinking, of course, of her new love.

Was it possible that she had stepped on the sliver
walking over the gravel from Mr. G’s car to his garage? She hoped with every cell in her body that it was not him.

But o
f course, it was possible. He was a former police officer. She doubted there was a lock in the whole of California that he could not pick. The question was: why? She’d had to describe the cat to him. He claimed never to have visited the Café and didn’t recognize the piece of glass when he saw it lodged in her boot. That would seem to take him off the potential perp list. Unless, that was all a ruse.

A
fter all, she had not figured out how he knew that Ariel’s home was not disturbed the night she was killed. That information had not been released to the public. Was it possible he financed his fancy cars, upscale real estate and collection of baby soft leather jackets as a two-story man? A common burglar? What was she thinking getting involved with a former detective anyway. A law enforcement expert? This was against her rules. Law men were suspicious of everyone and dirty dealing, theirs, according to some headlines, and everyone else’s, was their stock in trade. Connecting herself to the seedy side of life was no way to live positively and evolve to a higher plane.

Every instinct she had urged he
r to cut things off before things went any further. But he was tender and funny, accepting of her and creative. And sexy. He wouldn’t have done something dishonest like that, break into a restaurant? Would he? He plays the harmonica, for cripes sake. What bad boy blows Charlie McCoy on his ax?

Yes, s
he had that ugly, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that comes from having the winds of a relationship start waving red flags in your face. Bottom line, if this little episode with the cat revealed her new man to be dishonest, she’d not only have to cut him loose, but she’d have to do some soul searching about how he slipped past her bad guy shield. When she got home, she’d brew a cup of white rooibos and see what the tea leaves could tell her.

Surely she’d learned something about trust from
her mother. Tessa showed her why it paid to be cautious and a bit unforgiving. The last time she’d believed her mother’s promise to stay on the wagon and rent a nice little house where the two of them could live happily ever after, was the time she vowed never to allow a liar into her life ever again. For the most part Tuesday had kept that promise. Until today. Yet there was Tessa ensconced in Holley’s house, worming her way back into Tuesday’s life. Why couldn’t she have told Tessa to figure out her next step on her own instead of rushing down to the bus station to rescue her? So she was still on the Tessa merry-go-round and had a possible liar tugging at her heart. Drat! The tricky thing was, it was hard to be suspicious and positive at the same time.

And now she had
a different problem. How was she going to tell Natasha that she found a piece of her beloved cat on her shoe? She imagined her boss blowing up at the indignity of it. “Your boot?” she would bellow.

But she’d have to tell her.
Or someone would. And there was the little matter of Marco’s reward that she was about to receive. When she showed the glass to Marco, she would also ask him to break the news to Natasha. After all, he was her partner. He had a special relationship with her. He would be the best person to talk to Natasha. She’d pull him aside, explain what happened, and then, because a bit of luck was finally on her side, collect her reward and be done with the cat. If only she’d found this piece of glass before the twins had sold the butterfly earrings. Then they’d be hers. No matter. She would stash the grand away and save it for something really special.

The valet parking attendants who worked the dinner crowd had cars lined up half way around the block waiting their turn. At this rate, she could double park, run in and explain to Marco that she had solved the mystery of the cat, partially, anyway, collect her money and drive off before the line of cars had moved.

She flicked on her hazard lights,
crawled out on the passenger side so the valets wouldn’t see her leave the car unattended and ran into the Café. The maître d’ raised his eyebrows when he saw her. “Tuesday, we don’t have a table for you. We are crazy busy tonight.”

She had to speak up over the din of the bar.
“That’s okay, Axel. I just want a word with Marco and then I’m leaving.”

A party of four came up behind her and Axel smiled unctuously
. One of the men hosted a local reality show. “Good evening. How nice to see you. Do you have a reservation?”

Tuesday
could not see Natasha, which was a relief. She was probably seating people out on the patio, which was lighted and heated at night. She made a beeline for the kitchen.

The kitchen at lunch and the kitchen at dinner resided in two
separate universes. Unlike the noontime crowd that chose mainly salads and soups that kept the kitchen a sane temperature, a blast of heat and conflicting odors smacked Tuesday in the face. Garlic and vanilla, fish and the mint one of the cooks was chopping near the door, overcooked broccoli wilting in the trash and grilled meat. The heat overwhelmed her and as she crossed the room to Marco, who was standing by the walk-in freezer, she felt as though the duct tape trim on her skirt was melting.

Marco waved her away. “I don’t know what it is, Tuesday, but I don’t have time.”

Tuesday searched into her tote bag until she pulled out the glass shard. “You have time for this, don’t you?”

Marco
’s face fell. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the freezer. “Where did you get this?”

She explained as best she could, since she really didn’t know where she
had picked it up. “I’m assuming I stepped on it when we were meeting before work. The janitorial crew must have missed it when they swept up. Would you tell Natasha? She won’t want to hear that someone totaled the cat. It will sound better coming from you.”

Marco
pulled on his hair. “I’m so sick of this cat business. She has us running around wasting time when she should just have that lazy husband of hers make another one. Now, if I interrupt my work to show this to her she will stop the presses again. Line all of us up to find out who broke it and where they stashed the bits and pieces. You know what she’s like.”

Tuesday’s lips were turning blue.
They had not slipped on coats the cooks used when they entered the freezer. She couldn’t speak because her teeth were chattering so badly. She just nodded her head.

Marco said, “Give it to me. I’ll figure out how to deal with it.” She dropped it in
to his outstretched, shivering hand and he brushed past her and out of the freezer. She ran out behind him before he let the door close on her.

The chef immediately barked at
Rowena watching over a fillet of beef. “Are you counting the minutes? If that comes back because it is not rare enough it is coming out of your salary.”

Tuesday still had
to ask the chef about the reward. She waited while he berated the dishwasher for banging the pots. “Dent them and you’ll pay for new ones.”

Natasha was a pushover compared to Marco. No wonder their restaurant was so successful. No detail got by
either of them. Marco noticed Tuesday still in the kitchen. “What are you still doing here? We have work to do.”