An Affair to Dismember (27 page)

I FLIPPED through the papers. “There’s at least a dozen letters here.”

“This is evidence,” Spencer said, reaching for the letters. “We have to get a warrant. We can’t look at them.”

I stepped back, out of his reach.

“Like hell I can’t. I was given these letters by Cindy Terns, and if you’re really nice to me, I’ll let you look at them, too.”

I hightailed it into the house and bolted up the stairs to my room. I kicked off my shoes and hopped on the bed, spreading the letters out. Spencer came in right after, and he threw himself on the bed next to me.

“Same envelopes. They must all be from the same person,” I noted. “Let’s organize them by postmark.”

“Fine.”

We shuffled the letters around. They were all postmarked in Cannes, but the dates went back decades. The first was from 1979.

“Whoa, it starts out rough,” I said.

“ ‘Love, Lulu’? She’s a bit of a freak.” Spencer kicked off his boots and sat back against the headboard. “Read the next one.”

The next one was two years later. “I wonder if we have all the letters. That’s quite a break she took,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter. Keep reading.”

“I think I hate Lulu,” I said.

“She’s screwing with Randy’s mind, threatening to target his wife. It’s classic, but she wants to hurt Randy, not Betty,” Spencer said. “We don’t have all the letters. Maybe she was harassing him for years, and he stopped reacting so she had to pump up the volume.”

“I’m surprised Randy didn’t knock her off.”

“I think we’re missing something. When’s the next one?”

“Two weeks later.”

“I’ve been following the wrong path,” I whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“The blackmail. I just assumed Randy’s gang members were blackmailing him.”

“Well, Harry said—” Spencer began.

“Uncle Harry said Randy was being blackmailed and he wanted to find his gang. He didn’t say the gang was blackmailing him.”

Spencer groaned. “We’ve been following the wrong path.”

I nodded. “Lulu was blackmailing Randy Terns, not Jimmy the Fink or Chuck Costa. Then something happened. Randy stopped paying. Maybe he didn’t care if Lulu told Betty. Maybe Betty told Randy she already knew about the affair. Maybe Randy ran out of money. Whatever it was, Randy stopped paying, and Lulu got mad.”

“Pinkie, you make sense.”

The rest of the letters were pretty much the same, with varying degrees of vitriol. Then came the last letter, dated one week before Randy Terns died.

“Well,” I said.

“Well.”

“Find the Lulu, find the murderer. You know what? Betty warned me about Lulu, about the other woman. She said she was evil, capable of anything.”

“Maybe she was right,” Spencer said. “Tell me again where you got these letters.”

“Cindy put them in my purse. She collects all kinds of things. She probably had a stash of Randy’s stuff.”

Spencer gathered the letters together. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and put his boots on. “I’ll look into it,” he said.

“Shouldn’t Betty know?”

“Not yet. Give me a couple of days. I have to find Lulu. I’ll have the paper analyzed for prints, DNA. It takes a while.”

I put my hand on his arm. A little electric shock went through me, and I felt warm all over. “Spencer, I have faster methods for tracking down a mistress. Can we play it my way?”

Spencer took my hand in his. “You should be resting, you know. Haven’t you had enough?”

“I’m just going to help you find Lulu. That’s all. How bad can that be? Anyway, this way you can keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t drive. Make sure I don’t get into trouble.”

Spencer groaned.

“One day, Spencer. It’s just for one day.”

He groaned again and ran his hand over his face. “Get your shoes on. Where are we going first?”

“Where else? The kitchen.”

Grandma was still in the doldrums, sitting at the table with a Coke and two Twinkies untouched in front of her. Bridget was recounting a study that had found that religion can be depressing.

Lucy was rolling her eyes. “I don’t trust that study at all. I had a moment in the back of a church in Birmingham with a deacon that was anything but depressing, darlin’,” Lucy said. “He told me I had the light of God in my eyes and proceeded to defile me in a most welcome manner. I recall feeling very spiritual, and I swear my body levitated. It was trying to get even closer to God, I imagine.”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with religion,” Bridget said.

“Hold on. I wasn’t finished. Now compare that to an atheist I knew in Cleveland. We dated for two weeks, and one night at dinner, he says to me, ‘Lucy, dear, I’ve thought about it, and I can’t have sex with you because you’re too smart.’ Too smart! Well, I never. Lord knows, I’m too smart for my own good. At least, that’s what my momma always said to me. But what an idiot he was. Like a smart woman can’t be a good lover.”

Lucy noticed me and took a breath. “Oh, Gladie. There you are. You and Mr. Handsome were gone so long, I was starting to wonder. Anyway, tell me. You’re smart. Are you a good lover, or should I ask our police chief about that?”

I could feel Spencer smirk from behind me. “I don’t think intelligence or religion has anything to do with it,” Bridget said. “You’ve turned the path of our discussion all topsy-turvy.”

“Maybe I was tired of the path, darlin’. I know you are in turmoil about your priest, but I think we need a new topic of conversation.”

“I have a new topic of conversation,” I interrupted, taking a seat. “Randy Terns had an affair with a crazy woman named Lulu. I need to find her. She’s the new number one suspect in his murder.”

I gave them the rundown on the letters. There were a lot of oohs and ahhs.

“I knew a Lulu in college,” said Bridget. “Lulu Jones. She was a biology major, but she moved up to Alaska to study some kind of bug.”

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know any Lulus.”

“How about you, Grandma? Any ideas who Randy Terns had an affair with? Maybe she came to you to get fixed up,” I said.

“My brain’s all foggy today,
bubeleh
.”

“I know. It’s really important.”

Grandma took a bite of Twinkie and washed it down with Coke. “You know, the name does sound familiar to me, but she was never a client of mine and was never on my radar.”

She took another bite of Twinkie. “I could go for some ribs,” she said to no one in particular. Then she popped up out of her chair and snapped her fingers.

“I got it,” she announced. “Bird Gonzalez did a woman’s hair out in the boonies somewhere. I don’t think she does her anymore, but she would know. Lulu. Color and perm. Go to Bird and ask her.”

I changed out of my scrubs into jeans and a T-shirt. It felt great to wear my own underwear again. I swiped my eyelashes with mascara and put a thick layer of Tango Fire lipstick on my lips. I ran my fingers through my hair and stepped back from the mirror. Not a bad look for hunting down a crazy murderer, but I wasn’t ready to go to a ball or anything.

Downstairs, Spencer waited at the front door with Grandma. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Mrs. Burger,” he told her as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be better tomorrow. I always am. It’s just a little disconcerting, not being my normal self. But I’ve already got my appetite back. That’s a good sign. Lucy is going to get me ribs in a sec. I’ll be back to my meddling ways in no time.”

“Like grandmother, like granddaughter,” said Spencer.

“Oh, I hope so. I’ve always wanted her to get into the family business. I think she’s a natural, despite her past,” Grandma said.

I cleared my throat in case they didn’t know I was there and wanted to say something embarrassing.

“Her past? Gladie has a past?” Spencer asked.

“Oh, yes. Gladie has had a million jobs. She flitted from one thing to another for more than a decade. Never bothered graduating from high school, either. Commitment issues,” Grandma explained with a whisper and a none-too-discreet gesture at my head. “But she’ll commit to matchmaking. I’ll change her. I’m the queen of commitment.”

I shifted on my heels and studied the ceiling. I could feel Spencer’s eyes boring through me. The room had altered, and he was seeing me in a different light.

“Blue skies again,” Spencer said. He beeped his car, unlocking the doors. “Supposed to be foggy tonight, though. There’s a weather alert in effect.”

I was eternally grateful he had changed the subject. “There is?”

“Yep, very foggy.”

Spencer’s attention moved to the space behind me. I turned around. Holden was in his front yard, pushing a lawn mower.

“He’s domestic,” Spencer muttered.

I had tried to push Holden out of my mind. When I thought of him, I had that little kernel of suspicion that went with it. Where had he been when Chuck Costas was shot? Could he have been the shooter? If so, could he have been trying to protect me, or had he been aiming at me? That was a thought that kept rolling around in my brain, too.

If he wasn’t the shooter, why hadn’t he seen the shooter and why hadn’t he stopped him? And most of all, why hadn’t he visited me in the hospital or come by the house to see how I was? Or at the very least called?

“I told him to stay away from you until the investigation is over,” Spencer said, reading my mind. “It took a lot of convincing. He finally promised to stay clear of you when I explained it would be better for you.”

I turned back to Spencer. “Was he worried about me?”

“He seemed to be. He called me a piece of shit, said I wouldn’t know what was good for you even if you came with a user’s manual. He mentioned something about decking me, too. Does that make you feel better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, he’ll still be there tomorrow. Maybe we can get this wrapped up today.”

I hesitated. I wanted to ask Holden the questions that bothered me, but my doubt made me angry at him, and I didn’t want to talk to him yet. “He’ll still be there tomorrow,” I said.

Spencer nodded. “Sure he will.”

BIRD’S SALON was pandemonium. There wasn’t a space available on the street, and women in orange smocks with tint in their hair milled about outside.
Spencer parked on the curb. There were advantages to being police chief.

Spencer turned on the radio to the sports station. “Go ahead and ask her. I’m not going in.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.”

The ladies outside were sneaking looks into the car and whispering among themselves. “You’ve had sex with at least half of all the women in the salon, haven’t you?” I said.

“That’s a slight exaggeration.”

“Man whore.”

“I’m not a man whore. And man whore is not an insult to a man, by the way.”

“Man whore. Guy slut. Penis hound dog,” I said.

“Like I said, not insults.” Spencer turned up the radio and leaned back in his seat.

I slammed the door and tried to walk with confidence through the crowd of women.

“Gladie Burger, is that you?” asked a woman in a smock and rollers.

“Yes.”

“I’m your grandma’s friend Sally. Were you with our new police chief?”

“Uh, yes.”

“I told you!” Sally announced to the other women. “Gladie Burger bagged the cop.”

“So why are we doing our hair if men don’t care a thing about hair?” asked another woman, gesturing toward my head. My hand flew up to my hair, and I gave it a halfhearted combing through with my fingers.

“I’m only here to see Bird,” I said, my voice just above a whisper. I tiptoed past them into the salon.

Hair was flying. The hairdressers were going full steam. Bird worked on three clients at once.

“Hey, Gladie,” she called, her usual warm smile plastered
on her face despite the chaos. “Do you have an appointment today? I don’t have you written down.”

“No, I just came in to ask you something.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I don’t think I can handle one more head today. How’s your grandma? I heard it was a blind day. I just don’t think it’s safe in Cannes when she has a blind day. Anything can happen.”

“What’s happening here?” I asked. “I’ve never seen it so busy.”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s the city council’s summer ball this evening. But since there’s a big fog warning for tonight, they changed the venue from the high school gym to the little historic district park down the street. Very romantic in the fog. Everyone’s going. I think the city council is buttering up the town for November elections. Are you going?”

“I think I’m busy,” I said. “But I wanted to ask you a question. I’m looking for a woman named Lulu. I don’t have the last name. Grandma said you used to do a woman’s hair out in the boonies.”