Designed for Death (12 page)

Hedda leaned into the mike. “I’m going to sing for you,” she murmured, “but first I want to tell you a bedtime story. Would my babies like that?”

Vesuvius again.

“Well, since you insist.” Hedda rubbed her fingers up and down the mike stand. “A fairy godmother came to me in the middle of the night.” She paused to let the laughter die down “…and Fairy Godmother said, ‘You’ve been such a good girl, I’m going to grant you three wishes. So tell me, my darling, what three things do you desire most in the whole, wide world?’

“‘Well, Fairy Godmother, I want to be young and beautiful.’”

Letting go of the mike, Hedda ran her palms along her silver-clad hips and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “As you can see, my first wish was granted.”

“Yeah!”

“‘And what is your second wish?’

“‘To be rich and dripping in diamonds and jewels.’”

Hedda waved her beringed fingers at the crowd and, with a shake of her head, sent her dangling rhinestone earrings into a cha-cha.

“‘And for your third wish, my beauty?’

“‘Well, O magical one, I love my cat so much, please, please,
please
turn him into a tall handsome man.’”

Hedda paused, milking the big moment. A pin drop would have sounded like a building collapse.

“Presto!” she exclaimed into the mike. “My wish was the fairy’s command. For lo and behold, the tall, handsome man of my dreams suddenly stood there in the flesh, all mine forever. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘You. Are. Gorgeous.’”

Hands on hips, arms akimbo, she surveyed the crowd. “And do you know what that turkey said to me?”

“No!!”

She let go of her hips, grasped the mike and boomed, “Do you?”

“No!!!!!”

“He said, ‘Aren’t you sorry you had me neutered?’”

I guess we all saw that one coming, but Hedda got her laugh anyway. From his overhead perch, the DJ launched Barbra Streisand into “The Man I Love,” and Hedda began her tease. I glanced over at my buddies. AudreyAnn had lost her sad, I’ve-been-dumped look for one that said God-this-is-fun. Neal, glass empty, stared at the stage openmouthed and disbelieving, like an Eagle Scout trapped in the wrong jamboree. In that moment, I crossed him off the suspect list. No way had this scared guy killed anybody.

Hedda had only removed a couple of bracelets and given us a wiggle’s worth of fanny when Fayette strode up to our table. He bent over me and cupped a hand around my ear. “We need to talk, lovey,” he whispered.

I nodded. “That’s why I’m here. After your act, okay?”

“I’m not going on tonight. We can’t talk out here. Backstage. As soon as Hedda’s gig’s over, go through those curtains over there.” He pointed to the right of the stage. “I’ll be in my dressing room. It’s the one with a gold star on the door. And, lovey,” he added. “Come alone.”

With Streisand’s help, Hedda lip-synched and gyrated her way through the lyrics, setting the torch song on fire, then took a bow, blew kisses to the crowd and vanished.

At last. Nine Inch Nails would break the sound barrier any second now. I checked my watch. Midnight.

I leaned into the center of the muffin. “Fayette’s waiting for me,” I told Neal and AudreyAnn. “If I’m not back by twelve-thirty, come looking for me. I’ll be in the dressing room with the star on the door. I hope.”

“Not so—” Neal began, but his protest was lost in “Every Day Is Exactly the Same.” I kept on moving and ducked behind the purple curtain at stage right.

“Hey, whatta you want?” Hedda asked, her baritone voice stopping me in my tracks. She held her silver hair in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Her Marine buzz cut didn’t do much for the gown.

“Your autograph?”

She looked me over. “Where you want it, honey?”

I backed up out of reach. “Actually, I’m here to see Faye. Uh, Fayette. We have an appointment. We just made it. You can ask him. Uh, her. Uh, him.”

Hedda flicked an ash onto the concrete floor. “I don’t have to ask her a damn thing.”

Buck up, I told myself. Don’t let Hedda intimidate you. She’s just a regulation haircut in a sequined gown. “If you’ll point me to the star’s dressing room, I’ll get out of your hair. I mean—”

Hedda aimed the glowing tip of her cigarette at a door on the left. “The
star’s
in there,” she purred, the emphasis on “star” sounding like the prelude to a catfight.

“Thanks.” Sensing her eyes boring holes in my back, I hurried for the door with a yellow construction paper star taped to it and knocked.

“Come in, lovey.”

I opened the door and stepped into a rainbow. Portable clothes racks jammed with gowns in every shade of the spectrum took up most of the closet-sized room. Pink, gold, white, purple, midnight blue, lime green, and sequins, bugle beads, feather boas galore. Coordinating stilettos, size thirteens I think, lined the floor under the racks. Above them, on a high shelf, sat a row of mannequin heads topped with glamour wigs from platinum blond to Barnum & Bailey red.

“Have a seat.” Fayette swept an armload of bras and panties off a folding chair. “Coffee?”

“No thanks, just had a mai tai.”

“That stuff’s bad for your skin.”

“I know, but Hedda’s act made me thirsty.”

“Yeah, she has that effect on everybody…sucks you dry.”

“What did you want to see me about, Faye?”

“Fayette.”

“Sorry.”

He frowned, looking far different from the girlie girl who had come to Surfside the other day. Even his voice had a different pitch, deeper, laced with testosterone. Up close, in the glare of the mirror’s theatrical lights, drag queen or not, he was a formidable sight. Though totally hairless, his muscled torso gleamed under the lights. He probably oiled his pecs.

Had he killed Treasure? He had the muscle power, all right. Rossi’s words “everyone’s a suspect” kept popping into my mind. But what about a motive? That day at Surfside, Faye had been heartbroken at learning of Treasure’s death. Which led me back to the reason I was here. I wanted a piece of the puzzle solved. Why had Treasure, a straight woman, roomed with a gay guy? Sure, it happened every day. They helped each other with the rent, borrowed each other’s clothes, shared the cooking—and otherwise led separate lives. Was that the way of it between Fayette and Treasure? And was their relationship, whatever it might have been, linked to the murder? There was only one way to find out.

“Fayette, every woman has a story.” I leaned in a little closer. “Tell me, what’s yours?”

His lower lip trembled.

“And what’s Treasure’s?”

He studied his nails, a stall for time. An old trick.

“Your manicure’s fine. Look at me.”

For a split second he did, then grabbed a tissue from the box on the littered dressing table. I ought to travel with a case of them.

After dabbing at his eyes, Fayette heaved a shuddering sigh and sniffled. “If you hadn’t come here tonight, I would have gone to see you tomorrow.”

“Why?”

This conversation was going to take patience. I hoped I’d get to hear what he had to tell me before Neal and AudreyAnn came busting in like a couple of rogue cops.

“Because,” he whispered, leaning closer, his bare knees touching mine. “I have to tell someone, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Tell
what?
”

“Nobody here knows. Promise you won’t tell a soul.”

“So far, I have nothing to tell.” Of course, I didn’t mention that in the past few days I’d been a pipeline to Lieutenant Rossi. I hoped this confidence would be different. I needed to believe I could be loyal to something other than my own fear.

Fayette looked over his shoulder, making sure we were alone. “I was attacked last night.”

“What!”

“In the parking lot. That’s why I didn’t go on tonight. Hedda thinks I have a sore throat.” His tears spilled over, and he grabbed for another tissue. “How could I perform knowing someone wants to kill me? Maybe someone in the audience, watching my every move. Waiting.” He clutched my hand as if it were a lifeline.

“That’s awful,” I said, squeezing back. “What happened?”

“Well, I was late getting my makeup off and changing out of my costume. You know what has to be done.” I guess I did. I nodded, anyway. “I mingled at the bar for a while, met a real charmer.” A soft smile flitted across Fayette’s face. “By the time I locked up and walked out to my car, the lot was empty. Or so I thought. But…” Letting go of my hand, he took a tissue break, then, “This guy came up behind me, shoved a gun in my back and wrapped an arm around my throat. It was like steel. That’s when I froze. Forgot all my training. I’m so ashamed.”

“You panicked? Who wouldn’t?”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and I lost my focus. Only for a second, but that shouldn’t have happened.”

“You were scared?”

“Shitless.”

“Anyone would be.”

“You don’t understand. To a Tae Kwon Do Master, a gun is nothing. A toy. I’ve been in self-defense training for years.” He dabbed at his eyes. “In my kind of life, a guy has to protect himself. You’re a target for crazies and homophobes.”

I leaned back in the folding chair, ignoring its creaks, and inhaled a combination of Fayette’s fear and lavender body oil. He sure could use a bigger dressing room. Trying to take shallow breaths, I asked, “What happened next?”

“He cocked the trigger, and my control kicked in. I thought for sure he’d shoot, but afterwards, I figured he just wanted to scare me. You know, give me a hard time because I’m gay. Anyway, at the sound of the trigger, my adrenaline peaked.” Fayette flexed his muscles. Combat ready, they rippled under the oil, and his thighs tightened.

“What did you do?”

“I elbow-jabbed him in the ribs, went into a quick drop and twist—I can move like lightning when I have to—and knocked him off his feet.”

“Did you get a look at him? Or at the plate number?”

“It’s swamp gloom out there. I couldn’t see a thing.” He shuddered. “But I remember that arm on my neck. I hope I broke a rib on the guy.”

“Well, thank God he didn’t hurt you.”

“Only my pride. That’s enough to destroy a man.”

“Think positively. You got away.”

“Thank you, lovey. I needed that. I got his gun, too.” Fayette reached into a plastic box brimming with costume jewelry and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.

“Omigod.”

“When it hit the ground, he ran off. I hid in the shrubbery until he drove out of the lot. Then I hung around until there was enough light to find the gun.” Handling the pistol like a time bomb ready to explode, he placed it gently on top of the tissue box, where it sat like an unveiled threat.

I forced myself to look away from it. “You didn’t chase him? Try to stop him?”

“No way. We don’t need that kind of publicity. The cops are always snooping, looking for any excuse to close us down. A couple of days ago, a guy from Homicide came in, asking about Treasure, making macho comments. Hedda and I are in this together, and we can’t afford trouble with the police. The Lady’s finally climbing out of the red. Close us up for a week or so, and she’s dead.”

“So is Treasure, Fayette. Maybe there’s a connection between this attack and her killer.”

He nodded, thoughtful, not dismissing the possibility. “I just couldn’t take the chance. Treasure’s gone. Nothing will bring her back.”

“There’s a murderer on the loose. We have to find him. You know that.”

“If I lose this place, I lose everything. I might as well be dead, too.” He picked up the gun and held it out. “Keep this for me. Please. I don’t want Hedda to find it, or that cop, either.”

I reared back on my rickety seat. “I don’t want a gun.”

Fayette thrust the weapon at me. “Take it. Consider it a gift. You won’t hurt yourself. I removed the slugs. Go ahead, take it. It’s clean, in more ways than one. It landed in the mud, but I wiped it dry. Even the serial number’s been filed off.” With his free hand, he rifled through the box of jewelry and came up with three bullets. “Here they are. Come on, take them.”

His voice had risen to Faye heights, and that made me nervous. He was too excitable to have a gun around. He might hurt himself…or someone else. To calm him, I lifted the weapon from one shaky hand, plucked the bullets from the other and dropped them in my purse. Too bad he’d rubbed off the mugger’s fingerprints.

The klieg lights surrounding the mirror shone on Fayette’s bald head. As he blew into a tissue, I reached into my purse for the picture of the dark-haired guy with the meltingly warm smile and handed it to Fayette.

He sighed. “Oooooh. Where did you find this? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“Beside Treasure’s bed.”

Fayette nodded, his gaze riveted on the photograph.

“She told me she had a brother. Is this him?” I asked.

“Her brother? No way.” Fayette dropped the photo onto his lap and, caught up in some private joke, chortled for a while. Then, as though it were karate chopped, his hilarity stopped and, picking up the picture again, he stared at it solemnly.

“What a little liar she was.” He tapped the snapshot with a fingernail. “I’ll tell you who this is.” Tearing his glance away from the photograph, he looked up at me for an instant, his eyes luminous with unshed tears. “It’s Treasure.”

Chapter Thirteen

“No!”

“Would I lie?” Sweat beaded on Fayette’s forehead, threatening to run down and join the tears lingering on his cheeks.

Trapped in a glittery, sequined cage redolent of sweat and perfume, I tried not to inhale deeply of the stale air. Heat rose into my face as Fayette gazed adoringly at the photo in his hands. “The little liar,” he murmured again. He lifted the snapshot to his lips for a kiss. “The little liar.”

Omigod.
I grabbed a copy of
Playgirl
from the jumble on the dressing table and fanned myself. Though surprised, in the dark recesses of my mind I’d suspected something. Treasure’s over-the-top personality had been enjoyable but somewhat surreal…her hype, her super-long legs, her contralto voice…

While I kept the magazine moving, Fayette took his gaze from the picture and looked over at me with eyes that were big and gray and extravagantly, impossibly fringed. Someday, in a lighter moment, I’d ask him where he bought those lashes.