Drop Dead Gorgeous (11 page)

“Well, I don’t mean to be. I’m just being logical.”

“Logical! You think a man has a right to kill a woman just because she—”

“She was acting like a total whore that day.”

“It isn’t legal to kill whores, Andrew. What’s the matter with you?”

He sighed, staring at her ruefully. “I don’t mean that. No, it isn’t right for a guy to hurt a girl for acting like a cunt. I know that! That’s the obvious. I just mean that guys have feelings, too. Maybe she humiliated him so badly that he freaked out—temporary insanity, that kind of thing. That’s all I meant.”

Lori shook her head, spearing her spinach angrily. “He didn’t kill her.”

“Okay! I didn’t really think that he did. I mean, none of us thought that any one of us would ever do anything like that—it was just plain tragic. Mandy was trying to be a hotshot in the water, and she tangled herself in the vines. That’s the way I saw it. If I ever had any evil thoughts, the damned cops caused them.”

Lori exhaled. Well, that was true. The cops were the only ones suspicious that day.

“Things are different now, though, of course.”

“What?”

“Well, Ellie Metz was no accident. She
wasn’t just murdered, she was butchered. Pass the ketchup, will you, sis?”

A
security guard at the exit stopped Sean before he could leave the morgue.

“Mr. Black?”

“Yes?”

“Detective Garcia asked me to give you a message. He’s having a late lunch with friends at Monty’s—wants you to come. Says he promises it will be interesting.”

“Thanks,” Sean said.

He left the morgue, pausing just outside to stare up at the blazing sun. Hell. He’d told himself that it was possible to be here, and not live in the past. He’d barely been back, and he was becoming buddy-bud
dy with those who had—
unwittingly, perhaps—half skewered him a lifetime ago.

But as he hailed a cab, he knew that he would be heading for the restaurant.

He’d liked Monty’s as a kid; it hadn’t changed mu
ch. There was an indoor restaur
ant, and an outdoor restaurant. Wood decking, palm trees, cats, a bay breeze. On the water, shaded, the tables were cool enough, and he discovered Ricky out at a table directly on the water with two other men. They’d obviously ordered some time ago, and were just finishing up. Ricky’s friends were apparently on duty while Ricky was off. Ricky had a beer, the other two were drinking ice tea. Ricky was in cutoffs and a T-shirt, the others were in dockers and polo shirts.

“Hey, Sean!” Ricky called, rising.

His companions started to rise as well; Sean wa
ved them back down, sitting him
self.

“Bill Crowley, Alex Hanson,” Ricky said. “Sean Black.”

They all nodded.

“These guys are on my team,” Ricky said.

“Team?”

“Task force. There’s ten of us, hunting down clues on the Eleanor Metz murder,” Crowley explained. He was fortyish, balding slightly, with a basset-hound look that seemed to state he’d been in homicide a long time. He smiled.

“Ten cops, one murder, a task force, that’s interesting,” Sean said.

“Well, the publicity on this one calls for immediate action,” Hanson said. He was younger, late twenties, crew cut, the kind of physique that meant he spent several hours daily at a gym. “The mayor is convinced we’re going to plunge the place into a rep so bad, we’ll never crawl out if we don’t get the guy fast.”

“And Dr. Peterson—one of the force shrinks—thinks this guy probably started out abusing women, maybe turned to rape, and then murder,” Bill Crowley said. “He thinks that—” Crowley broke off, then shrugged. “We weren’t sworn to confidentiality, but we don’t want this out, either. Anyway, the shrink on this one thinks the guy has killed before, and his victims were buried well
enough to decompose so that the murders just weren’t discovered.” He looked at the others guiltily, as if he shouldn’t have spoken.

“Sean isn’t going to say anything. He’s been at the morgue already. Gillespie is using him,” Ricky said.

“Oh, yeah? I thought you were a writer?” Hanson said.

Sean started to answer, but Ricky was a step ahead of him, slamming him on the back. “My old buddy here is a lot of things. He’s got a doctorate in forensic anthropology.”

“Hey, great,” Hanson said. He swallowed a long swig of his ice tea, then shrugged. “All right, what the hell is that?”

Sean grinned. “My specialty is bones. I sta
rted with a lot of field digs…
ancient peoples, that kind of thing. Digging up ancient burial pits, we can learn about evolution and the way that people lived. That kind of thing. And we can also study more recent bones. Find out what happened to people.”

“Murder victims,” Crowley said.

“Yeah. And sometimes, not. Bones can tell a lot of stories.”

“How do you know if someone was stabbed without flesh and blood?” Hanson asked.

“Sometimes, you can’t. Mortal wounds can be inflicted without striking bone. But murder victims usually fight, and murderers can seldom be so careful that they can make sure they don’t strike bone. Scratches, abrasions
…
a lot can be seen on bone.”

Crowley sat back, loo
king at him. “So that’s why you
r stuff sounds so good.”

“You read my books?”

Crowley nodded. “I had just figured you learned about cops and court from the time you were arrested here.”

“Ah,” Sean said.

“That was a bad rap. They were just looking for something. Couldn’t haul in any of those rich kids back then, though I think things are getting better now.”

“You were on the force then?”

“A rookie. It was a dumb call all the way around when they arrested you.”

“I wasn’t there,” Hanson said, “but I met Rutgers, and he was one asshole.”

Rutgers. The cop who had been the first plainclothesman at the rock pit. The cop who had insisted there had been a murder, long before the M.E.s had ever taken a look at Mandy’s body.

“The D.A.’s office issued the warrants,” Sean said evenly. Seemed like he could never get away from it. Miami. Big city. Lots of crime. But people didn’t forget.

“On Rutgers’ insistence; and they made a mistake. Obviously. They didn’t have enough evidence, and that came out at the trial. They wasted the taxpayers’ money, and they ripped up a lot of lives,” Crowley said. Rising, he offered his hand to Sean. “Must have seemed like the whole city was out to lynch you, Mr. Black. There were a lot of us on your side all
the time. Alex, we’ve got to head back in. Ricky, see you at the office. Mr. Black, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alex Hanson agreed, pumping Sean’s hand. “Hey, I don’t mean to impose, but—”

“If you’d like, I’ll have Ricky bring you both some signed copies of my books,” Sean said.

Bill Crowley beamed. “My wife will sure be impressed. Thanks.”

Ricky slammed Sean on the shoulder again with his palm in a good old boy gesture. “Man, you’re all right, Sean. You always were, way back when. Hey, Brenda!” he said, calling to the waitress. “We need a couple of drafts over here. Thanks, Sean. This is really great of you. Crowley is a big fan.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

Dark eyes alight, Ricky was in a good mood, new murder or no. Yeah, they were buddies. Except that Ricky, like the rest of them, had basically turned his back on Sean when his folks had told him that he was just bad blood.

What the hell had he expected? They’d all been kids.

The drafts arrived. Ricky lifted his glass. “To Eleanor LeBlanc Metz. May the poor bitch rest in peace. Jesus,” he said, setting his beer down and running his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Sean, isn’t it strange. I’m homicide, I do this for a living, and suddenly it’s Ellie on that slab, and I’m feeling as sick as a kid and remembering
…
” He paused and looked at Sean. He lifted his beer again. “I was
one royal shit back then. If you’d thumbed your nose at all of us, it would have been simple justice on your part.”

Startled, Sean lifted his beer to Ricky. “We were all just kids,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ricky murmured, an awkward smile on his face as he accepted Se
an’s for
giveness. “Just kids. Want to go to the funeral with me tomorrow?”

Ellie’s funeral.

“Sure.”

Somehow, he knew that they’d all be there.

L
ori ran into Muffy in the rest room.

She was powdering her nose, but saw Lori in the mirror as Lori came in. “Oh, hi! Nice to see you again, sorry, I really hope that I didn’t disturb you. I guess I’m just overly friendly, too trusting and too much like a puppy in need of affection—that’s what my dad always said, and of course, that I kind of talk on and on and don’t stop. Oops, sorry, guess that’s what I’m doing now.”

Lori laughed, walked up to the mirror, and set her purse on the counter to pull out her brush. “It’s great that you’re friendly, Muffy. Don’t let people tell you otherwise.”

Muffy closed her compact, smiling. “You know, that’s really nice of you to say. Andrew always made it sound like his kinfolk were all snobs. You’re not like that at all.”

“Thanks. Have you worked with Andrew long?”

“Oh, on and off. I don’t work with him all
the time, you know. Depends on who is directing what.”

“I guess there’s a lot going on down here.”

“Oh, yeah, the market for this stuff is huge down here.”

“You like working in film?”

“Well, I’d like to be in the films more than I am.”

“Oh, well
…
you’re in the business, surely you can get into the pictures more—”

“Oh, yeah, some, but I’m getting old. They like the young chicks to actually be in the pictures. As far as getting the dudes up for it, there’s really nothing like an old broad like me with lots of experience.”

“Excuse me?” Lori said, confused. Then she felt her cheeks flame, and she felt like an idiot.

Muffy hadn’t noticed. She was patting her hair. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m good at my job. I make a lot of money at it. I can take a guy from zero to sixty in seconds flat. Saves the producers a bundle, because there’s nothing like waiting around for the guys to get to it when they’ve already shot a w—” She broke off then, staring at Lori, and blushed furiously herself. “You know,” she said awkwardly, “young guys, they get to it quick, and then they’re like wet noodles. Young girls just don’t know what I know that can
…
get a noodle going again, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, sure. And I’m sure that you are great at what you do.”

Muffy smiled broadly, “Well, I’ll be seeing you. I hope. Take care, Lori.”

“You take care, too, Muffy,” Lori said. She waited a few moments after the other woman had left.

Then she returned to her table.

Andrew had just ordered them coffee. She thanked him, and sipped her coffee.

“You know, Andrew, I don’t mean to be a pest, but I’m still confused. Just what is it that Muffy gets ready for you on your sets?”

Andrew almost spit coffee. “Muffy, uh
…
”

“She gets things ready,” Lori said, staring at him. “What things.”

Andrew stared back at her. “Well, she,
uh, she just prepares things…
”

Lori leaned forward. “What things?” Andrew was bloodred.

“Body parts?” Lori inquired sweetly.

“Oh, Jesus—” Andrew began, eyes lowered.

“Why the hell did you lie to me? Why do you pretend to be making nature films—”

“I
am
making nature films, and I do work for PBS—”

“Please don’t tell me that Muffy does animals.”

“Jeez, Lori—”

“Jeez, Andrew!”

“Who the hell are you to judge me?” he demanded angrily.

“I’m not judging you. I’m just your sister, and I don’t understand why you lied to me, why you didn’t trust me with the truth!”

He sat back, stared at her sulkily. “You don’t always tell me the truth.”

She hesitated. “I share a lot with you.”

He sighed. “I am doing everything I said I was doing. I didn’t lie. I’m just doing a little bit more, that’s all. And you’ve got to know all the truth, well, Muffy is a fluffer. They call her Muffy Fluffy, and she’s so good at what she does, she could probably raise the dead. She’s actually a really nice person—”

“Yeah, she seems to be,” Lori interrupted softly.

Andrew sighed, looking at her again. “Lori, the folks would just die if they knew.”

“I know that, but I’m not the folks.”

He nodded. “It’s not something that I want to do, but I do want to make films, and I just wasn’t surviving. I can do one porno flick and support myself for months, and help finance my other work.”