Kill Smartie Breedlove (a mystery) (22 page)

“Screw him,” said Yuki. “Frustrated cleverati writing reviews for forty bucks a pop.”

“Squabs,” said Smartie, “what a fabulous word.
Midgeted
. Fraught with connotation.”

“This is a job for Ellipses Woman,” said Temple, looking over Yuki’s shoulder. “All right. Here’s the pull quote: ‘Breedlove is at the height of her storytelling powers
…Dead Sexy
will undoubtedly delight.’”

“No, here it is,” said Yuki. “‘Breedlove… brings… major… plot.’”

“‘Unfortunately… more discerning readers scratch… panty lines,’” Phyllis added.

“
Mmmidjjjjhhettted
.” Smartie rolled the word through her mouth like a malted milk ball, dissecting it in syllables. “Mid. Jit. Tid. Delectable! That makes the whole thing worthwhile.”

Cletis Scoggins appraised me with a lecherous up and down slide of the eye. He was rich enough to get away with it despite his midgeted

“All right, y’all gals,” said Phyllis. “Enough with the reviewer who obviously suffers from erectile dysfunction. New topic: Bermuda wax. Who’s with me?”

“With you as in ‘let’s all agree we’ll never get Bermuda waxed’?” said Yuki.

“With me as in ‘tomorrow afternoon at Chez Diva.’”

This was met with silence and averted eyes all around.

“Phyllis, dear, what on earth would tempt you to do such a thing?” Temple inquired.

“Research. For my novel,” she said, but withering under Temple’s discerning eye, she added, “My novel which is being copy edited by a woman I really like. And things seem to be progressing. And she confided in me that she prefers nectarine to peach.”

Yuki and Smartie shrieked and giggled like eighth graders.

“Oh, Philly honey, I’m so happy for you.” Temple squeezed her warmly. “Love is good, darlin’. That’s just wonderful.”

“You’ll go with me then?”

“Oh, hell no.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Yuki. “I have a less than
midgeted
interest in Bermuda waxing.”

“Oh
.
There it is.” Smartie lightly clapped her hands. “Yummy.”

“Well, this is nice.” Phyllis folded her arms and looked around the island counter. “Temple, did I not tromp through the fire ant hills with you to rub grave stones when you were researching that 1890s flu epidemic? And who spent all night at the IHOP eavesdropping on waitress patter with you, Yuki? And Smartie, not in a million years would I have been in the position to get felt up in that biker bar had you not needed to
smell
the pool tables.”

The other Quilters exchanged guilty glances.

“Now, I’m going to powder my nose,” Phyllis said primly, “and when I return, one or more of you will volunteer to go with me to Chez Diva tomorrow afternoon at two.”

As she disappeared down the hall, Yuki whispered, “Temple. Phyllis is a
lesbian
?”

“Well, if she’s not,” said Temple, “it’ll come as a terrible shock to her copy editor.”

“Chez Diva,” said Smartie. “Where have I heard that?”

“Oh, everyone who’s anyone goes there,” said Temple. “I go several times a year. Pre-BookExpo mani-pedi-facial. Pre-book tour massage. Post-barbecue colonic. You can’t spit a cherry pit without hitting some high-Houston la-dee-da. Oil women, oil wives. It’s all very ‘Don’t you know who I think I am?’ and a hotbed of society gossip.”

“Belinda Bovet,” Smartie remembered. “She got in a girl fight with old what’s-her-bucket, the congresswoman.”

“Oh, yes,” said Temple. “That was all the talk for a while. I’ve seen Belinda there many times. And her mother, Catchy Crowley-Bovet-Figg.”

“Clearly, this is Temple’s venue,” said Yuki. “I say Temple gets waxed.”

“Yuki, I cannot show up home with no peach in my produce aisle. Think of Morty’s blood pressure.”

“I’ll go,” said Smartie. “Temple, how can I make sure I get the same person who does Belinda Bovet? I want to pump her for information.”

“Leave it to me,” Temple said with a sly wink. “But don’t expect to get much out of her. Those girls know which side of the bread the butter’s on.”

Smartie considered that. “Hmm. They would, wouldn’t they?”

So I made sure my side of the bread had honey butter and brown sugar.

“How’d you get her to squeal?” asked Nash.

“I was the one squealing,” I said, crossing my legs. “All she did was talk.”

“W
ere you able to get anything out of her?” asked Shep.

“Long story short,” Smartie told him, ducking into the ladies room with her cell phone, “Belinda’s out in the Zen garden right now in a full-body detoxifying herbal wrap. She’s had a colonic and three martinis since lunch. If that ain’t a recipe for catharsis—”

“Okay, stay calm. Keep her tipsy, but don’t let her get too drunk. Just sit back, nod, interject your funny little interjections. Open the door and wait for it, understand?”

“Nodding. Waiting,” Smartie affirmed. “Totally calm.”

“Don’t let it become an interrogation. Think cellophane. Airtight, but invisible.”

“Cellophane. Oh, that’s so great. I love that. I am using that.”

“Listen to me, Smartie. Don’t dive straight for the Charma material. Gently lead her onto common ground. She’s going through a messy divorce. You’re getting divorced, too. Who’s your attorney? Hey, what d’ya know? You have the same lawyer. Open that door. Let her feel a kinship, establish a comfort level, an atmosphere of trust.”

“Open the door. Feel the kinship. Got it.”

“Don’t get nervous and jackhammer her with questions.”

“Well, don’t jack hammer me with instructions. That’s what’s making me nervous.”

“All right. Relax. You can do this,” Shep assured her. “You know when a story has holes in it. Carefully encourage her to fill in the blanks.”

Smartie headed for the Zen garden armed with Shep’s sage advice and a sweet little digital recording device that looked for all the world like some grandma’s cameo pendant. Next time she’d tell him to provide her with something a bit more fashion forward, but right now she had cellophane to stretch.

Jillian Pitts had become one with everything about tee martoonis ago. The empty chaise next to her cried out: Insert Best Friend Here.

Three vodka stingers and a box of Kleenex later, I had the whole twisted tale on tape.

\\\ ///

24

W
earing a red wrap dress and heels with big hair and makeup, Libby Hartigate looked like she’d been hosed down with Dallas. She was outside pushing Charlie in his little chair swing when Shep rolled up in the Range Rover. Shep tried to remember the last time he’d seen her wearing anything other than nursing scrubs or jeans. A while, for sure. He sailed her a healthy wolf whistle, and Charlie hooted like a loon, trying to imitate him.

“Hey, bro,” Libby called as he came across the yard. “Charlie, say hi to Uncle Shep.”

“I un go shit,” said Charlie, and his mommy applauded wildly.

“It always sounds like he wants to go shit,” said Shep.

“Un go shit,” Charlie corroborated.

“I can’t believe I actually get to have a life tonight.” Libby giddily hugged her arms around her red dress self, and sure enough, her eyes were full of life and something else that hadn’t been there in a long time. “I really like this guy, Shep. Plus I get to eat at a restaurant where the food doesn’t come in a bag. What are you two having for supper?”

“Driving through McDonalds on our way to the park. Me and Bluto like food in a bag, don’t we, buddy?” He lifted Charlie out of the swing, and they went together to the driveway. “I need to do one quick thing for work first.”

“What?” Libby frowned. “What thing? Not a surveillance thing.”

“Yeah, it’s a stakeout, Libby. At a crack house. It’s about time he learned.”

“What thing?” Libby repeated.

“I told Suri I’d courier some important documents downtown, that’s all,” said Shep, installing Charlie in his toddler seat. “Then I’m gonna teach my wingman here how to cruise single mommies at the playground. Guaranteed easy, right, Shotgun?”

“Yeah. Teach him to be super hilarious like you, okay?”

While Shep wrangled the buckles and straps on the seat, Libby fetched the diaper bag from the front porch and set it under Charlie’s feet. Shep leaned forward to kiss the top of her head, but she put up both hands to ward him off.

“The hair, the hair, the hair!”

“Ah. Sorry.” Shep knuckled her under the chin. “Have fun, Lib. Better yet, have sex.”

“I had sex already. Look at all the fun that got me.” She leaned in and planted a dozen kisses on Charlie’s face and hands. “Bye-bye, Mr. Pinkle Toes. Love you, love you, love you. See you tomorrow.”

Shep got into the driver’s seat, and Libby leaned briefly on the open window.

“Shep? Thank you for being a family with us.”

“Don’t start that,” he said, but she managed to plant a kiss on his cheek before he pulled away.

Rounding the standard at the top of the parking ramp, Shep saw Smartie’s car parked a space or two from his favorite spot. Smartie sat on the retaining wall, drinking a Diet Coke and surveying the city.

“What happened with Belinda?” he asked. “Did she tell you anything?”

Smartie nodded, but she didn’t seem as excited about it as Shep had expected.

“Can we go somewhere for a drink?”

“I’ve got Charlie,” Shep said. “In fact, it would really help if you’d sit here with him while I make a quick stop in the office. He fell asleep on the way over, and if I wake him up now, he’ll be a rotten little Visigoth the rest of the evening.”

“What do I do if he wakes up while you’re gone?” Smartie asked uncertainly.

“Pretend he’s a puppy.”

The documents Shep had expected to pick up weren’t at the front desk. The receptionist called back to Suri’s office, exchanged a few words with Suri’s secretary, then told Shep, “He says to tell you never mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ms. Fitch decided to take them over herself.”

“Is Ms. Fitch available?” asked Shep. “I’d like to speak with her.”

The front desk girl buzzed Suri’s secretary again and relayed the kiss off.

“She’s on another line.”

On his way back to his office, Shep could see Suri through the glass walls, standing over the cityscape, surveying her empire, her hands clasped behind her back.

He sat down at his desk, pulled up an image search engine and typed in “hot Indian sex chicks naked” just to get her attention. Then he went to IMDB and input a series of movie title searches:
Four Weddings and a Funeral
,
To Have and Have Not
,
I Know What You Did Last Summer
. As much as he would have enjoyed watching Evan Filer chew on all that, Shep didn’t want to leave Smartie alone with Charlie too long.

“He woke up,” she said when Shep got back to the Range Rover. “We’ve been discussing Norman Mailer.”

“Spooky,” said Charlie.

“Did you get with Barth?” Smartie asked.

“He and Suri are both dodging me. I left a message,” said Shep. “Tell me what happened with Belinda.”

Smartie took the digital recorder from her purse and held it in her hand for a moment.

“Did you ever read
The Postman Always Rings Twice
?”

“Saw the movie,” Shep said warily. “Why?”

“Maybe I should just let her tell it.” Smartie keyed the playback function on the little digital unit, fast-forwarding at first. “I did like you said. Started out talking about our divorces and kept her drinking.”

“—that Dean and I lasted a lot longer than most couples. Statistically, I mean. The vast majority of marriages can’t survive it. I don’t know why I thought we’d be different.” Belinda bubbled up a small sobby hiccup. “I thought
he
was different. Was your husband seeing someone else?”

“For five years,” digital Smartie commiserated. There was the sound of ice in glasses, the sound of Smartie’s chair scraping closer. “I just can’t believe all the paperwork and flapperty clap involved in this dang divorce. Wading through all that with emotions running so high.”

“And the money,” Belinda groaned. “Honestly, it would have been cheaper for me to buy fucking Argentina and have Dean installed as king. Get rid of him that way.”

Shep and real-time Smartie exchanged glances at her choice of words.

“I’ve got the best of the best for counsel,” said digital Smartie. “I went with Suri Fitch of Salinger, Pringle, Fitch & Edloe.”

Real-time Smartie told Shep, “I decided to just say it rather than try to fake up a way to ask her who her attorney is.”

“Good call,” Shep nodded, and he meant it.

Overall, he was impressed with the way digital Smartie handled herself as the conversation segued to Suri: what a bearcat she was in court, how up she was on every detail of the law, and stylish, oh, girl, the shoes, shoes, shoes.

“I’ve found her staff to be wonderfully helpful as well,” said digital Smartie.

“Did Rosen sort out your taxes?” asked Belinda.

“He’s still banging his head against the wall. I’m not much for bookkeeping.”

“Speaking of Rosen. And banging,” Belinda giggled a shrill, naughty giggle.

Smartie fast-forwarded, telling Shep, “It got pretty personal there for a bit.”

“Sounds like she was getting seriously hammered.”

“Mellow. That herbal wrap is like inhaling a big ol’ bong full of Yanni.”

“—his brains out in the limo and dropped him off at George Bush Intercontinental Airport,” Belinda giggled again. “It was insane, but I was tired of living like a nun. I know he doesn’t look like much, but girl, he was incredible.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said digital Smartie. “All those years of licking envelopes.”

“Oh!” Belinda squealed. “But seriously. You gotta love a good math nerd. There’s always a hungry little tiger inside.”

She growled like a tiger, and they laughed and clinked their glasses, real gal pals now.

“You know who’s scrumptious in a raw cookie dough kinda way?” Digital Smartie slid into it like a little black dress. “That yummy Mr. Barth from building security.”