Shop Talk (14 page)

“Coco!” Dallas stared down at her friend whose mouth was crusted with dried chocolate. Her blond hair was dirty, her skin too pale, and her dark eyes unfocused as she looked up at Dallas.

“Hi, my name is Elsie, and I’m a pig,” she said before she started to cry.

Iris watched the black Corvette pull into the parking space directly in front of the shop’s glass door. The streetlights reflected off the shiny paint and the black-tinted windows. Iris couldn’t see inside, but she knew it was Mona. The leg that first extended out of the door, encased in a black stocking and stack-soled high-heel with a Wellington spur, confirmed the fact. The streetlight caught the shiny rowell and made it wink lasciviously. Glancing over at her husband, Iris waited to see his response. If Bo was interested in looking at Mona, he was smart enough not to do it with his wife watching.

Mona pushed open the door of the shop and set the tiny brass bell jingling. Like a shark, her gaze swung from Iris to Bo and back to Iris, holding there.

Iris had the satisfied feeling that Mona had determined she wasn’t chum. She pressed the advantage. “Lucille called, ranting about an emergency meeting tonight.” Iris had a bad feeling about the writers. They wouldn’t be content with meeting one night a week and were going to try to take over the shop. She’d seen the fervor of the religious zealot deep in their eyes, the fevered gleam of madness. They were like roaches. There was no such thing as a once-a-week infestation.

“Exactly what kind of an emergency is this?” Iris assumed a Barbara Stanwyck pose. Just by the angle of her shoulders, Barbara was able to run roughshod over those three big boys, Nick, Jarrod and Heath.

Mona chose her words carefully. “Jazz is in crisis.”

“This is a television shop, not a halfway house.”

“A creative crisis.” Mona tapped her heel so that the Wellington made a sharp noise. “We need to brainstorm.”

“I wonder if the five of you can work up a heavy mist.” Iris grinned at her own wit and saw that Bo had turned to hide his face. Even Mona showed teeth, but Iris couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a promise. Hannibal Lecter sprang into her mind, and she instinctively wanted to draw back. But never once in all of the times she’d watched the re-runs of
Big Valley
had Ms. Stanwyck ever backed down. Retreat was not the way to control the West or the members of a writers’ critique group.

Mona cursed her luck for being the first member of WOMB to arrive. Iris Hare was loaded for bear, and Mona was in the gunsights. “Where’s Lucille?”

Iris ran her finger along the counter as if she checked for dust. “How is Lucille doing in your group? Is her writing good?”

“Lucille has … an unusual touch.”

“Unusual as in awful or unusual as in good?”

Mona smiled slowly. Iris was no fool. Mona knew she had to be very careful, or WOMB would find itself back on the street. Iris obviously knew her sister-in-law was an idiot, but that didn’t mean she and Bo were going to let her, or themselves, be used. The truth was out of the question. A lie was dangerous. She picked up a remote control and flipped on the volume of a set.

The anchor on the local news began a special update on the disappearance of Nobel scientist Robert Beaudreaux. “A one million dollar reward has been offered by the doctor’s wife for his release. The reward has no strings attached and will be paid in cash. Our Cindy Johnson has the story.” The scene shifted to the front lawn of the Beaudreaux home with Dallas ascending the platform and addressing the reporters.

“Oh, my,” Mona said, giving the television her full attention. From the little she knew about Dallas’ marriage, she’d never suspected she’d pay a penny to get her husband back. She was nodding her approval of Dallas’ composed presentation when the Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. Out of the corner of her eye, Mona caught sight of Coco in the passenger seat.

“Je-sus, what’s wrong with Skeletor?” Iris forgot her question about Lucille’s writing as she watched the classy member of the writers’ group struggling with the skinny one. She walked to the window, drawn by the spectacle.

The televised Dallas was reflected in the shop window, superimposed on the live Dallas in the same suit, substantially disheveled, trying to drag a limp Coco to her feet.

Mona grabbed the remote and clicked the television off before she hurried outside to help Dallas. Between the two of them, they managed to get Coco to her feet.

Coco turned a blurry glare at Mona and cried, “Su-ey!” A loud belch followed.

“She stinks.” Mona took a firm grip on Coco’s arm and stepped back. “She smells horrible.” She looked at Dallas for an explanation. “Are you okay? I caught the news. There’s still no sign of your husband?”

“Not a trace. But I know he didn’t leave me.” She shrugged as best she could with Coco hanging on her. “Let’s tend to Coco. She had a food breakdown. That photographer and I had to drag her out from under the bed. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Dallas gritted her teeth. “Thank God for the convertible. I wouldn’t have been able to ride with her in an enclosed car.”

Mona stood as far back as she could while still supporting Coco. She noticed the pink coconut matted in Coco’s hair, chocolate in the creases of her neck. “I can’t believe this is Coco,” she said, awe in her voice.

“It isn’t.” Dallas swallowed. “This is Elsie. Elsie Chamber, alias Coco Frappé. There is no roommate.”

Mona shook her head. “Incredible. But right now, it’s better to keep this to ourselves.”

Dallas nodded, her arms trembling from the strain of holding Coco upright. “Let’s just do something before she falls.”

Mona signaled Iris to come outside. “We need a pot of black coffee and someplace to clean her up.”

“What in the hell happened to her?” Iris approached carefully. “Good lord, is that peanut butter in her ear?”

“Very possibly. She went on a binge. Put plain and simply, an attack of gluttony.” Mona’s voice was crisp. “Is there a place we could rinse her off? She’s a little … offensive.”

“I’ll say. She smells like something dead, buried, and found by the dogs.” Iris circled Coco, careful to keep a respectful distance. “There’s a hose in the back.” She pointed toward the alley and watched as the three women staggered away.

Iris sprinted through the shop and burst into the apartment. “Go to the window, Bo,” she said, flipping on the outside flood lights before putting on the coffee. “You aren’t going to believe this.” She poured water into the coffeepot. Just as she measured the last spoon of coffee into the filter she heard a scream.

“My goodness.” Bo stood, peeping from behind the curtain.

Iris rushed to his side, unable to stop the chuckle. Mona had the water hose on full blast, the spray directed toward a running, jumping Coco. As the water drenched her dress, Coco’s swollen stomach was clearly evident. “Would you look at that?”

“Puts me in mind of one of those really bad prison movies.” Bo didn’t budge from the window. “Maybe we should tape this?”

“Excellent idea.” Iris found the camera on the stereo shelf and pressed the on button as she lifted it to her eye.

“Mona!” Coco screamed, leaping three feet into the air only to have the stream of water follow her. Dallas, her suit now totally ruined, guarded the only escape for Coco, which was between a big oak and Iris’ Mazda. “Mona!” Coco cried again, wheeling and spinning.

With a powerful flick of her arm, Mona sent a coil of hose rushing toward Coco. The green serpent twisted and jumped, finally snapping around Coco’s waist, catching her in a tight grip that plopped her on the ground.

“Je-sus,” Iris whispered to her husband, taking his hand in hers. She never dropped the camera from her eye.

Outside, Mona strode over to a crying Coco, who sat in the grass. “Now be still.” Mona aimed the spray at Coco’s hair. “Dallas, see if Iris has any dish washing detergent she’ll give us. We’re going to get Coco all cleaned up, and then we’re going to have a writers’ meeting.”

Iris handed the camera to Bo as she went to the sink and produced a bottle of Dawn. “By the look of that hair, she’s going to need a good grease cutter,” Iris said as she took it to the door. “I wonder what the hell she ate.”

“We have to follow him. There’s no other way to figure out what he’s up to. If we all take a turn, it won’t be much of a hardship on any one of us.” Andromeda leaned back in her chair. Her tone was deceptively gentle. For the first time in her memory, there was an air of discontent in the group. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, exactly. She scanned the table again. Coco looked like she’d been victimized by a squad of sadist Mini-Maids. Her long hair had finally quit dripping water, but there was a huge puddle around her chair. Dallas, too, was a wreck. Only Lucille appeared unaware of the simmering tensions in the group. She was staring out the window into the Biloxi night, half-listening.

“I’m not sure we should follow this Marvin Lovelace. We aren’t certain he knows anything worth following.” Dallas pushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead. “Besides, I have some personal complications.”

“We understand about … your husband. But we have to tail this man. How else can we find out what he knows?” Andromeda felt her own darker emotions roil. Natalie was requiring stronger and stronger doses of sleeping pills to knock her out, and because of heavy usage, the doctor was threatening to cut off her prescription. Dread rippled over her. She was desperate. This idea of Jazz’s, this thriller involving an island with a secret and an evil villain, sounded like her best shot at a real movie script. Working together, they could break free of LoveHaven and Natalie’s homemade hell. They had to make this work, but they needed the help of WOMB.

“I’m just not certain this man knows anything.” Dallas lifted both eyebrows. “He dropped a note card with a picture of Horn Island and some strange names on it. So what?”

“Jazz?” Mona turned the group’s attention to Jazz, who sat perfectly straight in her chair, both feet sensibly on the ground. She looked at the table and didn’t offer a word.

“Forget it,” Andromeda said, pushing her chair back. “Jazz and I don’t need your help.”

Coco hiccuped, then turned a fearful eye on Mona.

“Who is this Marvin Lovelace guy?” Dallas asked. “Do we know anything solid about him?”

“There’s something …,” Jazz spoke at last. “Something sinister. He’s capable of anything.”

“Could you be a little more specific?” Dallas pressed. She wriggled in her ruined suit. There was a giant chocolate streak down her right breast where Coco had fallen over in the car seat and landed against her. All she wanted was to get home, take a long, hot bath, and wait for the ransom call. She was certain it would come. Why else would anyone take Robert except for money? It had to work. Soon he’d be safely back in the garage.

“He snaps his teeth.” Jazz nodded. “Three times. Like this.” She did a click, click, click, aiming at Dallas.

“Maybe his dentures don’t fit,” Dallas gave her a sour look. “I thought this was an emergency. I’ve got things on my mind.”

Jazz put her hands on the table and rose to her feet. “It’s important to me. I’ve found something I want to write about. This is my chance. I have a day job, so I can’t follow this Lovelace by myself or I’d never have asked the group. If you don’t want to help, then just go home.” She sat back down.

A strained silence fell over the table.

“The motto for WOMB is one for all and all for one.” Andromeda reached down to pick up her helmet. “Or that’s what I thought. Maybe I was wrong.”

Dallas reached across the table and picked up a gummy bear from the dish Iris had put on the table. The candies were all gooped together, and she had to shake hard to dislodge a red one from the glob. There was nothing else to eat. They’d cleaned up the pimento cheese sandwiches, the chips, the pickles, and the brownies. “I’m just cross because I’m dirty. I hate to be dirty.” She looked down and mumbled. “And my husband has been kidnapped.” She popped the bear in her mouth and chewed.

Mona sat back in her chair and put one heel up on the table. “We’re going to break one of the WOMB rules. For those of you who haven’t put it together, Dallas’ husband is Dr. Robert Beaudreaux. Dallas has offered a reward for the return of her husband.” She gave Dallas a puzzled glance. “What has the government done to find him?”

“Not a damn thing. They hold meetings, they ask questions. They fly in on fancy planes and huddle up, then they fly away. Nothing happens. They haven’t turned up a single clue. They don’t know if he was taken from the garage or from work. No one saw him. The missing television is driving them wild. Why an old black and white TV? It doesn’t make any sense. And the only person I can talk to is this moron in Washington who assures me that ‘agents are on the job.'”

“What was he working on at Keesler?” Andromeda leaned forward. “Did he ever say?”

“DNA, chromosomes, fertility, sterility, twins.” Dallas blew the limp curl off her forehead. “He wasn’t supposed to talk about his work. And Robert
never
violated the rules.”

“He was up here, at the shop, before he was kidnapped.” Lucille had tuned in on the conversation. “He brought in a television, an old black and white, and Driskell repaired it. I may have been the last person to see him …”

“Why didn’t you say he was here?” Dallas stood and leaned over the table.

“Hey,” Lucille frowned. “Back off. I didn’t know your name was Beaudreaux. I thought it was Dior. I assumed Mr. Dior was missing. You think
you’re
upset, I spent most of last week going to the grocery store every night to try and find a
Globe
or
Star
or some magazine with a story about the clothing designer.”

“Did Robert say anything? Anything at all about where he was going or what he was doing?” Dallas had straightened her posture. “I want him back. He’s mine, and I won’t have him taken from me.”

“He said he was going home to watch a re-run of
Matlock.
He put the set in the car and drove away.” Lucille looked around the table. “I wouldn’t have even remembered if Driskell hadn’t recognized him. In the newspaper last week.”

Jazz slowly gained her feet. She looked around the table, removing her cameo earbobs. “Don’t you feel it?” She circled the table in long, slithering strides. “It’s all around us. We’re in the presence of
P-L-O-T,
that’s Plot with a capital P.” She swept her hand around the room. “I can feel it, all the elements. Marvin Lovelace, Horn Island, history, kidnappings … Everything I need for the great American novel is right here, if I can just figure out how to bring it all together!”