The Tangerine Killer (4 page)

I always swore I’d never go to another funeral but guilt made me go. Guilt over Lisa. Guilt over Frank. Always so much God damned guilt about every single failure. Usually I’d just drown out all that guilt with mindless sex and alcohol but neither of those seemed appropriate on the morning of my ex-best friend’s funeral. Instead I left the motel early to stop and buy more cigarettes. As a result I was the first one to arrive. The last thing I wanted was to sit in the church alone. I wandered about until I found a stone bench set in a little flower garden. It was shaded and quiet. I sat and smoked. I was tired, worn down by the job. Hell, worn down by life. I really needed a vacation. Somewhere quiet, peaceful, remote. Some desert island where no one would bother me.

The hearse pulled up with Lisa’s body. The funeral director wheeled it in the back door of the church. He looked over and smiled sadly. He obviously didn’t remember me from the night before or he wouldn’t be smiling. Then again, I did just hand him another paying customer.
 

The mourners started to arrive. It might be fashionable to be late to a party but no one wanted to be the last one to arrive at the funeral. Too bad nobody looked particularly upset. Somber yes but no one seemed devastated. The only person who’d been distraught was Frank and now he was gone. Faye seemed more irritated than anything at her only daughter’s passing. I had the niggling feeling that something wasn’t right but I pushed the thought from my head. I already had too many unanswered questions. I didn’t need any more.

Faye arrived with about twenty of her nearest and dearest friends. She dabbed at her eyes dramatically but even I could see they were dry. Her own daughter’s funeral and not one tear. Faye wasn’t exactly in the running for mother of the year award. I waited until they passed and slipped in unnoticed. No one was going to parade me down to the front this time.

It was short and sweet. Your run of the mill funeral service condensed to run in the time allowed. No bells and whistles to send poor Lisa off. I tried not to fidget but I just wanted it to be over. I hadn’t been quick enough to help Lisa but I couldn’t change that now. Case closed. The dream could go to hell.

“Open your bibles and we’ll read together,” the priest said.

“Here dear. Open it.”

The old lady sitting next to me passed one of the bibles from the pouch in front of us. She smiled and waggled it back and forth when I refused to take it right away.

“I don’t read the bible,” I whispered.

“But it’s a funeral,” she said, looking shocked.

Great. I could tell she wasn’t going to take no for an answer and I really didn’t need some old broad praying for my redemption.

“Fine,” I said.

As I took the bible something fell out of it, a folded piece of paper which landed under the seat. I almost didn’t pick it up, dismissing it as a flyer of some sort. But something made me reach for it anyway and as I read the words printed on that stupid orange paper, I realized how very wrong I was about everything.

One, angel falls from grace,

Two, drunk makes the case,

Three, slut on the floor,

Then, Sam will be four.

I wasn’t a stranger to death threats. It came with the territory. I dug deep holes in people’s lives. Found out things I’d rather not know. Secrets were always sicker than you thought they would be. But this was far more than your run of the mill; I’m going to slit your throat while you’re sleeping bitch, notes.

I scanned the crowd, looking for someone watching me. The person who had slipped the flyer into the bible had to be there. Women fussed with their jewelry. Men stared off into space. No one paid any attention to me and my fancy new death threat.

“Did someone tell you to give me this bible?” I whispered to the old woman.

She nodded, then shushed me.

“Who?”

She pointed up at the priest and shushed me again.

“No. I mean did someone else tell you to give me this specific bible?”

“No,” she said, then inched away from me like I might have something contagious.

The way I saw it I had two options. Take the note to Detective Olin and stick around to try and figure it out or leave town and forget I’d ever seen it. The second option wasn’t so bad. Someone obviously wanted to scare me but why? The case was over. I had finished digging. All they were doing now was tempting me to stay. I didn’t back down easily. I guess that’s why I became a private investigator in the first place. That and I got to carry a gun and stick my nose in where it didn’t belong. A death threat like this was a challenge and already I felt like the game had started. I couldn’t really just leave any more than I could give up booze and sex.

The service finished and I still hadn’t made up my mind if I should tell Olin or not. He was kind of a busybody. He probably solved crimes like an old lady. I bet he even had a cat. He was an old cat lady detective all gussied up in a man suit. I stifled a giggle as the pallbearers carried the casket solemnly down the aisle. White roses dripped over the side, dropping petals onto the floor. One falls from grace. Lisa. Not a suicide after all but then I already suspected that, thanks to the dream.

Harvey looked over at me and grinned. I scowled back at him and he looked away. Faye followed behind looking more like a bride than a mourner. I slouched down in my seat so she wouldn’t see me. They’d all go on to the cemetery and watch as Lisa was lowered into the ground. It was no good. I’d have to go and see Olin. If Lisa really had been murdered then I had to stop the burial before it was too late. I owed her that much.

“I don’t like it,” Olin said.

“What’s to like? What I don’t like is how they knew I’d pick up that exact bible. There must have been a hundred of them sitting in the chapel. What are the odds?”

“The old lady didn’t slip the note inside when you weren’t looking?”

What was wrong with Olin? Did I look that stupid to him?

“She picked it up right in front of me,” I snapped. “It never left my sight. I’m a private investigator, I notice things. Trust me, she never handled the note.”

The precinct was relatively empty. Most of the cops had taken an early lunch. Olin propped his feet up on the desk as he examined the note. He’d already stuck it in an evidence bag so it could be dusted for prints. I didn’t expect there to be any. Someone who went to the trouble of composing a stupidly witty poem wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave us a print.

“I assume yours are already in the system?” Olin pointed to my hands.

“Along with a record of my license. I’m above board Olin. Just doing my job.”

“And that was to find Lisa?”

“Yes. I already told you, I was hired by Frank to find his wife.”

“Did he file a missing person’s report?”

“He did. Trouble was, she’d run off before. It seemed like she’d done it again. Her suitcase and clothes were gone. Everyone thought she just left him.”

“And he wanted her back,” he nodded.

“He was desperate.”

The laid back approach Olin was taking pissed me off. I wanted action, someone to jump up and rush out to the cemetery. Announce that the funeral must be stopped. The body re-examined. I should have remembered that guys never rushed into anything, unless it involved food or sex. I’d have got his attention better if I took my shirt off.

“Look, it makes sense. Frank killed himself in front of everyone, the drunk who fell to the floor. If he’s number two then Lisa must be number one.”

“Then they’ll be two more.”

“And I’m four.”

“I don’t know,” Olin sighed.

“You don’t know?” I spluttered. “Fine then. That’s just fine. I’ll leave the note for you to take care of. I’m out of here.”

I kicked my chair back and walked a few steps before turning to spit my final retort.

“You know, I thought you of all people would want me to stick around.”

He jumped up and was behind me faster than I thought possible. He put his hand on my arm to stop me. Tingles ran down my spine.

“It’s not that,” he said softly.

I turned to face him, still mad despite the tingling. At least he finally looked concerned.

“So what then?” I asked.

“I don’t have the luxury of skirting round the law like you do. I have to present facts. Get warrants. There just isn’t enough evidence to rush in and disrupt a funeral.”

“But the note,” I protested.

“The note doesn’t actually say anything about Lisa. The only one named in it is you. The rest is just speculation.”

He was right but in my gut I knew what the note was about. Lisa. Frank. Me. Somehow we were all connected.

“So what do we do now?”

“We wait.”

Waiting wasn’t my strong suit. I was more an action kind of girl. Sitting around while someone planned my murder wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. Olin may have had the law pulling on his apron strings but I didn’t. I was going to find out who was threatening me and then I was going to kick their ass.

He knows she got the note. He was there. Watching. Waiting. He loves the way her face grows pale as she reads the words he has carefully written for her. Now he knows she will stay. She won’t be able to resist the temptation. It’s the lure of the kill. He knows she longs for it just as much as he does.

He has pictures of her stuck to his basement wall. Black and white photographs he develops in the dark. He likes the smell of the chemicals and the way the pictures come to life on the blank page.

He took one this morning. She was sitting in the flower garden. Her eyes closed and head tilted back to catch the sun. He longs to touch the soft skin at the nape of her neck, to run his fingers along the silky lines. Soon he will.

When the photograph is dry he pins it up next to the others. There are so many of them. Linked together like children holding hands. In each she’s a little younger, a little sweeter. The first is his favorite. The girl on the swing. Her mouth open in a silent laugh and long, blonde hair flying out behind her. The flowered dress pushed up around her thighs by the breeze. A brown sandal suspended in midair as it slips from her foot. She’s happy there in that moment.

He longs to step into the picture and never leave but he can’t. Now he can only make do with what he has. Soon she will be his again.

I went back to the motel to think but instead I fell asleep. It was the sun. No matter how I tilted the blinds, I couldn’t block out one obstinate ray. One minute I was making notes, the next I was out.

I fell into a dream that wasn’t my own, found myself trapped in a body that wouldn’t respond. I was an observer and nothing else. That scared me more than anything. We walked along the river, through long and tangled grass. It brushed against legs that weren’t mine and yet I could feel it, wet and dewy against me. We’d been this way many times before, squeezing between palm fronds and scrubby pines. Always the same way with the same package, wrapped in brown paper and smelling of dead fish. The scent sweet and sickening as it stung our eyes and filled our nostrils. Then the water splashed beside us. We crouched down and called out but the voice was not mine. We told the creature his supper was here, then tossed the dead fish into the river. Fish held in hands that weren’t my own. The hands of a man I didn’t know.

I woke up retching violently, the smell of the fish still fresh in my nose. The telephone freeing me from the nightmare I’d been trapped in. Its shrill bell tinkled unevenly. When I used it to hit Joe over the head I must have dislodged something inside. I grabbed the bottle of Jack from the nightstand and took a large, shaking swig before answering.

“Hello?”

There were crackles and static on the other end of the line.

“Sam?”

The voice was faint and distorted.

“Yes. Look you’ll have to speak up. My phone is broken,” I yelled.

More static then the woman shouted back. “It’s Faye.”

Great. I resisted the urge to slam the receiver down and waited for her to continue. I knew she wanted something. She would never just call to chat.

“Can you come over?” she asked.

No, I screamed inside my head. I’d had enough of Faye and her sugary sweet grief and the nightmare was still fresh in my mind. But I had no other leads to follow. Faye was staying at Lisa and Frank’s house. It would give me an opportunity to snoop around.

“All right,” I shouted back. I slammed the phone down but she’d already gone.

I took another swallow, letting the liquor burn my throat, then put the bottle sadly down. I wanted to bury that nightmare under more than a couple of mouthfuls but that wasn’t going to happen. I needed my wits about me. But I hadn’t had a nightmare like that since I was a kid. I was always the observer, watching from the outside. I saw the clues. This time I was the clue. I don’t know how that happened but it scared the shit out of me. Only I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I shook off the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and went to meet Faye.

The home was in a subdivision full of cardboard cutout houses that all looked the same. The manicured lawns were an unnatural shade of green. There were no flyaway leaves. No abandoned toys. Everyone obeyed the rules, at least as far as the eye could see. I bet behind closed doors there were plenty of lawbreakers. People couldn’t live that rigidly without some kind of outlet.

Faye answered the door with a forced smile.

“I was so worried about you,” she said. “You never came to the cemetery.”

“I’m sorry. Something came up.”

There was no way I was going to tell her the real reason I disappeared.

“Well, never mind.”

She ushered me inside, down a hallway lined with family photographs and into the kitchen. The counters were filled with dishes of uneaten food. Bowls of casseroles and big plates of cookies, all untouched and on display.

“My friends are so kind to me,” she said. “They didn’t want me to starve in my grief.”

I bit my tongue. I’d seen all shapes and forms of grief but I’d never seen anything like Faye. Perhaps it was a prolonged type of denial but I doubted it. My gut feeling was that she just didn’t care at all. I’m sure my own mother would cope with my death in much the same way.

“Coffee? Tea?” she asked.

“Water.”

“You’re sure? Maybe something stronger?”

She seemed perturbed.

“No, water’s fine,” I lied, trying not to think about the rest of the bottle waiting for me back at the motel. “It’s a beautiful house. What happens to it now?”

“Nothing, it’s mine.”

“What do you mean, it’s yours?”

“Lisa was a mess,” she sighed. “You looked into her life over the last few days. You saw how it ended. She needed help.”

“She had professional help, didn‘t she?”

The psychiatrist Lisa had been seeing refused to tell me anything. Even when I told him Lisa’s life might be in danger he wouldn’t budge. I had no idea what she had been talking to him about and neither did Frank when I asked him about it. I had a hunch it was a toss-up between her controlling mother and philandering husband.

“You mean Dr. Benton? Stupid old quack. No one had shrinks in my day. You were either crazy or you weren’t. Simple as that.”

She should know. If Lisa had inherited any mental instability, it was definitely from Faye.

“So you don’t think she went off the rails just a little bit?”

“My own daughter crazy? Of course not.”

Her indignation told me she knew how fragile Lisa really was.

“You know it would have been helpful to know about the house before. Don’t you think maybe that may have upset Lisa? Knowing that you could hold it over their heads whenever you wanted?”

I picked at the lacy tablecloth, irritated.

“I would never do that to my daughter. Just remember I didn’t hire you dear. I was sure she’d come back, just like before. So were the police.”

The way she called me, dear, in that false sweet tone made me want to vomit. As if we were friends or something. She really was a piece of work.

“But you were wrong,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean I have to publicly air my dirty laundry like some people,” she snapped back.

How dare she? Who did she think she was? Faye was hardly in any position to criticize me.

“My past is dead and buried so let’s just leave it there shall we?”

An awkward silence settled in the kitchen. I picked at the loose thread, trying to compose myself. The urge to reach out and strangle Faye was unbearable. She was one of the few people in town who knew my sordid past. I wondered how many more people she’d spread her lies to. No wonder all her friends had that wide eyed look when they saw me. I was the local celebrity who garnered fame through an unfortunate set of events that ended in death. Whichever way you rolled it, in Tangerine I’d always be a murderer. Faye finally broke through my brooding.

“Forget about it. Look, the truth is I bought this house so my daughter would have a roof over her head. Frank was a lay about. He couldn’t hold down a job for more than a few months at a time. They lived in all the cheap rentals. Just as Lisa would get it looking nice they’d be evicted and she’d have to start over. It broke her heart but she put up with it because she loved him.”

“So you bought this house for them?”

“For her,” Faye slammed her fist down on the table. “You should have seen the look on Frank’s face when I told them, he thought he’d hit the jackpot. Stupid bastard should have known I’d never let him get his sticky fingers on it.”

“So after Lisa died you were just going to kick him out into the street?”

“Of course.”

Her absolution was astounding. It seemed Frank had quite a bit to lose if his wife didn’t return safe and sound. No wonder he’d been so desperate to hire me. Lisa was his meal ticket. Without her, he was just a homeless bum.

“He must have loved her though, didn’t he?” I asked.

“And that’s why you think he blew his brains out? I highly doubt it.”

“Perhaps he couldn’t go on without her.”

Faye laughed. Obviously she didn’t think so.

“You know he was cheating on her,” she smiled cruelly.

“Yes, you told me before. Did Lisa know?”

“No. I don’t know, maybe.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“She was so fragile. I was waiting until she got better. Maybe she found out, I don’t know.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. It was loose today and tumbled around her face in soft curls. Looking at her I saw parts of Lisa. Only it was a harder, crueler Lisa than the one I had known.

“And you think maybe she killed herself because of the affair?”

“No. I think she was murdered.”