A Corpse in a Teacup (21 page)

“
Your basic full service parking lot,” she said.

He
answered, “The best for the best,” then told Tuesday to wait in the car. “I might still have a friend here who’ll take care of this for us.”

She
liked the sound of
us
.

A burly red
headed guy, looking like a wild Irish chieftain in studded leather, heavy work boots and a flowing red beard came out of an armored office. Tuesday could hear the electronics that opened the bulletproof glass door and then unlock the steel gate that allowed visitors in and out of the compound. The two men exchanged a few words, then the redhead put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. He shouted, “Hey, Vic. Someone to see you.” He went back inside his office. Mr. G. turned and waved to her while he waited for Vic to arrive.

In a few minutes, a short, elderly guy in
his own set of leathers came out from a line of cars with the telltale ID numbers scrawled in yellow marker on the windshields. Tuesday stretched her neck, but couldn’t spot her own gray Civic. The lot had more than a whiff of the underside of life and a reflex finger of guilt wound its way up through her solar plexus. She started a little argument with herself, professing her innocence to an unseen accuser. “My car wasn’t in anybody’s way! They’ve got a scam going to make money off unsuspecting customers. The ticketing officer must have been hiding in the bushes. Well, I won’t stand for it.”

She interrupted her
internal diatribe to watch the old man recognize his visitor. A look of happy surprise spread across his face. He held open his arms and shouted through the chain link, “Well look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t my old buddy, Clipper!”

She had Mr. Gorgeous or Mr. G
firmly planted in her head. It was odd to hear someone actually say his name. She rolled it around in her head as if for the first time.

Clipper.

It had snap. She liked that, though the history of his name was cutesy, not a trait she typically liked. When she had first pressed him about his moniker he told her that he had a younger sister who, when she was two, couldn’t say his name. Clifford. It came out Clippord, got shortened to Clipper by his father and it stuck.

She watched the old man
give a signal to the bearded guy, who opened the gate. He and Clipper shook hands with loud, laughing hellos and gave each other a man hug, barely touching chest to chest with a hefty pound on the back. Her reaction to this common but tepid greeting was always the same. Are they afraid they’re going to catch girly bugs from each other if they exchange a real embrace?

The man
and Clipper walked over to Tuesday. Clipper opened the car door for her, gave her a hand out and introduced her to Vic.

“He owns the place. He’ll take care of you.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Tuesday. Now if you’ll just give me your driver’s license and receipt for the ticket, I’ll see what’s going on with your car.”

Tuesday fished in her bag and handed
over her ID. She and Clipper squinted at each other in the bright Compton sunshine while they waited, sending wordless acknowledgement of their new found glee. While they were mooning away, a brand new pick up bounced down the driveway and they jumped out of the way before it ran into them.

A very angry and very pregnant woman slid out of the passenger side while the driver turned off the engine
. He lit a cigarette then pulled his ball cap down over his eyes and leaned back into the headrest while the woman screamed at the redheaded guy through the locked gate. She rattled the chain link while calling the employee every variety of insulting names. The redhead strolled towards her with his arms outstretched.

“Cindy, where you been? I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

The woman’s hair was almost as red as the man’s, but colored from a bottle rather than Mother Nature. Her anger flushed her face to match her hair.

“Don’t Cindy me,” she growled.
“What are you doing with my car again?”

The guy
pulled his mouth down in a show of regret. “I keep telling you, babe, don’t park it by a fire hydrant and we won’t have to keep meeting like this.”

She
raised her fist, her large purse slapping into her chest. “Fire hydrant my ass. I bet it was parked across the street. You guys know when I get my alimony check and you come after me for it. I know your game. Anyway, it wasn’t me that parked the car. I lent it to my ex a few days ago and this is what he does with it. Go after him for the money.”

Just then Vic
returned from behind the row of cars. “Miss Tuesday, I’ve got your car down at the second tier. I’ve told the guys to bring it up right away, but it’s going to take a few minutes. It seems there was some mistake.”

He gave Clipper a knowing look. “We shouldn’t have taken your car at all. So
me mix-up with the dispatcher. I apologize. Let me make it up to you. I’ll give you a coupon for free parking in any of our downtown lots.”

Tuesday accepted the c
ard. “Thanks a lot, Vic. That’s really nice of you. I knew there had to be a mix-up. Anything you can do about the parking ticket I already paid?“

“Wish I could give you a get out of jail free, card but that’s out of my hands.”

Clipper broke in and shook Vic’s hand. “Thanks for your help, Vic. We have to get going.” He whispered in Tuesday’s ear, “Don’t push your luck.”

Just then
mad Cindy’s Mercedes appeared behind Vic. Tuesday bristled. She’d arrived before Cindy, then remembered she’d gotten off scott free. Unlike Cindy with the A1 service.

They
jumped out of the way as the Mercedes pulled up in front of them to a still raging Cindy. She knocked on the door of the pickup and the driver came to life. Cindy waved him off, so he backed up the truck, spun around and drove off in a spray of gravel. Tuesday waited while Cindy reluctantly handed over her credit card to the redhead. After folding her receipts and stuffing them into her purse, Cindy opened her trunk and dropped her purse inside. But before she slammed the hood shut, something inside the trunk caught Tuesday’s eye, rendering her speechless with disbelief.

B
efore Tuesday could gather her wits and call out, Cindy drove off. Clipper opened the door to the Civic for Tuesday, but she resisted, spluttering incoherently. They hadn’t made a plan and he still hadn’t completed his agenda, discussing his reason for wanting to see Tuesday that morning in the first place. He said, “See you at the back at your apartment?”

“No, no, no!” She
shook her head wildly and pointed toward the disappearing Mercedes. “You don’t know what she has in her trunk. We have to follow her.”

“Who?”

Tuesday pointed, but Cindy had pulled out of the lot and dissolved into the traffic.

Clipper looked from Tuesday to the street.
“What’s the matter?”

“The cat. She had the cat in her trunk. It was in pieces. In a plastic bag.
The Mulberry Cat!”

Clipper shielded his eyes from the sun.
“You’re sure you don’t know her.”

“I’ve never seen her in my life. That hair? I’d remember that tragedy.”

Tuesday’s phone buzzed as she tried to figure out exactly what she had seen in the Benz. It was one of the servers from the Café spreading the word. Natasha was calling everybody into the restaurant for an emergency meeting. Like now.

“This is getting old,” she grumbled to Clipper as she slipped her
phone back in her tote. “Natasha’s paying overtime, which is supposed to sweeten the pot, but I’m not on salary so that means nothing to me. Got to run. I’ll call you after the meeting.”

Before she took off, she did her best to rub
the yellow marker off her windshield that dubbed her a scofflaw.

At the Café, Natasha was in a particularly bad mood. Tuesday assumed it was because she promised to cover overtime for the meeting. She let Detective Jameson run the show.

The detective had pulled her long
Afro into a ponytail and it bobbed playfully as she walked to the cash register. Marco and winemaster Peter stood by the bar, and once again, the staff had seated themselves at the front tables. Overtime or no, none seemed pleased at coming to work early. Meetings didn’t bring in tips.

The detective
roamed a harsh stare over the staff. She watched them twitch and turn in their seats waiting for the meeting to begin, chattering among themselves trying figure out what was going on now. The detective seemed to be watching for signs of guilt. Someone unable to look her in the eye, an inappropriate level of hostility masking knowledge of the reason for the meeting. All eyes were on Jameson. The curious, the bored, the seemingly guilt-free.

She
looked up at the ceiling, grim and determined. She had no time to waste. “You know that the owners,” she nodded to Natasha and Marco standing behind her, “have been very concerned about the disappearance of a glass cat. You all know that the restaurant was named after it. The Mulberry Cat. I understand that the owners have questioned you extensively, but no one seems to have any knowledge of it’s whereabouts.”

Heads bobbed agreeing to her version of events
. Eyes rolled. Not the cat again. Except for Tuesday. She looked at Marco but couldn’t catch his eye. They both knew the fate of the cat. They had seen the piece from Tuesday’s boot. Should she raise her hand and correct the detective?

“Well now w
e have a more ominous need to locate the cat. Are any of you aware of it?”

The staff looked at
one another, then presented puzzled faces to the detective.

“Do any of you know
Zora Slade?”

It took Tuesday a moment to
recognize the name. She’d only heard the woman’s name a few times at the party and from Holley. And, of course, from her new client, Rainey.

It was clear the world of the movie set and the world of the restaurant
business didn’t converge. The name did not seem to register with anyone in the room. Though Zora’s death had been revealed to the media, no one there seemed to have picked up on it.

Tuesday
knew where Jameson was headed and she wanted to make it clear she had no involvement with the deceased. She raised her hand. “I’ve met her once but, no, I don’t know her. I mean, it’s not like we’re BFF’s or anything.”

Detective Jameson
gave her a look that Tuesday found easy to read. An,
I’ll see you after class
scowl.
Why are you involved in yet one more crime
?

Jameson
began to pace in front of the staff, looking at the floor, speaking as though she were thinking out loud.

“Ms.
Slade had the misfortune to die last night. This is of interest, why?” She paused to let her rhetoric take effect. “Because she worked on the movie set where a possible cast member and a wardrobe mistress were killed.”

A murmur
danced through the group.
That
movie set. Restaurant gossip had alerted everyone to the fact that one of their customers was married to the director. Still the atmosphere of bewilderment hung over the group. What did the murders have to do with the Café? Detective Jameson was about to tell them.

“
That makes three suspicious deaths possibly linked to each other. Now we learn that a sliver of glass was discovered in Ms. Slade’s stomach contents during her autopsy. I’m sorry to be so graphic. I know this is unpleasant, but the glass appears to be a piece of The Mulberry Cat.”

Expressions of horror rose from the tables. Marco yelled, “No. That’s not possible.”

Natasha looked as though she might faint. Evidently, she had not been informed of this news before the meeting. From Tuesday’s vantage point it appeared to her that Peter, the sommelier, was the least affected. Either he had heard it already or, like Rainey, he knew Zora and was not bothered by her death.

Tuesday
, though, was as shocked as anyone.

Marco stepped forward. “Are you telling us the cat was broken? How can that be?”

Without thinking, Tuesday blurted out, “But you knew that, Marco. I told you last night.”

As one, the staff turned to look at her
, then Marco, who had turned beet red. “What are you talking about?” he shouted. “I knew nothing of the kind.”

“But chef, I gave you the piece o
f orange glass I found stuck to my boot. I was here last night. In fact, my car was towed while I was talking to you. I don’t work at night so I didn’t know where to park and when I went outside . . . “

Detective Jameson interrupted her. “You mean you had a piece of the
Mulberry Cat?”

“Yes. I came back
to give it to the chef. He promised a reward to anyone who found it.” As one, everyone in the room bobbed their heads in agreement. “I wanted Natasha to know what I’d found, even though I knew it would upset her, but I thought she should know it was destroyed. At least she could stop looking for an intact cat.”

Natasha exploded in Tuesday’s face. “You mean you broke my cat?”

“No, no. I didn’t break it. I found it stuck to my boot. Well,” she was about to say Clipper’s name but decided not to reveal anything that personal.

“I was with a friend last night and he noticed it. I put my foot up,” she demonstrated by crossing her foot over her knee, “and there it was.”

Jameson scowled. “Your boot? Why didn’t you report this to me? You knew we were looking for the cat. You were here when we were called in the other day to find it.”

The detective looked
from Tuesday to Marco and back. Natasha was shouting and pointing to Tuesday. “Arrest her! She stole my property and destroyed it and then fed it to that poor woman. Arrest her.”

Detective Jameson ordered Natasha to stand back and let her question Tuesday. “Now Miss Tuesday,
once again. Why didn’t you report this important piece of evidence to the police?”

“I didn’t know it was evidence. At least not murder evidence. I don’t know how it got on my sole
, but I knew Marco would want to know what I found, so I gave it to him. He also promised a reward of a thousand dollars that I’m still waiting for!”

Marco glared at her
. Jameson turned to him. “Let me have this piece of glass.”

Marco threw out
his hands. “I don’t have it. It was just a piece of gravel. It didn’t look like anything to me. It certainly wasn’t from the cat, so I threw it in the trash. It was picked up this morning. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“So our one piece of evidence got tossed into the trash.” Jameson made no effort to hide her frustration.

“But I know where the rest of it is detective.”

Jameson turned to Tuesday.
“You do? Where?”

“In the back of Cindy’s car.”

“Who’s Cindy?”

Tuesday noticed that Marco coughed, and his face bloomed with anger. He seemed to be giving Tuesday some sort of signal to shut up. But she continued.

“I don’t really know
who she is. She was at the impound lot in Compton this morning. See, my car got towed last night when I came in here to give what I’d found to Marco. I had to go down there this morning to reclaim it. A friend drove me and that’s where I saw Cindy. That’s what the guy working in the lot called her. Apparently she gets her car towed a lot. Cindy was there rescuing her Mercedes. When she opened her trunk I saw a bag of cat pieces. They were in a clear plastic bag. I could see right in.”

Natasha broke into tears. “My poor kitty.”

Detective Jameson was typing furiously into her iPad. “Give me the name of the impound lot. Maybe they will help me track down this Cindy.”

Marco held up his phone. “Detective, are we done here. I have to
leave to meet with my suppliers or we won’t have any ribs for dinner tonight.”

“
No,” Jameson said. “You can’t leave the premises until we’re done. I need to ask you some more questions.”

Then she addressed the
restless staff who were all asking the same question. “Who’s Zora? I’ve never heard of her.”

Jameson clapped her hands.
“Attention, people. I need the contact information for each of you. My officers will collect it and I will need a statement of your whereabouts last night.”

Most of them murmured, “
Here. Working.”

Then she turned to Tuesday. “Can I have a word? Miss Tuesday, have a seat. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

Two things popped into Tuesday’s mind. First, she should consider tacking a last name on to Tuesday so people would stop referring to her as Miss. Ever since she’d hooked up with Holley, she had the feeling she was in a southern chic flick every time someone addressed her.

Next
, she had to do something about the brain pain this whole case was causing her. That
had
been broken glass she saw in that Cindy’s car, hadn’t it? Now, as she relived the brief moment the feisty woman had opened her trunk, she wasn’t so sure. And by the way, didn’t Cindy realize it was a $90,000 Mercedes sedan she was manhandling and not a destruction derby contender when she drove off spraying gravel all over her rear end? The car’s rear end, that is.?

So what else could have been in that plastic bag? Work out clothes? Not with that baby bump. Toddler toys? Of course. The colors were garish enough. Some retro dishes? Nah, those shades of turquoise and orange were too ugly even for ‘50’s Danish Modern.

And besides, she countered with herself. What are the odds that Natasha’s precious, one of a kind (thank god for small blessings) feline sculpture would show up in the back of a pristine Mercedes driven by a foul-mouthed pregnant lady sporting a $3,000 Prada tote who got hauled in to the impound lot by the parking police? To say nothing of how it might have made it’s way into Zora’s innards. What was that all about?

Not possible, Tuesday decided.
She’d seen something that only looked like the cat. And now she has embarrassed herself announcing to the world, or the one person that matters most in her world this morning, Detective Jameson, that the tell tale glass was seen hiding out in a scofflaw’s pricy ride.

Well, Kanesha couldn’t arrest her for being mistaken. Could she?

As she was ruminating, the
sound of banging pots and loud voices charged the air, already tense from the news that there could be a killer in the house. Marco and Rowena having at it in the kitchen again. Everyone’s nerves were strained. Jameson and the officers were duplicating the task they started on the set. Asking people for their contact info, and an alibi for Zora’s time of death. Whether they knew her even, or had ever seen her in the restaurant.

Detective Jameson interviewed Tuesday personally. “So we meet again, Miss Tuesday. Have you always made it a habit to show up at crime scenes?”

“Seriously, detective. I’m just a tasseomancer. I don’t know how I got involved in all this.”

“And you want me to believe that you happened to see the broken cat in the trunk of an expensive car in an impound lot in Compton, miles away from this
Café, and you were able to identify it after seeing the alleged remnants for, what? Two, three seconds?”

“Detective, I don’t know. Maybe I have The
Mulberry Cat on my brain. I was sure I saw it. That stuff sure looked like the glass in Victor’s sculpture. But I could be wrong. You’re right. I only saw it for a few seconds. But what you said? About contacting the lot?”

She was rummaging in her bag to find the paperwork with the lot’s name on it. “They
would have a record of her name and address and maybe you could check it out.”

“Oh, we’ll check it out all right. Now where were you between the hours of eight and midnight last night?”

“I went to see Holley Wood and my mother about seven . . .”

“Your mother is connected to another witness in this case? Is this a family affair for you?”