A Clause for Murder Read online

  &ldquoMrs. Odetts is boring. Plus her apartment has that old people smell.&rdquo

  Mrs. Odetts is an elderly widow who lives in our building complex and has babysat for Sofia for two years. She&rsquos kind, reliable, drives her own car, and adores Sofia.

  &ldquoOkay, but I have to work sometimes. I promise we&rsquoll do fun things whenever I can get away,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoMom, I don&rsquot need a babysitter. Why can&rsquot I just stay home by myself or visit friends?&rdquo

  &ldquoIt&rsquos against the law.&rdquo

  She gave me a look. &ldquoBeing alone for a few hours isn&rsquot going to kill me.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhat if, what if you fell and hurt yourself?&rdquo

  &ldquoWhat if Mrs. Odetts falls and hurts herself? She&rsquos at least eighty.&rdquo

  &ldquoSeventy.&rdquo

  &ldquoSmells like eighty.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhere do you get this stuff?&rdquo I said, pulling into Mario&rsquos parking lot.

  &ldquoCamp, school, TV, the Internet. Where else?&rdquo

  At the restaurant, Ken sat at a table waiting for us. A blonde waitress, a ringer for Barbie doll, leaned over him like she meant to crush his face between her breasts&mdashwhich were the size of cow udders and obviously fake.

  Seeing us, the waitress frowned, turned back to Ken, and in a breathy voice cooed, &ldquoBe right back with your drink, honey.&rdquo

  Sofia and I immediately joined Ken at his table. When the waitress returned with Ken&rsquos beer, she tossed menus at Sofia and me, then smiled suggestively at Ken. &ldquoAnything else you need, honey, just gimme a whistle.&rdquo

  &ldquoSure thing, honey,&rdquo Sofia cut in loudly. &ldquoIn the meantime, I&rsquod like a Cherry Coke and my mother will have a Diet Coke with extra ice. We&rsquoll let you know when we&rsquove decided on the rest.&rdquo Crossing her legs, Sofia pursed her lips as she concentrated on the menu. I expected her to demand a martini with two

  olives instead of her usual cheese pizza followed by a hot fudge sundae.

  Barbie Doll&rsquos chin dropped to her Wonderbra. She was obviously shocked and resentful at being dismissed by a kid. Nevertheless, she trudged off to get our drinks.

  I refrained from hugging Sofia, my little hero, for saying what I&rsquod been too dull-witted to.

  &ldquoOkay, what should we have for dessert?&rdquo Ken said twenty minutes later after we&rsquod finished dinner.

  &ldquoThis!&rdquo Sofia said, taking her gift off the seat and savagely tearing off the paper. Inside the big box, she dug through bright pink tissue paper until she uncovered a smaller box. Lifting off the box top, she glanced at me then gently pulled out the locket Ken had shown me and dangled it by its shiny chain. &ldquoWow. Is this real gold?&rdquo

  &ldquoSure is,&rdquo Ken said.

  &ldquoMom! Did you see this?&rdquo Sofia held it up against herself. Then she jumped up and ran over to a tall post covered in a mirror. Posing by the mirror, she studied herself. Grinning, she danced back to us shouting, &ldquoI love it! I absolutely love it. Wait till all my friends see it.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou need to put your picture inside it,&rdquo Ken said.

  &ldquoOr your picture,&rdquo she said, grinning. Sofia has no bitterness toward Ken, even though she was devastated when we broke up. She&rsquos also far more positive than I am that Ken and I will get married one day and spend the rest of our lives together. Providing I play my cards right.

  After dinner Ken dropped by to watch TV. Sofia immediately left us to call friends. Cuddling on my sofa, Ken and I watched an old film noir movie. At eleven, following the news, I rose from the sofa. &ldquoGuess we better call it a night.&rdquo

  Groaning, Ken stood. At my door, he pulled me to him and kissed me. &ldquoMaybe I shouldn&rsquot rush off so fast. We could watch another movie. Or not watch another movie,&rdquo he said, nibbling on my neck. &ldquoI could leave before Sofia wakes.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou know the rules. No sleepovers when Sofia&rsquos home.&rdquo

  &ldquoShe wouldn&rsquot hear a bomb go off with the TV, the phone, and her iPod on.&rdquo

  I tiptoed down the hall. Sure enough, Sofia had drifted off like she owned stock in our utility company. After covering her with a blanket, I switched off everything, then quietly shut her door.

  &ldquoOkay, but you have to be out by six,&rdquo I warned.

  Ken grinned. &ldquoGood. Let&rsquos play doctor.&rdquo

  &ldquoFine. What&rsquore you gonna be?&rdquo

  He chuckled. &ldquoI can be a patient learning how to use Viagra.&rdquo

  &ldquoOkay,&rdquo I said, pressing myself against him. &ldquoLet&rsquos feel your pulse.&rdquo

  Ken groaned.

  &ldquoWhy, sir, your pulse is ... huge!&rdquo

  &infin&infin&infin

  What felt like seconds later, I jerked awake. The sun was already glowing in the east. I nudged Ken, who grumbled and yawned, but dragged himself out of bed. Shirtless, and half asleep, he pulled on his things, pecked me on my cheek, then slipped out the door.

  At 6:30, I woke Sofia so she could make it to Mrs. Odetts&rsquo before I dashed off to work.

  As arranged, Ken rang the bell a few minutes before seven with hot bagels, cream cheese, and a gallon of fresh orange juice. In the past, this had always delighted Sofia. But this morning, instead of gleefully exclaiming how hungry she was, Sofia soberly studied Ken and me as she silently smeared cream cheese and jelly on her bagel.

  &ldquoI&rsquom a wreck,&rdquo I said, escorting Ken to the elevator, while Sofia finished dressing. &ldquoYou don&rsquot think she walked in on us?&rdquo

  &ldquoDoubt it. I&rsquom a light sleeper.&rdquo

  Thirty minutes later, just before I slid into my car and Sofia reluctantly headed down the drive of our building complex to Mrs. Odetts&rsquo unit, Sofia paused in her tracks. &ldquoMom, we need to talk.&rdquo

  Here it comes, I thought, clutching my computer case. I expected her to confront me about Ken spending the night, a conversation I&rsquod been dreading for years.

  Instead, she said, &ldquoI know you already got me some new things, but we still need to go shopping for my back-to-school stuff. Clothes, school supplies, and maybe a new hairstyle.&rdquo

  I could breathe again. &ldquoI suppose you want blonde highlights and a fur jacket,&rdquo I teased.

  Biting her lip, Sofia frowned. &ldquoMaybe. I&rsquom not sure what my friends are getting yet. Like what kind of fur. But I like your thinking on the subject. A fur jacket, jeans, and blonde streaks in my hair. Not bad.&rdquo

  Back home for lunch, I made coffee and toasted a bagel. I&rsquod gone through half of my emails when Arlene arrived at my door unannounced, looking wasted.

  &ldquoWhat&rsquos wrong with you?&rdquo I asked, smelling liquor on her breath.

  &ldquoGuess I don&rsquot handle death very well.&rdquo

  She confessed that she&rsquod been drinking heavily since Courtney advanced to her next karmic level. Although in my humble opinion, if there is such a thing as karma&mdashand I&rsquove definitely considered it being a California resident&mdashand if it&rsquos true that what goes around comes around, then Courtney has been demoted to a plant or a squid. In fact, I&rsquoll have to consider this the next time I dig into a plate of fried calamari.

  Flopping down on my couch, Arlene put her head back. &ldquoBoy, have I got a headache.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou should eat something. Let&rsquos start with juice and coffee.&rdquo

  &ldquoJust hope I can get it down. I feel dizzy and nauseated. By the way, did you return the lizard book?&rdquo

  I froze. &ldquoI meant to. But things have been hectic with Sofia coming home.&rdquo

  &ldquoI&rsquod do it, but I&rsquom feeling too awful,&rdquo Arlene said.

  &ldquoI&rsquoll do it later. I just have to make copies first.&rdquo

  &ldquoWell do it today. She&rsquos officially dead now. And holding onto that book might be considered withholding evidence. If the police ever found out we took it&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoSay no more,&rdqu
o I said.

  But that evening I forgot about the lizard book. Instead, I took Sofia shopping. This year, she needed everything. Shoes, outerwear, sportswear, and makeup. Every item had to be made by the right designer. My daughter was entering the fifth grade, but she might as well have been heading off to New York for a fashion career.

  I arrived home so zonked that I fell asleep at ten and didn&rsquot wake till almost seven the next morning. Meaning, the lizard book was still hanging out with my tampons.

  By the following evening, I still hadn&rsquot copied the book. I meant to. But the work had to be done carefully, under the right circumstances. Like while I was wearing a space suit so my DNA wouldn&rsquot contaminate the book.

  Instead, I dressed carefully for Bart Miller&rsquos party. I&rsquod be damned if I&rsquod come off as yesterday&rsquos rice and beans next to Courtney. But as I pulled on my boots, the words Return the book, or you&rsquoll be sorry worried me. Who besides my closest confidants even knew I had it? Who could&rsquove seen Arlene and me take it?

  &ldquoBetcha this guy Bart knows squat about Courtney,&rdquo Arlene said as she steered her huge SUV down the freeway.

  Arlene was so tense her shoulders were bunched up around her ears. I felt like we were about to storm an enemy beach. She was certainly dressed for it, in her khaki camouflage ensemble with everything but grenades dangling from her belt. The look hardly screamed dainty. It emphasized her large frame and weight problems.

  She happens to be my best friend and the funniest person I know. But she&rsquos currently in a self-esteem slump. She&rsquos had nothing but hard luck with men. And she&rsquos depressed about turning thirty-three next month. She could lose a few pounds, too. But I&rsquom not about to say anything when she&rsquos this unhappy.

  For my part, I&rsquod donned fresh jeans, a bright green knit top, and an intoxicating perfume. Even though our agenda tonight was at odds with making social connections, it never hurts to look and smell your best, in case you stumble into an attractive man. Or someone who needs insurance. My mother had reminded me of these considerations long distance, before I left for the evening.

  &ldquoYou aren&rsquot getting any younger. And I&rsquod like to see you settled before I die,&rdquo she&rsquod said.

  &ldquoMother, is there something I should know about?&rdquo

  &ldquoNo, darling. I just meant that you and Sofia need a good man.&rdquo

  &ldquoI&rsquoll see if they&rsquore running a special on them at Ralph&rsquos,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoNo need to get sarcastic.&rdquo

  &ldquoSorry. But I&rsquom doing the best I can.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid you try that special bra I sent you?&rdquo

  &ldquoThe one with three pounds of foam? Look, I have an appointment so&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoHave fun, darling. Daddy sends his love.&rdquo

  Arlene and I parked outside an enormous tent. Many of the men sported shaved heads and grotesque tattoos while pushing handouts on such topics as Know Your Neighbor&rsquos Lineage, Should There Be Another Holocaust? and How to Safely Clean Your Assault Rifle.

  Bart stood inside by the guy who took your five dollars, then stamped a skull and crossbones on your wrist.

  &ldquoGlad you two could make it. We&rsquore always eager for new recruits. Especially women,&rdquo he said.

  Recruits?

  On our way to a fast food bar, I realized why the group needed females. The guys outnumbered the girls ten to one. And I&rsquod never seen so many steroids at work. Men with shoulders like snow ploughs, biceps like soccer balls, and expressions that indicated either seething rage or very tight jockey shorts eyed each other antagonistically. One lit match and the whole tent would explode from all the testosterone. The few women sprinkled around the tent looked tough enough to use aftershave.

  At the takeout counter, a whole pig spun above an open fire. And the only beer for sale, some generic brand, tasted like something you&rsquod drink before a colonoscopy.

  Arlene nudged me. &ldquoWe don&rsquot belong here.&rdquo

  &ldquoJust give me twenty minutes, so I can get a few answers.&rdquo

  Bart turned out to be a congenial host, treating us to beer, chips, and pork sandwiches.

  &ldquoSo how&rsquod you and Courtney connect?&rdquo I asked, as we sat down on a dented plastic table and dragged up matching chairs.

  &ldquoWe met at a dog show. I was looking for a Rottweiler or a Pit Bull. We started talking about animals. How loyal and loving they are. After the show, we went out for coffee and ... what can I say? She was gorgeous and smart with a really good education.&rdquo

  &ldquoYeah, I heard she made it way past the eighth grade,&rdquo I said.

  He laughed.

  &ldquoSo you had a lot in common.&rdquo

  &ldquoNot really. But sometimes opposites attract.&rdquo

  He gave me a provocative look. I chose to ignore it.

  &ldquoShe told me about her condo in La Jolla. And her family back east. How she came from high society. I told her about being a real estate broker. About my being president of B & E Realty. How I&rsquod just sold this big house right near her condo in La Jolla. Plus ...&rdquo he paused, grinning to himself, &ldquo... we had this intense attraction. She insisted on seeing my place that same night and man, she was wild. Blew all my circuits.&rdquo

  How descriptive. &ldquoSo, you two were happy together.&rdquo

  &ldquoFor a while.&rdquo

  &ldquoThen what happened? Why&rsquod you break up?&rdquo

  He sighed. &ldquoOver another girl. Courtney turned out to be a lesbian.&rdquo

  &ldquoNo!&rdquo I practically shouted, attracting a frosty stare from a hostile-looking guy at the next table who snorted back a glob of phlegm and then spat it out by my shoe.

  Arlene kicked me under the table.

  &ldquoNot Courtney,&rdquo I said. &ldquoAre you sure?&rdquo

  Bart took a long pull on his beer and glumly added, &ldquoYup. I was pretty bummed at first. Cause we were pretty intense. Of course with all Courtney&rsquos charity events, we only saw each other once or twice a week. But I was on the verge of asking her to move in with me. I even gave her money for one of her causes. For some childhood disease.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou&rsquore a good sport. How much, if you don&rsquot mind my asking?&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoAround a hundred bucks. She insisted it would help a lot. I never got the whole story. Then she wanted more for another cause, and I had to say no. She got weird after that. Said she didn&rsquot think my mom would like the people I hung out with. Like maybe she meant to call her.&rdquo Bart made a face. &ldquoStrange, huh?&rdquo

  &ldquoOutrageous,&rdquo I agreed. &ldquoSo she&rsquod already met your family.&rdquo

  &ldquoNo. But I told her how I worked with my mom. How my dad built the company before he passed away six years ago.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou must&rsquove been upset when Courtney told you about this other woman.&rdquo

  He shrugged as if to say, no big deal. &ldquoThe guys here took care of me. They kept me pretty busy. Hunting, fishing, even combat training.&rdquo

  &ldquoSure. A good lynching&rsquos gotta be a fine diversion,&rdquo I added.

  Bart seemed to find this hysterical.

  &ldquoWhen did you break up?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoMaybe a year ago.&rdquo

  &ldquoDid Courtney ever mention her new girlfriend&rsquos name?&rdquo

  &ldquoI didn&rsquot care. The lesbian thing hit me like a bucket of ice water.&rdquo

  &ldquoReally? Then why&rsquod you show up at our party?&rdquo

  &ldquoCourtney swore some gorgeous women were coming. Straight ones.&rdquo He grinned meaningfully at me. &ldquoShe wasn&rsquot kidding either.&rdquo

  I ignored this obvious come-on. &ldquoDid she tell you she worked at a strip club?&rdquo

  &ldquoOnly after we broke up. She said she was bored and needed an outlet for her dancing.&rdquo

  &ldquoWell, Bart, this has been great. Thanks so much for the roasted pork sandwiches and everything.&
rdquo I eyed the tent&rsquos exit, hoping Arlene and I could slip out quietly. But just then, Billy Fairbanks, a country-western band that had been warming up for the past fifteen minutes, dove into their latest hit about a guy doing time for cracking open his girl&rsquos head for cheating on him. Before I could say, &ldquoI don&rsquot do the two-step,&rdquo Bart had me doing the two-step. Many of the other hairy attendees danced with each other. Meaning Courtney might not be the only one interested in a same-sex relationship.

  Still, the party turned out to be a royal blast. Bart was no brain surgeon, but he knew his way around a dance floor. In no time, I managed to fumble through a half-dozen line dances. To my surprise, Arlene zipped through most of them like a pro.

  At midnight, when my hair hung in damp ringlets and my clothes were soaked, before Bart could ask for my number, we thanked him with stiff handshakes and formally wished him good night. He got the point. Even if I could&rsquove dealt with his affiliation to an offshoot of the Klan, I was too involved with Ken to consider someone else. Also, Bart still qualified as a suspect in Courtney&rsquos disappearance.

  &ldquoThink he knows anything?&rdquo Arlene asked, guiding her SUV out of the dirt parking lot.

  &ldquoHe seems too innocent. I can&rsquot imagine him killing anyone. Mostly, I think he&rsquos a little guy hoping to convince the world he&rsquos a big, scary, bad boy. Which he isn&rsquot.&rdquo

  &ldquoThink he made up that story about Courtney having an affair with another woman?&rdquo

  &ldquoThe way she got around, nothing would surprise me. But my gut says the zing of dating a guy with the IQ of a Lean Cuisine had fizzled, so she cooked up an excuse that would send him running.&rdquo

  &ldquoI think he&rsquos lying. First, if he was so over her, why did he call her? And why show up at the club where she worked?&rdquo Arlene said.

  &ldquoIt&rsquos also possible that the hundred dollars he mentioned was actually eighty-five, the figure in her book. You know how guys like to exaggerate the size of things,&rdquo I said.

  Arlene and I started to giggle. We were still cackling when we pulled off the freeway to get burgers at In-N-Out. Overall, I rarely eat when Ken and I have a hot revival going. For me, passionate love is such a foolproof diet, I&rsquom convinced it should be included in medical journals as a viable eating program. All you need are two consenting adults, a hot love affair, a breakup, months of sexual deprivation, then a night or two of heart-pounding sex during a brief reconciliation and voilà ! You&rsquove got a natural appetite suppressant.