3 Revenge of the Crafty Corpse (8 page)

seven

“I agree with the
detective,” said Zack on our ride back to the house. “Lucille probably dreamed the whole thing up. Didn’t they give her a sleeping pill last night?”

Even though Detective Spader had asked Zack to leave the room, he and Officer Fogarty, as well as Officer Harley when he returned from depositing Shirley in her office, were able to hear every word of our conversation. No wonder some passing resident overheard Lucille threaten to strangle Lyndella yesterday.

“I’d have to ask about her meds. I’ve heard some sleeping pills can cause extremely vivid dreams. Right now, I don’t know what to believe. Her roommate did brag about sex keeping her young.”

“But all night long?” Zack laughed. “No way!”

“Not to mention at her age. If it’s true, she’s like those little old lady nymphomaniacs in
The Producers
.”

“Those characters sprang from the extremely fertile imagination of Mel Brooks. I doubt women in their nineties have any sex drive at all, let alone an insatiable one.”

Zack had a point. A woman’s sex drive stems from hormone production. At her age, Lyndella’s body couldn’t possibly be producing estrogen, could it? Her body most likely hadn’t produced any estrogen for at least forty years. No estrogen, no urges.

“Maybe Lucille only thought the sex went on all night. If it even happened at all. She either dreamed it all up, or she drifted in and out of sleep and didn’t have an accurate grasp of the passage of time.”

“Lucille doesn’t have an accurate grasp of many things,” said Zack, “especially reality.”

“I don’t believe she had anything to do with Lyndella’s death, though. Do you?”

“No.”

“And she might be a huge albatross around my neck, but I can’t sit back and watch her convicted of a crime she didn’t commit.”

Zack slowed for a red light, turned toward me, and placed his hand over mine. “Please tell me you’re not going to get involved in another murder investigation.”

“If I don’t, who will?”

“Let the police do their job. That’s why you pay those exorbitant taxes. Besides, do I need to remind you that you were nearly killed last time you decided to play Sherlock Holmes?
And
the time before that?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered. “I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?”

“Probably not.”

“Will you at least let me help you this time?”

“Actually, there is something I’d like your help with, Zack.”

“Name it.”

“Do you think Patricia would do a little record digging for me?”

Patricia Tierney is Zack’s ex-wife and an assistant DA in Manhattan. She’d have access to all sorts of documents, including New York City marriage certificates and divorce records.

Zack and Patricia have the friendliest divorce I’ve ever come across. Her twin daughters call him Uncle Zacky. Patricia also thinks I’m the best thing to happen to Zack since the last time the Mets won a World Series.

“What kind of records in Manhattan would help prove Lucille didn’t commit murder?”

“None that I know of, but there’s another mystery brewing, and I think it’s beyond time I learned the truth.”

“About what?”

“Lucille’s past.”

“Does this have anything to do with Karl’s half-brother showing up at your door? And speaking of which, when did you find out he had one?”

I checked my watch. “About two hours ago.”

“You sure the guy isn’t trying to scam you?”

“Not unless he’s found a way to replicate Karl’s DNA. The resemblance is uncanny.”

Zack chuckled. “That ought to freak Lucille out.”

“In more ways than one.” I recapped my brief encounter with Ira, telling Zack about the letter and photo. “Lucille has always claimed that Isidore was abducted. Looks like she fabricated the entire story.”

“She probably talked herself into believing it a long time ago because she couldn’t accept the truth.”

“Especially if she kicked him out, hoping he’d come groveling back to her. She’s the reason Karl grew up without a father.”

If Karl had been raised in a typical two-parent household, would his life have turned out differently? Would Lady Luck, that demanding and financially draining mistress of his, ever have entered his life? I’d never know, and speculating would only drive me crazy.

When we turned down our street, I saw Ira’s gray minivan still parked in front of my house. Didn’t the guy have a wife and kids who expected him home for dinner? And speaking of dinner …

I guess I could forget about that relaxing soak in the tub. The two bikes leaning up against the garage doors told me Alex and Nick had arrived home.

I turned to Zack as he parked the car. “When you rooted around in my freezer yesterday, did you find any hamburger patties and bags of rolls? I have a feeling Mama invited Ira to join us for dinner.”

“Should be enough,” he said. We both reluctantly exited the comfort of the air-conditioned car for the brutal outdoor heat. “Want me to fire up the grill?”

“You don’t have to join us.”

He laughed. “Are you kidding? And miss out on the entertainment?”

“Very funny.”

Zack grew serious, grabbed my hand, and squeezed gently. “You look like you need a buffer tonight.”

“What I need is a week in Aruba.”

“That can be arranged.”

I closed my eyes, and envisioned a white sandy beach, gently lapping waves, and a brilliant blue sky. I wish. “No it can’t,” I said, reluctantly opening my eyes. “I’ve used up all my vacation for the year, and now I don’t even have my weekends free for the next several months.”

“Then you’re just going to have to settle for the next best thing.”

“What’s that?”

“A burger flipper tonight.”

Zack could flip my burgers any time he wanted, but I bit down on my tongue to keep from saying so. I’d vowed not to rely on any man ever again. How many times did I have to remind myself ? So instead, I smiled, squeezed his hand back, and headed into the house.

I found Mama, Alex, Nick, and Ira gathered around the kitchen table, all munching from a large bowl of popcorn. Catherine the Great batted a popped kernel around the floor. Ralph perched on Alex’s shoulder. I assumed Mephisto was snoring somewhere, hopefully not on my bed.

“Hey Mom, we’ve got an uncle,” said Alex as he tossed another piece of popcorn to Ralph. “And three cousins. Cool, huh?”

“When’s dinner?” asked Nick. “We’re starving.”

I tossed my purse on the counter. “Did anyone walk Mephisto?”

“Done,” said Alex.

I raised my eyebrows at that. “Without a single nag from me?”

“He’s not such a devil dog with Grandmother Lucille gone,” said Nick. “All he does is eat, sleep, and poop.”

I’d noticed that, too. Mephisto hadn’t uttered a single growl at anyone, not even Catherine the Great, since Lucille’s emergency trip to the hospital. That made me wonder if Mephisto had even been in the dining room when Mama dropped Daddy earlier today. “Maybe he’s just getting old, and his devil dog days are behind him.”

“Unlikely,” said Mama. “I don’t trust that vicious mutt, not after the way he scared the living daylights out of me earlier today. Neither should any of you. That dog is up to something. Lulling you all into a false sense of security before he strikes. Look at what happened to my dear Harold today, thanks to that mongrel.”

“Mephisto, the Ninja Bulldog?” I asked.

Ira chuckled. I realized I’d totally ignored him since entering the house. My bad. Chalk it up to sheer exhaustion and not want
ing another mouth to feed tonight. “Ira, don’t you need to get home
to your family?”

Subtle, Anastasia
.

“The kids are at summer camp, and my wife is out of town, visiting her sister. Flora was kind enough to invite me to join all of you for dinner this evening. If you don’t mind, of course.”

I forced a smile and began pulling food from the fridge and freezer. “Not at all. As long as you don’t mind burgers.”

“I’m happy to cook them for you,” he offered. “I wield a mean spatula.”

“Thanks but it’s taken care of.”

“Is Zack joining us, dear?” Before I could answer her, Mama turned to Ira. “Zack is Anastasia’s boyfriend. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. “He’s my tenant.”

“He’s her boyfriend,” said Mama, Alex, and Nick, all in unison.

Heat seared my cheeks. What did that say about my relationship with Ira’s half-brother that only five months after his death,
I already had another man in my life? Even if we’d only had one official date so far. I turned toward the sink and began scraping carrots. Furiously. “It’s not what you think,” I muttered.

“That’s okay,” said Ira. “Flora told me about my brother. I
understand.”

Not at all comfortable with Mama spilling the Karl beans to a total stranger, even a quasi-related total stranger, I turned to face her. “Everything?”

“He’s family, dear. I thought he had a right to know what that man did to you.”

Great. Blabbermouth Flora strikes again. I’m glad I never told her how Karl tried to mow down his mother and wound up killing three innocent people when he torched her apartment building. Alex and Nick didn’t need to know the gory details about the seamier side of their father’s life. They already knew more than I wanted to tell them, but what choice did I have? When your life plummets from the heights of comfortably Middle-classdom to one step away from living out of a cardboard box, you have to offer your kids some explanation for the downward spiral.

I suppose my expression told Mama she’d better change the subject because she did. “You haven’t told us what that commie rabble-rouser did this time, dear. What was so serious that you
had to rush out without saying a word? I certainly raised you to have
better manners than that. Especially with a guest in the house.”

Zack picked that moment to open the back door. His expression told me he’d heard Mama. Mine told him this was a conversation I didn’t want to have right now. “You might as well tell her now and get it over with,” he said. “You know she’s not going to give up.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, counting silently to five as I exhaled. While I did so, Mama introduced Zack to Ira. As I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of the two men, hands clasped in vice-like grips, sizing each other up in that way only men do.

All those quotes about the measure of a man? They really only mean one thing: mine’s bigger than yours.

I broke up the testosterone standoff by blurting out, “Lucille’s roommate was murdered last night.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Holy shit!” said Alex, then added a hasty, “Sorry, Mom,” before my reprimand made it past my lips.

“Did that crazy Bolshevik kill her?” asked Mama.

“I think she’s at the top of the suspects list,” I said, “but she claims she’s innocent.”

“Like hell,” says Mama. “I always worried she’d murder me in my sleep one of these nights. Looks like I had good cause for concern.”

_____

The next morning, another scorcher of a day already under way, I packed Mephisto into the rust-bucket sauna on wheels and headed back to Sunnyside. Since Shirley hadn’t assigned me a spot in the employees’ parking lot out back or even mentioned the existence of such a lot, I parked in the closer visitors’ lot in front and decided to continue to do so unless instructed otherwise. Ignorance in this case was the bliss of subjecting my body to a minute less of blistering heat and oppressive humidity as I made my way into the building.

Once inside, I was surprised to find the crime scene tape gone and Lucille ensconced back in her room. She greeted Mephisto with such a smothering hug that the poor dog whined and struggled for breath.

“Mother’s missed you so much,” she crooned into his fur, oblivious to the poor pooch’s discomfort. No wonder devil dog had dropped his satanic ways at home. With Lucille gone, he didn’t have to submit to constant
s’mother
love.

I waited, hoping for at least a thank you for bringing him, but in typical Lucille fashion, she ignored me. “I’ll come walk him during my lunch break,” I finally said.

No response. She didn’t even ask why I’d be hanging around Sunnyside all day, or maybe she thought I intended to go home, then come back at lunchtime to walk her dog. Who knows? I may as well have been invisible for all the acknowledgement I received from her. Maybe she thought the dog magically appeared on his own.

Given the way Lucille had always treated me, why did I even care whether or not the police arrested her for Lyndella’s murder? With Lucille out of my life, I’d have one less problem. However, even a woman who cared more about her dog than her daughter-in-law deserved justice. Someone had to give a damn about the truth, even for an ingrate like my pain-in-the-tush mother-in-law.

Lucille epitomized
all bark and no bite
. She didn’t kill Lyndella Wegner. I knew that. The real killer lurked somewhere in the halls of Sunnyside. With no one else stepping up to the plate to ferret him out, I became the designated batter by default.

I was about to head to my first class when I heard a rustling coming from the other side of the floral curtain that separated the two halves of the room. Curious, I peeked around the curtain’s edge and found Reggie bagging up Lyndella’s clothing. “Hi,” I said.

She yelped, stumbling backward and nearly tripping over a desk chair.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her teeth trembling, she gnawed at her lower lip. “I
…
I didn’t hear you.”

“Are you getting the room ready for a new resident?” I asked.

Reggie shrugged her emaciated shoulders. “I guess. Ms. Hallstead said to pack up all of Mrs. Wegner’s stuff, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“What will happen to her possessions?”

“The clothes and furniture get donated.”