A Corpse in the Soup (8 page)

Godiva flashed an indignant look, but there was no getting around it. If she stayed in that musty basement for ten more minutes her suit would be covered with dust, cobwebs, dead bugs and other airborne particles.

“You win, Sis. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Godiva stomped up the rickety stairs.

“I’ll be timing you, so don’t waste twenty minutes freshening your makeup and combing your hair.”

Godiva returned wearing a pair of Goldie’s jeans, a rhinestone studded sweatshirt that she decided to sacrifice, and a pair of workout shoes that had never seen a workout. Goldie waved a paper triumphantly under her sister’s nose.

“I just love a good treasure hunt! I’ve already found one from 1969 about Donnie Darling’s broken leg.”

Godiva read the headline out loud.
Boy Seriously Injured in Scuffle at Accordion Festival.

After four-and-a-half hours in the dungeon, the Silver sisters emerged with ink-blackened hands and little smudges where they had scratched a nose or cheek. Bits of cobweb clung to their hair and dust motes were attached to the bottoms of their pants. They climbed the stairs in triumph with a pile of stories to be copied. Goldie chattered on about their good luck, but Godiva, looking exhausted and bedraggled, just shook her head as she leafed through the papers.

The headlines chronicled Wellington’s early years.

September 10, 1975, Page 2:

Homeless Man Severely Beaten; Celebrity’s Son Accused of Crime

September 14, 1975, Page 16:

Charges Dropped Against Wellington, Witness Refuses to Testify

March 28, 1976, Obituaries:

Winifred Wellington, Wife of Accordion King, Dies Of Heart Attack

May 4, 1977, Wedding Announcements:

Lucy McWharter, 17, and Biff Wellington, 18, Wed in Simple Ceremony

September 14, 1977, Birth Announcements:

Baby Boy, Wesley, to Biff and Lucy Wellington

December 26, 1979, Page 1:

CHRISTMAS BASH ENDS IN BRAWL

Wellington in Jail After Sending Three to Hospital

December 28, 1979, Page 15:

Wellington Released; Charges Dropped

June 21, 1981; November 6, 1983;

January 30, 1984; July 4, 1985:

Police blotter notations regarding neighbors’ complaints of domestic violence at home of Biff Wellington, local police respond with warnings, no arrests made.

August 23, 1986, Page 3:

Caption under photo of Biff Wellington cooking at Festival:

Best Ribs This Side of Heaven

Accordion King’s Son Gains National Notice for Festival Food

February 17, 1987, Page 5:

Lucy Wellington in Coma after Beating, Husband is Suspect

Child Calls Police After Witnessing Family Violence

February 20, 1987, Page 12:

Police Seek Wellington for Questioning in Wife Beating

February 27, 1987, Page 16:

Beating Victim Regains Consciousness, Refuses to Press Charges

November 1, 1988, Obituaries:

Lucy Wellington, Devoted Mother, Dies of Cerebral Aneurysm

August 26, 1990, Page 1:

Accordion King Buck Wellington Dies after Command Performance at Festival

“That’s it. There’s nothing more on these people after Buck’s passing.” Godiva shifted her stack of copies and straightened them out. “There’s no doubt in my mind, though, Sis, we owe Mom an apology. She was right to send us up here. That Biff is a maniac, and I am sure he’ll stop at nothing to destroy Caesar.”

CHAPTER 15

Goldie and Godiva dragged themselves back to the Oldtime Squeezebox to brush the cobwebs out of their hair.

Goldie collapsed in the mohair chair. “I’m worried sick about Chili. She could be in danger.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Goldie. We need to follow the thread up to the present. It’s been thirteen years since that brute nearly killed his wife. Maybe he’s been behaving himself; he could have turned over a new leaf. Maybe he even went to anger management therapy.”

“Yeah, right! Like the tofu and spinach quiche and whole grain honey wheat bread has neutralized his brain disorder. I don’t think so! Anger management? You are sooo L.A.” Goldie punched at a moth-eaten throw pillow to fluff it up and was rewarded with a cloud of dust.

“Relax, Goldie. As soon as we get back home I’ll have my favorite groupie at the
Times
do a current background check. Angel is a terrific researcher. If he’s wanted for murder in Morocco or battery in Biloxi, she’ll find out.”

“So what do we do if she turns up something really scary? What then?”

“Don’t waste energy worrying about that now, Sis. The next step always seems to fall into place.”

They spent what was left of the afternoon poking around in the local antique shops, but Goldie’s heart just wasn’t in it. She was too worried that her daughter was in danger. Maybe Rudy was right about Hollywood being a “wicked” place after all.

When they woke the next morning, Pearly Buttons had already checked out. Not only did they get the bathroom all to themselves, but they were spared the tedium of having to listen to a dozen accordion stories.

Hilda heaped their plates with stacks of delicious German pancakes. “I’m glad to see you wearing more sensible clothes today, Miss Beverly Hills.” She gave a nod of approval to Godiva’s knit slacks and loose purple sweater. It was cashmere, but Hilda didn’t know that.

“Now Miss Alaska here,” she waved the pancake platter toward Goldie, “wears what we used to call the ‘Cotati Look’. In the ’70s there was the Freestore, you know, folks donated clothes for the poor. All the beatniks and hippies got ahold of that stuff.
Ach
! They made it into a fashion statement, like you got on.”

Goldie grinned. “Now we call it ‘vintage clothing’. I sell it in my shop.”

Hilda scrunched her wrinkled face. “Don’t that beat all? Used to give it away, now you’re selling old rags for a pretty penny, I’ll bet. Well, I must say, it looks good on you.”

The sisters checked out, promising to return one day for another visit with Hilda, and headed back to San Francisco.

They stopped along the way at three antique barns, two junk shops, an estate sale in Petaluma and another huge wholesale warehouse in San Rafael. By the time they boarded the plane back to Los Angeles, Goldie had gone way over budget for new stock. Even the wonderful deals she negotiated didn’t lift her spirits. A dark cloud of impending disaster seemed to hover over her like a storm waiting to break.

“Godiva, I’ve been all through the horoscope for the next week. It looks good, but I can’t help worrying that I might have missed a portent here and there.” Goldie fished through the seat pocket in front of her for something to read during the flight south. “Tomorrow will be Chili’s second appearance on the show, and I just can’t shake the feeling that Wellington might do something dangerous. I don’t think I’m going to tell Red about the newspaper articles we found.”

Godiva pulled the in-flight magazine from her own pouch and began to thumb through it. “Good call. Your husband is so protective he would insist that Chili come home if he had even a hint of how dangerous Wellington might be.”

CHAPTER 16

While Godiva was still upstairs putting the finishing touches on her perfect makeup job, Goldie slumped in a kitchen chair looking over her notes.

She tried not to feel envious when Godiva swept into the kitchen looking like she just stepped off the cover of
Vogue
. A transparent garment bag containing an outfit, matching shoes and accessories was draped over her arm.

“You’re bringing a spare outfit?” Goldie looked at her sister with exasperation.

“No, this is for you Sis. It’s a St. Laurent. Go ahead, put it on. I can’t have my sister looking like a rag picker. What if someone thought you were me?”

“Don’t worry. If I look like I feel, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening. Not even in your beautiful suit.”
I’m beat.
How the devil does she look so good? I eat granola and goat cheese and she’s glowing.

Goldie’s own morning “toilette” consisted of running a brush through her hair and patting on a little foundation makeup, the kind you buy at Sav-on Drugs not Sak’s Fifth Ave. Still, aside from the morning blahs, she knew it was impossible for most people to tell them apart.

Goldie studied her twin’s flawless features.
Well, her Majesty
did spend an hour in front of the mirror
...

Godiva chuckled. “Of course I spend time in front of the mirror. But, seriously, you should try some Botox injections. Relaxes all of the lines. Actually it’s a kind of botulism stuff that paralyzes the muscles, everyone is doing it. I’ll treat you.”

Goldie shook her head in disbelief. “People are voluntarily putting botulism in their faces?” She rested her mug on the edge of the marble counter. “I can’t believe you would do that. Suddenly my wrinkles feel like a testament to my good sense. I’m ready to go face the world.” She stood up, headed for the door, stopped and turned back to Godiva. “Thanks for offering to pay for injecting me with a deadly poison, but I think I’ll pass!”

Godiva held out the garment bag. “Okay, I guess you really don’t have enough wrinkles to worry about now, but when you start to look like one of those Shar-Pei dogs, you might change your mind. Now go upstairs and get changed.”

Graceful palms lining the estate’s driveway swayed in the cool breeze. It was a perfect day for a convertible.

They weren’t due at the studio until two for the taping of Chili’s second show so they had plenty of time to stop at the
Los Angeles
Times
to meet with Angel Batista, Godiva’s favorite computer whiz.

Goldie nestled in the buttery leather bucket seat with a sigh. Godiva pressed the button, and the top of the little silver Mercedes began to fold down. “Days like this make me wonder why I ever left California. Of course, when you tell me you willingly pay a Beverly Hills doctor to paralyze your face, it reminds me that I wanted to live in a place where the rocks aren’t made out of papier mache.”

“I just don’t understand you Alaskans. You seem to think that it’s a sin to improve your looks. Maybe you’ll change your mind when people start mistaking you for my mother.”

“Fat chance! I may turn into a wrinkled old mess, but you’ll be walking around with a youthful, paralyzed face full of botulism!” She gave a delicate sniff. “I just hope that Wellington doesn’t pull anything this afternoon. Chili said that Caesar’s really uptight. He won’t come out and say it, but she thinks he’s worried about losing his title. Wellington’s got him spooked.”

Godiva made a smooth turn onto Sunset Boulevard. “Well, wouldn’t you be, with everything that’s been happening?”

“You bet! I get nervous when Rudy Valentino has one too many and can’t make it downstairs to help in the shop. I can’t even imagine Caesar staying calm on television while he’s worrying what Wellington will pull next.”

“Siss, you’ve forgotten what it’s like in the dog-eat-dog world down here. Your biggest problem in Alaska is bears raiding your garbage cans.”

“Yogi and Boo-Boo aren’t my only problem. I didn’t tell you about Tees and Trinkets trying to steal my location.”

Godiva’s eyes slid from the road to Goldie’s face and back. “Tees and Trinkets?”

“Yeah. That sleazy operation is in every port. You name the city and they have tote bags and baseball caps to match. They want to tear down my sweet little cathouse and build another tee shirt shop.”

“But you always said it was a lousy location...”

“Well that used to be the case. I was in the low-rent district when I signed the original lease. But since they built the new dock at the end of Franklin Street, I get the first passengers off the ships. I’m worried that old Mr. Wentzel will accept their offer and break my lease, even though I have three more years.”

“If that ever happens, you let me know. I’ve got lots of influence and the money to back it up. Worse comes to worst, I’ll outbid them and buy the building.”

“I appreciate that, Sis. It’s good to be connected to the rich and famous.”

“Indeed. I’m a veritable hub of connections. And all of my connections are connected. Even Angel has a cute young boyfriend on the LAPD. You never know when that might come in handy.”

“How did you hook up with her?”

“She was a student in a writing seminar I taught. I helped her out with a few things and now she can’t do enough for me. She’s a real technogeek, knows her way around the newspaper database like no one I’ve ever dealt with. I use her all the time when I have to check facts for my column.”

“Godiva, I’ve never met anyone who uses people like you do and then gets them to thank you for it. Where did you learn to do that?

“From Mom. Guess you missed that part of the lesson.”

“Yeah, while I was busy learning macramé she was teaching you Manipulation 101.” They pulled into a space in the
LA Times
parking lot. “Now, let’s see how good your little Angel is.”

As Goldie pushed the heavy glass door open, a whirlwind with a mop of raven black curls and huge glasses perched on a small, broad nose launched herself from a position beside the reception desk and screeched to a halt in front of the twins.

Perplexed, she looked from one to the other and then back again, her horn rim frames teetering precariously. “Godiva? Which one are you anyway?”

Goldie couldn’t resist. “Why, Angel. I thought you would recognize me anywhere.”

The young lady took a tentative step backward, gaze still fixed on the identical women. Then her plain face lit up. “Whoa. You’re good. You almost got me, you know.” She waggled an accusing finger at Godiva. “You’re the real G.O.D., not her.” She pointed at Godiva’s hands. “The ring tipped me off. It just about blinded me the first time I saw it. I mean, what is it, fifty carats?”

Godiva buffed her diamond on the lapel of her jacket. “Well, Agent Ninety-nine. Congratulations. You’re one of the few people who has looked beyond our faces to tell which one is which. And, for the record, no, it’s not fifty carats but a respectable ten. Now then, dear, is there somewhere we can talk privately?”