Damsels in Distress (14 page)

“Like this morning,” I murmured, trying to hold my own and not squirm. If she wanted to pour out all the lurid details of whatever sexual shenanigans were taking place in the idyllic fiefdom of Avalon, that was fine with me. It was not, however, what I wanted to know at the moment.

“As it happens, I dropped by his house this morning after I finished my interview at the police department. I thought he should know about Angie. He was appalled, as we all were, but he didn’t know her. He insisted that I stay for coffee so that we could discuss another issue.” A grin spread across her face, and her face turned rosy. “It was a most rewarding conversation.”

I wasn’t sure if she was implying the conversation had taken place between the sheets. If so, I didn’t want to know. “Oh, really?” I said lamely.

“Yes.” Still beaming, Lanya went out to her station wagon and drove away.

Relieved to know Salvador hadn’t done anything dreadful to himself, I resumed picking up litter in the parking lot. A couple of my regular customers ambled by, clutching hefty
New York Times
newspapers that arrived by special arrangement to a newsstand up the street. I decided that as soon as the parking lot was acceptably tidy, I would close the bookstore for an hour to go collect my newspaper, along with a cappuccino and a pastry. Business was usually marginal on Sunday afternoons, allowing me to tackle the crossword puzzle in pleasant solitude. Jorgeson would come by to pester me, but I had nothing more to add to the previous night’s statement. I knew even less than Lanya about Angie and her unfortunate demise. Jorgeson would have better luck with the flock of fairies, who’d at least been in the house and presumably met Angie. As had Edward Cobbinwood after the ghastly potluck on Thursday.

I had just lugged a garbage bag to the Dumpster behind the bookstore when I spotted my science fiction hippie wandering along the railroad tracks. He was bobbling his head and beaming at the wildflowers on the embankment. There were times that I envied his detachment from reality, even though I suspected it came from an overindulgence of illegal substances in the seventies. He was whistling as he followed me into the store.

“Peace be with us all,” he said in the benign voice of a priest dismissing his flock.

“Amen,” I added under my breath.

“Did you catch the scene with the burning house last night? It was fantastic.”

I nodded. “You were there?”

“Not in that sense, no.” He went behind the rack to browse through the science fiction and fantasy paperbacks. “I was looking for a cat when I saw all the flashing lights and people running around in the dark. I thought it might be a wedding or something like that. When Princess Zirconia got married, her husband had to fight an albino tigress with twelve-inch claws before he could claim his marital prerogative.”

“Did you find your cat?”

“I didn’t say it was
my
cat.”

I didn’t even want to think about the possibilities. I let him alone for a few minutes while I rinsed out the coffee mugs and the pot. When I returned, he was shuffling toward the front door. “Wait a minute,” I said, as I always did. “Empty your pockets.”

Unabashed, he put three paperbacks on the counter. “Did you see the swamp man last night? I was surprised, since everyone knows they’re terrified of fire. Lord Zormurd used torches to hold them back while his men searched their cave for the Crusaders’ gold relics, but then it started to rain. I thought His Lordship was a goner.”

I tried to think where I’d heard the name Zormurd. After a moment, I realized Benny Stallings had yelled something about it when he’d crashed Salvador’s cocktail party. “Who’s Lord Zormurd?”

The hippie headed back to the rack to make a second attempt to shoplift. “He’s the fiercest warlord of fourteenth-century Waldsenke, and a direct descendent of Attila. His beloved Lady Maves was kidnapped on the eve of their wedding by the Duke of Plen- dark. Zormurd spends all of his time trying to rescue her, but so far all he’s been able to do is slay a couple of dragons and defeat the Plendarkian cavalry. Of course he doesn’t know that Princess Zirco- nia’s husband—the one who fought the albino tigress—is a spy.”

“Oh,” I said. “If you run into him, give him my best wishes.”

I allowed him to leave despite the suspicious bulge in the pocket of his fatigue jacket. He was amiable and often amusing, but his prime virtue was that he wanted nothing more from me than a purloined paperback book. In his befuddled mind, I did not exist outside the bookstore. I wasn’t sure he did, either. Ours was a very uncomplicated relationship.

I walked up the hill to fetch my newspaper. When I returned, Sergeant Jorgeson was waiting on the portico. “Ms. Malloy,” he said as he took the key from me and unlocked the door. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided not to open the bookstore today. You were rather high-strung last night, according to the reports.”

“If you read them, then you know why,” I said. I set the newspaper and a small sack on the counter. “Lanya Peru came by earlier.

She mentioned that someone from the department had called her about the body found after the fire.”

“We were hoping she could enlighten us.”

“In England, the term is ‘assist us in our inquiries.’ It has a much classier ring to it. You might suggest it to the chief.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Ms. Malloy. Ms. Peru said that she’d never met the deceased. When we spoke to the neighbor, however, she was able to describe a woman who’d visited the house earlier in the week. She mentioned that this visitor had messy red hair and was skinny, and appeared to be on foot. Being unimaginative, I could think of only one person who met the description.”

“I am not skinny,” I said indignantly. “I am svelte. And my hair wasn’t messy, it was damp. I will have to admit I was on foot in the tradition of Little Red Riding Hood. It was a pleasant morning, and I do my best to be environmentally conscious of the damage caused by excessive reliance on petroleum products. Did she mention that?”

“No, she did not,” Jorgeson said. He crossed his arms and waited.

I was eager to have my cappuccino and get to the crossword puzzle, so I relented. “I went to an ARSE meeting the night before, and Lanya asked me to drop off a basket of edibles. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I eventually left the basket on the porch. So, Sergeant Jorgeson, I’m even less help than Lanya. What about the fairies?”

He took a small notebook out of his pocket and opened it. “We’re trying to locate a teacher named Fiona Thackery to get their names. In the cop dramas on TV, the witnesses are always at home. Alas, in the real world, people are less cooperative. We’ll keep trying.”

“Caron knows,” I told him. “When I left this morning, she was still in bed. If she’s not home now, you might try Inez’s house. And if you can’t locate them, I’ll give you the names of some more of the high school kids. One of them can help you.”

“An excellent idea, Ms. Malloy. I will assure the lieutenant that you assisted us in our inquiries with your customary charm. Have you two…ah, resolved your differences?”

“Meddling does not become you, Jorgeson. Your ears turn redder than chrysanthemums. Nevertheless, the answer is yes. He’s en route to his mother’s house as we speak. Leslie is in Paraguay or Prague, or someplace like that. I might not be terribly upset if she were arrested at an airport for smuggling cocaine, but I don’t suppose that’s likely to happen. Peter’s planning to be home next Sunday.” I hesitated, then plunged ahead. “You will have this wrapped up by then, won’t you? I’d hate for Peter to get back and have to deal with this case.”

“And see your name?”

“That would be a factor,” I admitted, wondering if Jorgeson could be bribed with a hazelnut muffin. “My involvement is minuscule. All I did was perform a minor act of charity by dropping off the basket. I can swear truthfully I never met the victim. The houses in the neighborhood are old and likely to have the original wiring. Shouldn’t you be going after the landlord for violating the fire code?”

“He’s already been interviewed, but it doesn’t matter if the wiring was faulty. The fire was set intentionally, according to the arson investigator at the fire department. Some sort of accelerant like gasoline or kerosene was used.”

“Ooh, that’s nasty,” I said. “I wouldn’t think Angie had been in Farberville long enough to make an enemy like that. What have you found out about her, Jorgeson? The landlord must have known something.”

“Only her first name. She rented the house by telephone, and mailed a deposit and three months’ rent in cash. The landlord left the key under a mat by the back door. We’re tracing the call from his end, and all we know so far is that it was local. He thinks she was calling from a pay phone because of the traffic in the background.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“On what, Ms. Malloy? He put the cash in his bank account, and threw the envelope and note away. No car of unknown ownership has been found in the area. Our lab guys will try to pull up some prints from the exterior doorknobs, but even if they find a decent one, it’ll have to match one in a data bank. Maybe someone will report a missing person, and we’ll be able to identify her by whatever the autopsy indicates. It won’t be much, though. Height, gender, a ballpark estimate of age, old fractures. Dental records, if they exist.” He shrugged, then surprised me with a wry smile. “I asked Mrs. Jorgeson about the green substance on your face. She herself doesn’t care for that sort of thing, but she was kind enough to explain it for me. There are certain female rituals that are difficult for men to understand.”

He was chuckling as he left. I was annoyed at his minor display of chauvinistic superiority, but decided to forget about it since he had allowed me to avoid questioning at the police department. Peter would have been more than appalled if I’d been paraded into the building for the entertainment of the night shift. At least the written reports would be dry recitations riddled with poor grammar and misspelled words. It occurred to me that it might be prudent to assist the detectives in their investigation in hopes the whole matter would be resolved quickly.

Regrettably, I didn’t know any more than Jorgeson. He was on his way to round up whichever of the fairies he could find on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Instead of following in his wake, I could let Caron and Inez handle it. Rhonda Maguire was their nemesis, but some of the other cheerleaders could be wheedled into describing the dance lesson. Not that a physical description would be useful, I thought, since it didn’t really matter. Angie might have said something about her past, however, that would explain where she’d lived previously and why she’d moved to Farberville. Or why she’d bothered to call Lanya if she didn’t want to meet the local members.

Edward had not lived in Farberville long enough to be in the telephone directory. I called information, but his name was not listed. The college information operator assured me his name was not in the student directory. There was no point in trying the art department office on a Sunday afternoon. He’d said he lived close enough to bicycle to the campus, which meant nothing. Neighborhoods like mine ringed the campus for blocks.

Obviously, I could have called Sergeant Jorgeson and told him I’d just remembered that I might have seen Edward on Angle’s porch. I’d have to do it eventually, no matter what. I wanted to talk to Edward first, though, and get the paternity issue resolved quietly. Whatever had happened between Carlton and Edward’s mother did not need to be dragged into the investigation. Gossip was staple fare in Farberville. Caron would be mortified if her half brother (aka, the guy in purple tights) became the topic of conversation at the high school, the mall, and the pizza places. I would be no happier about it, but she was the one who would be bombarded with catty questions and snarky comments.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be,” I muttered as I put the crossword puzzle in a drawer for future consideration. I spotted the file Fiona had given me and found the schedule of events to be performed on the portico. Tomorrow I could expect musicians and dancing fairies. I hoped they’d attained some level of proficiency in their class with Angie. On Wednesday, the dank and steamy knights returned to do battle. This time perhaps Madam Marsilia d’Anjou would seize the opportunity to peddle her hot cross buns.

Since business was nonexistent, I locked the store and went out to my car. Caron and Inez would need the car to go to the theater for the performance, but not for a couple of hours. I decided to drive to Salvador’s and ask him if he knew how to get in touch with Edward. That, and find out why he’d sounded so urgent the previous night.

I still had his written instructions in my purse. Without treacherous Luanne’s navigating skills, it took me nearly twenty minutes to find his house. It was larger than I’d realized, with the second story extending over the carport. The only car in sight was the Lamborghni in the carport, glittering as though it had been freshly waxed.

I pulled up the driveway and stopped. I ran my fingers through my hair, and would have checked my lipstick had I been wearing any. After all, I was nothing more than a disinterested party. I rang the doorbell and waited, growing uneasier as each second passed. I was about to leave when the door opened.

Serengeti stared at me.

Chapter Seven

I
n full sunlight, Serengeti looked even more garish. Her complexion was grayish white, either from the theatrical makeup or entirely too much time lying in a coffin during the day. Untamed black hair kept her features in shadows. Her dark eyes were heavily outlined in black, as were her lips. I tried to imagine her sitting at the family dining table with doting parents and genial relatives, while small cousins climbed in her lap. The image eluded me.

“Hi,” I managed to say. “I came by to see Salvador. Is he here?”

“I don’t like it when people ask me that.” Leaving the door open, she silently faded into the interior of the house.

I licked my lips, then ventured into the living room. There was no sign of her, or of anyone else. It could have been a room in an art gallery, if said gallery also served as a funeral home for the Addams family. I continued through the dining room, saw Salvador through the sliding doors, and went out to the deck. Newspaper sections were piled sloppily on the floor next to his chair, and a cigar smoldered in an ashtray on a nearby table. As I opened the door, he turned around and smiled.