Damsels in Distress (28 page)

“Oh, all right,” she said sulkily. She stalked out of the room and down the hall, muttering to herself.

I wasn’t sure that she might not climb out a window and continue on her way, but I heard the sound of water running in a sink. It might take her a long time to remove the heavy greasepaint, eyeliner, magenta lipstick, and mascara, I thought with a sigh, and it was past the middle of the afternoon. Peter was likely to be looking for me. As Benny had pointed out earlier, my car was visible in the carport. I needed to concoct a reasonable explanation for being in the victim’s house, although nothing came to mind. I wondered if I could claim that I was worried about Edward, who might have come to brood about his father’s death. Admittedly, it was feeble.

Serengeti came back into the dining room. “Well?”

I stared at her. She was older than I’d suspected, at least in her late thirties. With her hair pulled back, gray hairs were visible. More disconcertingly, she had a puckered white scar that ran from the outer corner of one eye to her jaw. The cheek sagged, as if muscles had been permanently damaged. “Satisfied?” she asked as she poured herself a glass of wine. Smirking at my expression, she leaned against the edge of the table and looked down at me. “I got that from a guy who attacked me when I was walking home from a bar. He was angry because I owed him a lot of money. I was scared to report it to the police, since he was my supplier. The perils of dealing with the scum of the earth.”

“So it seems,” I said.

“If people are going to laugh at me, I’d just as soon give them something really worth the effort. I considered becoming a mime, but they’re pathetic. Goths make people uncomfortable. That’s more my style.”

“Did you go to goth school?”

She looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “Sure, it was an elective in high school.”

“Oh.” I took a sip of wine. “Let’s talk about Salvador and this house. Do you live here?”

“I do now, but I suppose I’d better clear out until the police finish with it. After that, I’ll move back in. Don’t bother to ask me if I have a key. I borrowed Salvador’s and had a copy made. He was very sloppy about leaving things like that lying around in plain view. I could count on enough loose change for coffee at the café. I never took any real money, although I could have.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“Wherever I choose. I keep my things in a box in the room above the garage. I was worried that you might start opening them. That vulgar man arrived before I could create a diversion. He’s such a cocky creep. It will be a pleasure to make him squirm.”

I frowned at her. “You’re going to make him squirm?”

“Don’t underestimate me.” She parted her lips and hissed. “I know how to take care of myself.”

“I agree that he’s vulgar,” I said uneasily. “He wasn’t very fond of Salvador, either. Why do you suppose he came here?”

“I really don’t know,” she said. She examined her fingernails, which gleamed like ebony talons. “I didn’t care for any of those silly people. So pretentious and full of themselves, just like Salvador. Whenever Lanya came over, she’d insist on cooking some disgusting casserole to go with her freshly baked loaf of seventy-six-grain bread. I gagged when I tasted some of her concoctions. As soon as she left, Salvador dumped all of it in the garbage.”

“You’re avoiding the issue, Serengeti. Why are you here?”

“Don’t you think that’s an impertinent question? Why are
you
here?” she replied coolly.

I toyed with the glass of wine. I was clearly losing control of the conversation, which was not my nature after sixteen years of dealing with my daughter. “I came to see if I could find information about Salvador’s next of kin. And you?”

“Ironies of ironies; all is ironies.” She giggled rather shrilly. “I’m Salvador’s favorite model. The first time I showed up at his door, he knew he had to have me. He smiles to himself when he sketches my body. He begs me to stay whenever I tell him that I’m too bored to pose any longer. His eyes dwell on my breasts and buttocks. He needs and desires me, but he’s afraid that I’ll run away if he so much as touches me. I’ve warned him not to even try. I like to make him suffer. Sometimes when he’s sleeping, I go stand beside his bed and poison his dreams. I move things in his cabinets so he’ll worry that he’s becoming forgetful.”

“He’s dead,” I said softly.

“There is that.” She raised her glass. “Shall we drink a toast to him?”

This was becoming too macabre for my taste. “I don’t think so, Serengeti. If this is all you’re going to say, then I’d better go home.”

“He needed me, and now he’s made me famous,” she continued, her tongue licking the corner of her mouth as if she were a satiated predator. “Therein lies the irony. He won’t be around to see it happen. I was going to tell him, you know, but I wanted to wait for the perfect moment to humiliate him in the same way he humiliated me. He was such a swine. He deserved to be punished.”

“He’s made you famous?” I asked. “I doubt his paintings are all that well known.”

She giggled again. “Painting was his hobby. He liked to fancy himself a prestigious artist, but he never sold anything or had a show. Who’d want to buy his crap? Fans, maybe. Now that’s a thought…We might be able to get quite a lot of money for them, just because he signed them. I must make a note of that. Fans will buy the most gawd-awful things.”

“His fans?” I no longer had any desire to leave. Serengeti was quite a talker; her pose as a nonverbal goth must have required a great deal of self-discipline. “Who are his fans? He made them sound like teenagers.”

“Those are the ones who show up in public, dressed in costumes and waving plastic weapons at each other. His older readers stay in the closet, quietly collecting his work and driving up the prices. First printings in mint condition sell for upwards of ten thousand dollars. Of course he took great care to write under a pseudonym in order to protect his privacy.”

“What exactly did he write?” I asked ever so casually. “Porn?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “Do you think I’d allow myself to be portrayed in sleazy work like that? I have standards, just like everybody else. I am Queen Zanthra, leader of the glorious goth nation! I allow men to seduce me, but when my carnal pleasures are fulfilled, I cut off their heads and rip out their entrails. Only one brave warrior eludes my cunning game. One day he will weaken, and I’ll pounce on him like a sleek leopard. His head will be displayed on a stake in the middle of my compound deep in the forest.”

“By any chance, would that be Lord Zormurd?”

“He is clever, but he will not escape his fate.” Scowling, she banged her fist on the table with enough fury to slosh wine out of her glass. “He is no match for Queen Zanthra!”

My mouth felt dry. “No, he’s not,” I said soothingly. “Queen Zanthra is more clever and more devious than any mere man. I’d like to read all about you.”

Serengeti shrugged. “No, Salvador only sent it off a few weeks ago. It ought to be out in six months or so.” She stopped as someone rang the doorbell. “Wait here, Claire. I’ll be right back.”

I held my breath as she opened the front door. After a moment, she said, “No, I’m the housekeeper. Salvador’s dead, in case you haven’t heard. Someone bashed in his head with a battle-ax. I understand it was very bloody. It didn’t happen here, so there’s no reason for you to come inside.”

An argument ensued as Serengeti tried to hold down the compound. To my regret, I recognized Sergeant Jorgeson’s voice politely insisting that they were coming inside all the same. There was no point in ducking out the door to the deck, since the evidence of my presence was parked in the carport.

“Why, if it isn’t Ms. Malloy,” Jorgeson said as he came into the dining room. “We seem to bump into each other in the oddest places.”

“I came looking for Edward. I was worried about his mental state. He was devastated this morning, and capable of almost anything.”

“Not bad,” Jorgeson murmured, “but surely not one of your better fabrications. Would you care to try again?”

I shook my head. “It’s about time you got around to searching the victim’s house. Aren’t you supposed to attempt to locate the next of kin as quickly as possible?”

“A uniformed officer came by earlier, and reported that we needed a locksmith. Our specialist is off for the weekend on a fishing trip. It took a while to find someone else to open the desk and file cabinet drawers. I presume you’ve already tried.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I was trying to be helpful by making sure no unauthorized person or persons had access to the studio. That’s what good citizens do. Now that you have the situation under control, I’ll run along. I have a dinner date.”

“Lieutenant Rosen’s supervising the interrogations of approximately four hundred of the people who attended the Renaissance Fair yesterday. He’ll probably be at the department past midnight. You might want to cancel your dinner reservation, Ms. Malloy.”

“An excellent idea, Jorgeson. I’ll go straight home and call the restaurant.” I breezed past him, and by a couple of uniformed men gaping at Serengeti. There were no vehicles blocking the driveway. I backed down carefully, then drove away as quickly as I dared. And found myself in a cul-de-sac. Benny’s story about driving by and noticing my car was absurd, unless he lived in one of the houses on the same street. I suspected he did not.

The telephone was ringing when I arrived home. Afraid that it might be Peter, I went into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and took a bath to wash away the dust from the storeroom. I dearly hoped Jorgeson was correct in his opinion that Peter would be at the police department until midnight. Caron and Inez had not returned. If I was lucky, they would spend the night at Inez’s house and I would be left alone to consider what Serengeti had told me.

I called the restaurant, then settled down on the sofa with a notebook. Lord Zormurd was a fictional character, as was Queen Zanthra. Salvador had boxes of old comic books from his childhood. Some of the boxes might contain newer ones—ones written and illustrated by himself. There was a trade term for that sort of action comic book, but I couldn’t remember what it was. He hid behind a pseudonym to keep fans like Dazia and Honshi from tracking him down, but he may have also done so to protect his reputation. It was certainly more dignified to pose as a serious painter than as a comic book writer. A noncomical comic book, along the lines of the venerable Prince Valiant comic strip I’d never bothered to read.

I wasn’t meddling, I reminded myself. I felt as if I owed it to Edward to identify his father’s killer. If there were no other heirs, he would receive a hefty estate that included money, a pricy car,and a house with a studio. Even if he were unaware of the true situation and naively assumed Salvador’s paintings were valuable, would that give him an adequate motive for murder? Wouldn’t it have been wiser to allow Salvador to openly acknowledge paternity and bide his time?

My thoughts continued to flounder until dark. The telephone rang periodically, but I ignored it. When the doorbell rang, I was tempted to ignore it as well, but I grudgingly went downstairs. Fiona was standing in the glow from the porch light, wearing jeans and a faded sweatshirt. Her face was pale, and she looked as though she needed sleep.

“Fiona?” I said as I opened the door. “Are you okay?”

“May I come in, if it’s not an imposition?”

“Sure,” I said. I was surprised by her timid demeanor. She did not look capable of squelching a classroom of noisy teenagers or arguing with her elderly compatriots in the teachers’ lounge. She looked more like a freshman on the first day of class, unable to find her locker in the chaotic hallway. “I live in the upstairs apartment.”

She followed me to the living room. “This is very nice. Have you lived here long?”

“Quite a few years. Shall I make tea?”

“That would be lovely. With milk and sugar, please. I don’t think I’ve had anything all day. It took forever to get things packed up at the fairgrounds this morning. When I finally dragged home, I couldn’t bear to just sit there. I’ve been walking for hours. When I came around the corner, I remembered your address. Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?”

“No, not at all.” I went into the kitchen, started the kettle, and made some sandwiches. Caron and Inez had missed a package of cookies, so I put several on a plate. When I returned with a tray, she was looking out the window at the campus. “Come sit down and have something to eat,” I said.

She gave me a blank look but obediently sat on the sofa and accepted a cup of tea. “This is kind of you, Claire. I know I’ve behaved badly in the past, and I want to apologize for it. I thought the Renaissance Fair would be a lighthearted affair. Music, entertainment for all ages, pageantry, colors, gaiety.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Then everything went wrong. I’m the one who’ll be blamed, since it was all my idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I said, attempting to sound sincere. “Except for that…ah, unfortunate incident, everyone had a good time.”

“Principal Kirkpatrick was there. He said to see him in his office tomorrow to talk about the pirates. Julius barely spoke to me today while we were supervising the removal of the tents and all. According to Anderson, Lanya’s still locked in her bedroom. And, of course, Salvador’s dead. I overheard the students talking about how horrible the scene was. Bloodstains on the ground. The back of his head. That awful ax lying near him. How could anyone do something as terrible as that? Salvador didn’t have any enemies. Well, he wasn’t always nice, but that’s hardly a reason for someone to kill him.” She set down the cup and dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “It’s all my fault. All of it.”

“It’s not all your fault,” I said. “How could you have known someone would—do that to Salvador?”

“I wish Edward had never come here!”

I must admit I was startled by the incongruity of her bitter remark. “You believe that Edward killed Salvador?”

She picked the crust off a sandwich while she thought. “No, not really. I shouldn’t have said that. Did he tell you before the fair that he thought Salvador was his father?”