Love Game (26 page)

“You know, Spencer, you’ve always been a mystery to me.”

He smirked. “I get that a lot.”

“But the mystery is solved. I know exactly what you think of me.”

Spencer’s eyes grew enormous. “Of you?”

I went back to the car, and Spencer followed on my heels.

“Were we talking about you?” he asked, concerned. “Take me home.”

“What do you mean, what I think of you?”

“I’m in a hurry, Spencer. Luanda is coming over to point her finger at the murderer.”

“I might have misunderstood,” he said, and ran around the car, sat in the driver’s seat, and put his key in the ignition. “Really, I think I missed some of our conversation. Can we recap?”

“Drive,” I said.

GRANDMA MET
us in the driveway in her best Vera Wang knockoff and Jimmy Choos. “Get in quick,” she urged us. “I need help setting up. They’re about to invade.”

“Who’s invading?” I asked.

“Everybody. The phony baloney told everyone to come.” She pointed at Spencer. “She said you would arrest them if they didn’t come.”

“What did you mean, think of you?” Spencer asked me, as we entered the house.

We set up the folding chairs in the parlor and were
putting chips and dip on the coffee table when Lucy and Bridget arrived.

Lucy studied Spencer. “I heard you got pastried, darlin’,” she said. “I heard you almost choked to death from icing up your nose. Did Gladie give you that shiner with a cupcake?”

“No, Remington gave him that last night,” I said.

“Spencer, may I see you privately about sex talk?” Bridget asked Spencer.

“Uh,” he said. Spencer looked around, as if he was searching for a means of escape, but when Bridget beckoned him to follow her to another room, he went.

“You’ll never guess who called me,” Lucy said when we were alone. I thought I could guess pretty easily, but I let her tell me. “Uncle Harry asked me out for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

After one phone call, Lucy was back to her normal self. Gone was the panic-stricken, anxiety-ridden Lucy, and in her place was the put-together Lucy I was used to. Something told me Ruth no longer had to fear when Lucy was behind the wheel. She would never drive through Tea Time again.

Grandma walked in, carrying a plate of brownies. “Meryl dropped these off on her way to the dermatologist to get her skin tags removed,” she explained. “She was sorry she was going to miss the show.”

“Very nice of her,” Lucy said, taking a brownie. “Who else is coming, Zelda?”

“The new detective just parked around the corner, and the entire team from the panic rooms is walking up the driveway right now,” she said, putting the
plate of brownies next to the bowl of guacamole. “All except Ruth. She told Luanda to get stuffed.”

“I heard that four of her disgruntled clients chased her down the street today,” Lucy told us.

“It’s only the beginning,” Grandma said. “I feel sorry for her.”

“She almost destroyed your business, Grandma.”

“That’s true, but her future is dicey, dolly. You know what Luanda needs? Love.”

I thought Luanda needed a prescription for a good antipsychotic.

While Grandma welcomed Mrs. Arbuthnot, Mavis, and Felicia, I made myself small in the corner. I wasn’t feeling the love from them lately, and I didn’t want to try to make polite chitchat.

Next up was Detective Remington Cumberbatch, who was even more massive in Grandma’s old parlor. He nodded to the ladies and took a place standing next to me in the corner. Heat wafted off his body in waves, hitting me right in the pelvis.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him. After all, he had spent the last evening in the cage.

He smiled in answer. Remington was a man of few words. He didn’t need them. His biceps did all the talking.

Luanda floated in next. She had changed her clothes and was wearing layers of red taffeta and a new crown of feathers on her head.

“I am Luanda—” she announced in her loud singsong voice. “Hey, where is everybody?”

“The two men you invited are on their way,” Grandma said.

The two matchmakers locked eyes. “Zelda Burger,”
Luanda breathed. “Prepare yourself to be amazed this evening.”

“Luanda, I’m always amazed. I’m amazed right this second, talking to you.”

Luanda seemed pleased by Grandma’s backhanded compliment. She took a seat. It was the first time I had ever seen Luanda relax. She scooped up some guacamole with a chip and took a bite.

Mourning the loss of my cupcakes, I took a brownie and offered Remington one. To my surprise—I had assumed that with his body he never ate anything that tasted good—he took it. We stood in the corner, eating our brownies and waiting for the rest of Luanda’s guests.

“I lead a strange life,” I said.

Spencer returned with Bridget and shot Remington and me a withering look. “Let’s get on with the show,” he ordered. “I have a town to protect and serve.”

As if on command, the two men that Grandma had spoken about, Frank Richmond and Kirk Shields, arrived. Frank was still black and blue and swollen.

Neither of the men looked happy to be there. In fact, the room was full of sourpusses—except for Grandma, who was thrilled to be the number-one matchmaker with a third eye in Cannes once again, and Lucy, who was dreamy-eyed about, I assumed, her impending breakfast with Uncle Harry.

“What the hell, Chief? How dare you threaten us with arrest,” Frank Richmond growled.

“Let’s get this straight: I can threaten you with whatever I want,” Spencer said, taking a brownie. “But I didn’t threaten you with arrest.”

There was an audible cracking noise, as heads
snapped toward Luanda. In response, she rolled her eyes back and woo-woo’d.

“You know, I don’t mind her half as much now,” Lucy said, sidling up next to me.

Frank and Kirk decided to leave and not hear any more woo woos, but Mrs. Arbuthnot convinced them to stay. “Let’s hear her out. Otherwise we’ll never be rid of her,” she said, with her imperious tone and pursed lemon lips.

The guests settled in for the show. Grandma squeezed between Remington and me. “Poor Luanda,” she whispered.

“Poor Luanda has taken in three-hundred-thousand dollars with her PayPal account in the past three days. I’m arresting her after her show,” Remington whispered.

“What?” I asked.

“Fraud,” he explained with a wink. “She’s got a rap sheet longer than my arm. Her real name is Bonnie Ratner.”

“Actually, her real name is Tracy Lewis,” Grandma murmured. “Poor Tracy.”

I knew the look in Grandma’s eye. It was the big-project eye. Grandma’s big projects were legendary. She had completely changed people’s looks, loves, and lives with her big projects.

“You don’t think she’s a lost cause?” I asked Grandma.

“She’s lost, and she’s a cause,” Grandma whispered. “My favorite two things in a match.”

“Michael Rellik, kidnapper and flipper, is here with me now,” Luanda singsonged in her ghosty voice.

“I can’t believe Ruth decided to miss this,” Lucy said. “Zelda, you got any popcorn?”

“Bird is on her way, and she’ll make some,” Grandma said.

“What happened to the juice?” I asked.

“She was going pretty good,” Grandma said. “Grinding vegetables morning, noon, and night. Then she sort of snapped last night at the store. She had her basket of leafy greens at the register and, without thinking, grabbed a kid’s Pop-Tart right out of his hand. It’s been downhill since then.”

“I’ve been there,” I said.

Luanda shushed us.

“Sorry,” I said.

“You go right ahead, Luanda,” Grandma said.

“Tell us what the dolphin wants.”

“Huh?” Luanda asked.

Bridget’s phone rang, and she answered it. “Call me back in a few minutes,” she whispered into the phone. “I understand your love stick is about to blow, but if you can’t hold it that long, so be it.” She clicked off the phone. “Sheesh. Sorry, Luanda. Go ahead.”

Luanda seemed to have lost her train of thought.

“For the love of God,” Mrs. Arbuthnot shouted. “Michael Rellik was talking to you!”

Luanda did a quick woo woo and slipped back into her ghostlike voice. “Michael Rellik is here now,” she announced. “He seeks revenge against his killer.”

A chill went up my spine, and I shuddered.

“He tells a very interesting tale,” Luanda continued. “Of brute strength and murder.”

“Get on with it,” Mrs. Arbuthnot snarled. “I have a meeting to get to tonight.”

“Michael was angry, angry at the world. That’s why he locked us in, but he wasn’t going to hurt us. He had no plans to kill us,” Luanda said.

Frank snorted. “Oh, yeah? Tell that to my face.”

“He shut us in and ran for the hills. What he didn’t know was that his murderer was following him.” Luanda was getting into it now. I had flashbacks to campfire ghost stories from the one summer I’d attended Girl Scout camp.

“Michael Rellik’s attacker chased him through the grove and cornered him at a tree,” she said, her voice rising with the excitement of the story. “Rellik raised his hands to surrender, but his killer was merciless. He took out his gun and shot him three times. Bam! Bam! Bam!”

“Except that he wasn’t shot, and he wasn’t killed in the grove,” Remington whispered to me.

Luanda mimed the murder, clutching at her heart with one hand and raising the other hand to the heavens. “He didn’t die right away. He fought valiantly, clinging to life.” Luanda choked and gasped. “But he could not win in the end against the vile lead invaders. Finally he succumbed and died.”

Luanda’s hands dropped, and her head lolled to the side. After a second, she straightened up and looked around with a bewildered expression on her face, as if she was waiting for her applause.

“You forgot something,” Spencer said. “Michael Rellik’s killer. Who is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Luanda asked.

“Not to me,” Spencer said.

“Detective Remington Cumberbatch, of course,” she said, as if speaking to a kindergartner. “He killed Michael Rellik in cold blood, and he’ll kill again if given the chance.”

TIME STOPPED
in Grandma’s parlor. The oxygen was sucked out of the room from the communal gasp that occurred with Luanda’s bombshell.

Remington seemed to grow taller and stronger, the perceived threat he represented increasing. And he had a gun.

“Don’t just stand there—arrest him, Chief,” Frank Richmond said.

“I’ll help you take him down,” Kirk Shields offered.

To his credit, Remington remained calm and cool and didn’t say or do a thing.

“Detective Cumberbatch didn’t kill Michael Rellik,” Spencer said.

“How do you know? You didn’t interrogate him,” Mrs. Arbuthnot said.

“Detective Cumberbatch,” Spencer said, “did you kill Michael Rellik?”

“Don’t hate me ’cause you ain’t me,” Remington answered.

“What on earth does that mean?” Mavis asked. “It’s slang,” Felicia said knowingly.

“That’s good enough for me,” Spencer said. “Anybody have anything else to add?”

Luanda woo-woo’d.

“Except for her,” Spencer said. “I’m tired of her.”

Grandma cleared her throat. “Gladie has something to add.”

Time stopped again. I choked on my brownie.

“I do?” I squeaked.

“Oh, my God,” Spencer groaned, and raked his fingers through his hair.

Grandma took Luanda’s hand. “Come sit next to me, honey,” she said. She gave me a little push to the center of the room. “Go ahead, dolly, tell them what you know.”

I wondered what I knew. I tapped my forehead. Not much in there. I had some suspicions, however, and if I squidged my eyes they turned into theories.

“I don’t know anything, Grandma.”

“Start at the beginning,” she told me.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “This is your chance, Miss Marple. Start with ‘You may be wondering why I’ve asked you all here.’ ”

I took a deep breath.

“It all started with cupcakes,” I said.

“It always does,” said Lucy.

“Mavis and Felicia are friends who own Cup O’Cake, which is a new shop in town. Really, really delicious, by the way,” I told them with a smile. “And Felicia was nice enough to lend me a book, which Spencer threw into a canyon,” I continued.

“That’s not exactly what happened,” he said, after Felicia shot him a dirty look.

“Anyway, I noticed a stamp in the book from a school in Irvine, and Felicia had told me she used to be a teacher. Mrs. Arbuthnot, it turns out, is also new to Cannes and is related by marriage to Mavis.”