Swept Up (11 page)

“What’s a sporran?” he asked.

I could hear the trepidation in his voice.  And while I loved the man like crazy, I will confess, I did sort of enjoy picking on him more than might be considered seemly.

“That little purse guys wear over their,” I gestured at the bodily region the sporran covered.

“A man purse?”

“A man purse that tends to sit right.…”  I graphically pointed this time.

“I take back what I said.  Clothes do matter.  Let’s just elope.  You can wear jeans and your Mac’Cleaner’s sweatshirt.  I’ll wear the same, too for that matter.”

“It’s too late, buddy.  Mom, Tiny and Peri have their little fingers in this particular wedding cake.  There’s nothing we can do.  Honey’s already planning our menu.”

“I think I’m going to have to wear my family’s traditional wedding garb,” he said.

“Parker is English.  Your mom was a Baeur.  You want to wear lederhosen?”

He sighed.  “No.”

“Mom will be thrilled you decided to embrace our family tradition.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.

“No.  But hey, if I have to suffer, I think you should, too.”

“I think we’re going to have to have a serious talk about what kind of wedding we want.”

I hugged him.  “Don’t tell my mom, Tiny or Peri, but the only thing that really matters to me is that you’re there.”

“Me, too,” he said sweetly.  But I couldn’t miss the fact that he mumbled, “But it would be nice if I didn’t have to wear a kilt.

Chapter Eight

On Saturday, I decided to wear black to Mellie’s memorial service.  I sucked in my stomach as I looked at myself in the mirror and immediately felt vain that something like my baby pooch should bother me when I was on the way to a funeral.

Then I felt worse because I was wearing black to Mellie’s funeral. 

I didn’t know her well, and what I did know I didn’t like.  So looking like I was in mourning made me feel disingenuous. 

But I decided to keep the black dress on.  I might not have liked Mellie, but I didn’t wish her dead, so I could mourn the fact that someone lost their life too soon.  I guess I was mourning the fact that she’d never have a chance to be the person she could have been.

I was mourning the loss of her potential.

I felt a bit less fake as I walked out into the living room and found Cal in a dark, navy suit.

“You look nice,” I told him.

“So do you,” he said. 

Now most of the time if either of us said something like that, we’d have done that particular little eyebrow wiggle that indicated how we’d like to celebrate our looking-niceness.  But we were both somber because it was a funeral.  There was no eyebrow wiggling.  No suggestive looks or comments.

We were a somber duo as we headed out to the memorial.

“Charlie called and interviewed all three boys.  They didn’t have anything to share with him.  Neither did my family or Lottie.”  I voiced my inner fear.  “We’re not getting anywhere, Cal.”

“We’ll figure it out, Quincy. It hasn’t even been a week.”

“Almost.  Last week at this time we were getting ready for the Morties.  I was so excited.  I know they always say it’s an honor to simply be nominated, and it’s so true…it was.  I kept wanting to pinch myself.”

“I know.”

I was quiet, mulling and then said, “Peri said they released the crime scene.  She and Jerome are moving back into the house today.”

“That’s good.”

“Cal, Peri said my Mortie will be there.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it, it even if it wasn’t mine, but rather Sean’s Mortie they found with Mellie.”

“Quincy,” Cal said.  Just my name.  But I could hear his love and support in it.

“It doesn’t seem right to put it on the shelf.”

“You might not want to display it right away, but you will.”

I didn’t know about that.

The church was a sea of blacks, grays
, and dark blue, but I didn’t see anyone crying. 

That was a sad legacy.  When I died, I’d like people to say I’d had a good life, but I wouldn’t mind a tear or two.

As the minister gave his eulogy, I looked through the audience.  People from
Steamed
, as well as other industry people, filled the seats.

Cilla and Dylan sat a few rows away from us.  She leaned into him.  I took it as a sign that
all was well between them.

Shia sat with her father.  He had his arm draped over her shoulder.

I noticed that Jonas wasn’t sitting anywhere near her.  He was on the other side of the church, sitting with Vinny Weindorf, who’d played Sal.  I hadn’t talked to Vinny.  He hadn’t been at the party, so I was sure he hadn’t seen anything that night, but he’d been on set with her.  He might have seen something there.

I’d track him down at the wake.

My agent, Deanne, was there.  I wondered how she knew Mellie.  Of course, she’d been in the industry for years.  She knew most everyone, and those she didn’t know personally she knew of.

No one other than the minister said any words.

I felt bad about that, too.

When the minister finished, everyone left quietly, orderly and quickly.  There was no lingering, no hugs of comfort. 

The wake was at Le Celebre Hotel…in the small ballroom.  Honey’s
Psst
was catering.  She pulled me aside as we entered.  “Quincy, I heard a bit of gossip.  Normally, I wouldn’t pass it on, but given that Mellie is dead, and knowing you won’t say anything to anyone else….”

She left the sentence hanging, as if waiting for me to confirm that I wouldn’t, so I nodded.

“Mellie had just broken up with someone and broken up meanly.  Rumor has it that she had thought he’d cast her in his next show, and what he did was cast her aside.”

“Then he broke up with her?”
I asked.

“Well, first, but she broke up second in a very public venue,” Honey said.

“Where?”

“Here, at the hotel.  He was meeting with someone and she walked up to the table, dumped a glass of red wine on him, then said some horrible, emasculating things and told him they were over.  He tried to protest that he’d already said as much.  And….”

“And?” I prompted.

“And the rumor said that her parting words were, ‘
The only way anyone will ever break up with me is over my dead body
.’”

“Oh,” I said.  I k
now, it wasn’t a very detectivey sounding response, but I’m not a detective.  I don’t even play on TV.

“You didn’t say who the red-wine-wearing person was.”  I realized that this wasn’t a good sign.  There was a very good chance that whoever she said was going to be someone that I knew.  And I had a sinking feeling that the fact she hadn’t said meant I wasn’t going to be happy about it.

“Dick.”

“Pardon?”  She couldn’t mean who I thought she meant.

“Dick Macy.  Your friend.  Your mentor.”

“Dick and Mellie?”  I didn’t see it.  I couldn’t see it.  Dick had dated a few women since we’d met.  Nice women.  Normal women.  Mellie was neither.

“Quincy, I didn’t see any of this for myself.  It was a few weeks back and one of my staff mentioned it because she knows we’re friends and she’s a fan.  She recognized Mellie, but she didn’t know the man’s name.  After she heard the news reports, she looked up the receipt and it the meal was charged to Richard Macy’s card.”

Dick had come over.  We’d talked.  He’d asked about the investigation, but he’d never said a word about this.

“Quincy, I’m sorry, but I thought you should know.”

“You were right to tell me, Honey.”

“I don’t think it means anything,” she said.  “I’ve met Dick.  He’s a nice guy. He’s started coming here on occasion.  He always compliments the chef.”

“He is a nice guy.”  But I’d learned from a lot from my television series addiction. 

Sometimes nice guys did it.

I felt horrible.  Guilty before the fact, because I knew immediately that I wasn’t gong to say anything about Honey’s rumor to Cal.  It was just a rumor.  I’d ask Dick about it and he’d laugh it off.  He’d have some logical explanation, I was sure.

“You okay?” Cal asked when I rejoined him. 

I nodded, but the fact I’d decided not to tell him about Dick weighed on me.  I felt sick with the silence.

“Let’s make the rounds and see if anyone has remembered anything, or inadvertently says something.”

And we did.  We circled around the room.

No one said anything incriminating.  The thing that stood out for me the most was how no one said much about Mellie period.

Most wakes I’d gone to, people shared memories and stories of the deceased.  This time they spoke about anything but.

I bumped into Sean, whose Mor
tie for best director of a made-for-television movie had been clutched by Mellie’s dead hands.  I’d called him twice, hoping to talk to him, but he hadn’t returned my calls.  I spotted him in the corner and glanced at Cal, who saw him, too.  We both meandered in his direction.

“Hi, Sean.  You remember my fiancé, Cal, right?”

He thrust out his hand and the men shook. 

“You okay?”
I asked.

“I know you called me to ask me about Mellie.  The cops have been all over me, too.  I’ll tell you what I told them.  I didn’t have an affair with her.  I’d left the Mortie up in the room when I’d changed out of my tux and into jeans.  I didn’t do it, I don’t know who did do it.
Sure, she was a pain in the
butt
.”  He didn’t say butt, but I’d made a practice of editing swearwords from my head and my mouth for years.  I substituted without thinking.

“But Quincy, I’ve worked with bigger pains over the years.  She never hit on me, and I can assure you that I’d never hit on her.  She was decidedly not my type.”

I’d met Sean’s wife.  She was a small bundle of energy with a huge smile.  I’d liked her instantly, so I had to agree, Mellie wouldn’t have been his type.

“Why didn’t you return my calls?” I asked.

“Honestly?”

Cal gave him a cop look.  “Honestly.”

“I loved
Steamed
, and I’m hoping to work on
Dusted
.  But you’re not a cop.  I’d rather leave the investigation up to the actual police.”

He shot Cal a nervous look.  “I know you’re a cop, but the other Detective said you’re taking personal time to keep an eye on Quincy.”

“Hey, Cal took time off to work with me,” I said, though I knew Sean was right…he was watching out for me more than detecting.

The men gave each other a look, but didn’t include me in it.  “I don’t need looking after, I
just needed you to call me back,” I insisted.

“There’s one more reason I didn’t call you back,” Sean said.  “I seriously don’t want to end up in your next script.  I’m a behind the camera guy, not a character.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.  “Yeah, I get that.”

“So, you’re not going to demand I don’t direct
Dusted
?” he asked.

“No, if everything works out, I’d ask for you to direct again, not that what I say goes.”

I could see him visibly relax.  “Thanks. I told that Detective Randolph I’d left my Mortie in my bag upstairs.  I didn’t like Mellie—no one did—and I was thankful her character wouldn’t be in
Dusted
.  Like I said, she hadn’t hit on me, and I certainly didn’t hit on her.  I think my Mortie being there was just lucky happenstance for the murderer.  It’s not like everyone and their brother doesn’t know that there was a Mortie involved with
Steamed
.”

I nodded.  “Okay.”

Sean looked at Cal, who nodded as well.

“It was my first Mortie,” Sean said.  “I’m not sure what to do with it, and I feel awful for feeling awful it was involved.”

“Don’t feel bad.  I asked if it was mine.”  That wasn’t my proudest moment.

“You did?” he asked.

I nodded.  “I did.  And even though it wasn’t, mine feels…tainted.”

“That makes me feel better,” Sean said.  He beat a hasty retreat.  I think he was still nervous about annoying me.

Cal and I continued through the room.  No one said anything else of interest.  A few people got a bit tipsy.  A few more got more than just a bit.  The
few-more
included some guy I’d never met and Shia, who was happily sitting on his lap…when she wasn’t practically sliding off it.

Dylan wobbled as he came over with Cilla.

They both had happy drunk expressions on their faces.

“Do I need to take your keys?” I teased.

“Maybe his but not mine,” Cilla assured me and they both laughed.

It took a moment for me to realize what she was saying.  Cal, ever the detective, got there sooner.  “So the argument was a moot point.”

“The mootest.  And she’s the cutest,” Dylan quipped.

“Nothing’s certain.  I peed on one of those early response tests.  There’s a lot that could go wrong and….” Cilla started.

Dylan wrapped her in his arms.  “Nothing’s going wrong, babe.  It’s all smooth sailing for us.”

She rolled her eyes in his direction, though she was still grinning.  “Dylan is obviously planning to take advantage of having a designated driver for a few months.”

“Just tonight,” he said.

“It makes me sad in a way.”  Cilla sighed.

“Why?” I asked.

“Sitting at the funeral I couldn’t help but feel sad.  I mean, I didn’t like Mellie, but her death was a waste.  Maybe if she’d met the right man, she’d have become a better person.  She’ll never have that chance now.  She’ll never have the chance to find someone who would mourn her.  Did you notice there was no family here? That’s sad.”

“She didn’t have anyone,” I said.  It was one of the facts I’d gleaned from NMD and other media sites.  “It was just her and her mom, and her mom’s dead.”

“That’s even sadder,” Cilla said. 

Cilla and Dylan swore us to secrecy, and I told her to call if she had questions.  I didn’t mention it, but if
Dusted
sold and she was back at Quincy, having had a baby would lend a bit of authenticity to the role.

I thought about checking on Shia, since she was obviously so drunk, but I saw her father leading her out of the ballroom and knew she had a way home.