Double Shot

“Rainbow Men’s Club.” Just what I needed.

“Hello, Goldy? It’s Sandee. Whatcha doin’?”

“Not much, Sandee. What are you doing?”

She giggled. “Gettin’ ready to take my clothes off. Listen, your friend Marla called me. She wanted to give me a ride to, you know, John Richard’s funeral tomorrow. My boyfriend’s, like, jealous, and I’m afraid to just leave. If I tell him I’m going to a church meeting with a friend, that ought to work.”

“Sandee.” My voice faltered. I wanted to scream, If you would just tell him the truth? Maybe ya’d get along better with him? “Sandee…I know he’s the jealous type. He beat up that bald guy who was paying attention to you in the club.”

“Whoops!” Her voice sounded gleeful.

“And he was watching you and John Richard at Dr. Kerr’s funeral lunch on Tuesday.”

“He wuz? That prick!”

“So,” I said with as much calm as I could muster, “what do you suppose the chances are that Bobby followed the two of you back to John Richard’s house and then Bobby shot John Richard?”

“Gosh, I don’t know!”

“Sandee! Does your boyfriend own a gun?”

“He used to. But he lost it.”

Wait a minute. “What kind of gun did he lose, Sandee?”

“Ruger? Does that sound right?”

“What caliber was the Ruger?”

“Isn’t Kaliber a beer?”

“When did he lose the gun?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did he say he lost it?”

She sighed. “I mean it. I don’t know. His elevator doesn’t exactly go to the top floor, ya know?”

“Where is he now?”

“Now?”

I rubbed my forehead. Talking to an actual parrot would have been easier. What had John Richard seen in her? Not her brains, clearly. “Yes, Sandee,” I replied. “Now.”

“Practicing with the band? At the house? They’re going on tour next week. Well, I keep telling him, this isn’t really a tour, man—”

“Where’s the house, Sandee?”

“What house?”

“The house where Bobby is practicing.”

“Oh, 2468 Ponderosa Pass. He won’t let me practice with them. If he’s so jealous, I keep asking him, how come he won’t take me with them? You know, Nashville Bobby and the Boys, Plus the Girl with the Boobs? But he says—”

Blackridge knocked on my window and I flinched.

“I have to go, Sandee.”

“Wait a sec! So did they get to Dr. Korman’s house? Tell those cops I want my stuff back!”

I signed off and rolled down the window.

Blackridge said, “We’ve got a team canvassing the neighbors, seeing if anyone caught a better look at the two guys who made the mess inside. Also, your son will be here shortly.”

“Wait. You know Sandee Blue, the stripper? She just called me.” Blackridge’s face became impassive, so I rushed on: “She just told me her jealous boyfriend Bobby had a Ruger, and supposedly lost it.”

“You and Sandee talk about weapons?” Blackridge asked.

I flushed. “Not really. I just thought I should pass on what she said.” I gave him the address on Ponderosa Pass while he scribbled.

“Got it, Mrs. Schulz. This is very interesting. Thanks.” Was that a wee crack in Blackridge’s attitude toward me?

“What about the strip club Sandee works at?” I asked. I had to be careful, because I didn’t want to press my luck with Blackridge, and I certainly didn’t want to give away Marla’s and my visit to the Rainbow. “Did you ever link that club to anything?”

“Not yet,” he said. To my astonishment, Blackridge actually smiled at me before sauntering back to his vehicle.

I rolled the window back up and stared out at the gleaming gravel. Then I nabbed my cell and punched in the Mountain Journal office. It was past five, the sun was sliding toward the western mountains, and it was unlikely anyone would be there. But I was so used to Frances Markasian calling and demanding information that I thought it was time to give her—or her voice mail—a bit of her own medicine. And anyway, I couldn’t bear to sit in this van and worry about Bobby Calhoun and his gun.

“Markasian,” she answered.

I smiled in spite of myself. “Ask not what Goldy can do for you,” I said. “Ask what you can do for—”

“Cut the crap, Goldy. I don’t know what happened to Cecelia Brisbane.”

“But you’ve got a theory, surely.”

“Don’t call me Shirley. Hold on a sec.”

I sighed and looked out the window. The moon, a large, pale disk in the blue haze, was rising in the east. Birds still chirped in the trees, a sure sign we were a long way from the dark of night. I knew I shouldn’t keep looking up at John Richard’s house, but I did anyway. What did I feel? Nothing. Maybe that was denial. I knew guilt was hovering, waiting to pounce, but I wasn’t feeling it at the moment. How many times had I wished him dead? Uncountable. But I was feeling neither guilt nor joy. Really, what I felt was numb. I shook my head in disbelief. He’s gone.

And what had been going on with him, anyway? I didn’t just mean with whatever crime or cruelty had gotten him whacked. I meant in general. So charming and yet so mean, he had been a conundrum. And now I was on the phone with a reporter—a sometime friend whose nutty intensity had driven me batty more than once—because I just couldn’t understand John Richard, in life or in death. Worse, his murder had severely strained my relationship with my son. Maybe when this crime was solved, I’d be able to feel again. Maybe I’d be able to live again. Maybe.

“Goldy? You there? Sorry ’bout that. They’ve got a fire up in the preserve.”

“I know, I heard. How big is it now?”

“Eleven hundred acres. They think it’ll be contained by morning.” She sighed. “I still don’t know anything about Cecelia. Can you tell me something?”

“I wish I could. But she turned up dead just a couple of days after I found my dead ex-husband. Can’t you give me some help? Any help? Please?”

“You think the two deaths are connected?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that having the two occur so close together is more than weird.”

“Have you got anything to trade for it?”

I took a deep breath. Was it worth it? I had to take the risk. “I’ll tell you, but you absolutely, positively cannot come over here now.”

“Where’s here?”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah. Spill.”

“John Richard’s house was broken into this afternoon. Ransacked. The cops have got me over here now to go through it, see if anything is missing.” I omitted any mention of Arch.

“Holy cow. When can I come over?”

“You can’t. Just start bugging the cops in about two hours with your ‘Do you confirm or deny’ questions. If you’re pressed, say a neighbor phoned you. Now tell me what you know.”

“Okay, Goldy. Thanks for the tip. First of all, Cecelia Brisbane was extremely unhappy—”