Part 16 (1/2)
”Well, that was a while ago. Mr. Right African-American hasn't shown up yet. And I'm lonely. Don't I deserve somebody to love?”
I looked at her, and for the hundredth time or more, I marveled at this strong, beautiful woman who was my friend. ”Of course you do, Lily. And the boys deserve a dad. Maybe-”
”Never mind.” She set the mug down. ”I don't want to talk about it right now, and I don't want to talk about Aaron anymore either. I said my piece. What I want is some lunch.”
”Eggs?”
”I had eggs hours ago. Let's go out.”
”OK, but someplace cheap.” I kept talking as I went into the bathroom to brush my hair. ”I've got a lot to tell you while we eat.”
It was my morning for breaking things. As I tossed the brush onto a shelf, it caught the corner of the black-and-gold powder compact, sending it cartwheeling to the floor. I grabbed but missed, and it splintered open with a sharp little crackle, releasing an avalanche of tiny identical pills that rolled and slid across the tiles. ”What on earth?”
Lily came to the doorway. ”Did you break someth- Carnegie, what are you doing with those?”
”They're not mine! I don't even know what they are.” I bent down to look. Weirdly, each pill had a minuscule smiley face impressed into one surface. I reached to pick one up, but Lily put out a restraining hand.
”This is serious, Carnegie. If they're not yours, whose are they?”
”The compact belonged to Mercedes Montoya. I picked it up at the party, and then after she died I just kept it. I'm not sure why. What do you mean, serious? What is this stuff?”
”I think it's Ecstasy. I'm going to go call Lieutenant Graham. Don't touch anything.”
Lieutenant Graham, when he arrived, was not a happy man. He didn't seem to mind being called on a Sunday, but he was indignant that I'd ”concealed” an item belonging to a murder victim. He was also skeptical of my ignorance about Ecstasy, and annoyed that I'd been talking to Rick the Rocket, even though my conversation seemed to clear the DJ in Mercedes' death.
”Ecstasy is MDMA,” said Graham, sitting in my living room after bagging up the compact and pills. In a handsome blue fisherman's sweater, snug jeans, and s.h.i.+ny loafers, he was n.o.body's stereotype of a cop. ”It's a neurotoxin, a middle-cla.s.s party drug that makes you feel wonderful while it's destroying some of your brain cells. And half the time it's mixed with something else-MDA, GHB, rohypnol- that's even worse. You see it at raves, clubs, house parties, everywhere. People who should know better go on the Internet and explain how to use it. Manufacturing costs are about two dollars a pill, and then the pills retail for forty or fifty dollars apiece. Quite a valuable stash you've got here.”
”It's not mine, I told you that. It belonged to Mercedes, and she must have gotten it from Rick.”
”Who has now disappeared, by the way. He had a plane reservation for Las Vegas, and never used it.”
”Well, that's not my fault!” My headache was back, and now my stomach was rumbling.
Graham leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked infinitely tired. ”Some people are going to think it is. Some people are already wondering about you. You take money from Mercedes Montoya, and she turns up as a homicide victim. You talk to Richard Royko, and he vanishes. And now you're in possession of a Schedule One drug, in a quant.i.ty that strongly suggests not just using but dealing.”
”Lieutenant, what exactly are you accusing Carnegie of?” Lily, hands on hips, was standing her ground in the middle of the room. The sun had come out, a rare phenomenon this time of year, and she was surrounded by a corona of silver light reflecting off the lake through the sliding gla.s.s doors. Talk about your warrior princess. Lily might be annoyed with me, but she was still in my corner.
Graham smiled at her, a gentle, tired smile. ”Nothing. Strangely enough, I believe that Ms. Carnegie Kincaid is an innocent bystander in this situation, and I'm going to record these pills as evidence that was discovered by accident and immediately turned over to the proper authorities.”
Lily smiled back, and I was about to offer scrambled eggs all around when Graham said, ”But there is a multi-agency task force addressing the party-drug trade in this area, and the DEA is not going to be pleased that they didn't get this evidence sooner. So, Carnegie, is there anything further you want to share with me about Mercedes Montoya or Rick the Rocket or anyone else connected with the case, before you promise to stay out of police business altogether?”
”Wel-l-l,” I said, and he rolled his eyes. ”There is just one thing I'd like to pa.s.s on about Syd Soper.”
”And that is?”
”He didn't kill Mercedes.” And I explained how I knew.
Graham actually laughed. ”Sydney Soper was one of your suspects?”
”He was wearing a black cloak, and he was at the party after eleven!” I said defensively. This was not exactly how I had planned to present my findings to the police. ”He could have been the one who attacked Corinne-”
”If anyone did.”
”I believe that someone did! And I believe that we should find out who it was. Corinne is scared to death, and Mercedes may have been dealing drugs but she still deserves justice.”
”Of course she does,” said Graham. He stood up. ”And she will get it. But from the criminal justice system, not from wild guesses and woman's intuition. All right?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but then I caught Lily's glare and the shake of her head. ”All right. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
The phone rang as I closed the door behind him. Hungry as I was, I stopped to answer, half-hoping it would be Aaron. Instead, I heard a fussy, familiar woman's voice, one that never seemed to stop for breath.
”Miss Kincaid, this is Georgette Viorst, at Characters, Inc., and we're opening the shop on Monday, so I came in this weekend to get things organized, and saw that you left several messages, so I thought I'd better get back to you, in case it's important and you didn't want to wait until business hours. So, you were wondering who rented a Dracula costume for the Lamott party? I'd like to help you out, really I would, but I checked our inventory twice, and I could check it again but I don't think so, really I don't.”
”You don't what? I'm sorry, I'm a little confused here. What are you telling me?”
”Miss Kincaid, we don't have a Dracula costume.”
”What?”
”No, we had one, but you see the last person to rent it left it lying on his sofa and his cat just shredded the cape into ribbons! It was very careless of him, really, and he brought it in and offered to have it fixed, but you can't fix something like that, can you? You have to replace it entirely, and we've been meaning to do that because it's a popular costume, well, not that popular but it's a standard, and we like to have all the standards in stock for when-”
”Wait! Please, let me get this straight. You didn't rent anyone a Dracula costume for the party at the Aquarium last Sat.u.r.day night?”
”No.”
”Or for any other party, any other night?”
”No. You see-”
”Thank you, Georgette. I'll call you tomorrow to check up on the rest of the costumes, OK? Good-bye.” I hung up, and said to Lily, ”That does it. I'm scrambling some eggs. If I don't eat in the next ten minutes, my head's going to explode.”
Over eggs and toast and a lot more coffee, we talked about Dracula.
”Dracula was Skull!” I insisted. ”He had to be. That's how he got into the party unrecognized. He wore a full rubber head mask that covered his tattoos.”
Lily wasn't convinced at first. ”What about height and build? I don't quite remember-”
”Medium-sized guys, both of them,” I said. ”It all fits! None of the other guests could figure out who Dracula was, and now we know why. Because he wasn't an invited guest.”
”It does make sense,” she said with growing enthusiasm. ”And he didn't talk so he wouldn't give himself away.”
”And he wore a black cloak, and he was on the premises after eleven. And even if his motive is kind of bizarre, at least he's got one, which Angela never did. With Rick and Soper in the clear, the list is down to one name. Dracula, aka Lester Foy ”
”I'm not quite as sure as you are,” said Lily, ”but say you're right. What are you going to do next? I don't think Mike Graham wants to hear any more theories from you.”
”No, I don't suppose he does.”