Death of a Hot Chick (10 page)

“
Nicole. Is this paper yours?” As I
watched, the apparition paled, but the voice was strong.

“
You found it.”

“
What is it?” Should I ask permission
to unfold the paper? But when I looked up, Nicole was completely
gone. “Nicole,” I shouted.

“
Don’t worry. I’m
here.”

The voice was Nicole’s, but there was no
body.

“
I can’t see you.”

“
Does that
matter?”

“
No, I guess not.” I hesitated. “Are
you always here, even if I don’t know it? Or are you only here when
I see...that is, when I’m aware of your presence?”

“
That’s not the question,
as you well know. Cyd, I’m depending on you. The question is who
killed me. If you don’t know, do the police?”

“
I guess not. And I.... Can’t you give
me a clue? Anything?.”

“
The police do know that my
murder is top priority, don’t they? They should be cooperating with
you. I hate name-droppers, but in this case it is entirely
warranted.”

What did she mean? I moved the flashlight
over the paper. Too dim to read the pale, waving lines of
script.

“
I meant you could use my
name, of course.”

“
You read my mind too? If that’s true,
why....”

“
No, I don’t read your
mind. And believe me, if I could read minds, I
would
be able to find my killer
myself. Great suggestion, but hardly
logical.
”

“
Another question,” I said. “Did you
hear me talking to my sister Kaye? She was here. Could you see us?
Did you see who broke in?”

“
Too many questions. One
answer. I don’t know.”

Shouldn’t a ghost know everything? Was
Nicole my imagination? Weird, to say the least. If I wanted a
ghost, why hadn’t I imagined one with all the answers?

The note. I had to look. I reached for the
lamp.

“
No, no. Don’t turn it
on,”
Nicole said.

“
Okay.” Nicole might disappear at any
moment. The note could wait. “Do you remember anything about the
one who killed you?”

“
Somebody a hell of a lot
stronger than me, I’ll tell you that.”

“
Big, then. Man or woman?”

“
Didn’t I ask you to find
out?”

“
I haven’t found out anything. I don’t
know anything about you, who you knew. My sister told me about your
modeling agency with ordinary people and animals and farms for
models. Even boats. Is that right?”

“
You do not need those
facts. Just find my killer.”

Had Nicole been so determined in life? “Why
would anyone kill you?”

“
I don’t care why. That is
not your question.”

She didn’t know. My questions were
going nowhere. “Let’s get out of this dark spot and go into the
main cabin,” I said and proceeded,
wondering if my
companion followed. I flicked on the light and turned. Did I see
her?

“
I’ll stay here,” Nicole
said.“I like what you’ve done. Hardly enough room to lie down, but
you’re working on it, right?”

Once in the lighted salon, I placed the note
on the table. Did Nicole notice? I asked, “What do you remember
from the night you were killed. And how were you killed?”

“
I think I was drowned. I
was under the water. I looked up, but it’s awfully murky down
there. I saw colors.”

“
What colors?”

Suddenly, Nicole said,
“Why haven’t you read my note?”

“
Do you know what it says?”

“
I should. I wrote
it.”

One thing she did know, evidently. But what
could I do now?

“
Publish it,”
Nicole said as if she’d read my thoughts.

“
Publish it?”

“
Yes. Hire a plane and drag
a banner across the sky. Write a book. Compose a song. A Broadway
play. Yes, with a line of Rockettes, kicking the hell out of him.
But who am I to tell you what to do? I can’t do a damn
thing.”

“
Then you don’t mind if I read
it.”

And I knew. Nicole was gone.

I clasped the paper, held it to my cheek.
“Nicole?” There was no answer. I read the note.

It said,
“I
hate my father. He’s evil. I’ll kill him some day, if he doesn’t
kill me first.”

“
Nicole,” I whispered. “Did he kill
you?”

There was no signature, but Nicole had
written those words. According to her.

Yeah. Try telling that to the judge. “You
see, Mr. Policeman, Nicole’s ghost told me, and she doesn’t lie.”
Or, it. Does a ghost have a gender?

~
~

Sunday, July 23

One certainly couldn’t sleep late on a boat
with a hatch directly overhead, open to the early sun. Had I
dreamed it all last night? No, I’d put the paper in a plastic bag,
and there it was, on top of a pile next to me.

“
Yoo, hoo. Permission to come
aboard.”

I rubbed my eyes, grabbed my travel clock
and unfolded it. Okay, I’d managed to sleep until seven twenty-six,
even with the sunshine pouring in. “Go away!” I shouted.

Too late. Kaye was already inside. I really
should remember that cross-ventilation does not trump security.

“
It’s a beautiful day,” she said.
“Time to be up, communing with nature.”

“
Did you, or did you not say Sunday
was a day of rest when you insisted I stay up past my bedtime to
help you search last night?”

“
Of course. It’s also a day of
spiritual renewal. Take your time dressing then we’ll have
breakfast. I have a carafe of orange juice and fresh sticky buns.
With cashews.”

I pounded my head into the pillow. “No, no.
I’m asleep. Go away.” But I heard drawers and cupboard doors open
in the galley.

“
You should get some new dishes. These
are disgusting. Fortunately, I brought paper products. After
breakfast we’ll relax at the Garden of Gethsemane in Smith Circle.
Nicole wasn’t much for organized religion, but that was one place
she loved. Did you know she was instrumental in its
creation?”

“
I’ll eat in my pajamas, then go right
back to bed.” I slumped into the salon.

“
Perhaps Nicole’s ghost will appear to
us in the garden. What do you think?”

“
Remember? I promised not to mention
ghosts.” Since Kaye didn’t answer, I sat down and tore off a sticky
bun. Still warm, and so gooey and good. I closed my eyes and bit.
Chewed and swallowed. Licked my fingers. Sipped orange juice. “Um,
you know how to wake a person up.”

“
Napkin? I didn’t bring wet
ones.”

“
I do have running water, you
know.”

“
We don’t want to be late.”

“
Okay, what’s going on? How can we be
late if we’re communing with nature?”

“
The park gets overrun
later.”

Which sounded like a truly fake reason for
being early. I finished my sticky bun, drank a second cup of orange
juice, and washed my fingers before I turned on Kaye. “And what
else do you have planned for my relaxing day?”

“
Why do you ask?”

“
Oh, maybe because I know you as well
as you know me.” I also knew, from Kaye’s vigor clearing up our
breakfast, that she would say no more, not until she announced any
further plans. Or, not until we got wherever we were going, because
it was obvious, I wouldn’t learn anything else. But.... “If I leave
that guy might get in again.”

“
You have changed your combination,
haven’t you? How would he get in?”

Kaye was just too logical. I eyed her
flounced skirt and flowered blouse. “Dress code? No shorts?”

“
Clean and casual,” Kaye said without
turning around. “Boat shoes or sneakers are preferred.”

I rummaged through my drawer of clothes. The
cargo capris and a clean T-shirt would have to do. I slipped on the
boat shoes and called to Kaye. “You know, I told you not to come
in, I told you I’d go back to bed, so at least tell me where I’m
going next.”

“
But I told you already. We’re going
to find Nicole’s spirit in the Garden of Gethsemane.”

“
Really.” I grabbed the bagged note
and slid it into my pocket. Nicole was coming with us.

~
~

Smith Circle was a mini-park, pared down
from the larger one years ago when someone bought it out, built a
McMansion on it, then succumbed to public pressure to set aside a
couple of acres. Mostly it was a playground, but one small section,
bordered with an evergreen hedge was our destination.

“
So why does Nicole’s Garden of
Gethsemane have a sign, ‘Butterfly Garden’?” I asked.

“
You want the town fathers to pay
expenses, you have to be all-inclusive. That means,
non-denominational. Attractive to all ages. But Nicole came here to
meditate. She organized the plantings. For instance, butterfly bush
is considered spiritual.”

“
Then we sit on the bench and commune
with butterflies?” I pulled the baggie containing Nicole’s note out
of my pocket. “I found this after you left last night. A note
Nicole left in the anchor-rode locker.”

“
In the what?”

Did she really want to know? “It’s that
locker in the bow, over the V-berth. It holds all the line coiled
up and attached to the anchor through a little—”

“
Never mind, let me see!”

No, she didn’t want to know. I opened the
plastic bag. “Nicole talked to me too,” I said as I pulled the note
out. “It’s sort of, well—you look at it.”

Kaye took the paper, smoothed it out, then
read aloud. “I hate my father. He’s evil. I’ll kill him some day,
if he doesn’t kill me first.” She leaned back. “Oh, my god.”

“
Yeah.”

“
No signature.”

“
She wants it published, widely, she
said. Don’t know why.”

“
Nicole thinks her father killed
her?”

“
You’ve got to understand. As a ghost,
Nicole has a one-track mind. She doesn’t go in for extra facts. She
thinks it was somebody big and strong, and that’s as far as she’ll
go. I’ve seen her father, but you know him better. Would you
consider him big and strong?”

“
More like big and well fed. Strong? I
can’t say. What happens when she appears? Do you call her? Is it
unexpected—she just pops up?”

“
Unexpected, yeah. But every time I
was holding either the original title to
Snapdragon
or this note.” Except for the first
time, which I didn’t mention, but that was only a voice I could
hardly hear.

Kaye stroked the paper with her eyes closed,
then whispered, “Is she here?”

“
I have the feeling she’s not always
around, but I can’t say for sure. She’s not talking, anyway.” I
placed a finger on the note. “Nicole, are you here?” I placed my
other hand over Kaye’s enclosing the note. “Don’t think so. It
doesn’t always work. Maybe she’s sleeping in.”

“
Really. Ha, ha.” Kaye stared at the
note, shrugged, then placed her free hand on my wrist. “See that
tiny tree. That’s the last thing Nicole planted. It’s a hupeh
rowan, originally from China or Korea, according to Nicole.
Considered very spiritual, possibly by the Chinese. We Americans
call it mountain ash. Or, maybe it’s similar to the mountain ash.
There are rowan trees in European folklore. In the British Isles,
the Celts thought the trees had magical powers.”

“
And I want to know this
because?”

“
We are here for Nicole, remember? We
are discussing her garden as she’d want to hear it.”

“
Don’t think she’s interested in
anything but who killed her. I also don’t think she knows what’s
going on when she’s not around. I asked her.”

“
What did she say?”

“
Not much about anything other than
wanting to know who killed her.”

“
The hupeh rowan grows to be quite
tall, maybe fifty feet. It flowers in the spring. White flowers, I
believe, followed by red berries. In fall the leaves turn red and
yellow. The tree is often preferred for plantings as the leaves are
small thus reducing the volume of fallen leaves to rake
up.”

“
If you think Nicole is listening,
that’s not the way to attract her. She’s definitely interested only
in who killed her.”

“
Oh, well. It was worth a try.” Kaye
pulled her hand away from mine and stood. “She’s not here. You’re
sure?”

“
With her, that’s impossible to
know.”

“
Maybe you should do your
thing.”

Kaye didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything
like she’d have done when we were children, like, “Are your fingers
pushing stuff out of your hair or out of your brain when you do
that?” Back then, I didn’t know others didn’t see the same things.
So I had a bit of neighborhood notoriety until I learned to keep
any visions to myself. “Doesn’t work that way.”

“
Okay,” Kaye said and added, “One
thing has always puzzled me. Why did Nicole call this the Garden of
Gethsemane? The original garden was an olive grove. In Christian
tradition the connotation is not of a peaceful place of relaxation
and renewal. But Nicole insisted on meditating here. She said the
ambiance renewed her spirit. I hate to say it, but the betrayal of
Judas against his spiritual father might have been her
inspiration.”