Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 1 - Combust the Sun (20 page)

"Pepper
spray and perfume are the two most important items a woman can carry. Both are
immobilizing." She put her hand on my thigh and left it there as we drove.
I felt an invincible warmth and a strong urge to take her to bed.

The
aerial shots of Talbot's lawn looked like a Winnebago convention. A local news
anchor was broadcasting live:
"Lee Talbot, head of Marathon Studios,
has been found dead in his home this morning, victim of a possible heart
attack, although he had shown no previous history of heart problems. Only
yesterday, Mr. Talbot had his home burglarized, a man found shot inside. It was
theorized that perhaps the event precipitated the heart attack. Recently, another
Marathon executive was badly burned by an unknown assailant, and now this
morning, the trouble-plagued studio finds its leader dead. Without Talbot's
powerful leadership, the studio's future is in question. "

"So
Frank Anthony told Barrett that the list of names and other information about
wrongdoing at Marathon was on the stone she had. Her boss, Robert Isaacs,
president of the motion picture division, wants the stone with the list, but he
doesn't want Talbot to know he's looking for it, remember? He wouldn't call him
while we were there. Furthermore, he actually believed me when I said Talbot
already had the stone. Now Talbot's dead. So it's reasonable to assume that
Isaacs could be behind the attempts on Barrett's life, could have ordered
Talbot's death, and could be the man behind Rita Smith's murder. After all,
getting Eddie Smith signed was important to Isaacs's division and the financial
health of the studio. It would be weird if you were married not just to a
jackass, but to a murderer." After I said it, I felt bad, but Callie said
nothing to retaliate, apparently hoping my venom would soon subside.

"We
told Isaacs that Talbot had the stone, and now Talbot is dead," Callie
fretted.

"Callie,
you weren't responsible for your brother's death, and you're not responsible
for Talbot's."

But
Callie wasn't listening. "Now Robert Isaacs will be after us," she
said, "because we have the stones and we know he killed Talbot."

I
had been certain it was Talbot, and not Isaacs, Frank Anthony had tried to
finger before he died.
How could I have been so wrong? Maybe Frank grabbing
that rock when he died meant nothing. Who knows what anyone would clutch with
his last dying breath.

As
if she could see into my mind, Callie suddenly said, "It means something.
Frank Anthony was a smart man. He went to his grave trying to tell someone his
killer's name."

"Frank
Anthony is killed at his gym, shot once in the head and once in the chest and
then set on fire. He's wearing his gym shorts and next to him is his gym bag
and towel. Barrett Silvers gets a death stone delivered to her at Orca's and
nearly gets kissed to death. Then I go to Frank Anthony's house, where Ramona
Mathers tells me Frank died clutching a death stone. Caruthers says he didn't,
but Waterston Evers confirms he sold Frank two death stones and Ramona Mathers
tells us Frank Anthony gave one to Barrett that apparently matched the one he kept.
The fragments say
Tal
on them."

"Or
washcloth,"
Callie said.

"That's
it. Or
washcloth....ox towel.
Mathers ticked off the items found next to
Frank. Gym bag, rock, and towel. Maybe Frank Anthony was saying the answer was
on the towel."

"You
mean like DNA bloodstains?"

"I
don't know what I mean." I grabbed the phone and dialed Wade at the police
department. Miraculously, he was at his desk, where one rarely finds a police
officer. He could tell by my voice something was up.

"Have
you got everything that was found at the scene of the Anthony murder?" I
asked.

"You
think we give it away to Goodwill? Of course we've got it," he drawled.

"You
got the towel?" I asked.

"Yeeeeah,"
Wade dragged the word out as if to say, are you going to tell me what this is
about?

"Can
you get it and call me back?"

"It's
in the evidence locker. I can take a cell phone in there and call you back,
which I'm not supposed to do, and which never happened, if you're asked."

In
ten minutes my phone rang. "Holding the towel," Wade said.

"Is
there blood on it?"

"Let's
see, a little jock-jack, BO, but no blood." I could hear him grinning.

"You're
grossing me out. Just tell me everything that's on the towel," I said.

"Not
until you tell me what you're up to."

"Frank
Anthony was clutching a death stone when he died..."

"No,
he wasn't."

"He
was, but the murderer pried it out of his hand and then delivered it to Barrett
Silvers as a warning. The fragment contained the word
towel.
At first I
thought it was Talbot, but now I think it meant look on the towel."

"The
only thing on the towel is a health club emblem and the words
Tulsa Health
Club."

"Shit.
What does the emblem look like?"

"Bunch
of scrolly stuff with the letters
THC
for
Tulsa Health Club."

"Okay,"
I sighed. "Sorry for the trouble, Wade, thanks." Hanging up the
phone, I looked at Callie. "Nothing."

With
Talbot dead, I was convinced that only Isaacs knew who was head of the whole
operation, and I had devised a plan to flush Isaacs out. It required perfect
timing and the hand-eye coordination of a fighter pilot. I rummaged through my
closet for my cell phone scanner and took it with me to the car. Maybe I was
out to get Isaacs to fill in the blanks on this story, or maybe I was just
after him to punish him for ever thinking he could own Callie.

Marathon
had wasted no time in announcing the promotion of Robert Isaacs to chairman,
although Talbot's body wasn't even in the ground yet. In fact, his body wasn't
even scheduled for the ground for another twenty-four hours, in order to allow
everyone who loved Talbot to pay his or her respects at the cathedral rotunda,
which would be open around the clock. Like a theme park attraction, Lee
Talbot's dead body was expected to draw quite a crowd. At the cathedral
entrance, massive flower arrangements rested comfortably on stands, balloons in
tastefully muted colors bobbed in the wind, and little white doves trailed
above the doorway. The only thing missing was popcorn and fireworks.

We
entered through the thick, hand-carved wooden doors at about eight o'clock in
the evening. It was dark outside, and the bon voyage for Lee Talbot had
trickled down to only a few well-wishers. It felt decidedly spooky to visit
bodies after dark, but I had timed our arrival to coincide with Robert Isaacs's
arrival, fairly certain he'd want to be there just before the ten o'clock news,
in case there was a photo op.

"What
if he recognizes you?" Callie whispered.

"My
own mother wouldn't recognize me. I haven't dressed like this since my senior
prom!" Wearing a black dress and an auburn wig, I felt as overgroomed as a
Westminster poodle. "I haven't worn a dress in years," I moaned.

"Nice
legs." Callie patted my behind.

"That's
not my legs."

"It's
been so long, I've lost track of where everything is located."

"Are
you complaining?" I asked, feeling butterflies in my stomach at the
thought of her touching me.

"I
guess I am. I want you and I miss you." She put her arms around me
lovingly and kissed my neck. No one in the parking lot even glanced at us
because we were in one of the acceptable gay-nuzzling zones. Airport terminals
and cemeteries being among them. It crossed my mind that, in our culture, if
women were sad, frightened, or bereaved, they were permitted whatever nuzzling
they required. However, if things turned joyous, most likely authorities would
have to intervene. We were interrupted by the sight of Isaacs entering the side
portico of the chapel.

The
casket was elevated on a three-tiered circular platform in the center of the
room so people could approach it from all sides. The carpet leading up to it
was pale green and three inches deep, with flowers springing out of it in all
directions as if it were grass. Lee Talbot's coffin was a rich, metallic mauve,
shinier than a new Porsche and just about as expensive. It was upholstered in a
tufted rose-colored satin with satin button studs. Three brass handles were
evenly spaced along each side, and its flamboyant metallic girth rested on six
fancy whitewall tires. All it needed was a steering wheel and a gearshift and
it could have driven itself to heaven. I waited until half a dozen people
walked solemnly toward the casket, Isaacs trailing behind them. I climbed the
steps slowly and gave a surreptitious hand signal to the kid in the back of the
church, who couldn't believe he was going to make a hundred bucks for doing
something so simple.

Just
as I reached the coffin, there was a loud crash from the vestibule. Isaacs
turned to see what had happened. The young man had knocked over a flower stand,
momentarily creating a disturbance.

Isaacs
turned back to the coffin to pay his respects to Lee Talbot, whose dead body
lay stretched out before him, lips blue, cheeks an unnatural pink against the
gray skin, and one eyelid...held down by a death stone. The note, stuck
unkindly into his chest, read, "You're next, Isaacs."

Isaacs's
eyes widened in horror as he grabbed the death stone and the note and fled the
rotunda.

"Come
on!" I signaled Callie, who had carefully stayed out of Isaacs's line of
sight. "Now he believes whoever has been issuing the hits is coming after
him. He'll go to the source to try to stop them. All we have to do is follow
him." I slipped the teenage boy the hundred dollar bill as we walked out.

"Now
Robert Isaacs has the stone!" Callie seemed alarmed.

"One
of the fake stones that came from Peter Trayber. I still have the other fake,
and of course, the two real ones."

Her
nose wrinkled up like an accordion, she fished an antibacterial wipe out of her
handbag. "Wash your hands! Here! You've been touching a dead body!"

"Just
his eye," I said nonchalantly.

We
followed Isaacs to the parking lot and got in our car as he got in his. He
immediately picked up his cell phone and dialed. I opened my glove box and took
out the scanner and aimed it at his phone.

"What
are you doing?" Callie asked.

"Scanning
his cell phone number. It's a 918 area code." I read it off the screen,
and Callie jotted it down.

I
waited for Isaacs to put his phone away, then I dialed. A woman answered,
"Caruthers residence."

"I'm
sorry, wrong number," I hung up and stared at Callie. "So Isaacs is
going to Caruthers for help. Either to tell him someone's after him, or to beg
for help, or to tell him to call off the dogs."

"I
think it's the latter," Callie said knowingly.

Callie
hovered over her laptop, studying the horary astrology chart.

"This
is so weird." She held up the chart for me to look at, persisting in her
belief that if she just continued talking to me as if I understood, one day I
would.

"At
the moment of Lee Talbot's death, assuming this time is accurate, Mercury went
stationary direct. Mercury ruling communications. Maybe Talbot was about to
tell someone about the scheme." She picked up the original horary chart.
"Do you remember when I looked at the question of whether you should drop
this case and Mars was Combust the Sun?"

She
could see the blank look on my face.

"Combustion
is derived from the myth of Icarus, who flew too near the Sun. Mars, within
eight degrees thirty minutes from the Sun, is Combust the Sun. I was so busy
staring at you that night," she smiled, "that I failed to realize
that it was more than combust. Mars and the Sun were so close—only six
astrological minutes apart—that Mars and the Sun were actually Cazimi! Heart of
the Sun. The Sun strengthened the planet it was aspecting. Mars got stronger.
Do you understand?"

"No,
sorry."

"Well,
think about it. Mars, action or violence perhaps, was made stronger by the Sun.
Violence enhanced. I think that's why the number of deaths and injuries by fire
has continued with more than one victim."

The
thought crossed my mind that maybe I should get into this astrology thing just
so I could hold up my half of the conversation.

"We've
got to go to Tulsa and visit Hank Caruthers. If Isaacs called him, then
Caruthers could be the root of all evil, as we are fond of saying in the
Midwest."

"Okay,"
Callie said, "I need to get home anyway and check on a few things."

The
phone rang. It was Detective Curtis. He wanted to know if I could come down to
the police station in the morning and ID the guy he thought was Spider Eye. I
told him I was taking a flight out in the morning for Tulsa but I would gladly
cancel it.

"The
DA wants him on an unrelated charge, so he's on ice for a few days anyway. You
can meet Mr. Wonderful when you get back," Curtis assured me.