Tea-Totally Dead (14 page)

“So am I,” Clara told me. “I’ve looked in on her once already today. But you don’t have to pay me.”

“But we should,” I insisted, wondering how much Wayne had actually paid her to look after Vesta. Did I have enough money to back up my proposal? “Harmony thinks she’ll be able to stay at the condo—”

A long, keening sob broke into my consciousness. All my muscles tensed.

“He’ll be all right, Kate,” said Clara, on her feet in an instant. She reached up and put an arm around my shoulders. “You can’t control his process of grieving. All you can do is be there for him. Don’t expect to be able to do any more.”

And then I was crying too.

“There, there,” Clara said. “Sit down and have a long cry. It’ll do you good.”

A few minutes later she was gone. We never did have any tea. And my sinuses ached from crying. But she was right. I did feel better, lighter at least. Maybe that was why Ingrid cried so much. Crying, I thought, the new addiction.

“Kate?” came a voice from the kitchen doorway. I turned and saw Wayne, his eyes red under his overhanging brows. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You?” I asked back.

He nodded.

I gestured toward a chair across the table. He sat down. And began talking.

“Been trying to remember,” he said. “Can’t remember a lot. We lived over a bar for a long time. Mom worked there.” He was talking faster than usual, speeding through his words. “My uncles both gave her money periodically, but she spent it. Clothes, fancy dinners. I don’t know what.”

He shook his head and went on. “And then it’d be gone and we’d live on peanuts and pretzels from the bar. And pancakes for dinner. I thought the pancakes were really fun the first few times. Didn’t know we were eating them ‘cause we were poor. And then there was a man. Some guy from the bar. Mom was laughing and flirting, happy finally. She said he was going to marry her. But he didn’t. Turned out he was already married.”

He sighed and looked down at the table. I kept my mouth shut. I could tell he had more to say.

“Mom was really angry after that,” he growled. “I tried to make her happy, but it got harder and harder. She was so angry. Even Uncle Ace couldn’t cheer her up.” He swallowed. “When I left for college, she flipped out. It was my fault. I didn’t even find out in time to help her. She was already in the hospital under medication when I got there.”

He looked up from the table. “And Kate,” he whispered. “I wanted her dead so many times. I loved her, and I wanted her happy. And I wanted her dead.”

- Ten -

“But you didn’t kill her,” I said.

Wayne didn’t answer me. He was looking down at the table again. I felt my pulse pop into gear and accelerate.

“But you didn’t kill her,” I stated again, loudly this time. “Right?”

Wayne looked up at me, eyebrows raised.

“You didn’t, did you?” I asked, an involuntary tremor creeping into my voice.

“Of course not,” he answered brusquely. His eyebrows dropped back into frowning position.

“Wayne, listen to me,” I said, once my pulse had slowed again. “Killing someone and wanting them dead are two different things.”

His eyebrows sank even lower. “Very different things,” he growled in assent. “Very different.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

I headed into my office to do some paperwork while Wayne resumed brooding. I had a feeling I’d better do what I could now. If we were going to be poking our noses into Vesta’s death, I was bound to lose some work time in the next couple of weeks, and I couldn’t afford it. In my business, October counted as the Christmas season. The late Christmas season.

I picked up an inventory summary for coffee mugs. These were my biggest items. Mugs with shark handles for the lawyers, caduceus cups for the doctors, little silver safes for the bankers, bull and bear cups for the stockbrokers; the list went on and on. They were all made and hopefully sitting safe and unbroken in my warehouse. But would I need more? I had to order them now from the manufacturers if I did.

My stomach began to hurt like it did every year about this time. The inventory had to be just right. Too low and I wouldn’t be able to fill my customers’ orders. Too high and I would be stuck with excess inventory that would eat up my slender profit margin, the margin I lived on. I reached for my files from the year before. The instant my fingertips touched manila, the doorbell rang again.

The memories of the whole terrible day flooded over me as I got up to answer the bell. I forgot all about profit margins as the hurt in my stomach turned to nausea. It was almost ten o’clock on Saturday night. Who was at the door now?

“Howdy-hi,” said Felix as I opened up. Damn. I should have guessed he’d turn up sooner or later.

Felix Byrne was my friend Barbara’s sweetie, and more recently, her roommate. He was also a reporter, a pit bull of a reporter. Looking at his slight body and soulful eyes, it was all too easy to forget the inquisitional fervor that burned beneath his unimposing exterior. Not to mention the insensitivity.

“Found another friggin’ body and just forgot to tell me, huh Kate?” he accused angrily. Angrily and loudly. I put my finger to my lips, trying to shush him. It was useless. “I don’t friggin’ believe this,” he ranted on. “How come you never tell me these things—”

“Stop it, Felix,” I interrupted, putting a hand on his chest to shove him out the door. “Wayne’s here. It was his mother—”

“I know,” he replied with a smile that seemed as big as his whole face. He ducked my hand and tried to push past me into the house.

I stepped in front of him quickly, blocking his path. Experience had taught me that early intervention was the best policy when confronting Felix.

“Don’t you want to know what the pork patrol has to say about it?” he whispered enticingly.

Actually, I did want to know. I took a quick look over my shoulder, hoping that Wayne hadn’t heard the commotion. But it was too late. He was already there, looming behind me.

“Well,” growled Wayne. “What did they say?”

Felix looked up over my head, and his smile faded. But he still tried to negotiate. “Hey, Wayne,” he said. “I’ll tell you if you tell me—”

“No deals,” Wayne boomed. “What did the police tell you?”

“The cops think it’s probably suicide,” Felix said hastily. “Or maybe murder.”

“Suicide?” I repeated, wondering. I hadn’t really considered the idea when Trent had mentioned it earlier. But Vesta wasn’t a happy woman, that was for sure. And she hadn’t allowed Harmony to get help—

“My mother did not commit suicide,” Wayne said quietly. Too quietly. I looked over my shoulder again. His face was grim, his eyes invisible under frowning brows, his mouth a thin, angry line.

He was probably right about Vesta, though, I thought as I turned back. She wasn’t the suicidal type. On the other hand, if she had committed suicide, I was sure she’d do it in a way that would cause the most trouble. My breath caught in my chest. Had she been unhappy enough to kill herself?

“Police figure out the cause of death yet?” Wayne asked.

“Listen, big guy,” said Felix, an ingratiating smile forming on his face. “Before I give you the rundown on our men in blue, maybe you can tell me—”

“Answer my question,” Wayne ordered.

Felix answered Wayne’s question. He wasn’t completely insensitive, at least not with someone bigger than he was.

“Cardiac arrest secondary to ingestion of poison,” he rattled off. “The porkers don’t know what kind of poison yet. They’re like friggin’ doctors, you know. They ask a lot of questions, but when you try to get anything out of
them,
they just say they’re waiting for the lab results.” He sighed and shook his head slowly and sadly.

“What else?” Wayne prodded, apparently unimpressed by Felix’s display of feeling.

“Holy Moly, give me a chance,” objected Felix. He looked up at Wayne, sighed again and went on. “Coroners did the gross autopsy already,” he told us. “They sent the blood, urine and tissue samples to a lab. Lab’s gonna test the tea dregs too.”

My mind got stuck on the tissue samples. Oh God, that was awful to think about. Nausea rose into my throat. Poor Vesta.

“Anyway,” Felix went on. “The poop is that one Hermoine Fitch—calls herself Harmony—did the deed if anyone did. They’re saying she’s a real looney-tunes. And she made the tea—”

“But she’s the one who told us Vesta was sick,” I found myself arguing. “And she told us herself that she didn’t get a doctor. And that she thought it was the tea.” Felix was smiling again. Damn. I wondered if he had a tape recorder going. “Why would she tell us all that if she did it?” I finished weakly.

“‘Cause she’s nuts,” he answered succinctly. “So, I hear the looney-tunes was living with Vesta. Is that true?”

“That’s enough,” said Wayne. “End of interview.”

“Come on, Wayne,” Felix cajoled. “You and all your friggin’ relatives were there partying when she drank the tea in question, weren’t you?”

“Good night, Felix,” Wayne said.

“Hey, big guy!” Felix protested. “Give me a friggin’ second, will ya? So, when’s the funeral?”

“Time to go, Felix,” I told him. “Say hello to Barbara for me.”

He frowned. “Ever since we moved in together, Barbara’s been grouchier than a camel on steroids—”

“Gee, that’s too bad,” I said and pushed him gently out the doorway. He didn’t try to duck this time. I shut the door and locked it quickly, then turned to look at Wayne.

But Wayne had gone. I caught one glimpse of his stiff shoulders, and then he disappeared down the hallway.

I found him in the bedroom, taking off his clothes. My pulse beat a little faster as he unzipped his pants, then slowed again as he crawled into bed in his underwear, pulled up the covers and stared vacantly at the ceiling. I told myself that this was the time for compassion not lust, all the while hoping the two might not prove mutually exclusive.

“Wayne?” I said softly.

He looked in my direction.

“Can I do anything—?”

“No, Kate,” he said. “Just want to sleep. Not your responsibility. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, willing the emotion out of my voice. My responsibility or not, all my muscles were crying out to touch him, to hold him, to do something to make him feel better. I took a deep breath and told my muscles to knock it off. Then I went back to work.

A few hours later, I tiptoed back into the bedroom. Wayne’s eyes were closed, but the stiffness of his body told me that he wasn’t really sleeping. Still, he didn’t open his eyes when I whispered his name. I lay down beside him, convinced I would never be able to sleep again.

And then it was Sunday morning.

I placed a quick call to the La Risa police while Wayne was showering. A man’s bored voice told me to bring the note I’d found in my purse down to the station. I began to tell him that it was connected with the Caruso case, then decided not to in mid-sentence. Wayne and I had a date with Harmony at the condo. I wouldn’t have time to visit the police anyway. I thanked the man on the phone and hung up.

The phone rang before I even had a chance to lift my hand from the receiver. At least it was easy to pick it back up that way.

“Hey, kiddo,” said the voice at the other end. “Are you okay?” It was my friend Barbara Chu. My friend and self-proclaimed psychic.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. We were due at Harmony’s in half an hour. I didn’t have time to talk to her.

“Well, I’m getting this weird death vibe—” she began.

“Come on, Barbara,” I cut in. “You’ve been talking to Felix. Admit it.”

There was a brief silence. “Felix and I are not speaking,” she informed me coolly.

“What?”

“I should never have moved in with him,” she told me, the coolness fading as outrage filled her voice. “Kate, he is so weird! How come I never noticed before?” I nodded in passionate agreement. Luckily, she couldn’t see me. Or maybe she could. You never know with psychics.

“He’s eating all this greasy food,” she went on, her voice vibrating with disgust. “I just know he’s going to end up with gout again. I mean, even his computer screen is greasy! Jeez-Louise, he’s gross. Why didn’t I notice how gross he was before I moved in with him? And cheap. You wouldn’t believe it—”

She stopped mid-sentence. For a moment, I thought we’d been disconnected. Then she started back up.

“Is it murder again?” she asked quietly.

“Probably,” I said. I lowered my voice. “It’s Wayne’s mother—”

“The Wicked Witch of the West?” she breathed.

I nodded.

“Poor Wayne,” she sighed. “Listen, I’ll try to get over there to do a healing on him when I get a chance.” She paused. “Oh, there he is,” she told me. “He’s not in great shape, is he?”

I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, Wayne was standing there as silent as he had been all morning. His face was as rigid as stone and nearly as gray.

“How do you do that?” I demanded of Barbara.

Her chuckle floated over the phone line.