The Chick and the Dead (3 page)

"Thank goodness the old Bowman home was never demolished like a lot of the other houses in theOhioCity neighborhood. And it's still in the family, too. Isn't that remarkable?" Ella sure sounded like she thought it was. "That just shows you what a sweet and caring person Merilee is. Even though she doesn't live here, she's maintained the family house all these years and now she's donated it, and it's being restored and turned into the
So Far the Dawn
museum. The gala will mark the grand opening."

"Well, you are going to be busy, aren't you?" It seemed a kinder question than
And I'm supposed to
care about all this why
? I took another look at the clock and rose from my chair. "I should let you get to it."

Ella took my statement at face value. Like it was no big deal, she waved one hand. "Most of the groundwork is done, of course. Had to be before now. Merilee's appearance is the icing on the cake, so to speak." Her smile faded, and she sighed. "There was never a chanceElizabeth could make it, of course. But I was so hoping Kurt could be here."

I was tired. That had to be the reason why when I wracked my brain, I couldn't figure out who Ella was talking about. Kurt wasn't a boyfriend; Ella hardly ever dated, she said she was too busy with her job and her girls. AndElizabeth wasn't someone on the cemetery staff, either; tired or not, I'd at least remember that.

I gave up. "Elizabeth?" I asked. "Kurt?"

"Elizabeth Goddard? Kurt Benjamin?" Her eyebrows did a slow slide up her forehead, and Ella pinned me with a look. It still didn't register, and she surrendered with an exasperated groan. "Opal and Palmer in the movie! Everybody knows that.Elizabeth died back in the sixties, but even so, I can't believe you wouldn't know her if you saw a picture of her. She was a gorgeous blond. And what an actress! As for Kurt… come on, Pepper. No way you don't remember him. I don't think there's a female alive who could see that movie and not remember him. I swear…" She fanned her face. "Postmenopausal or not, that man makes my hormones shoot to the moon! He was so handsome and such a rogue. Remember that scene in the movie? The one where he's saying what he thinks is his final goodbye to Opal?" Clearly this was something Ella enjoyed talking about. She was off and running.

"Opal's leaving forBaltimore , remember. She's going to marry Charleton Hanratty, the swine who's making millions—well, I suppose it wouldn't have been millions in those days, but you know what I mean—millions smuggling illegal arms to the Confederacy. And remember what he says?" I didn't. My blank expression said it all.

"Palmer looks deep into Opal's eyes and says, 'There never will be another woman like you, Opal. There never will be another woman I love. But don't think that means I'm not going to try. With every woman I meet.'" Ella squealed with delight. "Doesn't that just make you tingly all over?" It didn't. As a matter of fact, as lines went, it was pretty lame. Rather than point it out, I asked the logical question. "And this Palmer guy… I mean Kurt… he's not coming to the premiere because… ?"

"Because he passed away, of course. Just a couple of weeks ago." Disgusted by my knowledge (or lack thereof) of current events, Ella slapped one hand against her thigh. "And we had a commitment from him, too. I swear, meeting him, that would have been one of the true highlights of my life. Right up there with the births of my children. One look from those smoldering eyes of his…" She sighed again. I wrinkled my nose. "Come on. The guy would have to be what, like ninety years old or something?" A shiver skittered up my spine. "How creepy is that."

"He was eighty-three when he died. Not all that old. And still as handsome as ever. Besides, he'll always be Palmer to me. Those flashing eyes. That dark, dark hair. That bushy mustache. Remember what Opal said the first time he kissed her? She wasn't in love with him yet, or at least she wouldn't admit she was. She said it felt like kissing a caterpillar." Ella laughed. "If he kissed me, I sure wouldn't be thinking about caterpillars."

I had tuned out at the first mention of kissing and caterpillars in the same sentence and figured this was as good a time as any to put an end to Ella's fan frenzy. I headed for the door.

"Well, I'm happy for you," I told her, and I was. "I hope it all goes really well. The gala and the premiere and all. I'm sure you have a lot to do and—"

"But, um, Pepper?"

The excitement had drained from Ella's voice, and I remembered what she'd said when she first walked in.

The thing about the good news.

And something about bad news, too.

My stomach clutched, and I stopped and turned to see that she had risen from the chair.

"You're not going to tell me I have to wear a hoop skirt, are you?" I asked. It was her turn to look at me the way I'd been looking at her since she started jabbering on about So
Far
the Dawn
. She finally got the joke, but she didn't laugh. "Maybe you should sit down," she said. The tightening in my stomach intensified. I decided to stay right where I was. Ella cleared her throat. She tugged on her right earlobe, and the earring in it jiggled. "Well…" She looked at the ceiling tiles. And the scuffed wooden floor. She took off her SFTD button and straightened it, even though it wasn't crooked to begin with. Carefully she pinned it back into place. "Like I said, good news and bad news. The good news—"

"Yeah, Merilee. I know that part."

"And the bad news… well…" She shifted from foot to foot. "Merilee's coming. Here, Pepper. To Garden View. And when she does…"

I guess I was getting pretty good at this reading-between-the-lines thing. "I get it." I breathed a sigh of relief. "You said it yourself. Merilee is a recluse. And she's famous. That means when she comes to visit, the press is going to follow. You're thinking newspapers and TV reporters, right? And you're telling me I'll need to work longer hours."

"Not exactly." Ella sat back down. She stood up. "You're right about the press and the reporters. In fact, Jim called me into his office earlier this afternoon. He says the grounds crew has already seen some photographers hanging around."

"Paparazzi?" The very word was exciting, and I combed my fingers through my hair. Not that I actually expected them to be lying in wait to catch a shot of me when I walked out of the office, but there was always a chance. And it sure would beat the other kinds of shots that had been aimed at me as of late.

"That's terrific," I told Ella. "Great publicity for Garden View, right?"

"Publicity? Sure. If we're careful and we do everything just right. That's going to mean coordinating with Merilee's secretary and hiring extra security and coming up with a plan to funnel people in and out. Plus, of course, we need to worry about any funerals that are scheduled. That's more important than anything."

"So we're back to the whole extra hours of work thing, right?" I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but hey, Ella's bad news could have been a whole bunch badder. And a little extra money wouldn't hurt, either. Sure, I had the nine thousand bucks from Gus. Or at least I used to have it. After catching up on my bills (there were plenty of them), a shopping trip to Saks (where the T-straps had come from), and an afternoon spent online tiptoeing through the White House Black Market, Victoria's Secret, and BCBG

sites, credit card in hand, my bank account balance was dwindling fast. "You can count on me, chief," I told Ella. "I'll be here."

"Well, that's just it, Pepper. See, I'm sorry, but you won't be." That got my attention.

I already had my hand on the doorknob, and I stopped and looked over my shoulder at Ella.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Really. It's not my decision. I'm not supposed to tell you that. As your immediate supervisor, I'm supposed to take responsibility. But I'm so sorry about it all and I couldn't live with myself if you thought that—"

"What?"

She gulped. "That I was the one who decided to lay you off."

"What?"

Ella hurried over to where I stood. "I'm sorry," she said for like the fifth time in thirty seconds. "I know this is a lousy way to break this to you. I know it's a lousy thing to do, but with paparazzi and TV

cameras and reporters… we think they'll be swarming the place. And like I said, we have to concentrate on funerals and on the residents who are already buried here. Their loved ones need to have access, of course and with it all… well, Jim decided and I agreed, reluctantly, but I agreed… that there won't be time to conduct any tours. But don't worry!" Ella jumped in with the words of encouragement, such as they were. "There's no way we're going to eliminate your job. You have my word of honor on that. As soon as the excitement dies down, you'll be right back here where you belong." Most of the summer off? Honestly, I'd never been squeamish about working on my tan. But there was the whole paycheck thing to think about, and thinking about it…

I guess my expression must have said it all because the next thing I knew, Ella was giving me that motherly look.

"I know exactly what you're thinking," she said. "What are you going to do to fill all those empty hours?

But you know, I do have a few new tours in mind. You could get a jump on the research."

"I could."

My words sounded like agreement (which they weren't) instead of desperation (which they were). Ella patted me on the shoulder and headed out of the office. "That's my Pepper! Jim was worried that you'd be upset, but I told him he was wrong. I knew you'd take the news well. Don't worry; nothing's going to happen anytime soon. Merilee isn't expected in town for a few more days. And isn't it just like you, wanting to get a head start on the research, working even when you don't have to? You're a credit to young women everywhere, Pepper. Why, I only wish my girls…"

Ella walked down the hallway, and her words faded. It was just as well, I knew what she was going to say. She only wished her girls would turn out as well as me.

Really?

I wondered if she'd feel the same way if she knew I'd turned out to be a broke cemetery tour guide whose job had just been whisked out from under her feet.

Oh yeah, and I talked to dead people, too.

No sooner had the thought occurred to me than I could have sworn I smelled cigarette smoke. Something told me it was pink.

Maybe it was the cigarette smoke that kick-started
my brain and got me to thinking. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't sleep a wink that night. After the day I had, I should have. Like a log. But every time I closed my eyes, everything I'd heard from Ella kept getting jumbled with everything I remembered about my visit from Didi.

Good news and bad news.

Pink chiffon and peach lipstick.

No work.

No money.

Oh yeah, and the Gift.

Was it any wonder that by the time I got back to Garden View the next morning, my nerves were on edge and my head felt as if it was going to explode?

But like I said, maybe it all worked in my favor. All that tossing and turning left me with lots of time to think, and think is exactly what I did. Even before I dragged myself to my desk and put away the Cool Whip container full of salad I'd brought for lunch, I had a plan.

It was simple, really. And brilliant.

I'd tell Didi that I'd changed my mind and that I would investigate her murder after all. If, like Gus, she could pay for my services.

There was only one problem. Or maybe it's more accurate to say that there were two. Number one: Though I waited in my office all morning (and actually got some work done while I was at it), Didi never showed her ghostly face. And number two: I couldn't go looking for Didi on my own because she had neglected to mention her last name.

Not to worry. My stint as personal private detective to the city's most notorious mob boss had taught me a thing or two about investigating.

Unfortunately, a search of the cemetery's database didn't turn up even one Didi (though it did earn me some high praise from Ella, who thought I was doing something that was actually related to my job). Even then, I wasn't about to give up.

I did a little more thinking, dug a little deeper, and uncovered (figuratively, not literally—always important to make that clear in a cemetery) three Dionnes in our files along with six Deirdres and any number ofDees . I figured that any of them could have been nicknamed Didi, but, except for one who was a member of the Order of St. Francis (I was pretty certain Didi wasn't a nun) and another whose computer record mentioned that she was the granddaughter of slaves (that didn't sound like my blond, blue-eyed ghost, either), none of their birth or death dates meshed with what I remembered from my latest close encounter of the supernatural kind.

Didi had never come right out and said when she lived or when she died, but I was no slouch when it came to culture. I'd seen John Travolta in
Grease
. I knew the fifties when I saw them. What it all boiled down to, of course, is that all that thinking and all that research led me absolutely nowhere.

Too bad, too. Because right then, a potential paying detective gig was looking like the best solution to my monetary problems, not to mention the only thing standing between me and those creditors who would start getting antsy when the bills from White House Black Market, Vickie's, and BCBG hit. Damn.

At least if I had to be shackled with this Gift thing, it would be nice to be able to do something useful with it.

Like know how to contact Didi.

As it was, I didn't have a clue how—or where—to find her.

No one could ever accuse Ella of letting grass grow under
her
Earth Shoes. Just the day before, she'd dropped the bombshell about my forced hiatus, and already she'd put together a handy-dandy to-do list for me.

I glanced down at the yellow notepad that she'd given me right after lunch.
Take your pick
, it said at the top of the page in her characteristic curlicue handwriting and her trademark pink marker.
This will give
you an opportunity to design a tour from start to finish and—bit plus!—once you've decided which
of our residents to include on your tour, you can do all your research at home
! ©