THE SOUND OF MURDER (16 page)

CHAPTER 37

Dammit! I reached for the fire extinguisher in the backseat. It wasn’t there.

I jumped out of my car as flames shot skyward and ran across the pebbly shoulder, putting a good safe distance between the car and me. Black smoke billowed from the engine and orange flames engulfed the back of the Bug. Shit. The fire was way worse this time, and I’d forgotten to put my new fire extinguisher in the car.

Or had I? I could have sworn I put it in the car after buying it. Sirens interrupted my thoughts as a fire truck careened around the corner.

Once the fire was out, I declined the ride the tow truck driver offered. Marge’s house was just a mile away. The walk would give me time to clear my head and maybe air out my burnt-rubber smelling clothes.

As I walked, I called Uncle Bob to tell him I wasn’t going to be in the office that day. I decided to play down the event so he didn’t worry. “My car had a little fire. I think it needs more than duct tape this time. Maybe a hose or two.” Or an engine.

“Olive! Are you
trying
to burn yourself up?”

Good thing I’d played it down.

“You need to stop driving that P.O.S. It’s dangerous.”

I let him go on so I wouldn’t have to say anything that wasn’t technically true.

“What does your fireman boyfriend say? Is he happy you’re driving that fire hazard? Doesn’t he think it’s dangerous?”

“Um…”

“Let me guess. You haven’t told him about that fire-magnet you drive because you’re afraid he would tell you to stop driving it. Right?”

Of course Uncle Bob was right, but I decided that silence was a good enough affirmation.

He blew out a breath. “You promise you’ll have a mechanic look at your car right away?”

“I promise. Right away.” Especially since it was being towed to a repair shop.

“Good. So,” he said in a calmer voice. “You said duct tape wouldn’t work?”

“Yeah.”

“Duct tape?” he repeated.

“Yeah.” I wondered where he was going with this.

“Did you know its real name is duck tape? Like the bird?”

Aww. He was trying to make me feel better by offering me one of his trivia tidbits. “I did not know that.”

“Yeah. They came up with the tape during World War II to keep the guys’ ammo cans dry. It did the trick—like ‘water off a duck’s back.’ So, ‘duck tape.’ Nice, huh?”

I love my uncle.

I
was just beginning to feel better, thanks to my talk with Uncle Bob, a nice walk in the sun, and the sight of a family of quail running in a little line ahead of me. Then I stepped through Marge’s front door. Something was wrong.

Lassie didn’t greet me. I started to call out to him, then stopped. I wasn’t sure what to do if someone was in the house, but I opted for quiet. I also took my cell out of my bag as I crept silently down the hall. I saw no sign that anything was amiss. But I also didn’t see Lassie.

Was that a noise from the backyard? I stopped and listened, concentrating hard. Yes. I punched 911 into my cell so I could hit “talk” in a second if need be. I kept going, staying near the wall. No one in the great room, but the noise in the backyard was clearer—splashing? And barking, definitely barking. Oh God, Lassie must have fallen in the pool!

I threw open the sliding glass door and rushed out. I spotted Lassie running around the perimeter of the pool, yapping. Then I realized there was someone in the pool. Then I realized it was Arnie, swimming laps with his glasses on and his cigar still firmly between his teeth. Then I realized he was naked.

“Oops!” I heard him say before I turned my back. “Sorry, kid. I like a little swim au natural and got no pool at my house. Didn’t think you’d be home.”

Lassie ran up to me, panting, then back behind me toward the pool. From all the splashing I gathered Arnie was getting out. “Okay, safe to turn around.”

I did. Arnie had fastened a big blue towel where his waist would have been. Out of his clothes, you could see Arnie wasn’t fat, just sort of square—his shoulders, waist, and hips were all about the same circumference. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, padding over to me, Lassie jingling at his heels. “Weren’t you going into the office this morning?”

I nodded, remembering that I had said so at the theater last night.

Arnie glanced up at a corner of the covered patio, then sat down in a chair, peering at me through water-spattered glasses. “Everything okay?”

I sat across from him. “My car caught on fire.” Arnie’s eyes grew enormous behind his thick glasses. I waved away his worry. “It’s nothing new. Just a little more serious this time. Are
you
okay?”

“You’re thinking about last night? About Marge selling her insurance policy?” Arnie picked up Lassie and sat him in his lap. “You know, I thought my heart was already broken, but…” He petted Lassie with great tenderness. “It’s not about the money. I mean, sure the theater could use it, but…I love that woman.” Arnie’s eyes filled with tears that spilled over. “Damn. Never cried when I was young.” He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes. “It’s an age thing. Now I cry at the drop of a hat. Happens to a lot of us. Like Charlie Small. Cried like a baby after his wife died. Couldn’t even say her name. Poor devil.”

Maybe Charlie did kill himself. Everyone had said he was miserable. But I didn’t have time to think about it because Arnie’s remark about the theater jogged a memory: Marge on her way to that charity gig right after Charlie’s death. Hadn’t she said something about the theater being in trouble?

Lassie, settled comfortably on Arnie’s lap, began to snore. Loudly. You wouldn’t believe how loud that dog could snore, like a bear on top of a freight train.

Arnie chuckled. “Marge used to use earplugs at night.”

“I’m going to buy some today,” I said. “By the way, what’s that thing on Lassie’s collar?”

He fingered the small plastic object dangling from Lassie’s neck. “It’s a Pet Cam. You know, a camera for the dog. I bought it for Marge.” Did his eyes flick toward that corner again? “Thought she’d get a kick out of seeing things from Lassie’s point of view.”

Arnie’s eyes started to glimmer, so I decided to distract him and satisfy my curiosity at the same time. “I heard a story about you the other night,” I said. Arnie waited. I swear his ears stood up a little straighter, like Lassie did when he was waiting for a command. “It was about your shoes.”

He relaxed. “A tragic tale. Just heartbreaking.” Arnie’s ears waggled as he spoke. “But a great story all the same.” He settled back in his chair and patted Lassie on the head, which woke the dog up and stopped him snoring, thank God. “I’m an impresario, you know.”

I didn’t know. I didn’t even know what the word meant exactly, but it sounded impressive.

“I love arts and culture, but I got no talent. I do have a good imagination and a head for business.”

I’d give him the good imagination bit. Maybe that’s why he thought he was good at business.

“So I produce and present, help shows get up on their feet. That’s how I met Marge. Produced her one-woman revue called
Margelous!
”

Lassie lifted his head and stared at Arnie. “I know, horrible name,” Arnie said to the dog. There
was
something of the critic about the pug. “Anyway, I was struck dumb with love the moment she opened her mouth and said, ‘You call this a dressing room?’” He stopped, a faraway smile on his face.

“And your shoes?”

“Yeah. So,” Arnie sat up a little straighter, “years ago, before I met Marge even, I had this great idea to produce an alligator wrestling show in Florida. Got the idea after running into a guy named Leroy when I stopped to fill up at a service station. He was pumping gas, but said he used to be an alligator wrestler. Still did it for county fairs and church fundraisers.”

Church fundraisers?

“Later I was at a friend’s house when I heard on the TV they’d captured this old alligator who’d been terrorizing a neighborhood. ‘Sherman,’ they called him.” He leaned toward me. “Seemed like fate, you know? Those two things happening back to back? So I adopted the alligator and set up a show. Started out with just a little tourist trap with a wrestling area, gift shop, and picnic tables, but I had plans for a full-blown amusement park with a roller coaster in the swamp and everything.”

A swamp roller coaster. I’d ride that.

“Still think it would have been a great idea. If only Leroy hadn’t been drunk that day. And if someone had remembered to feed the alligator.” Arnie shook his head. “Poor Leroy. Not much left to bury.”

“Your shoes?” I squeaked, trying not to think about poor Leroy.

“Yep,” Arnie said. “Sherman shoes.”

CHAPTER 38

After seeing Arnie out, I stood in the front foyer, thinking. During our conversation, Arnie’s eyes kept sliding to a particular place on the patio. Was he lying about something? I didn’t think so. The first time he did it was after he asked if I was going into the office. It was a question. No need to lie. The second time was after he talked about buying the Pet Cam.

“Lassie!” I called. The pug trotted over and gave me a dog smile, pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. I checked the thing that hung from his collar, which did indeed say, “Pet Cam.” What else had Arnie said? “I bought it for Marge.” That seemed like the truth too—the gadget was much more likely to be an Arnie purchase. I walked through the house and out the sliding glass door to the patio, Lassie at my heels. I sat in the chair Arnie had recently vacated and looked at the corner of the covered patio, as he had.

Now I knew why the Pet Cam comment had made Arnie glance up. In the upper corner of the patio, close to the roof and nearly hidden by a light fixture, was a camera.

At the Costco website, I learned that the home security kit Arnie bought included a camera, motion sensor, dimmer for lights, and a door open/close sensor. I combed through Marge’s house, found each component of the kit, and took them all down. Gave me the heebie-jeebies to think anyone was watching me. Even though that was sorta what I did when I investigated someone. Huh.

I put that thought away in the garage cupboard where I stored the security kit, just in case Marge had asked Arnie to install it. Then I grabbed Marge’s car keys. I had a moment of hesitation about using her car without permission, but after our conversation yesterday, I was afraid she’d say no because she couldn’t remember who I was.

I drove to the theater in her big, loud beast of a Buick and got there before the rest of the cast, just as I’d hoped.

Uncle Bob always told me that invisible people make great witnesses. Hotel maids, busboys, janitors—people tend to talk in front of them without registering them as people with ears. With this in mind, I went straight to the kitchen.

Zeb was putting his white apron on over black pants and a white Oxford shirt when I came in. He smiled shyly, which was unusual for him, and motioned me closer. “I just wanted to say thanks for getting my notebook last night. And to ask,” he scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the floor, “that you don’t say anything about…you know.”

Now that I knew Zeb’s secret, I wondered how I ever missed the signs, like the fading bruise near one wrist. “No worries. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He smiled. “Unless you want to talk about it.” He shook his head furiously. “Okay,” I said. “But the offer stands if you ever change your mind. And now, there’s something you can do for me.”

“Why, Ivy,” Zeb affected a Cary Grant-type voice, “have you come to your senses, and my arms?” The old Zeb—or Zeb’s old way of making it through life—was back.

“Nice. But not what I’m looking for. What I really want…” I crooked a finger at him, and he came closer, “is information. You ever hear anything about the theater being in trouble?”

Zeb glanced around us. The cook was at the far end of the kitchen, along with a few guys chopping vegetables and speaking to each other in Spanish.

“Yeah,” he said in a quiet voice. “In fact, about a month ago, Arnie and one of the board members came through here, yelling like crazy. The one guy kept saying that this show—
The Sound of Cabaret
—was going to bankrupt them, and the board wasn’t going to let—”

“Ivy!” sang Candy as she came through the door, followed by a bunch of hungry actors. “Heard your car caught on fire again.”

“Again?” said Roger, who was right behind her.

Uncle Bob must have told Cody who told Matt. I shrugged. “Yeah, this time even duck tape wouldn’t do it. Hey,” I said to the group as Zeb disappeared into the kitchen, “did you know the real name is ‘
duck
tape?’”

All through dinner I regaled the cast with trivia, Uncle Bob style. Afterwards I followed the older nuns back to their dressing room.

“You here to join our game?” one of them asked. The nuns weren’t onstage much, so they whiled away the time playing poker.

I shook my head and shut the dressing room door. My purpose was twofold. First, I slipped Bitsy’s pink tube of lotion out of my pocket and onto the counter. That way, someone would find it but not trace it back to me. As for my second reason for being there: “I just need a little advice.”

They gathered around me, all talking at the same time.

“You want to know about men or money?” asked the tall nun.

“Or maybe how to get men with money?” added the short one.

“If you get that figured out, let me know,” the chubby one said.

“I guess it’s sort of about money,” I said. “I work in downtown Phoenix, and with gas prices, this commute is killing me.” They clucked understandingly. “I heard that removing my catalytic converter could help me save on gas. Any of you ever heard that?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“Did you hear about it here at the theater?” A little direct, but I couldn’t think of a better way to angle the question.

Another chorus of “yesses.”

“Any chance you remember who was mentioning it? Maybe whoever knows about it could help me remove mine.”

The little group shook their heads. “You see, everyone’s been talking about it. Here, at the rec center—”

“Even at church.”

“It’s a hot topic here in Sunnydale,” said the tall nun. “On account of all the catalytic converters that have been stolen.”