Casey Daniels - Dead Man Talking

Lamar’s eyebrows rose, and I knew a question was going to follow.

“The jelly bracelets,” I said, fingering my own arm as if I had a mess of them on. “She’d changed her clothes, but she hadn’t had a chance to take off the bracelets yet.”

Seeing the logic, he nodded.

“Or,” I said, marching to the far side of the mausoleum, then turning to come back the other way, “or her date hadn’t shown up yet, although…” I hurried over to where I’d left the file and flipped through the crime scene photos again, just to confirm something to myself. “I think he’d already been and gone. See? Look at how the sheets are tossed around. The bed’s definitely been used, and not for sleeping.”

“Really!” Lamar’s lips thinned. “Isn’t it bad enough the press trashed poor Vera’s reputation? Do you have to, too?”

“I have to find out the truth, remember?” I looked him in the eye. “You’re the one who asked me to get involved.”

“Yes, of course. It’s just that-”

“And what difference does Vera’s reputation make at this point? The girl’s been dead for more than twenty years.”

“Yes, she has, but-”

“And you can’t deny that she was at that motel for a little action. I mean, why else hang around in a place like that? In a city far from where she was likely to meet anybody she knew? That tells me she was screwing somebody who might have been recognized down near Central State.”

Lamar winced at my choice of words, but he didn’t argue. I mean, how could he?

“You also have to admit that any way you look at it, the whole thing’s a little kinky. Whoever the guy was, he must have been into young chicks. In that trashy outfit, she would have looked like a teenager.”

“You’re wrong. I know you’re wrong.” Lamar ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “There’s something we’re missing,” he said. “Something we’re not seeing. Let me have a look at that picture again. The close-up of Vera.”

I found the picture he wanted and held it up for him to see.

“What?” I asked, when his eyes narrowed just a bit. “What do you-”

“She’s not wearing it. Her locket.” If he could have tapped the photo that showed Vera’s very bare neck, he would have. “She always wore a little gold locket. Always. She told me it was a family heirloom, her grandmother’s, I think she said. She opened it once to show me. There was a picture of her grandmother inside. She was holding a baby, Vera’s mother. Show me her graduation photo again.”

I found one of the newspaper articles. In it, Vera was wearing the locket.

“That’s a clue. It’s got to be,” Lamar insisted.

“Granny’s little gold locket doesn’t exactly mesh with the tramp image,” I told him. “She probably took it off when-”

“Read over the list of personal effects again.”

I did. There was no mention of the locket.

“What does it mean?” I asked him.

But before he had a chance to answer, we heard an unmistakable “Yoo hoo!” from right outside the door.

Ella stuck her head inside the mausoleum just as Lamar poofed away into nothingness. I was sure she was there to see me, but, Ella being Ella, she was easily distracted. And nothing distracts a cemetery geek more than an old moldy mausoleum.

“Well, isn’t this wonderful!” Grinning, she stepped inside and looked around. “Neoclassical, with a base plinth and paneled corner pilasters! It’s got a double-leaf cast-iron door, and of course, you noticed the pediment and dentiled entablature outside. It’s glorious. Hi, Pepper.”

I returned the greeting and whispered a silent prayer that I never grew up to be Ella. “What’s up?”

“Had to be here for the big announcement.”

It made me nervous when she said things like that. “Big announcement about-”

“Oh, you’ll find out. And when you do, just don’t forget, I’m always available to help in any way I can.” Her eyes twinkling, she grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the mausoleum, and it was a good thing she was in a hurry. She never noticed the file folder I tucked behind Jake’s cooler when we zipped by.

When we emerged again into the sunlit afternoon, Greer was standing nearby with her faithful cameraman. So were the members of Team One.

“Over here.” Greer waved the cameraman toward the section where my team was slaving away. “Let’s get a couple shots of them all dirty and sweaty, you know, to show what hard work it is. Ms. Martin…” She waved me closer. “Why don’t you get over there and pitch in. That way when Team One arrives with their challenge…” When Greer giggled, it was not a pretty sound. “Let’s get a move on, people!” She clapped her hands, and when I didn’t move at a pace that was fast enough for her, she poked a finger into the small of my back. “Roll the tape!” she cried.

Mae Tannager scooted into the newly cleared section right behind me. “We’ve got a challenge.” She’d obviously been instructed what to say. Mae delivered the line with as much pizzazz as a fluffy pink woman could. “Team Two, we, the members of Team One…” Like Vanna in front of the letter board, she motioned, and her teammates tromped into position. Mae cleared her throat and consulted the rumpled piece of notepaper she had clutched in one hand. “As you know, our job here at Monroe Street Cemetery is going to be done in just a few more weeks. But there’s a dedicated group of volunteers who are going to take over the revitalization work we’ve started. It wouldn’t be right to leave them without the resources to complete the restoration. We’ve got to help them out. And we’re going to do that by leaving them enough money to continue the work we’ve begun here. Team One…” Again, she motioned. Again, her teammates sparkled for the camera. “Team One announces a fundraising challenge. The team that raises the most money will be awarded extra points in the competition.”

Their smiles stayed firmly in place-one second, two, three-while the camera rolled. The minute it was turned off, though, Bianca, Lucinda, and Gretchen walked away. Mae still twinkled because, as far as I could see, there wasn’t a time when Mae didn’t twinkle. And Katherine Lamb?

She narrowed her eyes and shot me and my team a look.

“We’ve already decided we’re doing a tea,” she said. “So don’t even think about it. That’s the best fundraising idea, and it’s already taken.”

Thinking about the fundraiser kept me up half the night, wondering how I was going to pull it off. My mind racing, I obsessed my way through the most logical choices:

We could sell parts from jacked cars.

Or incredibly ugly clothing.

We could send Crazy Jake out to photograph weddings.

Or rent out Delmar and Reggie by the hour. They had enough groupies waiting for them every day outside the gates of Monroe Street. I had no doubt we could make a few bucks.

The solution to my problem hit as most solutions do, right around three in the morning. That gave me the rest of the night to worry about my other problem-the one involving the dead secretary and her just-as-dead-but-not-gone boss.

Believe me, even though I was thinking fundraising, I hadn’t forgotten about either Lamar or Vera Blaine. I even had a plan. The next morning, dragging from lack of sleep but looking as good as ever thanks to a little under-eye concealer, a gold-colored organic cotton tunic that brought out the fiery highlights in my hair, and a pair of khakis, I arrived at Monroe Street with a bus schedule in hand.

After all, I couldn’t show up in my Mustang when I went to look for a used car.

I convened an early-morning meeting with my teammates inside the mausoleum, the better to keep Greer from sneaking up on us, or our fans outside the fence from catching wind of our plans. Waiting for everyone to get settled, I glanced around.