Condo Crazies: Murder At The Albatross Page 12

  “Dear god. Why is he here?” Kate stopped short and gripped Tom’s arm.

  “Who?” Tom looked at the car.

  “The man getting out of the limo—it’s Stewart.” She turned toward the parking lot. “Get me out of here, Tom, please.” She looked frantic.

  “Wait, Kate.” Tom grabbed her arm. “He’ll still be here when you come back. Why not get it over with, whatever it is.”

  Kate closed her eyes. “You don’t know how irrational he is.” She looked at the tall, thin man in a white Nehru suit waiting for the driver to unload his luggage from the trunk.

  “Ohhh,” Kate moaned. “He’s got luggage. What’s going on?”

  “Why don’t we find out? Just be cool,” Tom advised her.

  “Yeah, cool,” Kate muttered. “Cool doesn’t work with Stewart.”

  The limousine pulled away as they reached the lobby doors.

  “Kate,” a melodic voice acknowledged her presence. “Good to see you. And who might this be?” Stewart arched an eyebrow at Tom.

  “Tom Delaney.” Tom extended his hand.

  Stewart nodded in Tom’s general direction. “We do not shake hands in our Order of The Lamb. We have been bathed in the blood of the lamb and are cleansed of human sin. To shake your hand would be to contaminate myself.”

  Stewart assumed a saintly expression and turned to Kate. “My dear. You’re looking well. Florida agrees with you.” A breeze ruffled his shoulder length, highlighted blond hair, capping the ethereal effect of his appearance.

  “What do you want, Stewart? Why are you here?” Kate was not taken in by his theatrics.

  “Here?” He looked around and then at Kate. “I’ve come to spend time with my daughter.”

  “Without calling or writing? Just like that, you show up and expect to see Alexis. Have you forgotten what you put her through? And you were planning to stay—where?”

  “Ah, Kate. Still shooting from the lip. Meditation would help you to calm down.” Stewart smiled serenely at her. “It helped me find inner peace.”

  Kate stiffened. Tom tightened his grip on Kate’s arm. “Kate, you want to talk alone with—”

  “No, Tom.” Kate gritted her teeth. She turned to Stewart. “You can call Alexis and make arrangements to see her, if she wants to do that. Right now, you’ll have to leave.”

  “Leave?” Stewart removed a fob from his pocket and waved it at the security system on the wall next to the lobby doors. A responding beep unlocked the doors. “My dear Kate, I’ve rented a unit in this building so I can be closer to my daughter while I’m here.” He took hold of the suitcase handle. “I have a feeling I’m going to like it here. There’s a serenity that suits me.” He opened the lobby door and rolled his suitcase after him, leaving a frustrated Kate in his wake.

  “Like this place isn’t nutty enough.” She shook her head. “We now have Stewart to add to the mix. In the immortal words of Yetta Horowitz, ‘Oy vey.’”

  Chapter 50

  “Your ex is here? At The Albatross? Oh, man. Jes not good.” Latasha put the last of the cupcakes into the little pink bassinette and covered it with clingy plastic wrap. “We’re all set to go to the shower luncheon. Gotta put this in the van with the food.” She wiped her hands on a damp towel and turned to Kate. “So, what’s he want?”

  “He says he wants to spend time with Alexis. I don’t know what that really means. I don’t know how long he’ll stay.” Kate looked pale. “I cut ties with him so Alexis could lead a normal life, and he’s back in it?” She rubbed her eyes, smearing her mascara. “Just when I thought we’d gotten ourselves off the ground. Where’re the girls?”

  “Left ’em settin’ up the tables at the Nolans’ party. Leave your car here and ride with me in the van.” Latasha looked at Kate’s smeared eye make-up. “C’mere, little sister. Ain’t nobody gonna let you into the Nolans’ compound lookin’ like a raccoon.” She moistened a towel with soap and water and dabbed at Kate’s face. “Frettin’ over this situation ain’t gonna make it better. Deal with it as it comes. And speaking of dealin’ with things, who’s this?” A white limousine rolled up to the front door.

  “He found us! He just got here and he knows where I work,” Kate almost wailed.

  Through the sheer Austrian shades, they watched as Stewart, in a flowing white robe, fastened around the waist with a thick, blue silk cord, emerged from the car, holding a shepherd’s staff. He looked about him, frowned, and regally strode to the front door.

  “Honey, you got one weird dude there. Be cool. I’ll be here with you.” Latasha leaned up against the counter, arms folded.

  Stewart tried the front door and, finding it locked, rapped on the door with his heavy, wooden staff.

  “You wanna talk to him? He can’t see us in here. You don’t have to, y’know.”

  “I don’t want to. For the rest of my life, I don’t want to,” Kate said. “I can’t deal with him right now. I need to get to Alexis before he does. He gets anywhere near her in that outfit and he’ll humiliate her, again.”

  “Go out the back way. Take your car. I’ll take the van and meet you at the Nolans’.” Latasha gave Kate a pat on the back. “Don’t worry, Latasha’s here. He’s nothin’ to what I’ve had to deal with. Just let me deal with this creep. G’wan. Git.”

  Kate looked at Latasha gratefully. “Thanks.” She slipped out the back and was gone.

  ***

  Latasha watched Kate make her escape and listened for the sound of her car starting and leaving the back lot. Then she walked to the shop’s front door. She pulled up the roller shade and looked at the robed figure through the glass door. Jeezus—this dude thinks he’s Jeezus!

  “Whaddaya want? We’re closed.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard through the closed door.

  Stewart looked at Latasha, lifted his heavy staff, and rapped on the door again. The door vibrated from the force of his knocking.

  Latasha sighed. If you was God, you wouldn’t have to knock on the door, it’d open by itself. Slowly, she unlocked the door and opened it a few feet. She pointed to the sign on the door. “We’re closed.”

  Stewart looked down at Latasha and raised an eyebrow. He saw a stocky black woman, neatly dressed in a white chef’s uniform. “Where is your employer?” he asked haughtily.

  “S’cuse me?”

  “Where is Mrs. Parker—Kate Parker—my wife?”

  Latasha folded her arms and leaned on the doorjamb. This could be fun if I had time for it. “The Kate Parker I know isn’t married, so she can’t be your wife. And she’s not here.”

  “God has ordained we are husband and wife for eternity. No piece of paper can undo our union.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So now that y’know she ain’t here, you can go. This here’s a place of business. Unless y’gonna buy somethin’ from this here place of business, you ain’t got no business bein’ here.” Latasha gave him a lazy smile and nodded at the waiting limo.

  “Move away! Go finish cleaning whatever you were cleaning!” Stewart thundered, raising his staff in the air.

  “S’cuse me?”

  “I said, go finish your cleaning.”

  Now you done it. Musta seen Charleton Heston. Thinks he’s Moses too. Oh, Kate, how’d you get involved with this crazy?

  “Sir, you gotta leave the premises. The store is closed,” Latasha said, quietly.

  “Move away, I say.” Stewart attempted to shoulder his way past Latasha. He never saw Latasha’s foot, never saw her flip him backward onto the sidewalk, never saw her leave her position by the door.

  “Oh, my goodness. You hurt?” Latasha asked serenely.

  Winded, Stewart climbed slowly to his feet. He brushed his now soiled white raiment and picked up his staff. “You tripped me,” he accused.

  “Oh, my. Why would I do such a thing?” Latasha reached for the door. “I suggest if you wanna see Miz Parker, y’call her first. Always good to make that call before y’wanna see someone, y’know?”

  She di
dn’t wait for an answer before she closed and locked the door, pulling the roller shade down. Damn, one mother of a fool! An’ he gonna be in that crazy Albatross bird house with all those other crazies? Latasha, you betta take your vitamins. You gonna need ‘em.

  Chapter 51

  “Oh, honey, did I wake y’all?” Monica’s southern drawl dripped insincerity into her pink cell phone.

  “What time is it?” Latasha sounded groggy.

  Prescott pulled off Monica’s lustrous blonde wig and tossed it on the sofa. He dropped the drawl and falsetto.

  “It’s six-ten. I had to call you right away, this can’t wait. Listen, Detective, the perp’s taken the bait.” Prescott used a pencil to lift the corner of the newspaper covering a small wicker basket. The cloudy eyes of a large fish head stared at him. Prescott’s nose twitched at the foul odor. “I found a fish head in a basket outside my door this morning. We’re in business, ma’am. When I went to bed at two, there was nothing outside my door, but the basket was there a few minutes ago at six. Security should have a video of someone in the hall between two and six o’clock.”

  He could hear Latasha moving around and the clatter of dishes.

  He continued. “I’m thinking if we installed surveillance equipment in this unit, and got another officer to monitor them while I get some sleep, we’d have a chance of catching the perp before he leaves the floor or the building. And I’d be using my time more productively. These parties are damned boring.” Prescott held an unopened pack of cigarettes as he talked and paced the length of the living room. “I can’t tell what’s going on unless I physically go out and cruise the halls. We both know how obvious that would be. Bring in the equipment disguised and get the job done.” Silence at the other end of the phone. “Detective?”

  “I’m listenin’, Officer Dennison.”

  “Aww, just call me, officer. Why so formal?” Prescott teased.

  “Too early in the morning for your nonsense, Officer Dennison. We’ll be talkin’ when I get there. Stay in your apartment. I shouldn’t have to ask this, but no one knows about this ‘cept you and the perp, right?”

  “Uh, I guess.”

  “Keep it that way. I’ll be there by seven-thirty.” The connection was broken.

  Prescott looked at the cell and made sure if was off. “Yes, ma’am, Detective Bitch.” He tossed the cell on the sofa next to Monica’s wig.

  Ezuma may have a good image at the precinct, but she is one royal pain in… He considered the cigarette pack in his hand. The hell with breaking the habit. He ripped it open.

  A knock on the door interrupted him. Prescott set aside his cigarettes, quickly tugged on his wig, and set the large, red-framed glasses in place. Monica was back.

  “Comin’.” She patted her curls into place. “Be right there, y’all.” She opened the door and flashed her mega-wattage smile. “Oh, shugah, it’s you. C’mon in.”

  Chapter 52

  Prescott’s ego had been totally shattered, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Latasha. The woman was glaring at him, and he knew what she was thinking before the words came out of her mouth.

  “If you can’t defend yourself against a seventy-eight year old, what you gonna do with the murderer?” Latasha leaned against the bathroom doorjamb and looked at a wigless Prescott holding an ice pack to his swollen and bruised nose.

  “Hey, I wasn’t expecting a pass from the old coot. He caught me by surprise.” Prescott looked closely at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I can tone down the color with makeup, but the swelling—”

  “Keep the ice on it,” Latasha said, tersely. “Tell me again, what happened?”

  “I opened the door and Chester came in with a box of candies. It was only six forty-five in the morning. He said ‘Hello,’ gave me the candy, and then moved in on me. I backed up. He grabbed me around the waist and tried to kiss me, and then he groped me. I guess he didn’t like what he felt. He grabbed my hair and the wig slipped off. He looked at me and didn’t say a word but he put the pieces together real fast. He freaked out and took a swing at me.” Prescott touched his nose and winced. “Caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “You been trained to expect anything, Officer Dennison. This shouldn’t a happened.” The detective’s disgust was evident. “Your cover’s a bust now. The whole place is gonna know you’re a fake by noon.” She left the bathroom and went to the basket on the coffee table. “Man, you have really messed this up.”

  Prescott protested. “No ma’am. That’s where you got it wrong. He was about to hammer me again, but I grabbed his wrist. I warned him if he told anyone about me, I’d tell everyone he tried to make a pass at a drag queen, and when I resisted, he beat me up. Cheney thinks he’s a man’s man. No way he wants that to get out.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing. He was breathing hard, like he was stroking out. He just looked at me, grabbed his box of candies, and left.”

  Latasha shook her head. “That may work. I’ll have to tell the judge about this, so she knows what all’s goin’ on.” She turned her attention to the fish head basket. “I’m takin’ this. I talked to the captain about movin’ the security monitors to this unit. You’ll be gettin’ a furniture delivery today—a window bench seat. The delivery men will set up the equipment. Tonight, you’ll have a guest comin’ to visit you, with luggage. She’ll be checkin’ the cameras.”

  “She?” Dennison looked hopeful.

  Latasha looked at the bruised Prescott with amusement. “Yeah, she—you wouldn’t want poor ol’ Monica, who’s had a bad fall, to be alone, would you? An’ how many cops you think want to be on a job with you in drag? Officer Magillicuddy actually volunteered for this duty.”

  “Magill—goddamn.” Prescott’s red face accentuated his bruises. “You can’t do this, Detective.”

  “I already have. Just ‘cause Magillicuddy beat your ass to a pulp in a boxing match doesn’t mean she can’t be assigned to this duty. That was pleasure. This here’s business. Least I know she’ll be doin’ the job right. And Chester Cheney ain’t gonna make a pass at her, you can bet on that.”

  “A monkey wouldn’t make a pass at her,” Prescott mumbled.

  Latasha picked up the basket. “I hear one word from her that you been disrespectful, you’re out poundin’ the beat. Y’hear?” Her dark skin seemed to glisten with the intensity of her warning. “Magillicuddy’s a good cop, doin’ her job, a lot better than you’re doin’ yours right now.” The detective headed for the door. “She’s gonna live right here with you, so you be a good host, Monica. Y’know, like you southern belles like to be.” She let herself out quietly.

  Prescott made his way to the sofa. He lay down and placed the bag of ice carefully on his nose.

  Only nine o’clock and the day is crap already.

  Dressing up and performing was fun, and the gig had started out great. He was starting to think he should have stuck to stage acting. The pay was bad but at least he’d be his own boss.

  Magillicuddy was just like his great aunt—tall, bony, and homely. Mousy hair wound up into a tight bun. Olive Oyl. Just looking at her made his eyes hurt.

  Yeah, so she beat me in a boxing match. Must have been pumped up with something.

  He closed his eyes, exhausted by his late night party and early morning activities. He dreamed of Chester dancing with a uniformed Magillicuddy. They waltzed around his sofa, pointing and laughing at him.

  Chapter 53

  “He what?” Phoebe looked from Detective Ezuma to Devin, then gazed out her living room window at the yachts leisurely sailing their way to the ocean. If I were smart, I’d be on one of them. She forced her attention back to the detective.

  “Umm.” Latasha squinted her eyes, apparently searching for the least offensive words. “Mr. Cheney grabbed Monica’s…ummm…privates an’…got a surprise. He figured out pretty quick Monica’s got more plumbin’ than a woman should have.”

  “The story doesn’t end there, d
oes it?” Phoebe sighed.

  “Fraid not, Judge. Mr. Cheney took a swing at Officer Dennison. Popped him a good one on his nose. But we got damage control in place. Mr. Cheney ain’t gonna be talkin’ ‘bout his visit.”

  “There’s more, I’m sure.” Phoebe sank back in her chair and rubbed her temples.

  “Well, I already told you ‘bout the basket with the fish head. We got surveillance monitors in Dennison’s apartment. Got a female officer watchin’ em. We’re hopin’ to get the perp before he leaves the buildin’. Officer Magillicuddy’s goin’ over the surveillance tapes from last night right now, to find out whoever left the basket outside, ummm, Monica’s unit.” Latasha drew a deep breath. “That’s all of it, Judge.”

  “For now, Detective, for now.” Phoebe looked at the last of the mega-yachts sailing past The Albatross and sighed.

  “We got two officers in the buildin’, Judge. Y’got help real close now.” Latasha picked up her shoulder satchel. “I’m off duty in five minutes, but y’know how to reach me. On my way to Kate’s Kitchen.”

  “Don’t know how you do it, Latasha. Cop by day, caterer by night,” Devin said.

  “This here’s the fun part of the day comin’ up, Devin.” She waved and let herself out of the apartment.

  “Latasha’s one hard-working woman,” Devin observed.

  “And a smart one.” Phoebe leaned forward in her chair. “Let’s talk about a meeting to discuss a board replacement for Cheney—” A sharp knock on the door interrupted her.

  Devin raised his hand. “Don’t get up, I’ll get it.” He looked out the peephole before opening the door.

  A very tall, angular woman, in an unadorned, shapeless, calf-length grey dress, peered down at him through large, black-framed glasses. “Mr. Dillon?” Her hair, a nondescript color and pulled into a hard knot, tightly stretched the skin across her face, also of a nondescript color. Not a hint of makeup relieved the monotony or the blandness of her appearance. She extended a long, thin arm, bony fingers reaching for his hand. “Bridey Magillicuddy. Detective Ezuma wanted me to introduce myself to Judge Burlingame.” She looked over his head into the living room.