Who Do, Voodoo?, page 13
Carla walked into Sophie’s bedroom. “Dr. Cooper, you were told to leave. I could cite you for interfering with an investigation.”
“Wait.” Dave shouldered past Carla. “Show me what? What do you have, Liz?”
I bit the inside of my lip and looked at him, then at Nick, while they waited for my answer.
“I brought the three tarot cards Sophie used to harass Robin. You and Carla didn’t give me the chance to show you so I came back,” I said.
Nick wrinkled his forehead, but kept silent.
“Why didn’t you give them to me at the station yesterday?” Carla said.
“I didn’t have them with me,” I said, rummaging through my tote. The cards were tucked into a side pocket. I pulled them out. “I noticed that the rest of the deck wasn’t here in the room . . .”
Carla took the three tarot cards and slid them into a plastic envelope. “And you just had to nose around?”
Nick put his arm around my shoulder. “Liz came at my request. I’m curious about the rest of the deck, too. Is it already in evidence?”
Carla flipped out a notebook and paged through some notes. “No.”
“What about the deck?” Dave’s eyes were fixed on Nick’s arm, still around me.
“What if Sophie gave the tarot cards to someone else harass to Robin?” Nick said. “What if that person heard Robin and Sophie argue at the party and was afraid Sophie would expose him or her? Someone who had something to lose?”
“Interesting,” Carla said. “I’ll have these checked for prints. Who handled them? That you know of.”
“Madame Iyå created the deck. Robin, my mother, Nick, and I touched them at one time or another,” I said. “And whoever left them on Robin’s door.”
“Anything else you brought to share?” Carla said.
“No, that’s it,” I said. “Just wanted to do my part.”
Carla scowled.
“I need to get back to the station,” Dave said. “Let’s close this place up and get out of here.”
I left the apartment with Nick; Carla and Dave followed. The elderly man who answered the door was waiting in the corridor.
“Thank you for letting us in, Mr. Marx,” Carla said. “Tell Miss Miller we appreciate her cooperation.”
“I will. Happy to help, ma’am.” Mr. Marx locked the apartment and tipped his fingers to his forehead in a salute.
Carla and Dave took out their cell phones. Both began making calls in the hallway. Nick held the front door open and then followed me outside.
“You kept the spell book from Carla and Dave,” Nick said, looking back over his shoulder. “Why?”
“I want some time to read through it before they do.”
“Don’t get in their way.”
“I’ll just stay out of their way,” I said.
“Why are you getting so involved?”
I stopped on the bottom step. “Robin and I have been best friends since grade school. She didn’t hesitate to help me if I had a crisis. She dropped everything for me. Why wouldn’t I get involved now that she needs my help? Wouldn’t you help Dave if he needed you?”
“Yes. I would. I do,” Nick said.
I locked my arm into the crook of Nick’s elbow, and we walked across the street in silence. We stopped at my car.
“I want to wait for Carla and Dave to leave,” I said.
Nick leaned against the trunk of my car. “Okay. Tell me what you thought of Sophie’s room. Typical female surroundings?”
I flipped my hand. “Oh. Sure. Typical. Just like my room minus the poltergeist that slides spell books off the bed and leaves them open on the floor.”
“I’d like to see that.” He smiled.
“I think the spell book is the key, Nick. If Sophie’s clients are in the book, I can check their names against the guest list from the party.” I looked back toward the apartment building. “Any matches could be good leads for the police and Robin’s attorney.”
The front door opened. Carla and Dave walked down the steps and crossed the street to my car.
“When will I see a report, Nick?” Dave said.
“I’ll go over everything this afternoon and call you later today.”
Carla said, “I’m the lead detective on this case. I’d appreciate it if you would call me with your report and copy Dave.”
Nick agreed. Dave and Carla went to their cars, then drove off. As Dave passed by, I waved. He looked at Nick and me, side by side on the street, and frowned. Tough. When they were out of sight I opened the trunk and brought out the spell book.
Nick put on his glasses and flipped through the pages. He raised an eyebrow. “This is intriguing. You’re right—it’s nineteenth-century Vodou and apparently logged with great detail. Let’s take it to my house and go through it.”
“You take it. I want to drive over to Collins Talent first and get a copy of the guest list. Can I come by later? After the séance? I could have more information by then.”
“Okay.” Nick leaned back and studied me. “You have my attention. Again. What séance?”
“Madame Iyå is holding a séance here tonight to contact Sophie’s spirit.” I grinned.
Nick laughed out loud. “You? Miss I-Don’t-Believe? Liz, what are you doing? Didn’t Osaze convince you that Madame Iyå is a fake? Why are you wasting your time and, I guarantee you, your money on her sideshow?”
“I want to see Madame Iyå put on her show, and it gives me a chance to talk to Sophie’s friends. Sophie told Madame Iyå and Jimmy to leave her alone. Then, after she was murdered, they offer to do a séance like nothing happened? It’s strange. I think they’re after the spell book. Madame Iyå already lied to me, told me she had it. In fact, she and Jimmy might have been after the spell book the night of the concert. Maybe they followed Sophie out into the parking lot for it. I want to see what Madame Iyå does tonight.”
“When did Madame Iyå lie to you about the spell book?” Nick said.
“I saw her yesterday.”
“Looking for trouble?”
“No, I’m looking to clear Robin.”
“I’ll go with you to the séance.”
“I have to go alone. Sophie’s friends don’t know you. They barely know me, but I have to take the chance that they’ll accept me.”
Nick slid his hands into his pant pockets. “Madame Iyå is a scam artist. She probably set up the séance to pick up some cash at the door.”
“You might be right.” I looked at the ground, then up at him with a grin. “But I’m going anyway.”
Nick touched his forehead to mine and smiled into my eyes. “Watch yourself tonight. Madame Iyå may be a fraud and you don’t know what the rest of the people there could be into.”
“I’ll be careful.” I closed the trunk and dug in my tote for my keys.
Nick crossed the street to his car. As I watched him drive off, Dave’s warning about Nick niggled at the back of my mind. But I didn’t have time to dig into Nick’s social life and track down a murderer all in the same day.
Mr. Marx came down the front steps of the apartment building in a green sweater and coordinated tweed hat with wisps of white hair poking out from the sides. When he wobbled on the middle step, I went over and gave him my hand.
“Thank you, young lady.” He smiled, tipping a finger to his hat. “Did you find your clues inside?”
“No,” I said, smiling back. “I was observing today.”
“But not by invitation, eh? You lied to me, Dr. Cooper. They were talking about you in the hall,” he said. “That lady detective was mad as hell at you. The other detective tried to calm her down. He likes you.”
I laughed. “He’s my brother—he has to like me. And I didn’t lie to you. The other man inside really was expecting me. Please, call me Liz.”
“Henry Marx,” he said. “I own the building.”
“So my big brother defended me? I’m glad to hear it,” I said.
“That lady detective said that she’d file a complaint against him if he let you get in the way,” Henry said. “Are you going to listen to her?”
“Nope. But I’m going to be more careful of who I talk to. Can I count on you to be discreet?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Henry was about four inches shorter than my five foot five. As I looked down at him, I saw three commemorative pins tacked on the band of his hat. One was purple with a deco Indian head drawn beneath a Santa Fe Super Chief logo; the other two pins were deep yellow, surrounding a black Super Chief cross.
He caught me studying them and said, “Do you know the Super Chief?”
“The Super Chief was a train, wasn’t it?”
Henry laughed. “It was the most famous train in the world, young lady. Your generation missed out on luxury travel. Do you have a minute? I want to show you something.”
It may not have been the cleverest come-on ever, but I had a feeling that Henry Marx didn’t miss much. He probably saw everyone who came and went from his building. I didn’t want to waste the opportunity, so I took his arm and we ascended the steps together.
Henry unlocked his apartment door and led me into the light-blue living room. A gold-tapestry sofa and matching chairs nestled near the front window around a mahogany sofa table. The scent of sweet cherry tobacco hung in the air. On the far wall was a huge mahogany china cabinet filled with matching dishes.
“Come sit down. Let me show you something.”
We sat on the couch. Henry opened a scrapbook with a collection of yellowed newspaper articles and photos.
“See? Here’s Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall getting off the Super Chief in Pasadena.” Henry tapped my knee. “And here’s Jimmy Cagney. My family and I rode with him on his way out here to make The Time of Your Life. Cagney gave me his white china mug from the dining car as a souvenir. It has an art deco lizard painted on it. I’ve been collecting the rest of that Mimbreno china set for sixty years. I don’t think the gecko on his mug was lucky, though. His movie flopped.”
“Oops,” I said, wincing. “Are you superstitious?”
“Liz, at my age I believe everything and nothing. Sophie understood. We talked about spirits quite often after my wife, Maria, died last year.” He looked up at me over his glasses. The childish delight over the Super Chief faded from his face. “Sophie knew things.”
“Did she do spells for you?”
“Ah.” Henry locked his hazel eyes on mine and held them there. “I’m old, but I’m not stupid. I can’t talk about that.”
“It sounds like you and Sophie were good friends. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He shook his head. “Sophie was a feisty one. She could hold her own if someone crossed her. But she was a great kid, too, like Linda. My best tenants. I don’t know why they wasted their time with that Nola girl, though, always gossiping and arguing in the hall.” Henry closed his scrapbook and slid it back on the table. “She’s nothing like Sophie was. Sophie wouldn’t let her forget it, either.”
“But they were cousins,” I said.
He got up and went to the window.
“What, Henry? Is there something wrong?”
“I won’t start trouble.” He turned. “That’s why I didn’t say much to the police.”
“I’m not the police,” I said. “Do you know something?”
“I heard things. Sophie and Nola fought a lot. Maybe that’s the way young girls talk to each other these days,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “One day they’re shouting and then the next day they’re best friends again. Now Nola has it in her mind to move in with Linda and take Sophie’s place.”
I followed him and slid into a chair at the Formica table. “This is your building. You can prevent Nola from moving in if you want. You have control over that, Henry.”
“Linda can’t afford the apartment on her own. I don’t want to lose her as a tenant. She’s a good girl. She pays her rent on time. If it makes Linda happy to have Nola here, then I won’t stop her. But I don’t trust Nola,” he said.
“Why not?” I said.
Henry filled a teakettle in the sink and put it on the stove. “When Sophie came to town, she stayed with Nola’s parents. It was Nola who put Sophie and Linda together as roommates. Sophie told me Nola wanted her away from her uncle’s house. Then, when she moved here, Nola got jealous that Linda and Sophie became close friends.”
“But if it was Nola’s idea for them to live together . . .”
“Go figure. Nola wanted what Sophie had, and Sophie had everything. Sophie got all the attention. That’s where the trouble was.” Henry reached for mugs from the kitchen cabinet. “Tea?”
“No, thanks. What trouble?”
“First it was Sophie and Linda being friends. Then Sophie’s friendship with Jimmy, in the apartment upstairs.”
“Jimmy Johnson? Madame Iyå’s son?” I said.
“Yes. You know him?”
“Sort of,” I said. The pieces were coming together. Jimmy must have introduced Sophie to Madame Iyå. “Tell me more, Henry.”
“Next thing, Nola started complaining about that new boyfriend of Sophie’s. The rich one who never came over here.”
Jealousy was a precursor to domestic and sibling abuse. Maybe Nola was bitter about Sophie’s alleged engagement to Sam. I remembered her snide comment at the party about Sophie serving coffee on her knees. I wondered how jealous Nola really was.
Henry poured his tea, and I followed him back into the living room.
“Did Nola ever threaten Sophie?” I said.
“They think I don’t hear.” He set the cup near his pipe on the table and started to sit down.
The doorbell rang.
Chapter Twenty
Henry went to his front window and pulled back the curtain. Over his shoulder, I saw the Channel 9 News van parked outside the apartment building. A man in a baseball cap and jeans waited at the foot of the steps with a video camera perched on his shoulder. A woman in a business suit backed away from the front door, looking toward Henry’s window.
“Ach. I shooed the other two reporters away yesterday,” Henry said. “They’re all sniffing around, asking if I saw some singer here with Sophie.”
My stomach clenched. “I can’t get caught on camera here, Henry.”
“Go down the corridor and out the back door.” Henry dropped the curtain. “I’ll distract them. The alley in back will lead you to the street. Don’t worry. You won’t be seen.”
“You’re my hero, Henry. Thanks.” I kissed his cheek.
He left the apartment and cracked open the door to the street. As I dashed down the corridor, I heard him say: “You can’t film here. This is private property.”
I exited through the back door and walked down the alley. When I came around the corner onto the street in front of the apartment, I saw the news van drive away. Henry watched from his window. He tipped a finger to his forehead in salute and smiled at me.
In my car, I put on my headset and dialed Collins Talent. I needed that guest list.
“Collins Talent, this is Lulu.”
“Hi, Lulu, it’s Liz Cooper.”
She paused.
“Liz. Robin’s friend. I just saw you at Hissy Fit . . .”
“Oh, hey, Liz. Sorry. Brain freeze. The phones are going insane and ninety percent of the calls are from the press. Robin’s not here. Did you hear the news?”
“I know, Lulu,” I said. “I need a copy of the—”
“Hold on, another call.”
Afternoon traffic across town would be a nightmare. I started my car and headed toward Beverly Hills.
Lulu came back on the line. “Sorry. The damn calls won’t stop. Between Sophie and Buzzy, you’d think I didn’t have any other work to do around here. Freakin’ crazy about Buzzy, isn’t it? He was just here yesterday afternoon.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought you said you knew. Wasn’t it on the news? Buzzy got hit by a truck on PCH last night.”
“Buzzy got hit? Do you mean his car?”
“No—that’s the freakiest part. He was walking. I mean, who walks across the Pacific Coast Highway? He was meeting Sam and Zack Tate at Gladstone’s. Did you meet Zack? Really cute. He’s a junior agent here.”
“Lulu—what happened to Buzzy?”
“Zack told me the whole story this morning. Then Sam calls and tells me to give the press a no-comment and only take messages. I knew that. Like I have time to sit on the phone all day and talk anyway.”
“Is Buzzy okay?”
“He’s dead,” she said. “Zack and Sam were outside the restaurant watching Buzzy cross the street to meet them. Buzzy steps off the curb, something drops out of his pocket, he bends down to pick it up, and bam. A truck came tearing around the corner and hit him. Zack said Buzzy flew up in the air and got hit again by another car. Nasty. Can you believe it? After the ambulance came, Zack went over to the curb. Buzzy’s wallet was lying there. Ugh. Freaky.”
I put a hand to my chest and took a breath. I pictured Buzzy at the lunch counter yesterday, laughing and gossiping about Sophie. And now he was dead. “That’s horrible.”
“So Zack told me not to tell anyone anything about anything until Sam comes back to the office. And with all the bullshit going on around here, who knows when that will be? You wouldn’t believe how many reporters I had to take messages from today. Two of them invited me out for a drink. I almost said yes because I need publicity for my showcase tomorrow, but . . .”
“I’m so sorry for Buzzy and his family.”
“Yeah. I’m a wreck, too. Buzzy was going to help me with publicity. It sucks.”
“I feel bad for Sam. First Sophie, then Buzzy. He and Buzzy were close, weren’t they?”
“Yeah. We all liked Buzzy. There was this one time—”
“Lulu, I know you’re busy, but I need your help. You’re the first person I thought of.”
“Of course I’ll help you. I turned you on to Hissy Fit, didn’t I? You loved it, didn’t you? What can I do?”
“I need a copy of the guest list from the party Tuesday night.”
“Sure. Easy. For Robin’s lawyer? Want me to fax it to you? Messenger it over? I can bring it to your house.”
