Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries Page 5

  “That’s okay, don’t get up,” Mary said as she passed him by. The man moaned and gargled at the same time. The smell made Mary hold her breath until she reached the third floor.

  As Mary opened the door and began walking down the hallway toward 312, she thought about Barry Olis. The name didn’t ring any kind of bell with her, but this was Hollywood. Uncle Brent had met and known untold numbers of people as a comedian and writer. There were probably hundreds of names she’d never heard of. Mary wondered if Uncle Brent had known this Barry guy recently or if they were old friends. Hopefully, Barry had seen something that had happened the night Brent was murdered. As of right now, there still weren’t any real witnesses.

  Mary finally came to Apartment 312. Farther down the hall, she heard a door slam and someone shout. She put her right hand inside her sport coat on the butt of her .45. With her left hand, she reached up and knocked.

  The door gave a little under her knock, and she saw that not only was the door unlocked, it wasn’t even latched shut. She looked both ways down the hall before taking her .45 all the way out of her shoulder holster. “Hello?” she said. “Anyone home?”

  Again with her left hand she reached up and gave a very gentle knock. The door creaked inward and in a flash, Mary saw the thin wire stretched across the opening and she dove to her left as a bright flash blinded her and then a tremendous roar filled her ears. She felt herself lifted off the floor and then smashed into something hard.

  For just a moment, she wondered if she looked just like the guy passed out in the stairwell.

  And then she didn’t wonder anymore.

  Twenty

  “I always knew I’d see you in bed again soon.”

  Mary opened her eyes, despite the crushing headache that made her grind her jaws. She was on a rolling bed in an ambulance, parked outside the Vista del Mar. Jake Cornell looked down at her, a look of bemusement on his face. It made her head hurt even worse.

  “And I knew you’d have to knock me unconscious to do it,” she said. Ooh, it hurt to talk, too. She ran a quick inventory up and down her body and discovered that just about everything ached.

  “The blast knocked you backward and you hit your head on the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall,” Jake said. “You were lucky. It could have been a fire axe instead.”

  Mary thought of a couple comebacks, but it hurt too much to actually say them. She groaned and struggled to sit up. The pain actually lessened once she was up, but now she felt sore ribs, too. When she looked up, what she saw next really hurt.

  Sergeant Arianna Davies now stood next to Jake. The Shark apparently smelled blood.

  Mary turned to the paramedic who was next to her, closing up his medical kit. “Do you have anything in there that will make her go away?” she said, nodding toward the Shark. The paramedic pretended not to hear her.

  “You really don’t want to keep your p.i. license do you, Cooper?” Davies said. “I told you to stay away from this case.”

  “Well, maybe you should sign me up for the same obedience course you put him through,” Mary said, nodding toward Jake.

  “Why were you here, Mary?” Jake asked. He tried to put it gently, but Mary still hated him for asking anyway. Traitor.

  “Deadbeat Dad case I’m working on,” she said. “Supposedly the guy was hiding out here. Turns out he has a psychotic daughter.” She turned to Davies. “Your Mom hired me to find him.”

  “Not funny,” Davies said.

  “In Apartment 312?” Jake asked.

  “Deadbeat Dads don’t put their names on their mailboxes, Jake. You’ll learn that when you become a detective.” Jake’s face flashed red, and for a moment, Mary felt bad, which surprised her. She didn’t want to hurt him, just sting him a little. And she really didn’t want to ruin his career.

  “Ever heard of a man named Barrymore Olis?” Davies said. “Barry Olis to his friends?”

  “I know an Oily Boris, but not a Barry Olis.”

  “Well, there was a body in 312, and the apartment belonged to a Barry Olis,” Davies said.

  “Excellent deduction, detective,” Mary said.

  Jake pulled out a sheet of paper. “Any idea what this means?” But before Mary could answer, the Shark snatched the paper from Jake’s hand.

  “Let’s get information, Detective Cornell,” Davies said. A hard edge to her voice that perfectly complemented her entire being. “Not give it. We’re all done here,” she said. The Shark turned her full attention on Mary. “Stay away from me, Cooper. This is your last warning.”

  The Shark stormed off with Jake in tow.

  But it didn’t matter. Mary didn’t really care what the Shark threatened to do. She’d gotten a good look at that sheet of paper in Jake’s hand. A part of her wanted to believe that Jake had done it on purpose, to give her the information but make it look like he’d done it accidentally. Her heart lightened a little bit and she almost smiled.

  Mary had seen that piece of paper, and she had read it. So she knew what she had to do.

  It had been three little words. But words that tied this murder into Uncle Brent’s.

  The note had been in big block letters.

  He really bombed.

  Twenty-One

  “I always knew your career choice would blow up in your face,” Aunt Alice said as she let Mary inside the house. Mary rolled her eyes. A man in a pair of black slacks and a black turtleneck rose from the couch to greet her.

  “This is Whitney Braggs,” Alice said. “Whitney, this is my niece, Kojak.”

  “Mary, actually.”

  “Nice to meet you Mary Actually.”

  Oh God, Mary thought. Everyone’s a comedian. Braggs smiled at her and Mary noted the brilliant white teeth, the smooth, tanned skin and the perfect white hair. This guy was probably in his late sixties, but he clearly took good care of himself.

  “Really, though,” he said. “I know you’re a Cooper. Brent and I went way back. I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice was smooth and cultured. He sounded like a radio announcer.

  “Mary, can I get you anything?” Alice said. “A drink of water? An application to a local community college?”

  Mary had been released several hours ago. The prognosis had been good. No broken bones. A slight concussion, most likely. Right now, she just felt sore and tired.

  “Ladies,” Braggs said. “Since you’re both slightly incapacitated, allow me.” He escorted Alice to a chair. Even though she was walking now, it wasn’t a very steady gate. Mary didn’t bother waiting for him. She sat down on the yellow chair next to Alice. Alice asked for iced tea and Mary asked for a Diet Coke. Mary caught a waft of subtle, expensive cologne.

  Once Braggs had left for the kitchen, Mary turned to Aunt Alice. “So is the sex good with him?”

  Alice looked at her out of the corner of her eye and answered in a soft voice.

  “Why, would you be jealous?” she said.

  “Looks like you didn’t even ruffle his hair.”

  “He got so excited there wasn’t time…”

  The return of Braggs with the drinks cut Alice off.

  “Whitney says that a group of Brent’s friends are all coming to town,” Alice offered.

  “There go our property values,” Mary said. “Buy your polyester shirts and Sansabelts now, before they’re gone.”

  “Some of them are actually here, living here,” Braggs said. “But yeah, there are a few out-of-towners. You know, we were all pretty close back in the day,” he said, his face thoughtful. Mary thought he was a pretty good actor, too.

  “When you say ‘we’, who are you talking about?” she asked.

  “She’s a p.i.,” Alice said. “She asks questions all the time. Let me know if she starts bugging you, I’ve got a muzzle for her, it has her monogram on it…”

  “Yeah,” Mary said. “And I’ve got her ball gag in my purse.”

  “No, no, no,” Braggs said. “That’s fine, that’s fine,” he said, holding out his finely
manicured hands. Jeez, Mary thought. The guy’s got better nails than I do.

  “Just some friends who all started together way back when,” he said. “We sort of cheered each other on, critiqued each other’s jokes. If one of us got a job, he’d try to get some of us hired, too, or at least submit our material.”

  “So you guys were all comedians, or what?” Mary said.

  “Most of us did stand-up. All of us wrote material, too, and tried to get jobs on TV. shows. You know, talk shows, variety shows, sitcoms. Some of us did, some of us didn’t.”

  “Did you?” Alice asked.

  “I had some early success,” he said. His expression was one of careful modesty. “A few little roles on the Dick Van Dyke Show, and others. But then I went into commercial voiceover work.” He smiled. “Visa. The only card you need.”

  “Yes, that’s you! I thought I recognized your voice. That’s impressive!” Alice said.

  “So are the royalty checks,” Braggs said with a wink.

  “Sorry about my last payment,” Alice said. “I swear I mailed it out in time, but the frickin’ mail is so slow!”

  “I heard her say the same thing to the cable guy,” Mary said. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Braggs.”

  “Please, Whitney.”

  “Did you ever know a Barry Olis?”

  “Yes! I knew Barry,” Braggs said, surprise in his voice. “I tried to track him down, too, but couldn’t find an address.”

  “Well, he’s now in multiple locations,” Mary said. Alice and Braggs gave her a blank look.

  “He was in the apartment that exploded,” she said. “The one that nearly took me with it.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Braggs said. Mary noted that his face went slightly pale. Although, with his tan, it was more like it went slightly taupe.

  “Do they know who did it?” he asked.

  “They know the killer has a really good sense of humor,” Mary said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing, it’s not important.” Mary then thought of something. She gestured to both Aunt Alice and Braggs. “So did you two know each other? Why did you come here, to her place? To see what happens to upholstery gone bad?”

  “I knew Brent had a sister in town, he’d mentioned that,” Braggs said. “A few phone calls and I found the particulars. I missed the funeral.”

  “Too bad, it was a good show,” Mary said. “A regular laugh fest.”

  “Coopers just can’t be serious about anything,” Alice said. “Especially her,” she said, then lifted a cane and pointed it at Mary.

  “So do the police think Brent’s and Barry Olis’ murders are connected?” Braggs asked.

  “I’m not exactly the person they like to share intimate details with,” Mary said. “In fact, they keep warning me they’ll take my license away. I think they feel threatened.”

  “Do they know it’s a cosmetician’s license?” Alice said.

  “Okay,” Braggs said. “Then let me ask you this, Mary. Do you think the murders are connected?”

  “They’re tied together more tightly than Alice’s black lace bodystocking.”

  “It’s not black, it’s fire-engine red, baby,” Alice said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  “Oh, boy. This is serious,” Braggs said, resting his chin in his hand and looking out Alice’s picture window. There wasn’t much to see out there, Mary thought. A few houses. Not a whole lot of inspiration. Nonetheless, Braggs sat straight up and clapped his hands together.

  “Brent also mentioned you,” he said to Mary.

  “I’m sure it was a real Hallmark moment,” Mary said.

  Braggs smiled an easy, comforting smile. “He simply mentioned he had a niece who was a helluva private investigator. I swear, that’s what he said.”

  “He was probably joking, testing out some new material,” Alice offered.

  “Well, that’s kind of why I came to see Alice,” Braggs said.

  “You need a good reason. No one would do it on their own volition,” Mary said.

  “I came here to see Alice, but I also came to find you,” he said.

  “Visiting Mary is like rubbernecking at a car accident – you don’t really want to, but sometimes you just can’t stop yourself.”

  “Why me?” Mary said.

  “The group of guys I told you about? The ones who all started out with Brent and me way back when?”

  Mary nodded.

  “We want to hire you to find Brent’s killer,” Braggs said. “And now Barry’s too.”

  Her first inclination was to say absolutely not. But she was looking into the case anyway, so she may as well get paid for it. Plus, since she had a legitimate client now, she actually had a legal right to do some investigating. At least, enough right to challenge the Shark the next time they butted heads.

  “There’s only one condition,” Braggs said.

  Uh-oh, Mary thought.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Twenty-Two

  Mary shot up Pico, then hooked a left onto Lincoln. A few minutes later she pulled up in front of the Leg Pull. Mary hoped once and for all that this would be the last time she had to come to this shithole.

  But then she smiled and laughed about Mr. Whitney Braggs. Thinking he could tag along just because he’d hired her. What was she, a ride share program for the elderly? That’s why she had slipped out the back door of Aunt Alice’s house. She didn’t have time to babysit some old man.

  She eased out of the car, her body still ached. Mary dry swallowed some more Tylenol.

  She walked into the Leg Pull and saw her good friend Mr.

  Cecil Fogerty, standing at the bar, watching the bartender, a very well-endowed young woman. Mary figured the woman would last about a week, or at least until Cecil started putting the moves on her and she slapped him silly. At least, hopefully that’s what she would do, for her own sake.

  Fogerty glanced out the corner of his eye when she walked in, stiffened as if someone had shoved a cattle prod up his ass, then immediately turned his back on her. Mary walked right up to him.

  “Hey Cecil! Long time no see!” she said.

  He turned to look at her over his shoulder. The bartender moved on so Cecil had no choice but to turn all the way around and face her.

  “I told you everything I know,” he said.

  “Ah, come on,” Mary said. “You went to MIT right? You must be a real fountain of knowledge.”

  “Please go away,” he said, his voice small and sheepish.

  “I can’t stay away from you,” Mary said. “I’m hooked. It’s like asking a bird not to fly.”

  “You know,” he said, the light of a small challenge coming into his eyes. “I reported you to the cops for pulling your gun on me,” he said. He even puffed out his chest a little.

  “No you didn’t,” Mary said just as loud. “You changed your soaked panties and told everyone you did me on the desk.”

  “Yeah, but after that, I called the cops.”

  Mary could tell he was lying. He wouldn’t dare call the cops and get involved with them. She was sure Cecil had all kinds of sideline activities the police would love to know about. And she didn’t have time to listen to his bullshit. Mary closed the distance on him and stood so close her boobs were hitting him in his chest. She could smell his body odor mixed with some high-octane Hai Karate. Mary tried not to look at the greasy pores on the man’s nose.

  “Jimmy Miles,” she said. “Where is he?”

  “Here we go again,” Cecil said. His voice actually shook a little and his chest caved back in.

  “Is that your breath or are we standing over an open sewer?” Mary said.

  Cecil gritted his teeth. “I have very active glands,” he said. “It’s not fair of you to make fun of something I can’t control.”

  Mary reached up and grabbed the front of Fogerty’s shirt. The bartender looked over as well as a cocktail waitress who had reappeared
from the back room.

  “Tell me,” Mary said.

  “I don’t know,” Fogerty said through clenched, yellowed teeth. “Go look in one of those Comedy Club flyers – it shows where everyone is. He’s probably listed in there.”

  Mary nodded. “That’s a good idea. But since you know the clubs, you could probably find it much faster than I could. Go.”

  She pushed him away from the bar.

  “Then will you leave and never come back?” Fogerty said, and walked over to the pile of thin newspapers. He picked one up, then mumbled under his breath. “Maybe go get some horrible disease and die a miserable death?”

  “Stop trying to sweet talk me,” Mary said.

  He flipped through the pages, scanning them quickly. Mary took a look around. The place was mostly empty. She pictured her Uncle Brent here, waiting to go on stage for his final performance. She hoped he had gotten at least a few laughs.

  “Donny B’s,” Fogerty said. “On Sunset in West Hollywood. Okay?”

  “Even though I trust you implicitly, show me,” Mary said. Fogerty held open the paper and Mary saw Jimmy Miles’ name in the rectangle for Donny B’s. She took the paper and headed for the door.

  “Please don’t come back,” Fogerty said.

  “Don’t wait up for me, honey,” Mary answered.

  Twenty-Three

  Mary had figured the Leg Pull was at the bottom rung of the comedy club ladder.

  She was wrong.

  Donny B’s was under the ladder, down a manhole cover, on par with the sewer lines. Small, dirty, and nearly empty, Donny B’s looked less like a comedy club and more like a dive biker bar even hobos would be embarrassed to frequent.

  Jimmy Miles was on stage. Mary checked her watch. According to the flyer he was most likely in the middle of his set. She sat at the bar and ordered a beer. In a bottle. She swiveled on her stool and took in Jimmy’s act.

  “And you know what else I love about black women?” he said. All nervous energy on the stage. “It’s okay to insult them. Just don’t do it in their house!” He waved his finger in front of him and raised his voice up a pitch or two. “You gonna say that to me in my house? You got another thing comin, girl!” There was chuckle or two from the audience, Mary thought. Well, just one.