Drive Thru Murder Read online

  Earline ignored her. “I don’t think Merlot knew him. Maybe Chardonnay knew who it was because he said, ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ but he never said no name. That’s when the one in the miniskirt shot Merlot, and Chardonnay got himself knocked in the head. Merlot told me she was transgender and only liked men for company, but she told me Chardonnay was a bisexual or whatever it’s called that likes everybody.”

  “Earline, shut your mouth when the police get here or you be yanked out that window next,” the same woman huffed and turned her back to us.

  “Don’t you want to help find who did this to Jimmie?” I asked Earline. “The police won’t find who did this if no one wants to come forth with information, or help in an investigation,” I said more to the rest of the workers standing around.

  The short woman turned her back on me when I started talking. She would really be going off on Earline if she knew I dated a cop.

  We sat and waited for Dante and his partner, Detective Hanky, to show up.

  Chapter Two

  When I heard the police sirens approaching, I asked Lionel to unlock the doors, and I went out to meet them. Even at night, in late September, it was still hot and humid in New Orleans. Once I left the arctic blast of the air-conditioning inside, it felt like someone threw a hot, wet blanket over me. It didn’t take long before I felt damp with perspiration. I lifted my ponytail off my neck with one hand and fanned under it with the other. My hair stuck to my scalp in this heat.

  The blue flashing strobe lights on the arriving police cars felt like they were piercing my eyeballs, giving me a headache, a companion to my hunger pains. Dante and his partner pulled up in an unmarked car adding their flashing lights to the mix. I’m sure it was Hanky’s idea to leave them on when she saw me shielding my eyes with the palm of my hand.

  “Brandy.” Hanky nodded at me getting out the passenger’s side.

  “Hanky.” I nodded back. I blew Dante a kiss just to tick her off.

  “It’s Detective Hanky,” she said.

  “Well then, it’s Ms. Alexander,” I said.

  “OK Blondie,” Hanky said looking around the crime scene.

  I pulled my hair out of the ponytail and shook my head so it would fluff out like I had seen the cool girls do. I never quite got the hang of the move, and my dad said I looked like a dog shaking water off after getting a bath. I reworked all of it except a few errant blonde hairs back into the scrunchie. Even in sneakers, I was five-foot eight to her five-foot-four—Hanky’s width and height. The gun, handcuffs, radio and whatever else she had on the police belt around her waist, only gave her a figure one would describe as a square box. Her wardrobe selection didn’t help.

  Dante ignored the exchange between us and walked up to me from the driver’s side of the squad car. Usually, when I have on four-inch heels, I look Dante in the eye at his six-foot, solid frame. I was always the tallest girl in grade school, and when the other boys teased me, Dante, who was a grade ahead of me, could put the fear of God into the boys in my class.

  When I was in second grade, a boy in the lunch line tried to kiss me, and Dante punched him, knocking out one of his teeth. He was suspended for a week and immediately became my hero. Except if moving is involved, Dante has a way of being right where I need him, when I need him most.

  I pointed to Lionel, and Dante and Hanky followed him inside. While I waited, several other police cars began to arrive along with the EMTs in an ambulance. After several minutes, they both came back outside to where I was standing.

  “So, walk me through what happened here,” Dante said flipping open his notebook. He pulled his BIC pen out of the spiral and wrote the date and time on a blank page.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted my weight to one foot, much like I used to do in grade school when being teased. I looked at Hanky and did an eye roll.

  He turned and looked at her. She let out a big breath and said, “I’ll canvas and see if any of the neighbors saw something.”

  His fellow officers said Dante’s dark brown eyes could stare a confession out of a criminal before he asked any questions. It seems Hanky got the message from his look too. I never got the look. I got the pulsing vein on the side of his head when he was really annoyed with me.

  She huffed, turned on her rubber-sole low-heel shoe—the kind that nuns wore—and marched off.

  I said to Dante, “I see Hanky Panky’s in plain clothes now. Do y’all suit shop together at the Men’s Wearhouse?”

  I wish I could claim I came up with the nickname of Hanky Panky, but that was coined by one of Dante’s brothers in the Fraternal Order of Police. Hanky and I met for the first time right after she became Dante’s partner on the day my friend, Julia, was accused of murder.

  It seemed Dante and I had come to an impasse in our relationship. I had heard Dante had started dating her after he had seen me kiss Jiff in a Mardi Gras parade. Dante just had to be on parade duty on that section of the route when a friendly peck on the cheek in exchange for a flower turned into a showstopper. I’m pretty sure Hanky started the rumor, hopeful something might come of it…like a date with Dante.

  Dante shifted from foot-to-foot, a habit he developed when he was dead tired to stay awake. He looked hot and uncomfortable. His shirt was wrinkled which he probably had on all day and his tie was loosened at the neck so he could leave the top buttons on his shirt open. It revealed he was wearing an undershirt, which I thought would make him sweat more but he said it kept his shirt from sticking to him.

  He worked out punching a bag at the police gym. It showed. He was tall like his British father but, thankfully, he got his olive complexion from his Italian mother. His super-thick light brown hair was cut military style—but a little longer so he didn’t look quite like a drill sergeant. His hair was close-cropped on the sides and just long enough on top to comb. I was always asking him to let it grow out a little longer. He had had the same haircut since he was a boy and I’m pretty sure he still used Butch Wax—the same stuff his mother put on all her boys—to style it. Dante’s eyes were his biggest asset. I loved when he looked at me like that because I thought he could see exactly how I felt about him.

  Dante had gone into the military from high school and spent two tours in what he referred to as “the sand box”. He never told me what he and all his friends did, but they all looked like Rambo when I met them. Not one of them would answer me when I asked what they did together in the service. Right after he came home, we went to a funeral of a buddy and Dante wore his uniform, the front of which was covered in a lot of medals he had been awarded.

  All the surviving men from the unit showed up in full dress uniform with full decorations including numerous commendation medals, ribbons and honors. They had had their hair cut. Dante and his friends played their emotions close to the vest much like his British dad, who I later learned was MI6 before he married Miss Ruth. Now, Mr. Albert was a jeweler.

  “Look, let’s get this over with so you can go home. It’s late. Why were you here in the first place?”

  “I dropped Suzanne off at work on Bourbon, and was driving by here on my way home. I was hungry, and this place had a drive-thru, so I pulled in. When I heard a commotion, and what I thought was a gunshot from the order speaker, I parked and got out to peek up the side…”

  “You got outta your car?” Dante’s voice interrupted me at a decibel level that could cause permanent hearing loss. “In this neighborhood? At this time of night? What were you thinking?”

  When I didn’t answer, he sucked in a deep breath, regained some composure and asked, “Go on. Then what happened?”

  “I witnessed someone in a miniskirt climb in through the drive-up window, then climb back out dragging a person in a CluckIt uniform. The one in the miniskirt pulled the worker into the waiting SUV and drove off. The person wasn’t moving so he could have been dead, or passed out. I got out my car to witness what was going on. It was the right thing to do.”

  “We can debate
that later. Anything else?”

  “I got the plate number, and it’s…”

  Dante cut me off, “Was it a black SUV, plate 223VSB?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?” It took me a second to realize before I said, “Oh, that vehicle with that plate was reported stolen?”

  “Reported right before we got this call. What is it with you and crime? You seem to be smack in the middle of every homicide, assault or robbery that happens in this city. Maybe I should just follow you around. That way I wouldn’t waste my time looking for perps. I could single-handedly put an end to all crime in New Orleans as you discover it unfolding.”

  Dante continued to scribble in his notebook while he went on with his mini rant. Ranting and writing seems to be a skill that police have a natural affinity for. I don’t think I could do it.

  “It wouldn’t be single-handed if I have to help you. Aren’t my tax dollars paying you to detect?” I said using finger quotes. “Besides, what would Hanky do?”

  “Look, I’m happy, no—relieved you’re not hurt, but you’re a magnet for disaster,” he muttered still writing notes as fast as he could. He grabbed my arm to move me out of the way as the EMTs wheeled an empty stretcher with no James Batiste on it back to the ambulance. One of the technicians shook his head to Dante when they passed. James Batiste didn’t make it.

  I faced Dante and stood close so no one could hear or see what I told him.

  “While I waited for you to show up the lady sitting with the victim told me some pretty interesting stuff about what might be a love triangle involving the one shot, the one kidnapped, and the one who climbed in the window. I don’t want to tell you, or anyone, that here. The others inside didn’t want her telling me, and they told her to keep her mouth shut when the police arrived.”

  “Why can’t you just leave police business to the police? You will have to tell this to another detective since you and I are, uh, um….” Dante trailed off, and I stood quietly to see how he was going to describe us. He finished with, “known to each other.”

  Known to each other?

  “Well, find another detective who isn’t known to me so I can give my recollection of the events—again—and it better not be Hanky.”

  Chapter Three

  I met Sandra, my new neighbor, the Saturday morning after the shooting and kidnapping at CluckIt, while I was sitting at my kitchen table looking out the window. I sipped my cup of coffee and chicory while pondering how Miniskirt, Chardonnay and Merlot—the threesome from the fast food joint, were connected.

  All three were men, yet presented as females. I thought transgender men who dressed as women wanted to be with straight men. Shows what I know. The man in the miniskirt who climbed in the drive-thru window wanted Chardonnay to leave someone alone. Every scenario I played out only caused me to ask more questions.

  I heard a ping and read a text coming across my phone that said,

  Miss you. I haven’t seen you in so long I hope you don’t forget what I look like. Hope to see you later today if this trial settles. It’s close. xoxo, Jiff

  Jiff, the man I had kissed last Mardi Gras at the parade, was still in my life. Girls have always kissed guys in parades in exchange for flowers, and it isn’t a big deal except this was no peck on the cheek, and Jiff was a very hot guy. The whole neighborhood saw it, including Dante and my mother.

  I hadn’t seen Jiff in a couple of weeks since his client’s murder trial started. He was a criminal attorney at his Dad’s firm along with all of his brothers. There were two things about Jiff that I could never forget. One was the way the man kissed me the first time I laid eyes on him in a parade and every time he got the chance after that. The second was his smile and how it took over his face whenever he saw me. It was a smile I didn’t see him give anyone else.

  Jiff was a confident, successful attorney, quick to laugh and have a good time. He was tall and athletic, about six-foot one, with a swimmer’s lean body and broad shoulders. He was thin, almost lanky, whereas Dante was maybe an inch shorter, but weighed more and had a solid, muscular frame. Jiff had dark hair, dark eyes and he always had a tan.

  When his eyes locked on mine I felt like I did the first night I saw him at the parade, like there was no one else in the world besides the two of us. He was a gentleman in all things with impeccable manners. He never forgot to open a door, or pull a chair out for me, and always escorted a lady from the proper side of the street. Unlike Dante, who played his feelings close to the vest, Jiff told me in no uncertain terms how he felt about me and where he wanted our relationship to go.

  I texted him back saying, give me a call when you are free. Muah, Brandy.

  Muah was a joke between us. It was the sound that meant I was sending him a kiss.

  Jiff sends me messages every chance he gets. He loved to plan our dates or excursions down to the very last detail. He always brought flowers for me and a Milk Bone treat for my dog and any rescue I was fostering at my house waiting for a new home. Meaux adored Jiff and his little female Schnauzer, Isabella. We often took our dogs on walks together.

  Dante had been in my life since birth, but rarely present in the here and now. I knew Dante loved me, but I had no idea what his plans were for us five years, five days or five minutes from now—if he had any. I hadn’t realized how tired I was waiting on a commitment from him until I saw Jiff walking in a Mardi Gras parade wearing a tuxedo. I felt drawn to kiss a perfect stranger: him. It didn’t hurt that he looked like he could be the next James Bond.

  Before the police moved him along in the parade, he whispered in my ear and asked me to meet him at the end of the parade. I did. Our lives became instantly entangled and have been ever since. He was successful, handsome and adored me, all of which was hard not to like. I always knew where I stood with Jiff because he told me. He said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He wanted us to spend time together so I would want to spend my life with him.

  Dante didn’t back off, and Jiff wasn’t taking a back seat to Dante’s continued presence. I don’t think Dante believed Jiff was much of a threat. After all, Dante and I had known each other forever. His family and mine were tapping their toes waiting for us to announce a wedding date. I was tired of tapping my toes waiting on Dante to ask.

  As I locked my front door behind me, I noticed my neighbor, a woman dressed like a gypsy, across the street watering the hedges, and decided to walk over and introduce myself to her. When I stepped outside it felt like I had opened a door to a furnace. The hot blast hit me in the face, and I considered asking the neighbor to turn the hose on me.

  “Hi,” I said walking up. “I live right over there,” I pointed across the street.

  “You’re new in the neighborhood, right?” she asked. “I’m Sandra.”

  “Yeah, I just moved in with my roommate. We’re still unpacking. I’m Brandy. Brandy Alexander.”

  “Is that a stage name?” she asked, holding the hose in one place flooding those plants.

  “No, it’s my real name. My dad and his rogue brother were the comedians who came up with Brandy with our last name Alexander. While they waited in a bar the night I was born—correction—while they drank waiting in a bar the night I was born, they decided Brandy Alexander would be a great New Orleans name for a local girl.”

  “Wow, I like that,” Sandra said nodding.

  “Before my mother could weigh in, the ink was dry on my birth certificate and because my dad and his brother were drunk, our housekeeper, Woozie wrote my name on it. It was always our little secret and we didn’t think my dad remembered. Even if he did, we knew he’d never confess and take on the wrath of my mother.”

  “Cool,” Sandra said.

  The Fiat in the driveway was burned charcoal black inside and out from what looked like a fire. I nodded to it. “What happened to your car?”

  “I don’t know. Two days ago, I drove home, got out, and it exploded. That’s all I can say.”

  Sandra held the hose in one place while
she turned to look at the car. “Some days I have a lot of negative energy to expel after reading palms in the French Quarter. There’s a lot of troubled and unhappy people I listen to and see more sadness in their futures. Now, I try to let go of all that bad karma before I head home. That poor car used to get all of it.” She turned her attention back to watering.

  “What do you mean, your car got your negative energy?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it did because I used to expel the negativism from myself on the ride home while I was driving. It happened inside of the car with the windows rolled up so the air conditioning wouldn’t escape, and I guess the negative stuff didn’t escape either. After my car blew up, I started to expel my negative energy in the direction of this other palm reader I don’t like. I should feel awful about that.”

  Sandra drifted off a second as if lost in thought.

  “I don’t think negative thoughts….” I started to say.

  Sandra cut me off holding up one finger as if pointing to heaven, “Negative energy, not negative thoughts. That’s when I started expelling in my car and it blew up. I expelled at the other palm reader and I haven’t seen her since. Now, I do something else.”

  “Now? What do you do now?” I asked with marked interest. I wondered if she faced my house when she started to expel. Could she cause my house to self-combust?

  “Well, now after work, I stand on the levee across from Jackson Square and shed my negative energy into the Mississippi River so it will all sweep out into the Gulf of Mexico, away from friends, family and—the whole city.”

  “Just so I’m clear on what it is you’re telling me, you think the car blew up because you gave it negative energy other people gave you? That must have been a lot of negative energy.”

  “That’s a yes,” she said and nodded with a serious look on her face. “Now I know I have to watch where I cast it off. It can be disastrous.” Sandra moved to the side of her house to water the azaleas.