Shakespeare's Trollop Part 2

"They weren't close," I said cautiously.

"Ever see them fight?"

I turned away, began putting Deedra's earrings into her special compartmented box.

"Stop," the sheriff said sharply.

I dropped the pair I was holding as if they'd burst into flames. "Sorry," I said, shaking my head at my own error. "It was automatic." I hoped Marta Schuster stayed diverted.

"She always have this much jewelry lying around?"

"Yes." I was relieved she'd asked a question so easily answered. I couldn't stop myself from glancing over at Deedra's chest of drawers, wondering if Marta Schuster had already found the pictures. I wondered whether mentioning them would help in some way.

"They're in my pocket," she said quietly.

My eyes met hers. "Good."

"What do you know about her s.e.x life?"

I could see that this was supposed to signal a tradeoff. My mouth twisted in distaste. "Your brother was mighty interested in Deedra, from what I could see. Ask him."

Marta Schuster's hard, square hand shot out and gripped my wrist. "He's just the latest in her long string," she said, her jaw as rigid as the grip of her hand. "He's so new to her that he's dumb enough to be sorry she's dead."

I looked down at her fingers and took slow breaths. I met her eyes again. "Let go of me," I told her in a very careful voice.

Keeping her eyes on my face, she did. Then she took a step away. But she said, "I'm waiting."

"You already know that Deedra was promiscuous. If a man was willing, she was, with very few exceptions."

"Name some names."

"No. It would take too long. Besides, they were almost always gone when I got here." That was my first lie.

"What about the exceptions? She turn anyone down?"

I thought that over. "That kid who worked at the loading dock over at Winthrop Lumber and Supply," I said reluctantly.

"Danny Boyce? Yeah, he's out on parole now. Who else?"

"Dedford Jinks."

"With the city police?" she asked, incredulity written all over her face. "He must be in his fifties."

"So he doesn't want s.e.x?" What universe did Marta Schuster inhabit?

"He's married," Marta protested. Then she flushed red. "Forget I said that."

I shrugged, tired of being in this room with this woman. "He was separated from his wife. But Deedra didn't go with married men."

The sheriff looked openly skeptical. "Anyone else?"

I actually had a helpful memory. "She'd had trouble with someone calling her." Deedra had mentioned that to me the last time I'd cleaned the apartment, just this past Friday. She'd been running late for work, as she all too often did. "Last Friday, she told me that she was getting calls at two or three in the morning. Really nasty calls from a guy . . . somehow disguising his voice, talking about s.e.xual torture."

I could see Deedra, sitting on the end of the very bed we stood by now, easing up her pantyhose and sliding her narrow feet into brown low-heeled pumps. Deedra's head, crowned by its s.e.xily tousled and newly red hair, had been bent to her task, but Deedra kept her head tucked quite a bit anyway to minimize her sharply receding chin, without a doubt her worst feature. She'd stood and scanned herself in the mirror, tugging at the top of the beige suit she thought appropriate for her job in the courthouse. A typical Deedra selection, the suit was just a bit too tight, a smidge too short, and a half-inch too low in the neckline.

Deedra had leaned over to peer into the mirror to apply her lipstick. Her dresser, with its triple mirror, was literally covered with bottles and plastic cases of makeup. Deedra was a virtuoso with foundation, rouge, and eye shadow. She'd had a real gift for it, for using cosmetics to make her look her very best with every outfit she wore. She'd studied the human face and the alterations and illusions a skilled applicator could effect.

I could still see how Deedra had looked as she'd half-turned to tell me what the caller had proposed to do to her; her lower lip a glossy peach and her upper lip bare, her clothes and hair and demeanor just a careful step away from floozy.

"Did she say who she thought he was, the man calling her?"

I shook my head. "Can you check her phone records?" I asked.

"It'll take a while, but we'll get 'em," Marta said.

Her deputy stuck his head into the room. "I've finished searching the bathroom," Emanuel said, his eyes scanning us curiously. "What now?"

"Extra bedroom," the sheriff said. "And bag the sheets on the top of the washer."

His head vanished.

"What about him?" I asked.

"What?" she said, as if she was about to get angry.

"Did he know Deedra?"

Her face changed, then, and I knew she was involved with Clifton Emanuel to some degree.

"I don't know," she said. "But I'll find out."

Janet Shook aimed a kick at my stomach, and I arched back to dodge it. My hand shot out and gripped her ankle, and then I had her.

"Stop!" called a commanding voice. "Okay, what are you going to do now, Janet?" our sensei sensei continued. He was leaning against the mirrored wall, his arms folded across his chest. continued. He was leaning against the mirrored wall, his arms folded across his chest.

We had frozen in position, Janet balancing easily on one foot, my fingers still circling her ankle. The seated cla.s.s, looking like a strange nursery school in their loose white gis, gis, studied the problem. studied the problem.

Janet looked grim. "Land on my b.u.t.t, looks like," she conceded, after a moment's evaluation. I heard a couple of snorts of laughter.

"Lily, what would you do next, now that you're in control of the situation?" Marshall's faintly Asian face gave me no hint of the best answer.

"I'd keep going up on the ankle," I told him, "like so." I lifted Janet's right foot another inch, and the knee of her supporting left leg began to buckle.

Marshall nodded briefly. He faced the other cla.s.s members. Like the rest of us, Marshall was barefoot and wearing his gi. gi. Its snowy whiteness, broken only by the black belt and the fist patch on his chest, emphasized the ivory of his skin. "How could Janet have avoided this situation?" he asked the motley group sitting against the mirrored wall. "Or having gotten into it, how can she get out?" Its snowy whiteness, broken only by the black belt and the fist patch on his chest, emphasized the ivory of his skin. "How could Janet have avoided this situation?" he asked the motley group sitting against the mirrored wall. "Or having gotten into it, how can she get out?"

Raphael Roundtree, the largest and darkest man in the cla.s.s, said, "She should've drawn her kick back quicker." I let go of Janet, though Marshall hadn't told me to, because she was beginning to have trouble keeping her balance. Janet looked relieved to have both feet on the floor, and she nodded to me by way of saying thanks.

"She shouldn't have kicked at all," Becca Whitley reb.u.t.ted.

"What should Janet have done instead?" Marshall asked her, a sweep of his hand inviting Becca to show us. She got up in one fluid movement. Becca often braided her hair for cla.s.s-and she'd done so tonight-but she didn't lay off the makeup. Her toenails were bright scarlet, which for some reason struck me as improper for karate ... though scarlet toenails didn't seem to bother Marshall, and it was his cla.s.s.

Marshall Sedaka, our sensei, sensei, was also the owner of Body Time, where we were holding the cla.s.s in the big aerobics room. I'd known Marshall for years. At one time, he'd been more to me than a friend. Now he straightened and moved closer to get a better view. was also the owner of Body Time, where we were holding the cla.s.s in the big aerobics room. I'd known Marshall for years. At one time, he'd been more to me than a friend. Now he straightened and moved closer to get a better view.

Janet moved away and Becca took her place, lifting and c.o.c.king her leg slowly so everyone could see what she meant to do.

"So," she said, her narrow face intent, "I kick, like so...." Her foot began moving toward my abdomen, as Janet's had. "Then Lily takes a little hop back and her hand reaches for my ankle. That's what she did with Janet."

I obliged, imitating my movements of moments ago.

"But," continued Becca cheerfully, "that was a feint. I snap it back and aim it higher this time." Her leg floated back toward her, bent double at the knee, and lashed out again at my head. Becca was one of the few people in the cla.s.s who could even attempt a head kick with any hope of success. "See," Becca pointed out, "she's leaning to reach my ankle, so her head's a little lower than usual."

I held still, with some effort, while Becca's foot with its bright nails flashed toward my face. Becca pulled the kick about an inch from my nose. I exhaled, I hoped silently. Becca winked at me.

"Good move, Becca," Marshall said. "But not an option open to many of the people in this cla.s.s. Carlton, what would you do?"

Carlton was my next-door neighbor. He owned a little house almost identical to mine on Track Street, so if I stood facing my house, his would be on the right, and the Shakespeare Garden Apartments slightly uphill to my left. With his thick dark hair and large brown eyes, Carlton, single and self-supporting, was a real honeypot to Shakespeare's buzzing little hive of single women. Carlton went from one to the other, dating one for a month or two, then another; he wasn't as reckless as Deedra by a long shot, but he wasn't as careful as I was, either. In karate, Carlton was too slow and cautious, to his detriment. Maybe that caution, that deliberation, came from his being an accountant.

"I wouldn't kick at Lily at all," Carlton said frankly, and Janet and Raphael laughed. "I'm heavier than she is, and that's my only advantage with her. I'd try to strike her harder and hope that would take her out of the fight."

"Come try." Marshall returned to his spot against the wall.

With a marked reluctance, my neighbor scrambled to his feet and approached me slowly, while Becca folded gracefully to the floor with the rest of the students. I dropped into my fighting stance, knees slightly bent, one side turned toward Carlton.

"I'm supposed to stand and let him try to hit me?" I asked Marshall.

"No, give him some trouble," Marshall directed, so Carlton and I began circling each other. I moved in a sort of smooth, sideways glide that kept me evenly balanced. My hands were up, fisted and ready. Carlton was was a lot taller and heavier than I was, so I kept reminding myself not to discount him as an opponent. What I didn't allow for was the macho factor and Carlton's inexperience. Carlton was determined to best me, and inexperienced enough to gauge his strike wrong. a lot taller and heavier than I was, so I kept reminding myself not to discount him as an opponent. What I didn't allow for was the macho factor and Carlton's inexperience. Carlton was determined to best me, and inexperienced enough to gauge his strike wrong.

He struck at my ribs, seiken, seiken, with his left fist, and I blocked him, my right forearm coming up under his striking arm to deflect it upward. I didn't propel his arm sideways enough-definitely my mistake-so instead of his punch landing in the air to my right, as I'd intended, his momentum carried him forward and his fist smacked my jaw. with his left fist, and I blocked him, my right forearm coming up under his striking arm to deflect it upward. I didn't propel his arm sideways enough-definitely my mistake-so instead of his punch landing in the air to my right, as I'd intended, his momentum carried him forward and his fist smacked my jaw.

The next thing I knew, I was down on the mat and Carlton was leaning over me, looking absolutely horror-struck.

"Dammit, Lily, say something!" he said frantically, and then Marshall shoved him aside and took his place.

He peered at my eyes, asked me several interesting questions about what parts of my body I could move and how many fingers I could see, and then said, "I think you're gonna be okay."

"Can I stand up?" I asked peevishly. I was deeply chagrined at having been knocked down by Carlton c.o.c.kroft, of all people. The rest of the cla.s.s was crowding around me, but since Marshall had said I was in no danger, I swore I could see some suppressed grins.

"Here," Janet Shook said, her square little face both worried and amused. I gripped her outstretched hand and she braced her feet and pulled. With a little help from my own feet, I stood upright, and though everything looked funny for a second, I decided I was almost normal.

"Line up!" Marshall barked, and we took our places in line. I was sandwiched between Becca and Raphael.

"Kiotske!"

We put our heels together and stood to attention.

"Rei!"

We bowed.

"Cla.s.s dismissed."

Still feeling a tad shaky, I walked carefully over to my little pile of belongings, pulled off my sparring pads, and stowed them in my gym bag. I slid my feet into my sandals, thankful I didn't have to bend over to tie sneakers.

Janet joined me as I walked out to my old car.

"Are you really feeling all right?" she asked quietly.

My first impulse was to snarl at her, but instead I admitted, "Not quite." She relaxed, as if she'd expected the snarl and was pleasantly surprised at the admission.

I fumbled with unlocking my car, but finally got it right.

Janet said, "I'm sorry about Deedra. I'm sorry you had to find her. It must have been awful."

I tilted my head in a brief nod. "I guess you and Deedra had known each other for a long time, both growing up here and all."

Janet nodded, her thick brown hair swinging against each cheek. She'd let it grow to chin length, and wore bangs. It became her. "Deedra was a little younger," she said, leaning against my car. I threw my gym bag in to land on the pa.s.senger's seat, and propped myself against the open door. It was a beautiful night, clear and just a little cool. We wouldn't have many more evenings like this; summer practically pounces on spring in southern Arkansas.

"I was a year ahead of her in school," Janet continued after a minute. "I went to Sunday school with her at First Methodist. That was before they formed Shakespeare Combined Church, and way before Miss Lacey's first husband died and she married Jerrell Knopp and began going to SCC. My mom is still real good friends with Miss Lacey."

"Was Deedra always .. . promiscuous?" I asked, since I seemed to be expected to keep the conversation going.

"No," Janet said. "Not always. It was her chin."

And I understood. Her severely recessive chin was the only feature that had kept Deedra from real prettiness, the flaw that had kept her from being homecoming queen, head cheerleader, most prized girl to date-everything. It was easy to imagine Deedra gradually coming to feel that if she couldn't achieve those things, she could be remarkable in another way.

"Wonder why her parents didn't do anything about it?" I asked. "Is there anything you can do about chins?"

"I don't know." Janet shrugged. "But I can tell you that Lacey has never believed in plastic surgery. She's real fundamentalist, you know. A great lady, but not a liberal bone in her body. That's why she took to Shakespeare Combined Church so well, when she married Jerrell and he wanted her to go to church with him."

A tap on the jaw seemed to have much the same effect on me as a gla.s.s or two of wine. I felt disinclined to move, oddly content to be standing in a parking lot having an idle conversation with another human being.

"Jerrell and Deedra didn't get along so well," I commented.

"No. Frankly, I've always wondered..." and Janet hesitated, her face compressing into an expression of both reluctance and distaste. "Well, I've always wondered if he ever visited Deedra ... you know? Before Lacey's husband died, before Jerrell ever imagined being able to marry Lacey?"

"Ugh," I said. I turned this over in my mind for a minute. "Oh, yuck yuck."

"Yeah, me too." Our eyes met. We had matching expressions.

"I would think he would hate remembering that," Janet said, slowly and carefully. "I would think he'd hate wondering if Deedra would ever tell."

After a long, thoughtful moment, I replied, "Yes. I'd think he certainly would."