Never Look Back. Robert Ross
He winked at Karen, who smiled.
“You hear what I have to put up with from the trash in this bar?” Zsa Zsa said to Karen, throwing her hands up to the sky. “Do you think Shania has to put up with this kind of crap?”
“Shania probably knows not to use her teeth,” Joey quipped as he mixed Zsa Zsa a vodka tonic without asking. He gave Karen a dazzling smile. “Another beer?”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Put it on my tab,” Zsa Zsa commanded regally.
“About your tab—”
“You have customers,” Zsa Zsa said pointedly. He laughed and moved back down the bar.
“Thank you,” Karen said, toasting Zsa Zsa with her bottle.
“You’re welcome.” Zsa Zsa took a long swig of her own drink. “So, tell me, where you from?”
“New Orleans originally.” Karen couldn’t help but smile. One of Zsa Zsa’s long false eyelashes was loose. “But I live here now—I just arrived yesterday.”
“A new local?” Zsa Zsa’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t hear about anyone new. Where do you live, honey?”
“In the east end. A gorgeous old Victorian on the water.”
“Hmmmm.” Zsa Zsa’s eyes lit up. “Don’t tell me you’re the new Mrs. Philip Kaye? I heard you were young, but you’re practically jailbait.”
Karen bristled. “I’m twenty-three.”
“Honey—it’s your business. Personally, I adore older men. Younger ones don’t really know what they’re doing in the sack, and I’m tired of breaking them in.” Zsa Zsa winked at her, and sighed. “You want to get out of here and get some pizza? I’m fucking starving. I was afraid to eat—this outfit is getting a little too tight, if you know what I mean. No offense, but this hardly seems like your kind of dive.”
What the hell, I wanted safe company, and it doesn’t get much safer than a drag queen, Karen thought, finishing her beer. “Lead on, Zsa Zsa.”
Spiritus Pizza wasn’t yet crowded—Karen had heard the stories of the place becoming a mob scene once the bars let out—so they were able to actually find a table inside. Zsa Zsa devoured her slice of pepperoni before Karen had finished putting red pepper on hers. “So, New Orleans girl, what do you think of our little town?”
“It’s nice.” Karen took a bite, and sighed. “I mean, I’ve only been here a few days, and I’ve been unpacking, but from what I’ve seen—”
“Different from New Orleans.” Zsa Zsa sighed and waved at a couple of men who walked in holding hands. “I’ve only been down there twice—I performed at Mardi Gras a couple of times—and I loved it there. Such a fun place. I’ve always wanted to go back when I wasn’t working, to really enjoy it, you know—but never managed to.”
“Well, if you ever need a tour guide, Zsa Zsa…”
“Call me Bobbie. That’s my real name—Bobbie Noble, when I’m not in this getup.” She laughed. “Bobbie Noble, carpenter by day—Zsa Zsa Lahore, superstar by night.”
“You’re a carpenter?”
“What can I say? I like working with wood.” Bobbie winked.
It took Karen a couple of seconds to get the joke. Then she laughed.
“Though I have to say,” Bobbie said, “it’s a bitch on the hands.” He held up his callused palms. “Hardly the hands of a lady, right?” He laughed. “So what do you do, Mrs. Kaye?”
“Karen.” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Well, I want to be—” She stopped herself. She heard Philip’s voice in her head. Never say you want to be a writer—you are a writer. “I’m a writer,” she said obediently.
“Of course. Would Philip Kaye marry anything but?”
It hit her that she didn’t know what the first Mrs. Kaye had done.
“So have you published anything?” Bobbie waved over at a guy who had just walked in. “By the way, stay away from that one. She’s a crystal head.” Bobbie made a face. “Tweaking all the time.”
Karen smiled. The crystal head was gorgeous all the same. What gene did gay guys have that made them all so sexy?
“To answer your question,” she said, moving her eyes back to Bobbie, “I haven’t published anything yet, but I’m writing a murder mystery.”
Bobbie made a face. “Weeeeelll, I’d say you certainly live in the right house for that.”
“You mean the Hatches.”
“I don’t mean the Munsters.”
“I’ve heard all about the grisly murders. In fact, I came out tonight trying to forget them.”
“Consider the subject closed then.”
“Actually,” Karen said, “how long have you been in Provincetown?”
“Oh God, girl. Too long. Sometimes I think I was here before the Pilgrims got off their boat.”
Karen played with the crust of her pizza. “Well, by any chance, do you know anything about the first Mrs. Kaye?”
Bobbie gave her a look. “Didn’t your husband tell you?”
Karen blushed. “All I know is that she hanged herself. I just found out about it a couple of days ago.”
Bobbie looked at her with compassion. “Ivy Kaye was a strange lady. She was a poet, but I never read anything she wrote, you know? But she looked like one—she always dressed in black and had this tortured look on her face. She liked to hang out in coffee shops, and always had a notebook with her.”
Just like Jessie.
“That poor Jessie,” Bobbie said, shaking his head. “The kids around her call her ‘Spook,’ you know. After her mother died, she started dressing like her and acting like her—like she’s trying to be her mom or something.”
“Well, I’m going to be a good stepmom. At least, I hope I will be.”
“Oh, she needs it, honey. She needs something. Nothing against your husband, of course, because I’m a huge, huge, huge fan, but…” Bobbie paused. “It’s just that he’s gone so much, and I see poor little Jessie roaming all over town, all by herself.” He took a sip of his Diet Coke. “I take it Mr. Kaye is out of town now, huh? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be out prowling gay bars.”
Karen smiled weakly. “A book tour.”
Bobbie nodded. “Well, you’ll be good for Jessie. I mean, imagine what it must have been like to come home and find your mom hanging in the living room. No note, no explanation, nothing.”
Karen covered her face with her hands, then removed them, looking over at Bobbie’s heavily madeup face. “I have to admit the house kind of creeps me out. All of its history. Ivy Kaye. Lettie Hatch…”
“Honey, the Hatch murders were more than eighty years ago. It’s just a house where some bad things happened. You’re bringing new energy in that’s gonna push all that bad shit right out.” He leaned in closer to her. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of that house.”
Karen smirked. “There’s no blood on the floor, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Karen.” Bobbie placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me for thinking my motives so crass. It’s just that it’s a classic example of New England Victorian architecture, that’s all.”
Karen laughed. “Sorry.” She thought of something. “You’re a carpenter, right? Do you do renovations?”
“My