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“Dickie's a hemorrhoid,” I said.
Cynthia smiled without humor. “All men are hemorrhoids.” She looked around the apartment. “I used to come here with Homer when Hannibal was out of town.”
That explained the key. And maybe the condoms in the bathroom. “Did Homer keep clothes in the guest room?”
“A couple shirts. Some underwear.”
“There are clothes, upstairs, in the guest room. Maybe you could take a look and tell me if they're Homer's.”
“First, I want to know what you're doing here.”
“A friend of mine is a possible suspect for the fire and shooting. I'm trying to get a fix on what actually happened.”
“And you're thinking, what? That Hannibal killed his brother?”
“I don't know. I'm fishing.”
Cynthia headed for the stairs. “Let me tell you about Homer. Everyone wanted to kill Homer. Including me. Homer was a lying, cheating worm. His family was always bailing him out. If I was Hannibal, I'd have shot Homer a long time ago, but the Ramos family ties are strong.”
We followed her up the stairs to the guest room and waited at the door while she went in and looked around.
“Some of these are definitely Homer's,” she said, going through the drawers. “And some I've never seen before now.” She kicked at a pair of red silk paisley boxers lying on the floor. “You see these boxers?” She took aim and fired five rounds into the shorts. “These were Homer's.”
“Dang,” Lula said. “Don't hold back.”
“He could be very charming,” Cynthia said. “But he had a short attention span when it came to women. I thought he was in love with me. I thought I could change him.”
“What happened to make you think otherwise?”
“Two days before he was shot he told me the relationship was over. He said some very unflattering things to me, told me if I gave him any trouble he'd kill me, and then he cleaned out my jewelry box and took my car. He said he needed money.”
“Did you report him to the police?”
“No. I believed him when he said he'd kill me.” She shoved her gun into her jacket pocket. “Anyway, I got to thinking that Homer might not have had a chance to fence my jewelry . . . that he might have stashed it here.”
“I've been through the whole house,” I said, “and I didn't see any women's jewelry, but you're welcome to look for yourself.”
She shrugged. “It was a long shot. I should have checked sooner.”
“Weren't you afraid you'd run into Hannibal?” Lula asked.
“I was counting on Alexander being here for the funeral, and Hannibal being in residence at the shore house.”
We all trooped downstairs.
“What about the garage?” Cynthia asked. “Did you look in there? I don't suppose you found my silver Porsche.”
“Damn,” Lula said, all impressed. “You drive
a Porsche?”
“I used to. Homer gave it to me for our six-month anniversary.” She sighed. “Like I said, Homer could be very charming.”
“Charming” being synonymous with “generous.”
Hannibal had a two-car garage that attached to the house. The door to the garage was off the foyer and was locked with a slide bolt. Cynthia opened the door and flicked the light on in the garage. And there it was . . . the silver Porsche.
“My Porsche! My Porsche!” Cynthia yelped. “I never thought I'd see it again.” She stopped yelping and wrinkled her nose. “What's that smell?”
