by Deanna King
The Lone Star Saloon wasn’t as crowded as normal, he was thankful for that. The crowd wasn’t loud or boisterous. The bar top had five customers, the rest of the barstools were empty. A smattering of Lone Star’s patrons sat at tables or played pool, but not many. It stood to reason, it was a weeknight, but the place had plenty of people on weekends, some of them even cops he knew. He hoped tonight that he didn’t run into anyone he knew. He didn’t want an audience while he was trying to get a date with Gretchen. Nor would he be up for the constant ribbing he would get if anyone found out that she shot him down. Perhaps he should have worn his Kevlar under his shirt to keep from getting a direct shot in the heart if she were unavailable, and sorry Jack, or flat-out not at all interested in a cowboy cop.
He inhaled deeply, popped his neck from side to side, and decided she was worth the chance.
“Hey there, can a guy get a beer, tallboy, draft Miller Light?” Jack called out as he sat at his spot at the end of the corner.
Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. “Hey there, Cowboy, they got you in the trenches at the HPD? My, you look very dashing in casual wear, Jack, my goodness.” She wiggled her brows up and winked.
He blushed. “Uh, thanks.”
She drew him a frosty tallboy, carried it over then smiled. “Nice to see you, Jack, I all but thought you had left the State.”
“What! Me leave Texas, uh-uh, no way, darlin.’ ” He took a healthy swig of his frosty cold beer. “You think it’s too late to get some pizza? I didn’t eat lunch today and I’m starved.”
“Double hamburger pizza with thin crust, the usual?”
“You know me pretty good, thanks, Gretchen.”
He watched her saunter off, and he took another long drink of his beer admiring, he hoped inconspicuously, her nice backside.
She brought him another cold beer and waited on the few customers at the pool tables then went to the back to check on his pizza.
He watched her as she worked, admiring everything about her—her look, her smile, her walk, her way with the customers. She was cheerful, and he saw that the customers loved her. She took their joking very good-naturedly and joked back, never taking it personally or getting huffy.
“Here’s your pizza, enjoy.” Gretchen laid it in front of him.
He thought about his cold case, and he contemplated telling Gretchen about it, but not tonight. Tonight he was a regular man, not a detective on the beat.
“Not too crowded in here tonight.” Jack dug into his pizza.
“Oh, there’s some to-do over at one of the other local bars, a new band or something like that. I heard some of the customers talking about it last night. I figured that’s where some of my usual cronies are.”
“Gretchen, I’d love for you to pull up a stool and chat, if you can, that is.”
“I’ve got the time, until someone wants another cold beer.”
“How long have you been on the force?”
“Coming on close to fifteen years now.”
“It must be interesting, full of drama and some grossness all at the same time I bet.”
Gretchen leaned into the counter setting her elbows on the bar and propping her head in her hands as she studied him. He grabbed another piece of pizza trying not to eat like a ravenous dog.
“Look at me,” she commanded.
His head popped up to meet her blue eyes, so blue they all but hypnotized him, taking him to a place he’d never been, near euphoria, and it felt good…and Lord, that was just her eyes.
“Yep, uh-huh, I see it, the mind and soul of a man who has seen too much terrible stuff, but inside I see a glimmer of goodness, and it shows through a tad and I’d venture to say that with the right coercion that bit of ‘glimmer’ would sparkle brighter. There’s plenty goodness left in you, Jack, never lose that spark of good.”
“I am glad to hear that you can see a little glimmer.” He looked deeply into her blue eyes. “You know your eyes and the window of your soul kind of thing. How about you, Gretchen, what’s your story? You got a fella, a husband, your likes and dislikes, that sort of stuff?”
She rolled her eyes upward and giggled, it was a sexy sound, and then she impishly grinned. “Now, Jack, are you asking me if I am available?”
“Um, well, yes, I am,” he replied shyly, with a mouth full of pizza, almost choking, but kept it under control not wanting to be a complete buffoon.
He had no qualms about facing head-on the most hardened criminal or shooting a man who was a threat, or looking at dead bodies at a crime scene or an autopsy table, but this woman unnerved him. He could almost feel himself start to sweat as he waited for her to say something. Additionally, he blushed again.
“Wellll.” she drew the word out. “As a matter of fact, I am not attached to anyone, haven’t been for, let’s see, well, too long to say.”
She pulled away from the counter, stood up straight, took a bar towel, and began to wipe off a clean countertop. He noticed now that she was nervous as she kept wiping the same spot.
“Hmm, so you are not attached, I am a free agent. Say, how about we pull our resources and have dinner one night?”
It was not the suavest or most romantic way to ask a woman out on a date, but he had been out of touch, and it was better than not asking at all.
Gretchen grinned mischievously. “With an offer like that, I can’t refuse. I must say that’s a first for me—pulling our resources together for a date.”
“Hell, Gretchen, let me try again. Gretchen, would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Detective West, I would love to have dinner with you. I thought you were never going to ask. You’ve been coming in here for months now, and I’ve been waiting for you to make a move. I thought you would have known that by now, you being a detective and all, didn’t you see the ‘evidence’?”
“I detect criminals, Gretchen, not beautiful women like you. I think back at the attention you gave me, and it becomes clear. I thought you were just being nice to the man in blue, you know, when I let it slip that I was a detective. I don’t advertise it, but you, darlin,’ are an extraordinary listener, not barraging me with questions.”
“I understand, I have my own ghosts too, but that’s another story for another day. A dinner date, huh, when would you like to go? I mean, I can arrange any night but you, you are the one who protects our city, and I can work around your schedule.”
Gretchen knew what his job was, knew how much he loved it from all the conversations they had. She’d understand if plans were changed or interrupted, at least for a while, until she had to take second place to the job, and then he’d see what would happen. Right now, this very moment he wanted to have her in his life in some fashion starting with dinner.
“How about next Friday a week from tomorrow, are you free then?”
“A week from tomorrow sounds perfect.”
“Uh, what’s your address?”
“You mean you haven’t already looked me up, checked my background and stuff?”
He looked at her surprised and saw she was teasing with him. She gave him her address on a napkin and her cell number. He looked at it and smiled, then stuck it in his pocket.
It was nearing twelve and he had finished his pizza and just a coupla tallboys. He was drinking water and looked at the Miller High Life Beer clock on the back wall. Heavens, the time had flown. He should be heading home, but he hated to leave such wonderful company. He was just happy seeing her, talking to her or not, he just liked looking at her.
Paying his tab and leaving a healthy tip, he smiled at her. “See you next week, or sooner if I stop by and you happen to be working. One more thing, Gretchen, wh
at’s your last name, you forgot to write it on the napkin?”
“Ah, so you did ‘detect,’ didn’t you? It’s Benson, Gretchen Benson.”
Jack left with a smile on his face. He was ready to face whatever he had to face… he had her to look forward to.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You’re chipper this morning? You win a scratch-off ticket or something?”
“Partner, can’t a guy just be in a good mood? Maybe it’s cuz we solved the case in less than seventy-two hours, making the Houston Homicide Department look good, as well as the captain and the chief of police?”
“Huh, that’s not it, I know you, and I know your ‘chipper’ stages, and this has ‘woman’ written all over it. I’d stake my next meal on it.” Lucky gave him the eye.
“You just think you know what you don’t know, ya know?”
Dawson Luck rolled his eyes up toward his bushy caterpillar brows. “I’ve seen it once, you know, about a year and a half ago. You met that woman, the one with the jet back hair and amber-colored eyes, we were at the Fifth Amendment for one of the fellas’ birthday shindigs. She was a bartender. If I recall correctly you said she was ‘saucy.’ ”
He did remember that, and it dawned on him that Lucky was closer to the truth than he had known, and the other thing was, did he have a thing for women bartenders?
“Okay, let’s just get to work. You stop trying to analyze my chipper mood. Besides, we might not have enough time to get more footwork done on our cases. This is Houston, and like Dallas, New York, and LA, crime doesn’t sleep for long.”
He took his seat, grabbed his notes, and then the messages he needed to return. He picked up the first one and smiled. It was the message from Gretchen, and he thought about her for a fleeting second. He was excited about their Friday night date, and then he berated himself. He was an idiot, why had he picked a Friday night, that is one of the busy nights at the Lone Star Saloon. He’d call her when he was out of earshot from his partner and move it to Thursday night, that would be even better, one day sooner.
The next message was from Daphne Walden. He wondered who she was and how she’d known he was working on this cold case. He had talked to two people exactly, that no-tell-motel owner Tully Cranston, and Jenna Berrie. His bet was on Jenna Berrie, if not her, then how had Daphne Walden found out he was working his case? Additionally, what did she have to do with his cold case? Jack picked up his landline and dialed her number.
A man answered. “Walden residence.”
“This is Detective Jack West from the Houston Police Department. I’m looking for Daphne Walden.”
“What’s this in regards to?” the voice asked rudely.
“I am returning her call, is she there or not?”
He was not going to play games with this man, either she was there or not, he wasn’t about to waste his time. She had called him about a cold case, a case he was working that she couldn’t have known about, and that had him mystified.
He heard the silence as he hung on and he wondered if the man were contemplating whether he was going to let him speak to Daphne Walden or not.
“Sir, she is either there or not, that’s a simple question. If this is a prank of some kind I am not humored by it so…” He stopped when he heard the man’s heavy sigh into the phone.
“It’s going to take me several minutes to get her to the phone, can you wait, or I can get her to call you back later?” The tone of his voice sounded sharp as if this were a huge imposition on him.
Not being able to see through the phone Jack had no idea what the man meant.
“Sure, I’ll hold.”
He sat with the phone pressed to his face, wondering what was taking so long. Jack was just about to hang up when he heard a soft weaker voice come on the line. She sounded very ill.
“Detective West, this is Daphne Walden. I want to thank you for calling me back.” Her voice sounded breathless.
“Ma’am, if this isn’t a good time I can either call back later or perhaps come by in a few days to talk.”
Her breathing was shallow; he gave her a minute to catch her breath.
“Ma’am?”
“Later won’t be good. Come by this afternoon. I need to talk to you, and the sooner, the better.”
“Ma’am, can you give me an idea of what this is about before I make a trip? I’m a bit confused on how you knew I was working the Celeste Mason cold case and why you called.”
Guarded about his time and about crank calls, how did she know he was working this case and who was she? Her name was not anywhere in the case files.
“Detective West, I worked for her some thirty odd years ago.”
She rasped, took a deep breath, and Jack heard the struggle she had to breathe, let alone to talk, but he continued the call.
“You worked with her at Bella’s Boutique?”
He knew that about thirty years ago, this was possible. Why hadn’t the detectives questioned her back then?
A laugh sounded on the other end of the phone, which turned into a major coughing spell, and Jack heard the man on the other end tell her that she needed to get off the phone and go lay down. Her voice was stronger and very clear. “Not until I get to talk to this detective, Harvey, I mean it.”
“Ma’am…Mrs. Walden,” he spoke a bit louder into the phone.
“Detective, I’m not deaf, I am sick, but I’m damn well not deaf. I’m going to tell you something and then I expect a visit from you. Talking in person is easier for me for several reasons, and no, I didn’t work at that ratty boutique. I was in one of her stables back in the day.”
Stables, was she joking? That was an old Vice phrase. It was a phrase a homicide detective rarely heard when working a case. Was his victim a madam or did she own horses?
“Detective, are you there?” She suppressed a cough.
“Uh, yes, ma’am, I am. I think you took me by surprise. I want to clear up one thing before I get your address.”
“Uh-huh, what is it?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Are you talking about stables where horses are kept, and you worked in the equestrian business, or uh, ma’am, a human stable?”
Again, she burst out as much of a laughing sound as she could, but no coughing fit ensued.
“Yep, I was in a human stable. I know when you meet me you’re gonna wonder how that happened, but Detective West, about thirty years ago I was a stunning woman, and in high demand.”
He got her address and thanked her. As she was hanging up the phone, he heard the man in the background.
“I don’t know why you have to do this, it can’t bring the dead back, Daphne. Let sleeping dogs lie, all of ‘em.”
Jack got that feeling again right in the middle of his gut…and that was a good thing.
. . .
Daphne Walden’s address was near Katy, Texas. Another out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere address—just off FM 529, more white dirt roads and not much of anything else. He was beginning to think he should call this case the Farm to Market Road Case or the County Road Case because he was going to be kicking up dirt as he drove…again.
Taking a minute to stretch his legs, he stood up and worked out the kinks then walked around to Lucky’s side of the desk and looked over his shoulder. Head in his hands, he was reading a case report, and he had a picture of his missing person laid out to the side.
“That your girl, the missing call girl, uh, Princess who ya who it?”
“Uh-huh, and the leads are pretty much nil. And it’s Princess Lay-Ya,”
“Princess Layya, huh, you figure she was a big a Star Wars fan?”
&n
bsp; “Maybe she played out the gold bikini bit with her johns, who the hell knows what these girls do now or then?”
“She wasn’t a bad-looking gal, I bet all made up in her finery she turned a few heads.” He looked over Lucky’s shoulder at the picture.
Lucky studied the picture. She had been a pretty girl, however, her lifestyle made her unattractive. Funny, for the man Dawson Luck figured himself to be—a ladies’ man—he had no desire for that type of woman, he preferred women who had self-respect. Hookers didn’t respect themselves, and that was a disgrace to all women.
Jack considered telling Lucky about Daphne Walden and her admission to being a hooker in his vic’s stable. He would keep it to himself since he didn’t even know what this meant to his own cold case. Hell, Lucky had enough problems with his own case; he didn’t even have a lead to follow.
“You headed somewhere?” Lucky flipped a few pages back in the file.
“Another possible lead, and it’s funny, so far all my leads have literally taken me down a dirt path.” Laughing, he explained his trek on the farm-to-market to Waller.
