by Linda Ladd
Black was just so polite—most of the time. He started with the introductions. “Claire, this is Benjamin Hargate. He’s been Jonesy’s personal bodyguard for as long as I can remember.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Black,” Hargate said to her. Also polite, no doubt unless they tried to break down the door or touch his unsavory rock star. He was acting like a regular human being, even after being in close association with Jonesy Jax for so long. Good sign, that. Maybe a miracle, in fact.
“How you been, Dr. Black? Congrats on your marriage.”
Black said, “I’m good, Ben. Thank you. How are you?”
The guard nodded, then turned and tapped on the door with one large knuckle that appeared to have been broken on somebody’s nose several times over. They waited. He tapped some more. Finally, about ten minutes later, it seemed, the door swung inward and revealed a young woman standing before them in a slinky black lace teddy, a garter belt, and black fishnet stockings. Hooker high heels, of course, just to lounge around the suite, because it all looked so comfortable. Luckily, she also had on a short black silk robe, which was unbelted and hanging open, for easy access, no doubt.
“Good morning, Ms. Kisses,” Black said, still being mannerly, not laughing at the woman’s ridiculous made-up name. Probably a former, if not current, porn star. “We need to speak with Jonesy. It’s important that we see him. Is he up yet?”
“Well, no.” The woman was clearly of a sarcastic bent, and gave them a short but effective guffaw at Black’s bizarre notion. “It’s just ten. Get real, dude.”
“Are you Candi Kisses, ma’am?” Claire asked, but it didn’t exactly roll off her tongue with ease. In fact, she almost choked on the sheer absurdity of having to say it out loud. It was just such a moronic thing to have to say that Claire couldn’t quite get a handle on it. She grimaced instead and let that be enough.
“Of course I am.”
Of course you are, and you’re an imbecile as well, Claire thought. Another Hollywood nutzoid working for a lunatic.
“Who the hell are you?” Candi looked at Black. “I can’t believe yous just showed up here at Jonesy’s door without calling me for permission first. That is just so crazy rude. Yous can’t do that.”
Claire could only stare at her. Okay, she was a nutzoid from Brooklyn. It was plain to see that this kid was as clueless as a blind poodle on a computer keyboard—maybe even more so. Even Jules Verne could chase a ball and bring it back. This gal would need instructions. Black was saying nothing. It was Claire’s game and she had to play it, even with a saucy little twit with an idiotic name. She inhaled a deep breath and dealt with the girl, kid gloves still folded in her act-nice drawer. “Well, yes, we can most certainly do that, Candi Kisses. See this guy standing here beside me? He owns this hotel and everything in it, including your suite. And I am a Canton County Sheriff’s homicide detective, with a badge hanging right here around my neck and a big old Glock under my arm and the power to throw you in jail lickety-split for noncompliance. That a good enough invitation for you, Candi Kisses?”
Jonesy’s girlfriend blew out a breath that was soaked with rum and a strong odor of nicotine. Unpleasant up close ? Oh, yes, very. “Well, I guess I can’t stop yous from coming in here then, if he owns the hotel, but we are pretty busy. Why don’t you just come back later, after you’re invited?”
It was difficult, but Claire ignored most of that annoying prattle. “Busy doing what, Candi Kisses?”
Black glanced down at her, disapproving of her mocking tone. Imagine that.
“Busy minding my own business. How about you do the same, lady?”
So it wasn’t an act: This girl really was incredibly ignorant. Twenty-ish, and brain already fried to a crisp, like a cracked egg in grease. Like the employer, the employee goes. Or whatever function the nearly naked girl was slated to serve for Jonesy Jax. “Do you really want to see the inside of a jail cell, ma’am? That won’t be a problem, believe me. Don’t know if the orange jumpsuit will flatter your pink hair, though.”
“Ha. Aren’t you hilarious.”
A great and steadily building wave of loathing was rising up inside Claire’s chest, like a tsunami wave of destruction, and after only one and a half minutes. That was a new record for Claire. Usually it took two minutes for annoying X-rated womenfolk to enrage her. Black was watching her warily, as if she were going to do something rash to the silly little bubble brain, like bust her in the nose with a fist. It was a nice fantasy, but she would waste too much time mopping up the blood, and it would be hard for Candi to answer questions with cotton stuffed up both nostrils. Otherwise, it was a grand idea.
“We’re here to see Jonesy Jax. Not you. So go get him, ma’am.” Claire held up her badge right in front of Candi’s eyes. “Now.”
The woman invited her to participate in a flat-eyed stare-off for approximately five seconds, and then she flounced off in her skimpy attire. Claire and Black stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Ms. Sexpot stripped off her robe as she crossed the room and glanced back over a naked shoulder to see if Black was watching her smut show. Flirting at its most pathetic.
“Bet that sexy stunt got you goin’, huh, Black?”
“I’m more concerned with the murderous look on your face.”
“I don’t care for Candi.”
“No kidding.”
“But, no worries: I’m not going to shoot her. Pistol-whipping might be in the cards, if she takes off anything else to entice you.”
Black just shook his head.
“Okay, I was told last night that Miss Candyland is his booking agent. Surely that cannot be true: she’s not old enough to drive yet.”
“Afraid so. If I recall, Jonesy usually makes his current lover double in that regard so she can travel with him.”
“This case just keeps getting sleazier.”
“It can get a lot worse than this. Let’s just hope it doesn’t.”
Claire glanced around the giant living room. It was as beautiful as the rest of Cedar Bend Lodge, of course. A bit more enthusiastically decorated, to wow a bride and groom, she assumed. It was rustic in a high-end, expensive-decorator kind of way. Big sliding doors opened onto a long balcony overlooking the frozen lake. The porch was covered with snow drifts that slanted up one wall. Frost had configured icy snowflakes on the plate glass. Everything in sight was frozen and dead and waiting for the spring thaw. The gas fire logs were dancing and burning hot in their artificial way, but the room was quite dim because of the never-ending dark clouds pressing down over the water.
At the moment, however, Black’s major luxury suite was a total disaster area. There were discarded clothes flung everywhere, lots of black and red teddies lying about, and other unmentionable things that Claire wished she hadn’t noticed. Empty rum and whiskey and beer bottles littered the giant white coffee table, and ashtrays overflowed despite the fact that Cedar Bend was smoke-free. Guess rock stars got to do anything they wanted. The acrid stench of cigarettes hung in a dark cloud near the ceiling. Yuck and more extreme yuck.
“Better put up some more no-smoking signs, Black, before these people choke to death.”
Black didn’t look pleased at the state of Jonesy’s housekeeping, either. He had always been the super orderly type: his extensive military training, no doubt. “He keeps sober better if he gets to smoke. We found that out in therapy. I can let things slide now and then if it’s good for my patient’s mental health issues.”
“This is all so utterly distasteful that I think I’m gonna break out in hives, especially the fact that he’s got an underage nympho staying in here with him.”
“She’s not underage. I asked to see her driver’s license when they checked in, just to make sure.”
“Very astute of you, dear. How old is she?”
“Eighteen.”
“Trusting that it’s not a fake I
D, huh?”
“Can’t guarantee that. I hope it’s not.”
It took Jax some time to show up. After fifteen minutes, Black sat down beside the fire and Claire chose an easy chair near the balcony doors, where the cigarette smoke wasn’t so thick that it gagged her, and waited silently—if not happily—for the next fifteen minutes. Not the most patient detective in the world, Claire got up and opened the sliders to clear some of the acrid smoke out of the place. The cold, fresh air felt good and smelled clean and the snow was coming down again in light and fluffy flakes. Lake of the Ozarks was absolutely beautiful in the winter, especially when it snowed this much. She enjoyed the view for a while.
“Shut those goddamn doors,” came a low and hoarse voice from somewhere behind her.
Claire turned around and found Jonesy Jax standing there in the flesh— literally. He had on a pair of tight black Jockey briefs and nothing else. It was not a sight anyone wanted to see this early in the morning. Or ever.
Black took offense to his guest’s language and attire, or lack thereof. “That’s my wife you’re talking to, Jonesy. And put a robe on, for God’s sake.”
Jonesy jerked his head around to Black, apparently unaware of his presence. “Wife? You get married, Nick? When?”
Nope, Claire’s hatred had not dried up. Both he and Candi just made it so damn easy to despise them. Who could blame Claire? Who in their right mind wouldn’t hate them?
“Claire and I got married last summer. I’m surprised you didn’t see it in the tabloids. Everybody else on earth did.”
“I quit reading those stupid things. Got tired of all those lies they told about me and my ladies.”
Ladies? Yeah, right, Claire thought. She’d met him for the second time half a minute ago and now would believe anything horrible that anybody said about him. He looked older now, quite haggard in the face, his skin tinged a little gray. Her take? He had better see a cardiologist, and quick. He still had his long hair woven into those ugly bleached white and braided pigtails. He had tattoos all over his body, and that meant everywhere she could see skin. The ink alone must have cost him a fortune.
Jonesy looked back at her, as if sizing her up as a wife suitable for his friend and paid shrink. Then he suddenly yelled out at the top of his lungs: “Bring me a robe, Candi, damn it!” Claire jumped slightly but was chagrined about it. Then the fabled rock star looked back at Black. “Sorry, man. I just woke up. Still a little wasted, I guess. You know how it is.”
“Actually, I don’t.” That was Black, the disapproving head doctor dripping recriminations.
Claire walked over and stood a few feet from Jonesy, but not too close for fear of catching something nasty. She didn’t shut the sliding glass doors, either. She wouldn’t close them now if he said “please” and paid her ten thousand dollars to slide them together just one inch. Candi appeared swiftly and held out one of Cedar Bend’s white monogrammed terrycloth robes to Jonesy. He poked his arms through the sleeves and belted it, all the while staring at Claire.
“Well, you got yourself a looker there, Nick, I’ll give you that. Maybe I can put her in my next video. But she’ll have to dress sexier than those jeans. Can she dance?”
Her deep dislike plummeted to sheer abhorrence. Claire stared at him in a way that even a plastic mannequin could understand. Black said nothing, used to that look. This was her show. He knew that, and he also knew she could handle it without bloodshed. “How I dress is not pertinent to my investigation, sir.” That last polite reference to him galled her, but hey, she could be professional. Even when it was uncalled for.
“Investigation? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonesy stated with a furrowed brow and a confused expression.
“What that is supposed to mean, Mr. Jax, is that a woman was murdered there yesterday, inside your new residence. So tell me, where were you yesterday?”
Jonesy’s bloodshot eyes widened. They were swollen, with whites the color of tomato sauce. Jeez, the rock star was all discombobulated. “What do you mean?”
Crap, she needed a kindergarten teacher to translate for her. Claire lifted her badge and showed it to him. “Maybe you should splash some cold water on your face and get yourself a couple of pots of coffee. Maybe even brush your teeth. Make yourself presentable for this official police interview. Then you might be able to answer my questions.”
Black slanted her one of his warning looks, recognizing the signs of her annoyance, but he elected to stay out of their conversation.
On the other hand, Jonesy didn’t seem to care for her. “Yeah, and maybe I ought to call my lawyer, too. I don’t like fuckin’ cops.”
At that, Black rose up to his full six-feet-four-inch height. He looked deceptively calm, but deadly. Funny thing, he had always hated it when people called her a fuckin’ cop. It simply irked the hell out of him. Sometimes it even shook him out of his psychiatric serenity and into protective husband mode. Like now. “Watch what you say to my wife, Jonesy. You do whatever you want. Go ahead. Call a lawyer. Be stupid some more. My wife is a police officer and a good one. She’s not going to put up with your crap, and neither am I. You insult her like that again, and you’re gonna end up on your back on the floor.”
Claire beamed at her dear husband. Good job, Black. Threats of physical violence and everything. How sweet. She was gonna keep him. Usually he was just an observer, tagging along to keep her calm. Maybe he didn’t like Jonesy Jax as much as he had professed.
Jonesy appeared as if he didn’t want Black to knock him down and disfigure his face, but didn’t care to admit as much. “Okay, Nick, just cool it for a minute. I’m just not awake yet. Still a little high. Don’t even remember last night, or what I took. Gimme a break.”
Claire reentered the friendly conversation. “Well, you better get awake, because right now you are wasting my time. Also, it’s not exactly brilliant to openly discuss your drug habits with a cop present.”
She and Jonesy had one heck of a mutual hatred, and they stared at each other in a death duel for about twenty seconds. She knew this was going to happen. She remembered what he did when she’d stopped his limousine. After a few seconds, however, Jonesy turned around and headed back into one of the bedrooms. A moment later, Candi Kisses slunk out, still in her come-hither underwear but sans robe. “He says he’s gonna take a shower and brush his teeth and put some clothes on, and take a bunch of Excedrins and a belt of whiskey and then he’ll be back.”
That was putting a load of specifics on things. But Claire approved. “Maybe you should do that, too, Candi Kisses. Especially the clothes part. It’s snowing outside. You know, twenty degrees, or under. You’ll catch cold, if you’re not careful. But that’s strictly up to you.”
Candi shrugged, ran over to the balcony doors, and slid the door closed. “Well, this is all just too fuckin’ boring. I’m gonna go back to bed.”
“Thanks for sharing,” Claire told her. She turned to face Black. “I cannot believe you ever spent time in the same room with these people,” Claire muttered softly after the girl had sashayed out of the room. “Makes me worry about your, you know, good judgment and healthy habits.”
“I’ve had to deal with a lot worse than Jonesy Jax.”
“Poor you.”
Black only shrugged. Claire sat down beside him and waited. They watched the snow float down for at least thirty more minutes before the rock star finally strolled back into the room. This time, he had clearer eyes, but the famous swagger was alive and well. Good thing was, he had some sweats on: all black, his name and picture emblazoned on the front and the back.
Claire wondered if Jonesy had taken a hit of cocaine to help pull himself together so fast. He walked straight over to her and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Black. I was an asshole earlier. I hope you will overlook it. I didn’t mean to offend you. Or you, Nick. I wouldn’t ever want to do that.”
Loathe to touch him, to actually have her flesh press up against his flesh without a protective covering, Claire hesitated, but then she extended her hand in an act of distasteful reconciliation. They shook, and then he smiled. He was not bad looking, not once she saw him close-up and not almost nude. Then he walked over to Black.
“I’m sorry I spoke to your wife in that disrespectful manner. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Black readily agreed. “She’s a police officer, Jonesy. Better remember that. She can lock you up.”
And throw away the key, Claire finished for him, pleasantly jacked up by such a lovely fantasy.
“Sit down, please. Would you like some coffee, Detective? I’ve ordered a couple of pots to be brought up. Got some cheese Danish coming, too, and blueberry muffins. The works.”
Claire shook her head. “No, thank you, we had breakfast earlier.”
Jonesy was staring at her. “Hey, you look kinda familiar. We met before?”
“I think I might’ve arrested you in Los Angeles once, for numerous counts of misdemeanors and felonies.”
Jonesy laughed, thinking Claire a real jokester. Then he got serious. “Okay, I guess I’m ready. Now what’s this you’re telling me about my new house? Do you mean the one I just bought out on the lake, that one up high on that cliff?”
Claire wondered how many houses he had bought in the vicinity. “Yes. The one you approved to be featured on the Christmas at the Lake tour. You did know that it was being used in that regard, did you not?”
“Sure, I knew about that. No big deal. I wasn’t ready to move in, anyway. I’ve been waiting for my daughter to show up. I sent her the key, and she’s supposed to call me as soon as she got out here. That’s why I bought the place, so she’d have a house in a safe area where she can live when I’m out on the road. Life on tour is no place for a girl as young as her.”
Claire stared at him. Hypocrite, anyone? What the hell was Candi of the Kisses if not an exploited young girl? Then, all of a sudden, in a flash of intuition she did not wish to examine, Claire sucked in her breath. A very awful thought had blazed its way across her conscious mind. Her belly gave a little quiver of sick. She turned to Black and knew instantly that he’d already come to the same unwanted conclusion. Oh God, this interview was not going to turn out well. She knew it. She felt it. She heaved in a deep, bracing breath. “I didn’t know you had a daughter, Mr. Jax.”
