I stepped into my dad’s house, feeling like a locust chomping away at all he had. We sat at his kitchen table, and he offered me a hazelnut cherry biscotti and coffee. I automatically said yes, but took just one sip of the hot liquid and merely played with the cookie. It’d be like sawdust in my sand-dry mouth. Staring down at the biscotti like it would do the begging for me, I began. “Dad, I hate to ask, but—”
“You need some money.”
I avoided his eyes. “You knew?”
“Figured. How much business you got? Three, maybe four cases? That won’t even keep the lights on.” His eyes conveyed nothing but concern. “How much do you need?”
I hopped up and threw my arms around his neck. “Enough for this month’s rent. I’ll pay you back, honest, and by the end of the week.”
Dad snorted softly and pulled out his checkbook from his back pocket. He waved his pen at me. “You know, you could always move in with me. Got enough room, that’s for sure.”
“I love you, Dad, but I’ve got to make it on my own.”
He nodded and it wasn’t clear whether he was disappointed or relieved. He wrote out a check for my rent and then some. “Don’t worry about paying it back.” He handed it to me. “But promise me you’ll consider working for your Aunt Lena instead of this, this…” he struggled for the word, “Che cosa? This adventure.” He covered my hand with his big, calloused one. “Don’t keep me worrying about you, Pumpkin.”
I plastered on a Mona Lisa smile, hoping he’d never know how much I worried about me too. “I’ll think about it. Promise.” Merely the thought of working at Cannoli’s made me want to shriek, imagining myself wiping powdered sugar from the triple chins I’d no doubt acquire. That is, after my aunt married me off to some guy who had more black hair on his back than on his head and a five-o’clock shadow right after he shaved. But I appreciated my father’s concern, and adored him for it.
I kissed his cheek and assured him, “I’ll be extra careful, Dad.”
Leaving my father’s house, I drove to the bank and deposited his loan. Then, even blew some bucks on a few groceries. Ah, the good life! Once home, I post-dated a check for my rent while shoveling some cereal into my mouth.
By the time I brushed my teeth, my stomach began churning. I didn’t relish spying on Wayne any more than reporting my findings to Jezebel, convinced it would break her heart for sure. In that moment of weakness, working at Cannoli’s didn’t sound half-bad.
Michael called and rescued me from any further despairing thoughts.
“Is something wrong?” Please, please be okay.
“I’m fine and cooking veal piccata, but there’s too much here for one person. Would you like to come over?”
Visions of delicate veal, drenched in lemon, parsley, and capers waltzed about in my head. My stomach suddenly grumbled at being fed cereal when a feast was so close. But there was Dwayne and Jezebel. I wanted to weep. “It sounds delicious, but I have other business to attend to.” My taste buds practically stood up and begged for the veal. Who was I to ignore their basic needs? “On second thought…”
“Yes?” He sounded hopeful.
I released a loud breath. If Gino knew, he would have my license for this. “I have a stakeout tonight. You could come along…”
“And bring the veal?”
I chuckled, happy he caught my drift. “That’d be great. But you should know what you’re in for. I spend the evening taking pictures from far away. It’s safe, but boring.”
He chuckled. “A safe, boring evening sounds great. How soon can you get here?”
We agreed on a time, but on my drive over, guilt over my selfish gluttony replaced my food lust. I didn’t know what Dwayne was up to, but it could turn ugly. If Michael got hurt, it’d be my fault. This had to be one of the dumbest things I’d ever done. Michael was a client, a really sweet, adorable one who cooked like a male Julia Child.
I shook my head hard. Gino warned me about letting my heart overrule my head. He didn’t say anything about my stomach, though. I fully intended to reverse my rash decision when I got to Michael’s home.
Michael was already outside with what looked like a picnic basket when I pulled up. His look of excitement was so cute I couldn’t change my mind and disappoint him. Okay, maybe that was just an excuse, but either way, I now had company.
Once we parked close to Dwayne’s apartment building, I explained my assignment and recited Gino’s advice, “Be close enough to spot him, but far enough so’s the pigeon don’t notice you.”
Michael half smiled and nodded. “Got it.”
My stomach felt weighed down, as if each Cheerio I’d eaten earlier had swelled to the size and weight of a marble. Even the scent of glorious veal piccata didn’t whet my appetite.
Dwayne finally got into his car and as soon as he pulled away from his apartment, we followed at a discreet distance. Luckily traffic was light and he went the speed limit, making it easy to track him. Michael knew enough to stay silent. I blew out a breath as Dwayne’s car pulled up to a row of buildings: one, a convenience store, another, a cleaners, and at the end, a bar that looked like a neighborhood joint where no one knows your name.
I cruised by and observed as Dwayne got out and started toward the bar. Some guy opened the tavern’s door, lit a cigarette and watched Dwayne walk past. A lump sat firmly in my throat. This part of the job scared the knickers off of me.
Dwayne continued his trek behind the front building and disappeared. I parked and jumped out of my car, but before I could tell him to stay put, Michael was next to me. We trailed Dwayne and I snapped a photo of him entering a building with red awnings. When he opened the door, lively Latin music blared.
Michael, his eyes wide, whispered, “Do we follow him?”
Staying out of the range of flying fists, just close enough for the camera to get the goods, was my way. But in this case, the blinds were drawn, allowing no way of peering inside. I waited too long to decide, and a stranger approached us from behind. He opened the door and his voice boomed like a carnival barker, “Go on in, folks. We don’t bite. I’m Randall Jones, owner of this place.” When we didn’t move, he smiled. “Cold feet, huh?”
I came out of my haze. “No, no. We were just…walking by.”
He let loose with a hearty laugh. “That’s what they all say.” He hustled us inside and casually blocked the door, making a quick escape difficult. Trapped in the foyer, the music’s beat vibrated in my skull. I’d never been this close to the mark, and we only had until the music stopped for good to get any low down on Dwayne.
Before I could throw a plan together, the music abruptly ended. Then, “Well if it ain’t Miss $17.95.” It was Ed, the lean-and-mean security guard, without his uniform.
Chapter Seven
Ed sidled up to me and chuckled. “Didn’t take you for a salsa dancer.” He leaned in and his stale-cigarette breath made my nose curl. Spotting my camera, his mouth twisted. “Or are you working a case?” He tilted his chin in Michael’s direction. “You’re her brother. Constance’s, I mean.”
The man who’d rushed us in interjected. “Well since you seem to know each other, we’re all set.” He bustled toward an office in the back.
Michael recovered quicker than me and stuck out his hand to shake Ed’s. “Michael Adler. We’re just here to dance.” Although they shook hands, they reminded me of boxers before their match, each eyeing the other for weaknesses. Ed didn’t believe Michael, and Michael didn’t trust anyone from Triton.
I spotted Dwayne out of the corner of my eye, standing next to a girl who looked familiar. I didn’t want to investigate him now. My frightened psyche sought only to slink back to the car and stuff my face with the veal. I squelched that impulse and addressed Ed, “If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to the instructor.”
Ed smirked. “You’re looking at him.” He bowed low.
My face must have resembled one of those Edvard Munch’s portraits of screaming people because Ed fol
lowed up with, “Do it part time. With Mallorie.” He waved to the overly made-up young woman next to Dwayne. “Hey Mal, come on over.”
He whispered to me, “Lose the camera.”
This was beyond awful. Next Dwayne would tell me he’d been waiting for me. I slipped the camera into my pocket and hoped no one would notice the bulge. When Mallorie sashayed over, I realized why she looked familiar. She had worked for Constance, her final hire.
Mallorie grinned like we were old friends. “I remember you, you’re the private eye.”
My eyes darted nervously around the room, wondering if Dwayne had overheard. A suspicious fiancé like Jezebel and a PI that just happens to show up on while he’s doing…what? Dancing? I wanted to get out fast, before Dwayne put two and two together and used my camera strap to strangle me. And what would he do to Michael whose only mistake was being a great cook?
Mallorie peered at Michael through her fake eyelashes, talking him up like she wanted him to invest in a Ponzi scheme. Or was that her way of flirting?
I hooked my arm through Michael’s. “We better get going. It was nice to see—” But Mallorie slid her arm through Michael’s other one and gave it a tug. “No way. You came for a reason.”
I gaped at Michael. Before either of us could respond though, Ed piped up, “They came to dance, Mal. Let’s show ‘em how.”
He pulled me away from Michael, signaled to turn the music up, and whirled me around the dance floor. He twirled me out and back in like he was Fred Astaire, but I was Raggedy Ann. When he got me in a clutch he whispered, “She knows more.” With that he spun me out again, smack into Dwayne, who was dancing with a middle-aged woman in spandex pants that probably fit her twenty pounds ago.
I tripped and Dwayne caught me. “Are you okay?”
I righted myself, thankful I hadn’t worn heels. “I’m fine.”
He smiled. “Good. I’m Dwayne. And you’re…?”
“Claire. Just Claire.” I could feel the moisture in my underarms.
“Nice to meet you, Claire.” He motioned toward Michael and Mallorie. “Looks like your friend knows a thing or two about salsa. That’s what I want. Gonna surprise my baby. Her name is Jezebel.”
I felt warm all over, like when a puppy snuggles up to you. “That’s so nice.” I grinned. “So nice.”
Before I babbled further, Ed grabbed hold of me again. “Excuse us, but Claire’s got more to learn tonight.” With that, he whisked me away past Michael. To my amazement and distraction, Michael was gliding around the dance floor like he’d been born to do it.
Through clenched teeth, Ed hissed, “Don’t want you ruining my setup. Mallorie held back with you and the cops. I aim to find out what else she knows.”
“How do you know she’s got anything else?”
Ed held onto my waist while the song ended and another started. “Let’s just say she spends a hell of a lot more than she makes, even with this side job.”
That got my full attention. “So someone’s paying her off.” I panted, slightly out of breath.
He nodded. “But who and why’s the question.” Missing my spin cue, I mashed his ankle. He winced and dropped his arms. “Ooph!” He rubbed his ankle and murmured, “You’re pretty timid as a PI, but you’re deadly on the dance floor.”
I could feel the others stop and my face felt hot. Michael rushed over, leaving Mallorie to dance solo. “Claire, it’s my turn to dance with you.” He gave Ed a look that said, “Get lost, pal.”
Ed stopped massaging his ankle and stepped back with his hands in the air. “No problemo. But I hope you got steel in your shoes and socks.” As he turned to go, he whispered, “Great job. Now I can get back to Miss Mal.” He moved in her direction. “Mallorie, may I have this dance?” He only limped a little.
Michael’s eyebrows lowered. “Mind if I ask what that was about?”
“Tell you later.” A slower musical number started. His hand on my waist felt strong, confident. I relaxed and let him guide me. “Hey, you’re pretty good.”
He shrugged. “Dancing lessons. My mother insisted my sister and I go.” His face clouded over. “Constance made it bearable.” He turned his head away and swallowed hard.
The music ended, but we stood still, like a porcelain statue of two dancers, until Mallorie shattered the moment when she clapped her hands. “Break time, everyone.”
As the others collapsed into surrounding chairs, I massaged my forehead and sighed, “One of my headaches is coming on.” I had to get out of there before my cover got completely blown.
After Michael graciously insisted on paying for our so-called dance lesson, we made our escape to the car, now fragrant with the scent of veal and lemon.
I laid my hand on his arm. “Thank you.” In all likelihood, Gino had some rule about not letting a client pay expenses for another client. “I’ll pay you back just as soon as this Jezebel pays her balance.”
He shrugged. “Forget it. I should thank you. It was fun.”
Fun? I was pleased, but sure wouldn’t have called it that.
He reached for the casserole and grinned. “Shall we eat?”
“Good idea. We can go to my apar-, ah, office. We’ll be more comfortable there.”
He thought about it a moment, then said, “We can go back to my place. For dinner.”
I wondered if I’d be dessert, picturing myself in just some whipped cream and a cherry, and shivered.
I needn’t have wondered. Michael was so engrossed in my recounting of what Ed had told me about Mallorie, I wasn’t even an after-dinner mint. My relief mixed with disappointment, neither gaining a foothold.
After my second glass of wine, I slouched in one of his comfy chairs and felt my whole body mellow out. Unfortunately my mouth took the opportunity to sever ties with my brain and I proclaimed, “Michael, you’re the best cook around, and a wonderful host, and a charming dinner companion.” Thank God, he stopped me before I nominated him for sainthood.
“Thank you, but you make it easy.” He blushed.
I blamed it on the wine but I couldn’t think of anything witty, so settled for, “Back at ya.”
We both fell silent and it seemed like the ticking of his mantle clock got louder. I swirled the wine in my glass and he cleared his throat. Time for me to say something. “This was great but I better go.” I rose too fast, and the room began to spin. Scared of falling, I latched on to the table, holding as tight as a kid on a roller coaster for the first time. Michael sprang up and grabbed my shoulders for support. Even when the dizziness subsided, he didn’t let go. “Are you okay, Claire?”
“Never better.” His hands felt good on me and I was afraid if I moved, he’d pull them away. We stood like that for a moment, neither of us going any further.
He must have felt me stiffen just a bit because he dropped his hands and stepped away. “I better clear the dishes.”
Offering to help would’ve been the right thing to do, but sticking around there with him would’ve been a mistake. I didn’t want to get in too deep, at least not until Constance’s murder was solved. I stretched and produced a few faked yawns. “Dinner was great, Michael, but it’s been a long day. I’ll call you when something new turns up.”
He walked me to the door where we both stood there like mummies, stiff and brainless. I managed to grab his hand and pumped it. “Thanks again.” I practically ran out the door. Not exactly my moment of glory.
***
After a restless night and early morning, my notes on Dwayne’s activities lay on my desk in a semblance of order. Jezebel sat in the chair opposite me. Another of Gino’s rules was “Don’t give them the lowdown ‘til they give you the dough.”
“As you know, I’ve completed my investigation.”
The woman, in funeral-like garb, sat stiff in her chair, rubbing her hands together so hard I wondered if they’d spark. Having no desire to prolong her uncertainty, I showed her the photo taken of Dwayne entering the dance studio.
My findings
concluded, I smiled, thinking she’d do the same. Or at least show some sign of relief.
Instead, her mouth twisted and her eyes bulged. “You’re telling me he wasn’t with another woman?”
Didn’t she believe me? “No, he isn’t. He’s just taking dance lessons.” I tilted my head. “Isn’t that good news?”
She slumped in her chair. “Yeah, it is. But now he’ll know I lied.”
My eyebrows knit and my stomach tensed. Why is nothing in this job easy?
She looked like she was about to cry. “He’s taking those damned lessons because I bragged about what a good dancer I was.”
My brain screamed, “Stay out of it.” But my mouth never took orders from anyone. “What made you do that?”
She leaned her head back like the answer was on the ceiling. “He’s great at so many things, I wanted to be better than him at something.”
I shrugged. “If it’s that important, take lessons yourself.”
She shook her head. “Can’t afford to. Unless…” A Cheshire cat grin appeared on her face.
I glanced at the check she’d written me like it was a lover who’d just told me we were through. Jezebel’s eyes followed mine. “The fee was stated in the contract you signed.”
“You’re right.” She let out a defeated sigh.
I sat back, satisfied, until my sentimental gene began aggressively reproducing. I gave in and pushed back my practical worries. “Do you know how much they cost?” My voice, barely above a whisper.
Jezebel’s eyes sparkled and she looked eighteen, although that birthday was in the distant past. “A friend of mine once offered to teach me off the clock for a hundred dollars.”
Subtracting that amount from the total on this case, I pursed my lips. “Can’t he be more off the clock than that?” Admitting the stakeout had actually turned out to be pleasant made it easier for me to give in. “Okay, I could subtract $75 from what you owe me right now. You can pay it back at $25 a month.” I had a hunch I’d never see that money.
Plateful of Murder Page 6
