"So if the blackmailer broke up the band, no one on the crew would benefit?" I double-checked.
Annabelle gave a firm nod. "We all need B4U to stick together. Many of us turned down other jobs to go on this tour, and our new projects are only booked to start when the tour is over. Sure, I might get another gig, but it's uncertain. Plus, in our world, no one wants to be ‘resting’ for long."
"Can you think of anyone who is close enough to the band to know the things the blackmailer appeared to know?" I continued.
"Not me, that's for sure. I had a purely professional working relationship with them. They're a bunch of divas, you know."
"I noticed."
We shared a smile and I wondered exactly how much Annabelle witnessed during the tour. Since she seemed to have no knowledge of the blackmail, I switched tactics and asked her where she was during Katya's murder.
"Am I a suspect?" she asked, looking unhappy as her eyes flashed from me to Solomon.
"No, we just want to build a picture of everyone's whereabouts," Solomon said.
"Oh, in that case, Janette and I were at a fabric wholesaler’s."
Annabelle waved Janette over. She finished the seam she'd been concentrating on and joined us, sidling up next to her boss, Annabelle. Clearly, she'd been listening to our conversation, as she said, "Joe told us the girls wanted new dresses for their closing number so we were picking up our order. I think we got coffee after. I can show you the receipts?" she volunteered. "I keep all the records of our budget for accounts."
"No need for that now, but hang onto it for when the police come by," said Solomon.
"The police are coming by?" Annabelle repeated, looking even more uncertain.
"Standard procedure," said Solomon, reminding me of when I met him, back when he worked with the FBI, but not for them. I still didn't know who was responsible for loaning him. I wasn't sure anyone did. The only thing I knew was that he was disillusioned enough to leave traditional law enforcement and set up shop for himself. "Nothing to worry about."
"You didn't see anyone else from the crew between the hours of eleven and twelve?" I asked.
Annabelle and Janette glanced at each other and shrugged. "We got back here around eleven," said Janette. "We came through security, I think, and then walked over here and started cutting. I don't remember seeing anyone else."
"I think I saw the dancers come through a few minutes after, but we're kind of hidden behind these racks. I couldn't tell you exactly who was here," added Annabelle. "Is there anything else?"
"Can you tell us anything about Katya?" I asked.
Annabelle shrugged. "All I can tell you is that she was one mean girl. She treated the rest of her band like they were her backup singers, and the crew like dirt. As for guys, she just walked all over one after another. Honestly, I don't think she cared about anyone."
We thanked the pair for their time, and I made a special effort not to grab the clothes Katya would never wear again and make a run for it. Instead, my hands safely tucked into my pockets, we walked over to the dancers who were sprawled on the floor, catching their breath.
"The choreographer is Devon Heat," I told Solomon as we approached. "I looked him up on my cell phone on the way over, and he's worked with everyone who's anyone. I don't think his name is real."
"Never heard of him."
"You would if you had a life," I told him. "You need to go out more."
"I've been thinking about cutting back my hours," Solomon replied, stopping me dead in my tracks.
"Are you ill?" I stuttered.
Solomon turned back to me. "I've been thinking about the work/life balance. I need more balance."
"Does that mean I can finally lock you in for a weekend away?" I thought about Maddox's booking for the inn at Lake Pierce. Maybe not there.
"Absolutely. Where do you want to go?"
"Somewhere romantic and cozy."
"I'll book somewhere."
"With a roaring fire and snug blankets." I frowned at him.
"No problem."
"A freestanding bath, a variety of bath oils and scented candles," I added slowly, wondering why Solomon was being so agreeable.
"Send me a list of what you want and I'll make it happen."
"Okay then," I said, half to myself as Solomon started towards the dancers with me hurrying in his wake. If this was the kind of balance he was looking for, who was I to complain?
"Devon Heat?" Solomon called and the choreographer turned around. He was a surprisingly solid-looking man with muscular thighs straining against tight jeans and very little hair left. He had nice eyes, thick eyelashes and I was pretty sure a sweep of blusher across his cheeks. I admit it was a judgment, but I judged well: the blusher made his cheekbones pop and I was tempted to ask the brand.
"Are you a dancer?" asked Devon.
"No," said Solomon as he crossed his arms, his biceps tugging against his jacket.
Devon gave him a very long look. "Shame," he snipped, turning away.
"We need a few minutes," said Solomon.
Devon stared at him wistfully. "I would, but we have a whole new number to rehearse and my dancers are terrible. Terrible!" he screamed at them. "Where did we find you people? The circus? Actually, that's where I found that one!"
A few of the dancers laughed and Devon flapped a hand at them. I breathed out. Apparently, the abuse was tongue-in-cheek. "Sure, what is it, doll?" he said, but he wasn't talking to me. Solomon gave me a look that was impossible to read, but I figured it was along the lines of never calling him "doll."
Solomon introduced us and Devon brightened, apparently more interested than when he thought he could add Solomon to the troupe. "Sure, I've heard about the blackmail. Those poor, innocent, little bitches," he said and the dancers giggled while he tapped a hand over his mouth. "Oops! Did I say bitches? I meant, poor dears."
"You weren't surprised they were being blackmailed?" I asked.
"No, lovey, I was just disappointed I didn't think of it first!" More giggles.
We went through our routine: did Devon know who might benefit from blackmailing the band or breaking them up, but his answers were virtually identical to those of Annabelle and Janette. In short, they all relied on the tour to continue to make their paychecks before moving onto new projects. Finally, when it was obvious we weren't going to get any new information from Devon, I asked him where he'd been the previous morning.
"Sweetheart, a knife in the back might be poetic justice, but it wasn't me. I took this group of monkeys to run an exclusive dance workshop at The New Montgomery Dance School downtown. We have thirty witnesses. Or, at least, we would have if they acted even half awake. We were all there."
"Except Don," piped one of the dancers. "He had that leg injury."
"Right, except Don. Don, did you kill Katya?" Devon asked. I looked in the direction of Don, my eyes settling on a dark-haired man with a square jaw and a closely cut crop of dark brown hair. His zipped vest over a thin singlet revealed muscular arms and solid pecs.
"Sure, you got me," said Don, dryly. "In between getting my knee checked over at the hospital and hailing a cab to the dance school to catch the last of the workshop."
"Was anyone with you?" I asked.
"The doctor at the hospital and a nurse. Oh, and the cab driver. I got a cab receipt," he said, digging into his vest pocket and producing a small card.
"Oh, honey, how many times have I told you to change your clothes from day to day," sighed Devon.
"Dude, I did. This is a vest. It's cold in here," said Don to a chorus of agreement.
"What happened to your knee?" I asked.
"I twisted it getting out of bed so I decided to get it checked out. If I dance on an injury, I could wreck my knee and lose months of work."
"We're already surprised Don gets any work," sniffed Devon. "Yet, here he is. Fortunately, uninjured. Hip-hip-hurrah, no new dancer for me!"
"You're a mean jerk," said Don, smiling, and not nearly
as cruelly as he could have said it. I got the feeling they were all used to moaning and complaining at each other, taking the insults and tossing them back as fast as they came.
"Who is still employing you," Devon pointed out as he turned back to us. "Do you need anything else? A signed confession, my phone number?" he produced a card and passed it to Solomon with a wink.
"That's all," said Solomon.
I thanked Devon for his time and we backed away with Devon shouting, "Call me!" after us.
"What do you think?" said Solomon, deadpan. "Should I call him?"
"Sure thing, doll."
Despite searching for the vocal coach, she wasn’t at the warehouse, but that didn't seem unusual since the band weren't here for her to work with. That left our final port of call with the security man on the door. When we found him, he was sitting on a wooden chair, a lit cigarette in hand, and regarded us both with more suspicion than when he let us in. I wasn't surprised; he'd probably seen us interviewing others and wondered why we were approaching him now.
"Call me Dan. Yeah, I know what you're here about," he said, as I started to tell him why we wanted to talk to him.
"What's that?" asked Solomon.
"You want to know where I was when that woman from the band died," said Dan, taking another long drag and flicking the ash onto the ground. He puffed out a thick stream of smoke and Solomon narrowed his eyes at him. "I was here on shift. You can ask anyone who came in and out. Or check this." He passed us a clipboard with several sheets of names. Solomon flicked through them as I asked, "Do you recall hearing anyone threaten Katya?"
"That her name? No, not that I recall. I remember she was loud and always reamin’ someone out over somethin'. She had a real nasty mouth."
"Any of that recently?"
"Pretty much everyone, every day since they got here." He barked out a sharp laugh, then coughed before placing the cigarette between his lips, talking as it waggled. "Look, I'm standin’ at the door. I don't always see much."
"You'd be surprised," said Solomon, turning the pages flat again and returning the clipboard. "Did you get any unexpected visitors here? Say, from when you were hired for the job up until Katya's death?"
"I'm employed by the warehouse so I've been here for my shift since the band booked the site. I don't recall anyone gettin' in whose name wasn’t on that list. We've turned away a few fans tryin’ to sneak in. Nothin’ unusual."
"You've never done security at the hotel? Or for the band?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Like I said, I come with this building. If you want to speak to band security, that guy on the phone over there is your man." Dan pointed to a short, balding man standing by a Porsche.
"I recognize him," said Solomon. "Thanks for your time."
"No problem, man. Hope you catch the guy that did this."
"Guy?"
"Figure of speech. It's always the wronged boyfriend, isn't it?"
Solomon shook his head. "If she had one, he would be the first person I'd ask." He nudged my arm, indicating I should follow and as we walked over to the loud, short man.
"Why didn't you ask about the blackmail?"
"No letters were reported being found here, and the guy doesn't have access to the hotel."
"Maybe he heard something?"
"It's unlikely, and I don't want him starting rumors," Solomon said as approached the Porsche. "This is Josh Alvarez. He's the head of security for the band, but I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet."
"I thought you'd gone over security with him already?"
"With his team, yes, but this guy was always absent."
"Isn't that weird?"
"I thought so. Josh Alvarez?"
Josh held up one finger and turned his head away, yelling at someone about not drinking on the job. When he finally hung up and turned around, he appeared startled to see us. "You can write to the band for signed photos," he said, attempting to step around us.
"We'd rather have a minute of your time," I said.
"I wish I had more time, cutie, but some of us big boys are busy. Try hanging around the warehouse door, and you might strike it lucky for an autograph or a selfie."
"I don't want an autograph or a selfie."
He peered at me "You want a job? Do you dance?"
"Uh..." I paused, wondering how to answer that. I thought I could dance, but I suspected wine had a lot to do with that. The real answer might have been no, but I was enthusiastic, and didn't that count for a lot?
"Will you go topless?" Josh persisted, his eyes dropping to my bust line.
"Joe Carter hired us to investigate the blackmail threat to the band," said Solomon, squaring his shoulders as he stepped in front of me, forcing Josh’s eyes into staring at his chest instead. As far as sights go, I wouldn't have complained, but Solomon was more my type than his. "We're looking into Katya's murder too. Let's find some time for a few questions."
"Right, Solomon, our private dick. Ah! Sure, fire away. Joe said to answer any questions."
"Where were you at..."
"The time Katya was murdered? Here. I was going over the security schedule for the video shoot."
"Did anyone see you?"
"Sure. That guy over there was on the door and signed me in. There were a few other people in here too. Oh, and Shelley."
"Shelley was here?"
"Yeah, she left her purse or something and came to pick it up. I think that was eleven-thirty?"
"It was definitely her?"
"Yeah, it was her! I said hello and she told me to kiss her ass. I'd love to, but there're rules about that kind of thing these days. Anything else?"
"Do you know where I can find the vocal coach?" I asked.
"Home on bed rest. She got the flu three days ago so we sent her home rather than exposing her to the band and getting them sick. I gotta go. I have meetings. If you and your secretary need anything else, call me," said Josh, handing Solomon his card. He climbed into his Porsche and sped away, leaving us watching him.
I turned to Solomon, trying not to steam. "Secretary?" I asked.
"An honorable profession," said Solomon.
"Secretary!" I muttered again as we made our way to Solomon's SUV.
"Focus on what we found out, not his stupid comments."
I mentally pulled myself together. "Okay. So, Shelley left the hotel and she came here. She's definitely got an alibi."
Solomon nodded. "Shelley is not our killer."
Chapter Nine
The front entrance to the hotel was surrounded by journalists, photographers and fans, with people spilling all over the sidewalk onto the road as they jostled for a good view. Solomon slowed to bypass them while some turned to stare into our windows, probably hopeful of seeing a band member. I wasn't sorry to disappoint them.
"This is going to get crazy," said Solomon.
"Going to? I think it already got crazy," I said, taking a long look at the bank of video cameras. In front of one stood a superbly coiffed woman speaking into the camera and gesturing to the hotel at her back. Clearly, the news had brought the national press in. "When did they all get here?"
"Late last night after the story broke. They're either camping out, or rotating in shifts."
"Can't they just wait for a statement from B4U?"
Solomon shook his head. "That's not how the media works. They need to be on the ground and working contacts to get a story. If there's no story, they need photos to guess a story. If they're not getting a story, they're regurgitating each other's stories."
"Sounds like they'll try and get into the hotel again."
"Not going to happen." Solomon pulled into the rear service road and rolled to a stop at the security gate. A guard stepped forward and waited as Solomon produced his pass before buzzing us through a moment later.
"The gate and guard weren't there before," I said, looking back over my shoulder as the gates closed behind us.
"Installed yesterday. No journalists sneaking in the b
ack entrance."
"And no B4U sneaking out?"
Solomon smiled. "That's an added bonus."
"What if the media get wind of the blackmail too?"
"How about they don't?" said Solomon, without any trace of amusement. "This has to be kept quiet."
"I don't know why. Maybe with all eyes on the blackmailer, they either stop, or we have a whole bunch of eyes working out who it is."
"Or we have a whole bunch of eyes digging for dirt on the remaining band members." Solomon turned the car into a parking space and cut off the engine. We didn't move from our seats, choosing instead to admire the concrete wall view.
"So it's out in the open. The blackmailer can't continue."
"Joe paid us to keep this quiet and the band don't want their secrets in the open. They just want the blackmail stopped and the culprit caught. Listen, Lexi, it doesn't matter if we agree with the client; if they pay us to do a job that we take, we complete it to their satisfaction. If this gets out, it's not just a case of the blackmailer getting caught, it could mean their careers are ruined anyway."
"So, we keep on quietly digging?"
"Exactly." Solomon climbed out, and walked around before opening my door, and offering me his hand. I took it, hopping down, only for him to catch me mid-hop and gently lower me to the ground. His hands were warm against my waist and I rested my hands on his shoulders, enjoying the moment to kiss briefly before remembering we were professionals.
"John, I have very little to go on to find this blackmailer. All I can do is knock the people off my list one by one, and that's going to take forever," I told him as we walked towards the hotel.
"Look how many suspects we've eliminated today. I still think that if we find one, we'll find the other. Let me get that," Solomon added, reaching for the door before I could grasp the handle, and opening it for me.
Kissing in Action Page 11
