Murder at the Cabaret: A Pet Portraits Cozy Mystery (Book 4)

by Sandi Scott

  “Good grief! What year is it?”

  “What?” the officer was startled.

  “General Lee was a divine dancer until he was called to Gettysburg. I’ll never forget him.” Georgie pretended to swoon as she walked past him, fanning herself like a Southern Belle. Without looking back, she made her way down the block and around the corner to find Pablo waiting where she had parked him.

  "That is too much to not tell someone," Georgie muttered as she started the car up. She contemplated asking the same officer where the police station was but thought she had put him through enough already. "I shouldn't do this when my blood sugar level is so low." So, she decided to find a café and plan her next step. Henry Dupre wouldn’t be going anywhere.”

  Chapter 7

  “Can you tell me where the Northbrook police department is?” Georgie asked innocently as she ordered herself a custard chocolate donut from the counter of Standee’s Diner. It boasted having the best custard donuts in town.

  “Sure.” The red-headed waitress behind the counter smiled as she cracked her gum. The name on her tag read Mary-Jean. She told Georgie it was just a couple blocks down and over, and if she saw the new WalMart, she’d gone too far. “I do hope you aren’t in any trouble.”

  “No.” Georgie tapped the counter. “I’ve got a question about a ticket,” she lied. The cabaret murder was all over the news. Georgie didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention to herself.

  She looked down at the custard donut as it was placed in front of her. “Oh, my!” Georgie caught her breath. It was at least six inches across. The chocolate was perfectly coated over the top and while the body of the donut was perfectly glazed. Some people used a knife and fork to eat it, but Georgie was old school.

  "Atta girl," Mary-Jean said as she saw Georgie pick up the donut in her hands and take a big bite.

  Georgie chuckled as she licked the custard from the corners of her lips. She liked Mary-Jean immediately. The waitress's red nails, gaudy costume rings, and dramatic makeup made Georgie feel like they were kindred spirits. “This is the best donut I’ve ever tasted,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

  “Tell me about it. Why do you think my bottom is so big?” Mary-Jean joked as she went to help another customer at the end of the counter.

  After devouring the pastry and washing it down with some coffee, Georgie was ready to find the police department. Totally unprepared, she walked into a surreal environment and felt like she was visiting another planet! In contrast to Stan’s precinct that always bustled like Macy’s during the after-Christmas sales, the police station in Northbrook had more in common with a Zen temple. The man at the front desk was an impeccably starched officer with a tight crew cut, a headset, and a pleasant smile.

  “Good morning,” he greeted her like she was coming in to buy a used car. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” Georgie introduced herself to him. This officer was as unlike the man outside the club as could be, so she played no shenanigans and stuck with being honest and straightforward. “I am hoping that I can speak with the detective working on the case for Madame Bray. Is he available?”

  “Just one moment. May I tell her what it is regarding?”

  Georgie was surprised to hear the detective on the case was a woman. The news encouraged her as she figured a female detective might be more apt to listen. She knew Stan, and he listened out of duty. This was like learning to ride a bike. Unnerving, but thrilling none-the-less. “Yes. I was just there and had an interesting conversation I think the detective might like to hear,” she said innocently. The officer smiled back and typed on his computer. Within seconds he was speaking quietly into the microphone headset.

  “Detective Schwarz will be right out. You may have a seat. Can I get you coffee or water?”

  “No thanks, Officer. I just came from that little diner with the amazing custard donuts. Have you ever had them?”

  “Can’t say I have.” He smiled but Georgie thought there was a bit of a frost to the words.

  “I didn’t assume you had because you are a policeman,” she apologized. “My ex-husband is a detective. He doesn’t have a sweet tooth either. I’m the one who does. Although, to assume police officers automatically like donuts does seem rather silly. I mean they aren’t even made with the butter and fat that they used to have. They taste completely different from when we were kids. Right?” Georgie realized she wasn’t getting anywhere with this officer. The damage had already been done.

  “Ms. Kaye.” A stern voice came from the locked door to the left of the lobby. A short woman about five feet tall with her hair in a ponytail and wearing a drab brown suit barked, “I’m Detective Schwarz. Follow me.” Georgie clutched her bag to her chest. Suddenly, she felt like they were going to consider her Madame Bray’s murderer. Without a word Detective Schwarz led Georgie through what she assumed was their bullpen but was more like a library with the desks in cubicles and everyone quiet. The detective's office was nothing like Stan's either. While his was an organized mess of files on every surface, spreading onto the floor, hers was neatly arranged in color-coded files. There was even a vanilla smelling mixture of potpourri on her desk. “The officer says you may have some information on the Madame Bray murder. How did you come by this information?” The woman’s thin lips did not crack her cheeks with any attempt at a smile.

  “I stopped by the club this morning.”

  The detective looked at Georgie with what seemed to be anger. “What possessed you to do that?”

  "I was at the show last night when everything happened," Georgie replied. "I thought I'd bring some flowers. The death was a terrible shock to everyone—myself included." To Georgie, her story sounded completely normal, but it was obvious from the detective's scowl, this was not the case.

  “So, you decided to do a little snooping on your own?” Detective Schwarz snapped. “Did something on CSI give you an idea?”

  “I don’t watch that show,” Georgie lied. Even if she were to admit she did watch it every so often, it had nothing to do with why she went to the club. “Look, I’m certainly not trying to stir up any trouble. I just happened to stop by and had a chance to talk with one of the girls who works the show.”

  “Uh-huh.” Detective Schwarz opened up the file and began flipping through the pages of witness statements and diagrams of the stage. “Spell your last name for me.”

  “K-A-Y-E. I talked to Tammy, a very sweet girl. Her name is Tammy Laloup. She told me that Madame Bray was considering retiring. Last night was going to be her farewell performance.”

  “It was her farewell performance, Ms. Kaye,” the detective snapped.

  “Poor choice of words,” Georgie giggled nervously.

  “But, you see, the Master of Ceremonies said the show must go on. Reservations are still being taken even with this whole drama still unfolding. Sounds a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

  Detective Schwarz looked across her desk at Georgie and folded her hands. “Is that all?”

  "Yes," Georgie replied meekly. The detective didn't bother to write anything down. She didn't mark anything in the file, and Georgie got the distinct impression the woman didn't like her. How could that be? Who didn't like her?

  "Ms. Kaye, I understand that you may be in shock after witnessing the incident last night. If I remember your statement was quite lengthy, and the interviewing officer stated you had had several drinks while at the show.”

  “I had one—a piña colada . It was delicious, but I don’t drink so it sort-of went right to my head.”

  "Uh-huh," the detective continued. "However, you see, we have quite a few unsolved cases that need attention. Madame Bray isn't the only person whose killer we need to bring to justice. We can't stop everything because some old woman wants to play Sherlock Holmes."

  “Old?”

  “I appreciate your trying to help, Ms. Kaye.” The woman stared at Georgie.

  “You’re welcome?”

  “Do you need s
omething else?” Detective Schwarz sighed with annoyance.

  Thinking fast Georgie turned on her helpless old lady persona. Obviously, anyone over the age of fifty was a senior citizen to this woman. “My, I am very thirsty. Can I trouble you for a drink of water?” Georgie patted her throat. Literally rolling her eyes, Detective Schwarz pushed herself up from her desk and stomped out of her office. As Georgie watched her walk out she quickly pulled her phone from her pocket. Clicking on the camera mode, she pulled the file across the desk and began snapping away. Thankfully, the case was still so new that there were only a few pages, but just as she was in mid-snap, she heard a throat clear. Whipping around nervously she saw a man standing with his back to the door. Quietly, without taking her eyes off him, she stuffed her camera back in her pocket and folded up the file, pushing it far away from her.

  “Excuse me, Detective,” he stuttered, “here are those skip traces you requested.”

  "Thank you," Detective Schwarz snapped. Without another word, she bulldozed past the man to hand Georgie her water. She obviously was prickly toward everyone. Georgie felt a little better knowing it wasn't just her. She hated the idea of someone not liking her before even knowing her. If they didn't like her after the fact, well, their loss.

  “Thank you so much, Detective,” Georgie gushed and slowly sipped the water making loud slurping sounds. Once she was finished she handed the paper cup back to the detective and stood, straightening her blouse as she did so. The woman said nothing but tossed the cup into the garbage beneath her desk.

  “Thank you for your report,” Detective Schwarz barked and went on to pull some files from a neat stack to her right.

  “I hope you catch the culprit soon.”

  Detective Schwarz gave Georgie one of those quick smiles that squinted her eyes and made her look more sinister than sweet. Georgie felt ruffled and, without another word, saw herself out of the office. No one looked at her as if she didn’t belong, but no one offered to help her find her way out either. Thankfully, the bright red exit sign was like a beacon. Before she knew it, she was in the lobby and walking out the front door. “I’m free!” She yelled as she always did when she stepped out of Stan’s station.

  “Ma’am, are you alright?” A police officer asked.

  “What was that you said?” A bike messenger looked at her more closely.

  “Do you need help?” A middle-aged woman inquired.

  “Never mind.” Georgie shrugged. She didn’t expect anyone to take her seriously. At Stan’s station, she just got peculiar looks and maybe a chuckle. Northbrook was proving to be too serious of a town for the likes of Georgie Kaye.

  “Let’s go home, Pablo,” she said, wedging herself into the Volkswagen. “I never met a bigger group of stuffed shirts in my life. I can’t imagine how a group like that got to be cops. Being a cop is a dirty business. I mean literally. You have to get your hands dirty at crime scenes and in dealing with witnesses,” she continued. “They suggested I was some kind of alcoholic in there. Can you imagine such a thing? Me? An alcoholic? Chocoholic, maybe yes, but alcoholic? How absurd! Not very good sleuthing if that’s what they think of me at first glance. Really!” She argued with the steering wheel all the way home, counting the miles until she’d be back in her own neck of the woods where the cops knew she and the head detective had shared a bed for more than three decades before he went in search of gold and fly fishing. “Where people are normal. That’s where I want to be. Wait until I tell Aleta how that woman talked. Sheesh.” On the other hand, Georgie couldn’t help but wonder if she was making a big deal about nothing. Maybe Detective Schwarz was right, and there was nothing to see there. Just because the Master of Ceremonies wanted the show to continue, that wasn’t a crime, may not be a motive either. Doubt started to invade. “I’ll know more when I get a look at these pictures. There’s bound to be something in the files that Detective Schwarz wasn’t telling me, something one of the witnesses said or maybe something left at the crime scene.”

  Georgie felt better once she got home. Andrew greeted her in the parking lot and said everybody was over at Aunt Aleta’s place.

  “You’re home just in time. J.R. and I are taking you ladies to lunch.”

  “Lord, Andrew, you haven’t had enough of your old Mom? The last time you tried to take me somewhere a dead woman landed right on the stage in front of us.”

  “I know. I can hardly wait to see what will happen next,” he teased.

  “You’re crazy,” she giggled, slipping her arm around her son’s waist. “Do you remember when you were little, and you used to lie in your crib with your feet up on the wall?”

  “Mama.”

  “You used to love how your feet could make so much noise when you kicked them.”

  “Mama, please. This is embarrassing.”

  “What, embarrassing? You had the chubbiest ham hocks for legs, too.” Georgie cracked up at the memory and her grown son’s bright red cheeks.

  “You really are too much.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop. You’re buying lunch, right?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “All right; I’ll stop.”

  Chapter 8

  “The police report said you had several drinks?” Aleta gasped, while laughing.

  “That’s what the detective claimed. She looked at me as if I’d thrown back a couple before I stepped into the station. You wouldn’t believe that police station! It was like they were expecting Queen Elizabeth to show up.”

  "Sounds like they weren't interested in any help," Andrew added as he held the door open to Angelo's Pizzeria. As soon as they stepped inside the smell of oregano, garlic, and basil hit their nostrils. They took a table for four in the middle of the restaurant. The tables were all covered with white parchment paper. There were Italian flags hanging on the walls and maps of the famous boot that was Italy.

  “This is one of Andrew’s favorite restaurants.” Aleta grabbed one of the little menus in the center of the table. There were over a dozen different pasta sauces to go over just as many different kinds of pasta—all proudly made by hand. At least, that’s what was printed at the bottom of the menu. After considering all the items and their ingredients, everyone decided on the same thing, an Italian sub sandwich with a side of spaghetti in vodka sauce.

  “That’s an easy one,” the waitress bubbled. She was a bosomy brunette who wore her hair in a bun and looked almost identical to the woman who was pictured on the corner of the menu. “I’ll bring you some water and breadsticks in the meantime.”

  The smell of the food had made everyone excited and chatty, but when Georgie showed them what she had on her phone, all conversation came to an abrupt halt. “Mama, what have you done?” Andrew gasped. “You took pictures of the police file?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “What would that woman have done to you had she caught you doing that?” Aleta chimed in.

  "I'm impressed," J.R. stated.

  “What would she have done? Nothing. It’s not the firing codes for our nuclear missiles. It’s just some statements and a couple of outlines of the stage. There weren’t even any photos of the body in it yet.”

  “I can see you doing that in Stan’s office. He probably knows you do it. That guy wouldn’t turn you in if his life depended on it.” Aleta grabbed a breadstick and cracked it in half.

  “What are you guys worrying about?” Georgie began to scroll through the images she had taken. I just want to know what people are saying. I saw one of these with Henry Dupre’s name on it. Yes, here it is. Now, what did he have to say to the cops that he didn’t say to me?” Her eyes squinted as she strained to focus.

  "What does the statement say, Mama?" Andrew asked.

  “It doesn’t look like it says much of anything, except what we witnessed ourselves last night.”

  Scrolling through the other bits of the file describing Madame Bray’s injuries, placement of the body, and approximate time of death, Georgie suddenly felt like she was the victi
m of some kind of prank. With her family sitting around watching her, she had to admit that there was nothing of any value in the file. “How can that be?” She scratched her head.

  “Maybe you were there too soon?” Aleta tried to comfort Georgie. “From the sound of it, that office doesn’t seem to employ a lot of movers and shakers. You are used to the way Stan works. Not every cop does things the way he does.”

  “I don’t care.” J.R. rubbed Georgie’s back. “I can’t believe you even took a chance just to see what was in those files. To me, you’re better than Batgirl.”

  Suddenly, the waitress brought their food. Everyone at the table must have been famished. Half the meal was consumed in silence until finally, Aleta spoke. “I did see online that the cabaret is already taking reservations for the next several weeks.”

  “That was one of the strange things your friend Tammy told me.” Georgie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “She said that Mr. Dupre insisted they continue on with the performances. She also said that because of this unfortunate event they were sold out for the next several shows.”

  "Funny how death can be good for business," Andrew added with a mouth full of sandwich.

  “That’s exactly what I said.” Georgie smiled proudly at her youngest male offspring.

  In the middle of the meal, after further inspection of the file photos came up with nada, Georgie's phone began to ring. “Everyone who calls me is at this table. Who is this?” She didn’t recognize the number. “This is Georgie Kaye.” Aleta, Andrew, and J.R. watched as Georgie's face turned as red as the marinara sauce they were cooking in the kitchen.