by Judy Alter
“The City Restaurant?” Aunt Jenny asked in a puzzled voice.
“Sure. Aunt Jenny, I’ll treat you to the finest steak you’ve ever eaten.”
“Oh, my, steak,” Aunt Jenny said in a high quavering voice. “But you’ve cooked such good steaks for us, Jake. I don’t need one at fancy restaurant prices.”
“You’re worth it, Aunt Jenny,” he said. Jake reached across Susan to pat Aunt Jenny’s hand. “It’s settled. I’ll make reservations for Saturday night.”
Susan fidgeted. She had to talk to Ellen as soon as possible.
After Jake had kissed her demurely and left, Aunt Jenny said, “Susan Hogan, you best marry that man. Maybe you should let him spend the night occasionally.”
“Aunt Jenny!” Susan said with amazement.
Then she went to call Ellen and slammed down the phone in frustration when there was no answer.
That night, Susan lay in bed wide-eyed. Jake’s unexpected mention of The City Restaurant had given her the clue she sought all day. The answer to the whole mess lay at the restaurant. She was convinced of it. Somehow, if she was to clear her name, she had to corner that redhead. And she sure couldn’t do it with Jake and Aunt Jenny in tow—and her own foot in a cast. Nor could she wait until Saturday—this was only Tuesday. She’d try Ellen again first thing in the morning.
* * *
“Ellen? Susan.” Susan called as soon as she thought Ellen would be in her office. It was eight-thirty.
“I’d have never guessed,” Ellen replied over the phone.
“Can we meet for lunch? I don’t want to go to the Main, but”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I don’t want Aunt Jenny to hear what we talk about.”
“Wow! Now I’m really curious,” Ellen said. “My classes are at ten and two. But you can’t drive—I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty?”
“Done,” Susan said. “I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll see you at eleven-thirty. I have a feeling it will be an interesting lunch.”
It will, it really will, Susan thought.
Once they were seated in a far corner of the only tearoom in Oak Grove, Sweet Tea, Ellen said brightly, “You can even have a glass of wine with your lunch. You don’t have to go to school, and you can sleep all afternoon. Besides, you deserve.”
“You joining me?” Susan asked.
The other woman shook her head. “Can’t. I have a class and some student appointments this afternoon. Wouldn’t do to breathe wine on them while I try to explain the Victorian mind.”
“Who can explain that to anyone?” Susan grumbled. Then she said, “Ellen, want to go have a drink tonight?”
“You’re having a drink now, Susan.” Ellen regarded her friend with amusement. “You can’t drink your way through this suspension.”
“I know, I know, and I don’t even want wine now. Tea will be fine. And it’s not that I want a drink tonight. I need your help to do some, ah, investigating on my own.”
“And Jake doesn’t know.”
Susan shook her head. “He wouldn’t want to know.” What she really meant was he would ask her not to go—and then she’d be in the awkward position of doing something Jake specifically asked her not to do. Jake never gave her orders, and he so seldom asked her to do things his way, that he would expect her to abandon this plan.
Ellen thought for a minute. “Sure, I’m always game. Where’re we going?”
“The City Restaurant.”
The arrival of the waitress with their sandwiches stopped Ellen from echoing “The City Restaurant!” in a high-pitched voice. When the waitress left, Ellen asked dramatically, “Why did I know you’d say that?”
“Because that’s where I saw that red-haired man… and that’s who I want to see again tonight. And I want you to see him.”
Ellen’s voice was filled with caution. “Why? And why me?”
Susan outlined an elaborate plan which essentially involved the two of them sitting at the bar, ordering drinks, waiting for the red-haired man to show up. When he did, Ellen was to go up to him, strike up a conversation and pretend interest in the business opportunity she’d turned down before.
“I don’t know, Susan,” Ellen said hesitantly. “I know what you think… and if you’re right, it could be dangerous. If you’re not right, we could look like damn fools. Either way, we lose.”
“Ellen, you’ve got a lot less to lose than I do, and I understand that. But I don’t mind looking like a damn fool, and I guarantee you, if I’m right about him, I’ll be right there, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Ellen looked skeptical until Susan said, “Ellen, it’s the only way I see to clear my name. I’ve got to prove that red-haired man killed Missy.”
“If my mother knew I was mixed up in a murder,” Ellen muttered, and then, “All right, I’ll do it. But Susan, if it goes wrong, I’ll never forgive you. And I think you should tell Jake.”
“Can’t.” Susan shook her head vigorously.
They ate chunky chicken salad, with just a touch of curry, on croissants, and Key lime pie for dessert. Susan drank three glasses of tea and knew the caffeine would keep her from napping. But she was too wired to nap anyway.
“Oh, by the way,” Susan said as Ellen pulled up to her house, “the graduate seminar has papers due today. You collect them, and I’ll read them.”
“Thank heaven,” Ellen said. “I’ll see you about five.”
When Jake called about three to ask what she was doing, Susan crossed her fingers and said, “Grading seminar papers. Just because Ellen has to teach my class doesn’t mean she has to grade the papers too.”
“You going to do that tonight?” He asked, and she could hear him yawn.
“Yeah, I got to so Ellen can give them back.”
“Then, if you’ll make my apologies to Aunt Jenny, I think I’ll skip dinner tonight. I’m bushed. Gonna stay home and read.”
“She’ll understand,” Susan said sympathetically. And when they hung up, she almost let out a howl of relief.
Chapter Twelve
At five-thirty, Ellen pulled up to Susan’s house. She wore a dark brown silk dress with a matching jacket, gold jewelry (well, gold-plated) and shiny bronze pumps that matched a small purse she carried.
Susan hobbled forth wearing a black faille pantsuit, with legs fortunately wide enough to accommodate her cast, and carrying a demure black purse. “Aunt Jenny, Ellen and I are going for cocktails. We… we have some school stuff to talk about, and we just thought we’d treat ourselves. We should be back in a couple of hours.” Susan felt she had to invent a reason they weren’t asking Aunt Jenny to go with them.
Aunt Jenny was not fooled. She made a harrumphing sound. “Jake know you’re going?” she asked.
“No,” Susan said. “This has nothing to do with him. Ellen and I just want to go for a little ladies’ night out. We thought we’d splurge and go to Fort Worth.”
“All the way to Fort Worth? Couldn’t you stay closer to home? You know I worry about you on the highway.” She stood, wringing her hands, and then with a sudden change of subject said, “Guess I’ll call Jake and fix dinner for him,” she said.
“Uh, Fort Worth is a special treat,” Susan answered. “You fix supper for Jake.” She reasoned that by the time Aunt Jenny got Jake, she’d be long gone and out of his reach.
Ellen and Susan drove toward Fort Worth almost without speaking, both seriously aware of the risk they were taking. Neither could enjoy the passing country nor the beautiful fall night. Occasionally, Ellen looked at her friend and wondered why she had let herself in for this. Then, of course, she told herself it was to help the best friend she had at Oak Grove. Susan, on the other hand, looked at Ellen and wondered if Ellen realized how big her problems were—didn’t Ellen always turn things into a joke?—and how much danger they were in. Vaguely Susan remembered her promise to Jake that she wouldn’t do anything risky, but she pushed it out of her mind.
By the time they got to
The City Restaurant, they were neither talking nor looking at each other. Ellen gave the car keys to the valet, and Susan, crutches and all, led the way into the restaurant.
“Do you ladies have a reservation?” The hostess was most polite.
“No,” Susan said. “We just thought we’d have a drink.”
“Of course,” the hostess said smoothly. “The bar is right this way.” She pointed them to the bar, which lined the wall to the left as they moved out of the entryway. They took seats on stools at the bar. Susan leaned her crutches next to her.
The bartender was solicitous. “Madam has hurt her leg?”
“Madam has broken her leg,” Susan said tartly, resisting the urge to add a “damn” to the description of the leg.
“For that,” he said, “a drink on the house. What will you have?”
“Chardonnay. A dry one, please.”
“But of course, and for you, mademoiselle?” He turned toward Ellen, while Susan was left fuming over the fact that he called her “madam” and Ellen, “mademoiselle.” That damn young look of Ellen’s again! Then she remembered that the very young look was what had brought them here tonight.
“A frozen margarita,” Ellen said with a certain air of self-confidence that Susan greatly admired and coveted.
The drinks arrived, and Susan looked around the bar. There was no red-headed young man.
* * *
Brandy Perkins had made the most meticulous toilette of her young life that afternoon. She showered, shampooed, slathered her body with lotion, did her nails with a dark, almost chocolate-brown polish—feet and hands both—dried her hair and put it on giant hot rollers for body but, perish the thought, no curl! Her makeup was carefully applied—just a hint of blush and a light dusting of powder, more attention to the eyes where she used taupe shadow and white highlighter, brown pencil, and deep black mascara. She outlined her lips in a sort of chocolate-brown red and filled them in with a gloss.
At last she chose a black dress, long and not particularly slinky but close-fitting enough to be suggestive. Pawing through her jewelry box, she chose silver—an elaborate American Indian silver necklace, a wide band for a bracelet, silver rings on both hands, and the earrings that dangled just a bit and had just a hint of turquoise—the earrings that Susan had noticed in Subway, although Brandy didn’t know that. Anyone else, she thought, would have worn gold with this black dress. It pleased Brandy to do the unexpected, to be different.
She threw keys, a little money, makeup and driver’s license into a small black purse with an elaborate silver clasp, grabbed a smart short black coat with a faux fur collar, and locked her dormitory room behind her. Down the hall she knocked on another door.
“Y’all ready? We’re late,” she called softly.
“I’m ready,” a voice called, “but Vicky’s having second thoughts. Come on in.”
Vicky Lawson sat on the bed, dressed in a black mini-dress with white collar and cuffs. She looks fantastic, Brandy thought with a twinge of jealousy. The child of an African-American father and a Greek mother, Vicky had tawny dark skin, great huge dark eyes, and black hair that she pulled smoothly back from her face. Right now, that face was troubled. “I don’t think I want to do this.” She was about to pick at her perfectly polished nails, but Brandy reached over and pulled her hands apart.
“Don’t be silly,” Brandy said. “It’s not anything you haven’t done before.”
“Not for money,” Vicky said. “My daddy, he would be so mad at me…”
“He’ll never know, and you’ll be two-hundred dollars richer. And you’ll get a good steak dinner.”
“And,” Sallie Cornell said, coming out of the washroom they shared with the adjoining room, “you’ll probably like the guy. These airline pilots are cool.”
“It’s too late for doubts,” Brandy said, grabbing the girl by the wrist and pulling her to her feet. “You promised. You made a date.”
“Okay,” Vicky said, “but I’m not promising I won’t bolt and run.”
Brandy drove, with Sallie in the back seat and Vicky in the passenger seat, where they could both keep an eye on her and encourage her. Brandy drove her Honda Accord too fast all the way to the city, and Vicky was so preoccupied with clinging to the armrest that she spoke little.
Once, she asked, “Isn’t this dangerous? I mean, some guys…”
“Beat you up?” Brandy asked bluntly. “Never happens. Kenny screens his clients real carefully. He doesn’t want us hurt.”
Nobody mentioned what happened to Missy and that Vicky was taking Missy’s place, but the knowledge hung in the air. Brandy, for one, didn’t believe that a client had killed Missy; she knew in her heart that Kenny had done it—and she wondered why she hadn’t shared that knowledge, why she was going to meet Kenny tonight. Living on the edge, she thought.
* * *
Susan Hogan saw the red-haired stranger look at his watch as he sauntered self-confidently into The City Restaurant. Six o’clock. He tossed a wave at the hostess, walked past the few people seated at the bar, and took a place on the last bar stool. Without a word, the bartender brought him a Scotch.
At the other end of the bar, Ellen said softly to Susan, “That’s him. Damn! I was hoping he wouldn’t show up.”
“Go on,” Susan said. “Nothing bad can happen in a place like this.”
Ellen took a deep breath. “I’m not used to picking men up in bars,” she said.
“Never know. A little practice, and you might get good at it.”
Ellen pushed herself off the stool, picked up her drink, and strolled slowly to the other end of the bar. The redhead watched her approach, admiring her, thinking she looked vaguely familiar.
“Hi,” she said, “We met at Oak Grove in the Main the other day. You offered me work.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember.” He stood up. His mother had taught him manners, after all. He grinned engagingly. “You turned me down.”
“Yeah, but I’ve thought about it since, wished I’d taken your card. May I have one now?”
Something made Kenny a little cautious. “Sure,” he said, reaching inside his pocket. “But how did you know to find me here?”
“Here?” Ellen looked around the restaurant. Then she shrugged and said, “I didn’t. That’s pure coincidence. But when I saw you come in I decided it must be fate. I was meant to meet up with you again.”
Susan wished she had extrasensory hearing so she’d know what they were saying, but she saw Ellen shrug as she answered a question.
“Friend and I have been to a meeting at the Worthington. Decided to treat ourselves to a drink, and we’d heard The City Restaurant was a pretty toney place. Can’t afford to eat here, but we could at least have a drink.”
Whatever she said, the redhead seemed to accept it. “Well,” he said, “you work for me, you can pretty soon eat dinner here.”
“Sounds great,” Ellen said, pocketing the card. “Nice to see you again.” She held out her hand and they shook, and then she headed back to Susan. She felt pretty proud of herself—she’d actually carried it off, and she had his card in her purse.
Walking the length of the bar, Ellen faced the entrance directly. When she was about halfway back to Susan, the three Oak Grove girls came into the restaurant, Vicky dragging reluctantly behind the other two.
Brandy saw her instantly. “Dr. Peck!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Her voice carried the length of the room.
Susan cursed, and Ellen walked toward the girl and said softly, “Having a drink, Brandy. What are you girls doing here?” Her eyes took in all three girls, the clothes they were wearing, the carefully applied makeup. Susan is right, she decided, they’re call girls.
Brandy didn’t answer, but in the second it took her to compose her thoughts, she saw Susan at the bar. “Dr. Hogan!” She didn’t hesitate a minute but went right up to Susan. “I told you to stay out of this. You’ll only make things worse.”
“Brandy,” Susan said w
earily, “for me they can’t get any worse.” She didn’t feel obliged to give the girl a catalog of her troubles.
“Don’t bet on it,” Brandy said.
“Is that a threat, Brandy?”
“No, a warning.”
Just then the redheaded man walked up to the knot of five women gathered at the front end of the bar. “Hey, what’s goin’ on here. You know these two?” He directed his question to Brandy, and he was distinctly displeased. The good manners his mother had taught him had disappeared.
“They’re faculty from the university,” Brandy said. “That one”—she jerked her head toward Susan—“is the one whose car Missy was in.”
Surprise and panic both showed on his face. He stared at Susan and Ellen, both of whom avoided his look. Finally, he said to the three young girls, “You all go on upstairs and wait for me. I’ll be right there.” Brandy led the way, and the other two followed her, but Susan saw the dark-skinned girl throw a frightened look in her direction. She interpreted it as a plea for help.
“Look, ladies, I don’t know why you’re here or what your game is, but I think you best be moving on now. You’ll just cause trouble here.”
“You don’t own this restaurant, twerp,” Susan said. “You can’t kick us out.” But then she saw that the bartender had quietly collected their drinks. With all the dignity she could muster, she said, “We’re leaving anyway. Tell Brandy…” She started to tell him she’d see Brandy in class Friday, but then she realized that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t be in class. Anger boiled through Susan again, and she resisted an urge to slap this red-haired man whom she felt she knew so well, even if she didn’t yet know his name.
The man had made one serious mistake: he forgot that Ellen had his card. He sauntered back to the other end of the bar, trying to appear casual even though he was thinking fast and furiously. While Susan and Ellen waited for their check, not daring to say anything to each other, they watched the bartender and the redhead whispering together at the far end of the bar. At long last, the bartender came toward them, and said, “Drinks are on the house, ladies, if you’ll please just get out of here.”
