Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

  Rick shook his head. “No. Arthur’s private, like me, but he’s also considerate. He may distance himself from his family and the Cross name, but he wouldn’t do something like this to his mother.”

  A sudden ringing caught my attention and I turned toward the sound. I soon realized that my cell phone was ringing and quickly pulled it out of my purse. My heart was racing. I forgot to call Jon. As I stared at the screen, I realized this was not Jon. It was my mother. Rick noticed my anxious expression.

  “What’s wrong? Who is it?”

  I swallowed hard. “My mother,” I whispered as I stood up and left the room. “Hello?”

  “Jordan, darling! What took you so long? No, never mind. I have fabulous news. Well, it’s not my news per se, but I just had to call. Jordan, Alicia is pregnant!”

  While my mother rambled excitedly, I barely made it to the nearest chair. “What?”

  “I said your sister is pregnant! She’s about five weeks now. Oh, it’s so exciting. She was crying when she told us. Even Charlie’s eyes were a little moist, bless him. They’re going to be fabulous parents. That child is going to be so smart and so attractive. Well, Jordan, what do you think? You haven’t said a word!”

  I stared across the room at an oil canvas of the Cross children when they were younger. I couldn’t help feeling connected to Arthur at that moment. Despite my own accomplishments in life, which included graduating with honors from Brown University and opening a successful private investigation firm on my own, nothing I did would ever be good enough for my parents. How could it when nothing I did matched the life they planned for me?

  My older sister, Alicia, however, did everything right. She went to an in-state, private university and graduated top of her class with a medical degree. After her residency, she married a successful, southern lawyer whose views mirrored my father’s.

  I, on the other hand, refused to stay in Louisiana, opting instead to go to one of the best schools on the east coast. To add insult to injury, I decided not to come home after graduation. Instead, I settled in Boston, to begin following my childhood dream.

  Despite everything, I loved my parents. And I knew they loved me as well. They disapproved of my choices because they were not “safe” ones. I am not close enough to rescue, should the need arise. What they didn’t understand is I would never allow such a need to arise.

  “Jordan?”

  Great. Daydreaming again. “Yes, Mom?”

  “What do you think? Isn’t it fabulous? You’re going to be an aunt!”

  I forced a smile. I knew she couldn’t see it, but I also knew she would tell from my voice. “Yes, it’s wonderful news.”

  “And you’ll be coming home for the first baby shower in September, right? It’s a couple’s shower so you should bring Jon.”

  My face burned red at her mistake. “Rick, Mom. My boyfriend’s name is Rick.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. My goodness.” She laughed. “I’ve been so preoccupied with the baby that I completely forgot my manners! Tell me, what are you up to? Anything new? Are you still doing that thing?”

  I looked around the opulent drawing room in Ambassador Cross’s London flat. I considered telling her all about my weekend, starting with our visit to Cape Cod, followed by Martha’s Vineyard, and finally flying to London on a private jet for my job, a job my father swore would never work. This desire to prove my self-worth was trumped, however, by my desire to do a good job on this case. I decided not to mention it.

  “I’m just working a lot.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s nice, sweetie,” she interjected. After momentary silence, she chirped, “Oh! Jordan, that’s your Aunt Maureen. I have to tell her the news. This is so exciting! I’m going to have to call you back, dear.”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, before I go, I know Alicia is going to call and tell you. I’m dreadful, really. I should have waited to let her tell you but I couldn’t help myself. When she calls, make sure to sound enthusiastic. This is a very big deal, darling. She’s going to be a mommy!”

  “I know it’s a big deal, Mom.”

  “Oh, I wish you would settle down,” she lamented.

  I chewed on my lower lip, nearly causing it to bleed, in my attempt to keep from saying something I would later regret. I did not take her proverbial bait.

  “Well, sweetie, I really must go. Love you much!”

  “Love you, too.” I ended the call quickly.

  “You okay?”

  I turned to see Rick standing in the entryway. I considered telling him about how frustrating it is to be constantly compared to your perfect sister, but decided against it. Despite being a little over a quarter of a century old, I knew that I was not ready to get married. And I was definitely not ready to start a family.

  No amount of pressure from my mother would change that. As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, I realized Rick was still standing in the entryway. I shoved the phone in my pocket and crossed the room to meet him. When I was in front of him, he put his arms around me.

  “Thanks,” I said, when he finally let me go. “I needed that.”

  He kissed me tenderly. “Are you all right? What did she say?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it. Look, we’re both awake, right?”

  He nodded in reply.

  “And we both want to find Arthur, right?”

  He nodded again.

  “Okay, then let’s go.”

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “Of all the places you mentioned, where do you think Arthur would have definitely visited?”

  “I guess I would have to say Hep.”

  I waited. When he didn’t elaborate, I inquired, “Okay, what’s that?”

  Rick answered with a guilty smile and averted eye contact. “It’s a club.”

  I stared, surprised as I considered the kind of club he was suggesting. He refused to offer any more, so I pressed, “Okay, I give up. What kind of club is that?”

  “What’s a dame like you doing in a place like this?”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me, doll-face. Want to paint the town red with me?”

  “Scram,” Rick glared at the strange, middle-aged guy in a black zoot suit who had been, I think, trying to hit on me. The stranger’s appearance and attire were almost too comical to merit a threat. I tried not to laugh.

  The man held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m not trying to steal your bird.” He whistled as he looked me up and down. “Doll-face, you have one nice set of gams.”

  Rick took one step closer, fists clenched. At this, the man split. Rick took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you all right?”

  “Really?” I laughed. It didn’t take me long to realize he was serious. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. That guy wasn’t bothering me.”

  “Well, he was bothering me.” Rick stared after the fellow, before putting on his hat again. He straightened the lapels of the black, double-breasted pin-stripe suit he’d purloined from Arthur’s garment bag. Rick smoothed his burgundy tie and looked at me. “Well, what do you think?”

  I glanced around the club. My fears about Rick and Arthur running around and hitting all the exotic and seedy nightclubs of London disintegrated as soon as I stepped inside Hep. In this club, time was frozen in the late 1930s, when big band was king and people were doing the Lindy Hop. Everyone here was dressed for the time.

  There were zoot suits and flappers everywhere. I even saw some men dressed in military uniforms I assumed were for the British Army. At the front of the club stood an oversized bandstand offering every brass instrument available and a beautiful singer who was a dead-ringer for a young Doris Day. I felt out of place in my maroon, halter-top dress with four-inch black heels.

  “This was not what I was expecting.”

  Rick mirrored my smile. “What were you expecting?”

  “Something, uh, different.”

  He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.


  “I’m really surprised there’s a club like this in London.”

  “Why’s that?” He led me onto the dance floor. The previous, upbeat song ended and was replaced by a slower one with a nostalgic feel. He took my hand and we slowly moved around the floor, blending in with the other couples.

  “Never thought my heart could be so yearny. Why did I decide to roam?” the vocalist crooned. “Gotta take that sentimental journey. Sentimental journey home.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I guess I just pictured you going somewhere different.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of different,” Rick admitted as the song ended. He shook his head, laughing. “I never thought I’d be taking you here.”

  As we danced to another two songs, I was quiet, reflecting on all that transpired in my life over the past two years. While I never would have imagined I would have come so far with my career, a career no one thought would amount to anything, the development of my personal life was more of a surprise. Dancing with Rick again brought back memories of the first time I danced with him at my sister’s wedding.

  “What do you think?”

  “Huh?” I looked up at him, confused. During my reflection, I failed to notice another song end and Rick had danced us off the floor. He was staring down at me with an amused expression. I cringed. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I said do you want to look around and see if anyone knows Arthur?”

  “Yes, absolutely. Good idea.” I laughed. “I’m glad you said something. I would’ve just danced the night away.”

  Rick took two steps closer and gently put his hands on my waist. “You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

  “Down, boy.” I laughed again. “We’ve got work to do. Hey, do you have your cell?”

  Suddenly serious, Rick pulled the phone from his coat pocket and handed it to me.

  I unlocked the home screen and started scanning his photos. “Do you have any recent pictures of Arthur?”

  He took the phone back and stared at the screen as he searched. Finally, he stopped and handed it back. The picture he chose showed Rick and Arthur at Fenway Park. Arthur had a toothy grin that somehow exuded charm despite the blurriness of the image and Rick offered a slight smile. Both guys were wearing bright polo shirts and khaki shorts.

  “When was this taken?”

  “Uh, I guess the summer before I met you.”

  “So the picture’s nearly two years old?”

  “Yeah, that’s about right. Is that a problem? There may be some more recent ones on Facebook.”

  “Oh no, this should be fine, assuming he still looks the same,” I replied. “It may be hard to find him if he dyed his hair black or shaved his head, though.”

  “No, Arthur would never do that,” Rick insisted, mistaking my pathetic joke for sincere concern. I nodded in response and he glanced around the club. “So who are we going to talk to? The bartender?”

  The bartender was not my first choice, but it was a valid, albeit predictable one. Rick followed me across the room. The bar itself was walnut and so well-polished that even in the dim, nightclub lights, I could see myself. Behind the bar stood a short man in his early-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and chocolate-brown eyes. He was dressed in a tuxedo and a black bow tie. He was drying a cocktail glass when we approached.

  “Hello, there,” he greeted in a slight English accent. “What’s your poison?”

  I stared at him, confused. “Huh?”

  “Ah, Americans.” He winked, motioning to the four rows of liquor bottles on the shelves behind him. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Oh! Uh, I’m good right now, thanks.”

  He nodded at Rick. “You?”

  “Good, too, actually.”

  “Hmm,” the man frowned, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re both good, why are you bothering me?”

  Rick tensed up at the bartender’s blatant hostility. Having worked as a waitress prior to beginning my current occupation, I was expecting it. “We wanted to know if you’ve seen someone.”

  The bartender clicked his tongue and looked around, bored. “Yeah, I’ve seen loads of someones.”

  I brushed my hair behind my ears and leaned against the bar. The sound of brass blared seductively from the bandstand. “We’re looking for a particular someone.” He stared at me, not blinking. Exhaling slowly, I nodded, “Give me a shot of whisky, straight up.”

  The bartender narrowed his eyes, studying me. Finally, he leaned down. When he stood up again, he placed a shot glass on the counter. He then grabbed a bottle and poured the amber liquid in the glass before pushing it toward me.

  Now, I’ve never considered myself a heavy drinker. I enjoy mixed drinks and wines, but the really hard stuff never appealed to me. It’s a personal preference to be sure, probably stemming from a few too many fun nights that led to long, painful days. But I digress. I knew there was only one way to get this guy to talk – and unfortunately, this was it. I accepted the glass and taking a deep breath, swallowed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid scorched my esophagus and awakened all of my senses. Still tingling, I placed the glass back on the counter and stared at him. The bartender’s expression had resumed its original amused smile.

  “All right, who are you looking for?” he asked, taking the glass away. I showed him the picture of Arthur on the phone and he nodded. “Yeah, he was here a few nights ago.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. I swallowed again, hoping to remove the bitter taste from my mouth. “What else do you remember? Was he alone? Did he meet someone? Did he leave with someone?” In response, the bartender produced another shot glass and filled it with whisky. I stared at the glass warily. “What’s this?”

  He grabbed a white towel and began wiping down the immaculate bar. Grinning, he replied, “I thought we could play a game. You drink, I tell.”

  Rick slammed his fist on the bar, enraged. “What’s your problem, man?”

  The bartender ignored Rick and kept his gaze focused on me. He folded the towel and placed it behind the bar. “Do we have a deal?”

  I stared at the glass. There was no telling whether or not this guy actually saw Arthur. For all I knew, he could have been lying just to have some fun. I shook my head. “No deal.”

  With that, Rick tossed some money on the bar for the drink then we began to walk away. “Too bad,” the bartender called, “because your mate did meet someone and she’s here tonight.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. I scanned the dance floor and assorted tables on the far side of the room. There were easily thirty women in the room. I looked up at Rick and he shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

  In my line of work, it’s safe to expect to get dirty to solve a case. With previous cases, my life was literally at risk. If a slight hangover was all that I suffered to solve this one, I decided it was worth it. It wouldn’t be my first, or likely my last.

  I headed to the bar again. The bartender grinned triumphantly. Still grinning, he pushed the glass toward me. Reluctantly, I accepted it.

  “Bottom’s up,” he winked.

  The second shot didn’t burn nearly as much. Previous experience told me straight shots got to me quick. Taking my body weight into account, I figured if I did three more shots, I would be done, so I needed to make my questions count. “Who did he meet?”

  The bartender refilled the glass and shook his head. “No fair, Lass. You have to build up to that one.”

  Rick breathed slowly and through gritted teeth and said, “You didn’t offer stipulations.”

  The bartender sneered, clearly enjoying his game. “I can do whatever I want.”

  Before Rick replied, I took his arm and whispered, “I’ve got this. Just give me a minute.” When he appeared ready to protest, I added, “Please.”

  He walked away from the bar, muttering something, and I turned my attention back to the bartender. “I’m going to assume this club is usually this bu
sy,” I surmised, nodding at the patrons on the dance floor and others at tables. “So if you really recognize my friend from almost a week ago, something must have happened to make him stand out. What happened?”

  The bartender pushed a third shot toward me. “You’re right. Something did happen.”

  “What?” I persisted. He nodded at the glass, grinning. Groaning, I took it and stared at the liquid before gulping it down. Feeling a little unsteady, I reached for a barstool and sat down. Thankfully, I did not stumble. All I needed was to fall on my face during an investigation. “All right. What happened?”

  He scratched his chin thoughtfully and glanced up at the bandstand. “There was an incident,” he began, pouring another shot.

  “What incident?” I watched him motion to the glass and felt myself getting frustrated. “No, I’m not doing this. I’ve had three and you haven’t even answered one question. What happened?”

  When he laughed, I grabbed his collar and pulled him down so we were eye level. It was apparent he didn’t expect this. His eyes widened in surprise. He shook me off, scoffing.

  “All right, fine! Blimey, you don’t have to go mental.” He adjusted his tie. “There was this row that night. Yeah, some cheeky bloke shows up, completely juiced, harassing this fit bird and your mate clocked him.”

  My head felt lighter as the effects of the liquor began to set in. The sound of the band grew louder, but more distant. Almost like I was listening to it under water. I had to pause and think about what he said. “So, some drunk guy was hassling a woman and he hit the guy?”

  “Yeah.” The bartender nodded. “That’s the long and short of it.”

  Realizing it would be a waste to ask for specifics about the fight, I pressed, “Who was the girl?”

  The bartender shook his finger at me with reproach. “No fair. You drink, I tell. I’ve told so now it’s time for another drinky.”

  I stared at the glass. I knew if I had one more the investigation would be put on hold. I was losing focus as it was. When the bartender’s attention was diverted, I dumped the liquid out on the floor before loudly slamming the glass on the counter to get his attention. The bartender looked at me and I repeated, “Who was the girl?”