by Hannah Jayne
Nina dangled the earrings. “Okay?”
I nodded.
“Now get dressed. We’ve got”—she checked her watch—“fifteen minutes.”
I slid into my green dress. Well, slid with a back-and-forth combination of groaning and yanking—and used a bath towel to dab the new round of sweat under my arms. I’m neither a big fan of double dates or Spanx, so I wasn’t about to spend extra time on glossy lips or smoky eyes (which made me look like a prizefighter who lost, anyway). Instead, I did an understated wash of pressed powder, mascara, and ChapStick. When the doorbell rang, I met Nina in the living room, where she gave me an appraising once-over.
“You’ll love Roland, I promise,” she whispered.
“Roland?” I hissed back. “As in Harley’s agent, Roland?”
“I know he’s not much to look at, but give him a chance. Harley says he’s really a great guy and super-loyal to Harley.”
“Great,” I groaned, crossing my arms. “You get the hot writer and I get Old Yeller.”
Nina pasted on a gorgeous grin and I tried to turn my scowl into something remotely welcoming when Nina opened the door.
“You look amazing.” Harley’s voice, slow and rich, floated through the open door.
I craned my neck to see over Nina’s shoulder and caught Roland’s eye, an unremarkable brown. He smiled at me; then dug into his pocket and pulled out his trusty, yellowed handkerchief. wiping up the beads of sweat that popped up on his balding forehead.
Nina was going to owe me big-time for this one.
“Roland Townsend,” he said to me, offering his surprisingly delicate hand. I took it, and he pumped my arm. “Good to meet you.”
I was about to remind the moist little man that we had met before; but when I opened my mouth, Nina shot me the kind of narrow-eyed, eyebrows-down look that reminded me that behind her MAC Pure Pink pucker was a set of fangs.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said.
Harley slapped his hands together. “Shall we go? We’ve got an early reservation at Ruth’s Chris.”
“The steak house?” I said, eyebrows up.
Roland rubbed his bulbous belly proudly. “I pulled some strings to get us a last-minute reservation.”
“Lovely,” I said, shooting Nina a glance that, I hope, said there would be no filet mignon shoved in my purse tonight.
“That sounds wonderful,” Nina purred, completely avoiding my gaze.
Harley reached out for Nina’s hand, and hers delicately slipped into his. His eyes darkened. “Oh, sweetie. Your hands are as cold as ice.”
Nina flashed me a frantic look and I dipped back into the apartment, yanking out two coats. “Our heat has been on the fritz lately,” I said, handing Nina a coat. “The place is an ice box.”
Harley and Nina shared nauseating sweetheart looks as he helped her slip into her coat.
“Let me help you with that,” Roland said, taking his cue from Harley.
“I really think I can—”
But Roland’s girlish hands were on the neck of my coat, yanking it up to my earlobes.
I gritted my teeth. “Thanks so much.”
“Oh, what’s this?”
Will was in the doorway of his apartment, door flung wide open displaying his impressive lawn furniture couture. He was shirtless, shoeless, and balancing a bowl of what looked like Cocoa Pebbles in one hand and a spoon in the other.
Ruth’s Chris be damned—I would kill for those Cocoa Pebbles right now.
Nina wound her arm into Harley’s and batted her big eyes as she said, “Will, you remember Harley Cavanaugh, the writer, and Roland Townsend ...”
“Agent,” Roland said. Then he offered his hand to Will, a business card tucked expertly into his palm. Will shook tentatively, retrieving the business card with his spoon hand. He glanced at it. “And there it is right there. ‘Roland Townsend, Agent.’” Will looked up at me with a Cocoa Pebbled grin while I implored him—silently—to tell me that Roland was a fallen angel who needed immediate pummeling.
“Well, you kids have a nice time tonight,” he said, shoving a heaping spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to avoid gaping at Will’s chiseled chest while dodging the beads of sweat Roland mopped up with his yellowing handkerchief. “We were just leaving.”
I stomped down the hall, pausing only when I heard Roland’s raspy breath as his stumpy little legs worked to keep up.
The drive to Ruth’s Chris was mercifully silent, or it would have been, if the gods of dating hadn’t forsaken me. As we inched through the Friday-night traffic, I had to hear about Roland’s meteoric rise to literary agent superstardom—from his humble beginnings floundering and ultimately failing out of junior college in Hollis, Queens, to the brilliant business opportunity that brought him and Harley together. Namely, the fifteen-year high-school reunion of the Hudson High Cougars.
As the maître d’ led us to our table, I tried to get Nina’s attention, but she was too lovestruck to pay any attention to me. She floated gracefully into the chair that Harley pulled out for her, and Roland landed with a wheezing thud in the chair the maître d’ had pulled out for me. I sat down and inched as close to Nina as I could.
“This is a disaster,” I hissed to Nina as Roland handed the tuxedoed maître d’ a folded-up bill.
“So, Sophie,” Roland started, his tongue darting over his bottom lip in a way that made me think of salting slugs. “What makes Sophie Lawson tick?”
I grabbed Nina’s hand under the table and dug my nails into her palm; then I cursed myself when I remembered that vampires can’t feel pain. She took a second away from batting her eyelashes at Harley to bat her eyelashes at me.
“Oh, Sophie likes lots of things,” Nina piped in. “Sometimes she just gets shy.” Nina dug a finger into my ribs and commanded me to “be polite.”
I scanned the menu for any item that might come on a wooden stake.
“I hope you’re hungry, honey bear,” Harley said with a lovesick drawl that brought bile to my throat.
“I haven’t eaten a thing all day,” Nina said truthfully. “I called to see if you wanted to have lunch, but you didn’t answer.”
Harley and Roland exchanged a fleeting look, which anyone not counting the minutes would have missed.
“We were doing a round of interviews,” Roland said. He snaked his clammy hand around my arm, thumping his chair hard on the floor as he bounced it closer. “It would have been nice to meet you a little earlier.”
“We’re ready to order,” I said to a passing waiter.
Roland waggled his bushy brows while I untangled my arm from his. “This one seems to want to get out of here as soon as possible,” he said with an obnoxious grin.
Oh, if you only knew.
We had just ordered our dinner—another raw-meat extravaganza for Nina, a petite filet for me (watching my weight, remember?)—when I dragged Nina to the bathroom.
“Are you having fun?” Nina asked, obviously oblivious to the three shades of purple I turned after a half hour of gritting my teeth.
“So much. Like Pap smear fun.”
Nina rolled her eyes and glanced in the mirror—her eyes steady on her lack of reflection while she glossed up her pout. “Give him a chance.”
“I have given him a chance.”
“Harley says that Roland just gets nervous, but once he’s over that, he’s really a great guy.”
“I’ve given him a chance and now I’m climbing out the bathroom window.”
I spun on my heel and Nina grabbed my wrist, her cold fingers nearly cuting off my circulation. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and her newly glossed frown was real.
“Please, Sophie. I really, really like Harley, and I think things could go somewhere for us. I’ve never met a man who I’ve got so much in common with.”
I cocked an eyebrow.
“I mean, we’re both Tauruses. We both like to dance. We’re both writers.”
“And one of you is alive, and the other one is—”
I clamped my mouth shut as the bathroom door swung open and a centerfold blonde walked in, teetering on enormous heels and balancing an enormous chest. She glanced down at Nina’s hand on my wrist, then quickly up at the mirror. I saw the confusion register in her eyes, and Nina and I both stiffened until the blonde teetered past us and locked herself in a stall.
“Just be nice until dinner is over, and then I’ll never ask you to do anything for me again. I swear.”
Nina looked earnest, but the last “something” I did for her was still lurking on our living-room couch.
“Come on. For me? For true love? I’ll even eat anyone you want.”
“Fine.”
Dinner passed uneventfully; and although I prayed for everyone to pass up dessert, Roland ordered a conglomeration of everything on the menu, plus a cup of tea for the “little lady.”
It’s times like these that I wished I had taken up with Steve, the blue cheese–smelling troll.
“That was torturous,” I said to Nina as I trudged through the apartment vestibule after our date finally ended.
Nina didn’t answer; she just continued her love-swept twirl and her tonally challenged rendition of “Up Where We Belong.”
Chapter Eighteen
My blaring cell phone woke me from a deep sleep, but I managed to catch it on the second ring, mashing it to my ear and upsetting ChaCha.
“Sophie Lawson,” I answered.
“Lawson, I need you.” Alex’s voice was tense on the other end of the line.
Sophie Lawson: Hot Commodity Once Again.
A delicious chill zapped down my spine and I sat up straight, glancing at the red glowing numbers on my alarm clock. It was three o’clock and Alex needed me. My whole body went on high alert; everything jumping to attention. Maybe this night was looking up, after all.
“Are you here? Where are you?”
“Do you have a pen?”
I fumbled in my desk drawer—my pen poised over the back of a plea to save the whales, or to avoid circuses or something.
“Take down this address.”
The little chill in my spine dropped below my belly button and worked itself into a full-on heat.
An address? Alex didn’t have a home address, so was this ...
“It’s a crime scene.”
Everything dropped inside me. “Of course it is.”
“Romero called me. He said you and he had a little meeting on the dock a few days ago.”
“How come you haven’t answered any of my calls? Things are exploding—”
“Look, Lawson, I don’t have much time, and I can’t be on the phone. Romero called this in and I need you to look into it.”
I felt a lump forming in my throat, felt my eyes start to mist. “I need you.”
“I know you can handle it. I won’t be away forever. I need you to get down to the Paradise Hotel, 101 Folsom Street.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t have a car.”
I could almost see Alex’s eyebrow cocking. “What happened to your car now?”
I thought of my beat-up car, and the scrawling across the front windshield. “Nothing. I’ll just grab a cab.”
There was a quick knock on my door. When I opened it, Will was standing there, a big goofy grin on his face. His car keys were pinched between forefinger and thumb.
“Ready?”
“I can’t talk now, Will. I’ve got to get to—”
“One-oh-one Folsom.”
I blinked. “Were you listening in on my phone call?”
Will snorted. “Like I don’t have better things to do. Your angel boy told me I’d better help you out with this one.”
I gaped at Will. “I can handle a lot of things, Will, but you and Alex working together?”
Will just shrugged and ushered me toward the stairs.
The Paradise Hotel was a little slice of 1970s Key West, smack-dab in the left ventricle of the Fillmore District. Its thumbprint-sized pool was lagoon blue and surrounded by brightly colored homages to tropical birds and potted banana trees, whose enormous leaves were fraying in the cold ocean air. In its heyday the whole building was painted a cheery yellow and each door to Paradise a pale, tranquil turquoise. Now the yellow paint had hardened into something sallow and showed its age as it warped and peeled around what remained of the turquoise door frames. Some of the numbers were missing on the doors; the once-shiny doorknobs were grubby with black fingerprints and scratches from years of abuse, neglect, and drunken lock picking.
I saw a trio of uniformed officers staring blankly at a broken pot—its banana tree was severed on the concrete, soil scattered all around. Officer Romero turned finally and beckoned me over.
“Officer Romero,” I said.
“Hey, thanks for coming, Sophie. I called Alex, but—”
I nodded. “He’s on a stakeout.”
“Right.” Romero looked past me. “And you must be the private investigator?”
Will absolutely beamed. “That I am.”
“So what’s this all about?” I wanted to know.
“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me.”
Officer Romero led Will and me to room 34, where a naked bulb flickered and buzzed outside.
“We got a call about forty minutes ago.” He jutted his chin toward the lady with the dog. She was listening to the officer in front of her; her wrinkled lips set in a hard, thin line. “She called in. Said there was a ruckus with her new tenant. Said it sounded like someone was being murdered out here.”
I shivered, though the early-morning air was unusually warm. “And?”
“And that’s it. She looked out her window and saw two people struggling. Said she couldn’t be sure it was her new tenant, but from the size of her”—Officer Romero’s eyes flashed—“it looked about right. The lady called the cops, and the first car was on the scene in less than three minutes.”
I nodded, impressed.
“And there was nothing here.”
“Nothing?”
Romero nodded his head. “Not a thing.”
“So what made you call Alex?”
Romero dug into his pocket and produced a business card wrapped in a plastic Baggie. I examined it under the flickering light.
“It’s yours.”
I nodded and Officer Romero went on. “It didn’t have a phone number, so I called Alex. He said that your firm was covering this case. I didn’t know that the FBI had an underworld division out here.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again, dumbly, as Officer Romero prattled on. “So mobsters, huh? I thought that was, you know, purely a Jersey, Sopranos thing.”
“Oh. Underworld. Like the mob. Yes”—I straightened—“yes, we’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet.”
Romero nodded, impressed. “Absolutely. We’ll clear out. You do what you need to do.”
Once Officer Romero stepped away, Will crossed his arms and grinned at me. “We’re detectives now. Underworld detectives.”
I rolled my eyes and speed dialed Alex, willing him to answer the phone.
“Good, Lawson, I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“What is this all about, Alex? And why can you miraculously talk all of a sudden?”
I heard him suck in a deep, slow breath. “I’m on a dinner break. Do you want my help with this or not?”
I looked at Will, then looked at the broken plant and the flickering light. “Sure. Why did you think this was about us?”
“Because the woman staying in that room was Bettina Jacova.”
I paused. “Oh. But she didn’t check out?”
“No. The only thing the guys could find was that overturned pot.”
I balanced the phone on my shoulder. “So everything is gone, there’s no evidence. Why did you need me here?”
“The officers said they couldn’t see anything.”
I nodded, finally understanding. “And you want me to make sure y
ou’re not missing something.”
“Bingo.”
I looked over Will’s shoulder, surveying the “blue lagoon,” the aged patio furniture, and banana trees. “I don’t see anything right off.”
“Will’s there with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Take a walk around the property. Just take a look around. If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there. If there is, maybe it’ll help you get down to the bottom of all this.”
I felt a warmth at the base of my spine. “Thanks, Alex.”
“I’ve got to get back to work. ’Night, Lawson.”
I hung up the phone, and Will and I strolled the property for a minute. We paused at the blue lagoon–colored pool.
Will put his hands on his hips. “What do you think?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t see ...”
I stopped, my eyes catching a trail of scattered soil leading to matted grass. There were footprints pressed into the dirt, and I felt my throat tighten as I bent down to examine the two distinct sets of prints there. “Footprints.”
Will crouched down with me and shrugged. “Doesn’t look like anything more than a scuffle, though.”
I wish I didn’t see anything else.
“There’s blood,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. “Lots of blood.”
Will cocked his head; his eyebrows mashed together. “I don’t—”
“It’s not human. It’s demon.”
Will seemed unfazed, until I straightened up, crossed my arms in front of my chest and held my elbows tightly, trying to ward off the shudder which I knew was coming.
“It’s Bettina’s. There are some drops here,” I said, not willing to point.
I knew the official word was blood “spatter,” and that was easy to say when the blood was anonymous, left at the crime scene from a victim I felt sorry for but never knew. This was the blood of someone I knew, talked to, cared for. The realization made me queasy.
“Can we just get out of here?”
Will touched me gently at the small of my back. “We still have no idea what happened, love. If it’s just a bit of spatter—”
I sucked a gulp of air and blinked away tears. “See where the grass is all matted there?”
Will nodded.
