by Ellen Hart
“I have a green card,” said the young man standing in the bathroom doorway, “but I can’t find a job.”
“My brother-in-law,” said Mrs. Ramos. “Luis.”
“Did Elvio have a green card?” asked Jane.
Mrs. Ramos glanced up at Luis.
“Yeah, he did,” said the man, a stubborn fierceness in his eyes.
By the look of guilt on Mrs. Ramos’s face, Jane figured the green cards were fake.
“Listen,” said Jane. “If Elvio is innocent, he shouldn’t be in jail. The question is, what are you going to do until he gets out? You have to eat.” She switched her gaze to Luis. “I can offer you a job as a dishwasher—just like what Elvio did. Are you interested?”
His expression lost some of its edge. “Where?”
She removed her billfold from the back pocket of her jeans, drawing out a business card. “The Xanadu Club. It’s in Uptown. You know where that is?”
He nodded, taking the card and examining it. “Full-time?”
“Yes. Full-time. We’ve got two shifts. I’ll have to see where we can fit you in. Meet me at the address on the bottom at, say, eleven tomorrow. That work for you?”
“I be there,” he said.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d hired someone with a fake green card—unknowingly, of course. She handed another of her business cards to Mrs. Ramos. “If you need to get in touch with me, that’s the number.”
“You guardian angel.”
“No. No angel. If you think of anything that could help me find out what really happened to DeAndre Moore, give me a call.”
“I will,” said Mrs. Ramos, folding her arms protectively around her stomach and smiling, this time, with more hope.
* * *
On her way to the Lyme House, Jane picked up Mouse. Frisky as always, he bounded into the backseat of her CR-V and shook off the snow clinging to his fur, ready for anything. Once she arrived, parking in the rear lot, she made sure he was well settled in her office, fetching him clean water and a treat, then headed back upstairs to look at the reservation terminal. She spent most of her time, when she wasn’t working on a case with Nolan, at the Lyme House, going less and less often to the Xanadu Club, particularly since she’d taken on Barry as a partner. His management group had persuaded her to make some changes in the day-to-day operation. She had to admit that the receipts had gone up since Barry and his team had come on board, and yet Jane wasn’t entirely happy with the new situation. Spending less time on the premises, trying to keep in touch with what was going on mainly from receipts and written reports, wasn’t working as well as she’d hoped.
“Hey, Brit,” she said, cruising through the dining room. Brit was one of the waitstaff. She was setting up the tables for lunch, which wouldn’t begin for another hour. “How’s your mom?”
“Better,” said Brit, smoothing a wrinkle in one of the white tablecloths. “My husband and I brought her home from the hospital two nights ago.”
“Can she stay by herself?”
“With a little help from us, yeah.”
“Give her my best,” said Jane, sailing into the front entry. She was about to turn her attention to the evening’s seating chart when Cordelia, wearing an ankle-length faux mink coat and matching hat, burst through the double front doors along with a gust of cold wind.
“You always manage to make an entrance,” said Jane.
Cordelia twirled around. “Aren’t I sparkly?”
“It’s new, I take it.”
“Brand spankin’. You’re the first to see it. Well, you and Hattie and Bolger.”
“Would you like something to eat? Coffee?”
“I could be persuaded.”
Jane directed her downstairs to her office, saying that Mouse was already inside and would love to see her. “Don’t trip over your coat.”
“I am grace personified.”
Joining them a few minutes later, Jane brought with her a tray of tea and hot scones, fresh from the oven, with a special brandied strawberry jam and clotted cream.
“A cream tea,” oohed Cordelia.
“You built a fire.”
“Wood? Kindling? Seemed like a no-brainer.” Dropping down on the couch and stuffing a napkin into her cleavage, she added, “I haven’t had a cream tea in forever.”
They sat with the tray between them. Mouse sniffed the food as closely as he dared, eventually lying down on the rug in front of the fireplace.
“Are you ever going to tell me your secret?” asked Jane, thinking that this was a perfect time.
“Not until I have all my duckies in a row.”
“Are the duckies proving difficult?”
“One or two of them. Let’s change the subject. What did you think of our foray into strip-land the other night?”
“I think,” said Jane, pouring more tea, “that GaudyLights isn’t the treasure trove of information I thought it would be. Even so, I think there’s more dirt to mine.”
“So our visit was merely part of your investigation.”
“What else would it be?”
Cordelia flashed a smile pregnant with meaning.
“It’s hardly my scene.”
“Okay, but you and that bartender seemed to hit it off.”
Cordelia saw romance around every corner. Jane found it tiresome. “She’s nice.”
Cordelia nearly choked on her scone. “Nice? Come on, girlfriend. She’s a knockout. Babe-o-delic! With those dark Rachel Maddow eyes? Wake up and smell the freakin’ coffee.”
“I did learn something this morning,” said Jane, leaning back against the couch cushion.
“You changed the subject. I want you to know that I know you changed it. You rarely do that unless you’re hiding something.”
“Oh, give it a rest. Yes, I thought the bartender was attractive.”
She tapped the napkin against her lips. “Just saying.”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“If I’m going to solve DeAndre’s murder by dint of my intuitive genius, you need to keep me up to speed.”
Jane struggled mightily not to roll her eyes. “I spoke to Elvio Ramos’s family. His wife said that he turned himself in to the police to protect them.”
“From what?”
“She didn’t know, but she said he told her he was innocent.”
“What would you expect her to say? That she was married to a cold-blooded killer?”
“Honestly? I think she believes it. If he turned himself in to the police to protect his family, what was he protecting them from?”
“Good question.”
“Who was DeAndre Moore? When did he arrive? Where did he stay? Why did he spend so much time at GaudyLights?”
“Boy,” said Cordelia, selecting another scone, “you’ve really got your work cut out for you.”
“I thought you solved the crimes.”
“After you present me with all the necessary information. I’m kind of like Nero Wolfe. I stick around the house sniffing orchids and dining well.”
“So if I need to spend another night or two over at GaudyLights, you won’t come with me?”
“Never said that.”
“Be honest. What do you think of that place? The nudity. Sex, or the illusion of sex, for money. Are the dancers victims or victimizers, whores selling their bodies or artists selling their talent?”
“I’ve read the odd feminist tome that makes a case for each.”
“But what’s your gut reaction?”
“I’ve got nothing against nudity and sexuality. I certainly prefer it to violence and Puritanism.”
“Some would say that what these women have to do to make money is a kind of violence.”
Cordelia picked up the last scone and thought about it. “One of the actors in last year’s repertory company told me that she’d stripped when she was young. She said it was hard work, but that the money was beyond anything she could make anywhere else. She stressed that people often make a
ssumptions that aren’t always justified. If you’re really interested in the topic, why don’t you talk to a few of the dancers and see what they have to say.”
“I might just do that.” Jane spread more jam on her scone. “If I headed over to GaudyLights again tonight, would you come along?”
“Can’t,” Cordelia said, scraping cream off her chin with her pinky. “I need to be at the theater. Not to change the subject, but how is Nolan?”
“I talked to him this morning before I left the house. They had him up at six, gave him a bath and breakfast. The pain was bad during the night, and he had some nasty muscle spasms, but he’s on a new drug that seems to be handling it. He said they were getting him up this afternoon.”
“Heavens. So soon?”
“Seems kind of fast to me, too. I guess they want everyone up and moving as quickly as possible.”
“What about the numbness in his leg?”
“It’s still numb. The doctor thinks he’ll slowly begin to get some feeling back in it when the swelling from the surgery goes down. I’m planning to spend part of the afternoon at the hospital—until he kicks me out.”
“I thought I’d stop by on my way to the theater. I have a get-well present for him.”
“I should warn you. All he wants is a pack of cigarettes.”
“Then he’s in luck. I bought cigarettes. They’re Belgian chocolate.”
“I’m not sure—”
“He’ll love them.”
Jane smiled over her teacup. “That’s really sweet of you.”
“I know,” she said, taking a last bite of scone. “I’m awesome.”
* * *
After the lunch rush was over, Jane led Mouse outside for some fresh air and exercise—his exercise, her fresh air. It was a lovely winter day, with brilliant sunlight and cobalt blue skies. The moderating temperature, balmy by Minnesota standards, was causing rivulets of water to run down the sidewalks, creating puddles that would eventually refreeze and turn treacherous.
Sitting down on the loading dock, her legs dangling over the edge, Jane unclipped Mouse’s leash and urged him to run around the overflow lot. He seemed to understand the rules. He wasn’t allowed to go down to the lake or disappear into the section of woods that bordered the property.
Jane was making a mental list of what she needed to check out next in the Moore investigation when she heard the door open behind her. She turned around. Instead of one of her kitchen staff, a woman in a heavy wool shirt jacket, black jeans, and chunky horn-rimmed glasses stepped out onto the deck. Jane didn’t recognize her at first.
“I asked at the front desk if they knew where you were. You have a minute?”
“Avi?” said Jane, grinning broadly, despite her best efforts at nonchalance. “You weren’t wearing glasses at GaudyLights.”
“Contacts. Glasses make me look kind of bookish and nerdy. Thing is, I can’t stand wearing contacts all the time. I thought I’d find you wearing chef whites.”
“Not anymore. Too old.”
“Oh, please.”
“No, really. When I opened the restaurant I was in my early thirties. As the chef/owner, I did everything. Spent seventy hours a week here. By the time I turned forty, I’d pretty much stopped working in the kitchen.”
“You never cook anymore?”
“I step in occasionally, when there’s a need. My skills are still reasonably good.” She paused. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Avi’s gaze swept over the snow-covered lake, the back lot, the small section of woods. “Beautiful setting for a restaurant. Is that your dog?”
Jane whistled for Mouse. His ears immediately pricked up, and he came running back to the dock.
“Is he a Lab?”
“The prince of Labs,” said Jane. “Avi—” She paused. “I don’t know your last name.”
“Greenberg.”
“Avi Greenberg, meet Mouse.”
Avi reacted with a slow smile. “That’s some name. Kind of like naming a pet moose Goldfish.”
Jane laughed. “You like dogs?”
“I wish I had the kind of life where I could have one.” She sucked in a breath, held it. “I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk.”
“You want to stay out here? We could go inside if it’s too cold.”
“I like the cold.” She crouched, then sat down next to Jane. “You seem so concerned about that murder in the alley outside the club—” She looked up at the sky. “The police officer who questioned me … I don’t know. I had a bad feeling about him. Guess I don’t like cops. I could see myself sitting in some windowless room for the rest of the night with Mr. Asshole hammering at me for information I didn’t have. The thing is, I do have something, and I really would like to tell someone what I know. Not that it probably means anything.”
“What?” said Jane.
“See, the thing is, Moore told me he’d come to town looking for his sister.”
Jane’s eyes narrowed. “Did he find her?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Who is she?”
“He never said. He was a nice guy, you know? Friendly. Easygoing. But he also seemed … tense.”
“Because of his sister?”
“That was my guess.”
“Did he spend a lot of time at the club?”
“I worked Tuesday through Sunday. He was there every night.”
“How many black strippers are employed at the club?”
“Two. Sometimes a third shows up, when she needs money.”
“Did you see him spending time with them?”
“I know he talked to Sharona more than once. I also saw him with Ebony.”
“Is either of them scheduled to work tonight?”
“No idea.”
“I’ll give the club a call. I appreciate the tip.” Noticing a ring on Avi’s hand, Jane said, “You’re wearing a wedding band.”
“Trick of the trade.”
“You get hit on a lot?”
“What do you think?”
Jane adjusted her sunglasses. “I guess I don’t understand why you’d want to work in a place like GaudyLights.”
“All the hot babes.”
“Seriously?”
“Why not?”
Jane wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take this conversation. “For me, sexiness is more than just showing skin and acting seductive. The stuff that goes on at GaudyLights feels like a game to me. An act. At first the boldness of it startles you, maybe even charms you a little because it’s so defiant, so—”
“Badass.”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t take long before it just seems silly.”
“To you, maybe. You’d get an argument from most of the men.” With her eyes fixed on Mouse in the distance, she said, “You might be interested to know that probably a third of the current dancers are lesbians.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Sometimes it’s easier for a woman to go home to a woman after a day spent in the primeval swamps. Less to wrap your head around.”
“I’ll have to think about that one.”
“Straights don’t usually get it.”
“I’m hardly straight.”
“But in a way you are. See, the straight world, the good God-fearing folk, don’t much like our kind. I stripped for a few years, so I’m part of the tribe. To be clear, the good God-fearing folk make up most of our clientele.”
“You have no problem with what goes on at the club?”
“I have more problems with what happens on Wall Street than what happens at GaudyLights.”
She had a point.
“Okay, so I have lots of problems, but they come from being an insider, not an outsider. I don’t judge. The dancers come from all kinds of backgrounds. Republicans. Democrats. Working class. Middle class. Real estate agents looking to make some extra bucks because houses aren’t selling. Several are single moms trying to make a good living so they have more time with their kids—m
ore time than a nine-to-five job would allow them. To make the same kind of money they make at GaudyLights for two or three nights’ work, they’d need to be on a major career path, where they’d work fifty, sixty hours every week. A bunch of the girls are putting themselves through school. Sure, we’ve also got the Druggernaut contingent—the stoners, the cokeheads. Stripping can be emotional quicksand, and drugs help. I didn’t love every minute of it, but I have mainly good memories. The trick was, I got out before they turned bad. It was terrific money, and I made some lifelong friends. Maybe that puts me squarely in the slut category. I don’t know. It’s why strippers don’t tell people what they do for a living. You chuck that little factoid into the pool of a stagnant cocktail party conversation and the ripples never stop.”
“You’re saying it’s another closet. Like being gay.”
“I won’t deny some parallels.”
“Why did you quit?”
“Like Dolly Parton once said, ‘It takes a lot of money to look this cheap.’ It also took a ton of my time. Bartending is a better fit.”
“So what do you like about bartending?”
Avi glanced over at her with an amused expression. “What is this? Twenty questions?”
“Being nosy is part of my charm.”
“Is that right.”
“Honestly, I’d like to know.”
“Well, I guess for one thing, I love that feeling of being suspended in semidarkness. Then there’s the music. Always love the music. I like that everybody knows the rules at a place like GaudyLights. Sure, it’s shallow and superficial. It can also be coarse and disgusting. One thing you learn right off is that nobody on this earth is Hollywood perfect. We’re nothing like the images sold to us on the silver screen. Everyone is damaged, sometimes sweaty, always needy. For me, because I live so much of my life inside my head, I see the time I spend at the club as taking a break from myself. You know what I mean?”
“Boy, do I.”
Mouse trotted up with a stick in his mouth. Jane tugged it free and tossed it halfway across the lot.
“When I grow up, I want to be a writer,” said Avi. “How clichéd is that?”
“I think that’s great. Listen, are you hungry?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is the food here good?”
