Ace snorted. “Fine for someone who nearly got her head blown off.”
“Whaaat?” Candy screeched, dropping the sauce lid onto the counter with a loud clunk.
Cece winced and then glared at Ace. “Thanks, Detective. You can leave any time now.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere, Sister.” He dropped down on her pea-green and brown plaid couch, crossing his ankles on the coffee table in front of him.
She took a long, slow breath, relaxing the muscles in her face as she focused on her sister. “Calm down, Charity. I promise you, I’m okay.”
“The only thing I want you to promise me is that you will back off and let the police handle this from here on out.”
“Why, Candy, I think that’s the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Ace said with a grin, saving Cece from having to make a promise she knew she couldn’t keep.
“Stuff it. I’m not talking to you,” Candy snapped.
Ace shrugged on a grunt as he looked around Cece’s small clinic. “Interesting decorating job. Where’s the remote? Don’t you have a TV?”
“First off, this place came furnished. I’m not about to complain. Second, I don’t need a TV. A bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and sitting room more than meet my needs.”
“What on earth do you do for entertainment?”
“My sister doesn’t ‘entertain,’ Jackass, so don’t get any ideas,” Candy spat.
“Oh, that’s right; that’s your department.”
“Would you two please stop? You’re giving me a headache.” Cece sat in the sky-blue chair, catty-cornered to the couch, and rubbed her temples. None of her furniture matched, but the fact that the people in town cared enough about her to donate the pieces they could spare made her place special.
Candy took a seat in the striped, rust-colored chair on the other side of the couch, her face looking pinched. To her credit, she didn’t say a word.
“To answer your question, Detective, I haven’t had time to get bored,” Cece said. “Even if I did, I would choose to read over watching TV any day.” Or paint her toenails, but there was no way she would admit that. “You ought to try it some time. Here, I’ll lend you one of my books.” She grabbed the nearest volume off an end table and shoved it at him. “You can take this book of saints home right now and get started.”
He took the book from her, glanced at the title, and then quickly set it back on the table, as though the mere cover had burned his hand. “I know how to read, Sister. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m sure you do.” Cece smiled in a way she knew would set him on edge and send her back to the confessional yet again, but she couldn’t help it. The man knew just what buttons to push. Turning to Candy, she asked, “So tell me, how’s work at The Pole?”
Candy stared at her in an odd fashion. “Since when do you want to hear about my work?”
“Since I’m trying to figure out why you enjoy what you do so much. Or blame it on the outfit you lent me,” Cece joked.
“Well, you do look like you’d fit right in there in that outfit. It wasn’t a very good choice, huh?”
“What gave you the clue?” Ace chuckled. Both women nailed him with an angry stare, and he held up his hands, looking as though he were struggling to wipe the smile off his face, but not quite succeeding. “Sorry.” He picked up an entertainment magazine Candy must have brought with her and began to read.
Figures, a picture book would be more his speed, Cece thought, then ignored him and answered Candy. “The outfit’s not quite me, but that’s okay. It’s been a while since we spent much time together. We’re still getting to know each other’s likes and dislikes. Like your work, for instance.” She stole a quick peek at Ace, but he seemed to be engrossed in an article or the picture of the half-naked actress staring back at him. Cece was betting on the latter. She refocused on her sister and lowered her voice. “I’m just trying to understand it all. So, do you like The Pole as much as other places you’ve worked?”
Candy jerked a shoulder. “The manager’s nicer at The Pole, but most strip clubs are pretty much the same.”
“Hmmmm. One of my clients mentioned a club called Woody’s, but I’ve never heard of it.”
Ace continued to read his magazine, but his foot stopped wiggling. “Since when do you have clients? You just opened.”
“I might not have a TV, but I do have a phone, Detective. I’ve spoken to a few people already, setting up appointments and such. And no, I’m not going to tell you about those conversations either.”
“Big surprise there.” He went back to reading.
“Woody’s is different. It’s in Boston. I worked there a long time ago, but I only lasted one day. It wasn’t exactly my type of place,” Candy pierced Ace with a scathing look, “but it’s right up his alley.” Then she looked back at Cece. “Why do you want to know?”
Ace studied Cece as well. “Yeah, why do you want to know?”
“Why, so I’ll be better informed on how to counsel my client, of course.”
“Of course.” Ace’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” He got up and wandered to the far corner as he flipped his phone open. “Jackson here.” He listened for a full minute and then stared at Cece, looking indecisive. At last, he said, “I’m on my way.” He closed his phone and slipped it in his coat pocket. “That was Detective Antonelli. I gotta go. You gonna be okay here?”
“I’m okay. Really.” Thank you for small miracles. He’s leaving, Cece thought.
“Use the deadbolt I installed this time. Don’t open the door for anyone, and call my cell if you need me.” He pointed at Cece’s face as he stood in the threshold. “I mean it—don’t go out alone. It’s not safe.”
Cece clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say anything that might make him stick around.
“I have to get to work.” Candy stood as well. “I can’t believe I’m going to agree with him.” She jerked her head in Ace’s direction. “But please use that lock, Cece. You’re starting to stress me out.”
“For Pete’s sake. I’m not a child, you two, and I’m not stupid. I’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh. Like I haven’t heard that before,” Ace said on his way out the door.
“Seriously. Don’t make me call Gran,” Candy added.
“I’ll be careful, I swear. Scout’s honor.” Cece made the sign from their Girl Scout days so many years ago, and Candy just rolled her eyes as she left.
Cece hadn’t lied. She had every intention of being careful.
Careful not to get caught.
Episode 4
Chapter 7
Later that night, after stuffing herself with spaghetti and changing out of her sister’s idea of a makeover, Cece took the commuter rail—better known as the T—into Boston. No way was she attempting to drive Granny’s Witchmobile again. Getting off at her stop, she walked the city streets until she stood outside of Woody’s. Second thoughts plagued her. No matter how hard she tried, she always messed up and found herself in the most ridiculous predicaments, even before she had entered the convent.
Like the time her sister talked her into waxing her eyebrows and wearing makeup. Cece had insisted on doing it herself and proceeded to wax the entire brow clean off one eye. There wasn’t enough makeup on the planet to hide that shiny, swollen, bald patch of naked flesh. At least it had gone perfectly with her bloodshot eye that had resulted from her missing her lashes and instead poking her eyeball with the mascara wand. No waxing, no makeup, no worries. Donning a habit had been a relief.
Only, her relief had been short lived.
One time, she mixed up the holy water with clear liquid hand soap. She’d had to watch, horrified, as parishioner after parishioner blessed themselves with a trail of stringy slime dangling from their fingertips and oozing down their foreheads.
Then she tried to conduct the choir, but a sudden attack of the itchies from a bad heat rash resulted in the altos chiming in on the tenors and the sopranos hitting notes that would make an opera singer p
roud, as the choir tried to keep up with the direction of her crazy wand. In her defense, nun’s robes were hot, but a maestro she was not. Several parishioners wore earplugs to church the next week, much to her mortification.
She pushed her doubts aside and opened her tote bag. At least she’d come prepared to snoop properly this time. She peeked inside to make sure she had everything she might need.
Disposable camera: check.
Okay, so she didn’t have a cell phone or one of those high-tech digital cameras, but a disposable camera should be okay.
Cassette recorder: check.
My how times had changed. She didn’t have one of those mini-recorders either—just her old cassette tape recorder. It could work, assuming she could keep the bulky thing hidden.
Gloves: check.
Hey, at least she remembered a pair this time. Not sleek, fancy leather ones like she imagined most seasoned investigators used, but big bulky winter gloves. No worries. They would do. And last but never least …
Prayer book and special pen: check, check.
She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder and opened the door to the club before she could change her mind.
Loud, racy music boomed beneath her feet as she took a few tentative steps inside. Men of all shapes and sizes filled every nook and cranny of the huge building, but she’d expected no less. All the tables in front were occupied. Colorful spotlights punctuated the dark room, drawing all eyes to the big, beautiful women in outrageous costumes dancing on stage.
Wow! Cece had never realized strippers were just like dancers and models. Tall, with perfect bodies. At least all of these dancers had some meat on their bones, unlike the ultra-thin supermodels. Now she could see why her sister hadn’t fit in here. Candy was tall enough, but way too thin and not nearly as well endowed as these women. Big bosoms must be a requirement here. Besides, Candy went for sexy, not gaudy. These women looked more like Las Vegas showgirls than exotic dancers.
Cece studied the room, trying to decide on her next move. She really needed to speak to the strippers the senator had noted in his book. She made her way along the back, keeping to the shadows until she neared the dressing room. Maybe she’d be able to hear something from outside the door.
“There you are, Spanky,” someone said from behind her. “You’re late.”
Cece whirled around and looked up into the face of a stunning woman with exotic features and caramel-colored skin. “Oh, I, well—”
“Honey, they said you were little, but I didn’t expect this little. What was your father, two feet tall?” She clucked as she spun Cece around in a circle, swatting her fanny and lifting her breasts. “Amazing hair, plenty of curves, and a great rack. You’ll do.”
Cece took a step back, unable to speak.
The Amazon woman grinned. “That innocent act really works for you— stick with it. What’s your real name, sugar?”
“Sister …” Cece said without thinking and then quickly amended, “Uh, I mean, Spanky.”
The woman tipped back her head, and the purple feathery plumes on her sequined hat fluttered as she let out a throaty laugh. “Your act is a nun? Oh, that’s priceless. They are gonna love you.”
“Act?” Cece sputtered.
“Fine, your ‘show’ then.” The woman fluttered her false eyelashes, bending her wrist and flopping her white, satiny-gloved hand forward. “Pleaaase tell me you’re not another diva.”
“Um, no, I’m probably the complete opposite of a diva.”
“Good.” She grabbed Cece’s arm and led her into a corner booth of the dressing room. “You’re on in ten.”
“Ten?”
“Hey, you’re the one who was late, Sister Spanky. There are some accessories in the wardrobe, but you’d better hurry up. The crowd is getting restless.” With that, she spun around on her three-inch stilettos, her peacock tail feathers waving goodbye as she exited stage left with style.
Dancing? Cece gulped. What had she gotten herself into?
Another sticky situation, that’s what. But “Sister Spanky”? That had to top them all. She groaned and surveyed her black pants and sweater, her stomach turning sour over the thought of confessing this one.
She wandered to the wardrobe closet, getting closer to a group of strippers talking in the corner. Flipping through the garments, all she saw were satin, sequins, lace, and feathers. So many feathers, she thought, spitting one out of her mouth.
Aha. Finally. “Thank the Lord for small miracles,” she muttered, as she pulled a black silk scarf off the rack. She draped it over the top of her head and then tied it beneath her hair at the back of her neck. There. Instant habit. And with her makeshift habit on, a bit more confidence seeped into her.
She would need all the confidence she could get to pull off what she was about to do.
Joining the group of strippers in the corner, Cece said, “Hi there. I just wanted to say ‘Hi.’” Okay, so she’d said it twice now. She smiled wide and clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s my first night, and I’m kind of nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous,” a woman with red hair said, glancing at Cece’s hands. “It’s a quiet crowd tonight. You’ll be fine.”
The brunette next to her looked Cece up and down, tsk-ing. “Good thing you weren’t here last night. Now, that was a rowdy crowd. They would have chewed you up with one bite.”
“Hey, don’t complain,” a blonde woman interjected. “They might have been animals, but at least the tips were better.”
Chewing, biting animals? Cece’s stomach clenched, and she thought she was going to be sick. She couldn’t go out there on stage, which meant she needed to hurry up and get some answers now. She knew the senator frequented this club a lot, so she said, “What do you ladies do for extra money now that Senator Sloan’s gone?”
They froze, looking at each other accusingly.
“What do you know about Senator Sloan?” Red asked.
“Just because I’m new here, doesn’t mean I didn’t know the senator.” Cece put on her best you-can-trust-me face. “Relax ladies. I’m one of you. I understand what it’s like not being taken seriously and not getting the respect you deserve. We’re all misunderstood in one way or another. And certainly no one wants to be a stripper, but sometimes life doesn’t give us much choice.” She thought of Candy and realized how true that statement was.
“Anyway, I worked with the senator before. He even confided in me once.” She paused and looked around, then lowered her voice. “I was in his little black book too.” She adjusted her habit in the mirror, giving them a moment to digest that little tidbit. “Anyway, I could really use the money. Can you blame me for wanting in on the action?”
The women studied her for a full, tense moment, then glanced at each other and shrugged.
“Yeah, well, there is no more action. Our moonlighting career is officially over,” Red said, as she pulled on a pair of fishnet stockings.
“Maybe not, Glitter.” A brunette applied a fresh coat of hot-pink lipstick and smacked her lips in the mirror. “Just because the senator’s gone doesn’t mean one of those other horny politicians won’t pick up where he left off in organizing the meetings.”
“Yeah, but he was so good.” A blonde woman sighed, slipping on amazingly high white platform shoes. “I would have done him for free.”
“Get real, Creamy. No matter how much he favored you, he never would have left his wife, and you know it,” Red added.
“A girl can always dream,” Blondie said.
All three giggled.
“What’s your name, New Girl?” Red asked.
Cece quit fiddling with her habit and tried hard not to blush as she said, “Sis–Sister Spanky.” That sounded so wrong.
“Sister Spank-me?” Glitter twirled her red locks. “Nice. Where do you come from? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Oh, I’m from a small town. I worked at a place called The Pole for years. Just thoug
ht I’d try something new. Speaking of new, what exactly does this moonlighting gig involve?”
“It’s pretty wild.” Hot Lips looked at the other women, and they all seemed to make up their minds about something. “It’s good money, but I’m not sure a little thing like you could handle an orgy that size,” Hot Lips finished.
Cece went into a choking fit. “Sorry,” she croaked. “Swallowed my gum.” The senator wasn’t just a ladies’ man, he was involved in a prostitution ring, and it sounded like he was the organizer. That had to be the illegal matter he was talking about. She needed to find out what politicians were involved, and then maybe she could find out who had betrayed him.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Creamy said, sweeping her blond hair onto the top of her head. “No one else has stepped forward to take the senator’s place.”
Cece wrote down her phone number, with her fake name listed, and handed it to the women, struggling to find the courage to say, “If anyone does plan another orgy, please call me. You’d be surprised what I can handle.” She didn’t wait for an answer but just grabbed her tote bag and backed out of the room.
“Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome for our newest dancer, Sister Spanky,” said the woman Cece met when she first came into the club. The microphone boomed, and a spotlight shined brightly on Cece’s back.
Oh no!
No, no, no, no!
She hadn’t backed out a door at all—she’d stumbled through a curtain onto the stage, and now everyone was waiting for her to dance. Only one problem.
Cece couldn’t dance to save her life, much less strip.
They started chanting her name, and the women from the dressing room came to the edge of the curtain to watch. They frowned and started whispering, leaving Cece no choice if she wanted them to take her seriously. Pasting on a huge smile, she turned around to face the music.
Gulping loudly, she made the sign of the cross and proceeded to give them a show they weren’t likely to forget even if they tried.
***
“What the hell is taking her so long?” Ace muttered, as he sat inside his truck down the street from Woody’s.
Kicking the Habit Page 9
