She wrenched it away. “James!” She whispered through gritted teeth, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. And I know you didn’t either—” Her gaze flicked past him, and she let out an annoyed snort. “What the hell is this, the office Christmas party? What is he doing here?”
“That’s why you need to sit with us,” Isobel said. “I can explain what happened with Doreen, why he’s dressed up like that—”
“Dressed up?” scoffed Felice. “That’s the same damn suit he wears every day. Man has no imagination.”
James and Isobel exchanged a glance, then, as unobtrusively as they could, they turned their heads and followed Felice’s gaze.
Frank Lusardi had just come in to Xavier’s.
FORTY-FIVE
“Move over, I can’t see!” said Felice.
“There’s nothing to see.” Isobel had an unobstructed view of Stan and Frank from her position at the U-shaped banquette. “They’re just talking.”
James, who was sandwiched in between Felice and Isobel, craned his neck to look. “That’s a guy? That’s Stan?
“I think he looks pretty good,” Delphi said. “Not everyone can rock curls,” she added, plumping her own.
Felice poured some Cabernet from the bottle Isobel had ordered to secure the table. “Anyone else want some?”
“I’ll have some,” Delphi said. “Isobel?”
“No.” As Felice tipped the bottle inquiringly toward her brother, Isobel repeated, more forcefully, “No.”
“James?” Felice asked.
Before he could respond, Isobel took the bottle and set it down in front of Felice. “No!”
Felice shrugged. “Whatever. More for me.” She took an enormous gulp of wine, then picked up the bottle and topped off her glass.
James flashed Isobel a grateful look. “How did you get this table?”
Isobel winced. “You don’t want to know. Suffice it to say, you’d better get me a new temp job soon. Preferably one that pays a lot.”
“Do we think this is a first date?” Percival asked.
Isobel shook her head. “I don’t know. There were several times when Stan and Frank were closeted together in Frank’s office. No pun intended.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Delphi said. “From the look on Frank’s face when he saw Stan, I’d say this is the first time he’s seen Stan in full regalia.”
Felice poured herself some more wine. “This is great stuff!”
“It better be, for what we paid for it,” muttered Delphi.
James pointed to Felice’s glass. “You might want to go easy on that.”
Felice cocked her head at him. “My date has turned into a party, one of my employees is a drag queen, and another has the hots for him. Her. I think I’m allowed a drink.”
James turned his back on Felice and whispered to Isobel, “So what do you think? Doreen was still in love with Stan, but Stan wanted to be with Frank, so Stan snuffed her to get her off his back?”
“I don’t know.” Isobel wrung her hands in frustration. “It’s not lining up. If Percival is right, and Doreen was funneling money to Stan, why would he kill her?”
James threw up his hands. “Who knows what he was thinking? He doesn’t even know which end is up.”
“Now that’s unfair,” Isobel said, her voice rising. “Just because he’s a lesbian trapped in a man’s body or whatever, doesn’t mean he’s mentally unstable!”
“Uh hunh!” crowed Felice.
“Maybe Stan’s been pining for Frank for a while, only Frank didn’t know it,” Isobel suggested.
“So Stan whacked Doreen on a chance? Doesn’t seem likely,” Delphi put in.
“Maybe Stan wants to be sure Frank falls in love with the real him. Her.” Isobel looked over at them again.
“What’s going on now?” Percival asked.
“They’re drinking and talking. Frank looks wary, but Stan’s face is in shadow.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Delphi turned to James. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You have?” James asked, surprised.
“You have?” Felice hiccupped.
Delphi looked at Isobel. “Should I not have said that?”
But Isobel wasn’t listening. She was staring at the wine bottle, a deep frown on her face. Something didn’t make sense. Why meet in a public place? Why, if Frank and Stan were lovers, didn’t Frank want Stan to have the promotion?
“Frank’s getting up!” James said suddenly.
They all swiveled their heads quickly and saw Frank say something to Stan. Then he disappeared deeper into the club.
“Bathroom,” said James, pointing to a carved sign high on the far back wall, just visible over the throng.
They gave a collective sigh of relief.
“So y’all are spying on Stan, because you think he killed Doreen?” said Felice, whose speech was starting to slur.
“Something like that,” Delphi said.
“Why don’t you just call the police?”
“We don’t have enough evidence,” said Percival. “It’s all just conjecture at this point.”
Felice leaned toward him. “You’re cute.”
Delphi put a protective arm around Percival. “He’s with me.”
“Are you a secretary, too?”
“I’m an actress, like Isobel.”
Felice turned to Isobel, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know you were an actress! You been in any movies?”
“I do musicals.”
Felice swung her head back to Delphi and reached for the wine. “What about you? D’you sing?”
“I do, but not like Isobel.”
“You wouldn’t believe what a big, gorgeous sound Iz can make,” Percival said proudly. “It’s all in the breathing technique.”
Delphi laughed. “You sound like my high school music teacher.” She adopted a hooty, Julia Child-like tone. “Inhale deeply now, expand your sides like the skin of a drum. Breathe from the diaphragm. If you’re going to sing properly—”
Isobel shrieked so loudly that they all jumped. She leaped up and wrenched her coat out from under James. He went careening into Felice, who put her arms around his neck in what she intended as an embrace, but looked more like a headlock. “What the hell—?” he began.
“Don’t talk to me!” Isobel barked.
Delphi held up her hands in self-defense. “Don’t worry!”
But Isobel didn’t hear her. She was madly fishing around in her coat for Doreen’s Filofax. It felt like there were actual alarm bells going off inside her brain, every bit as loud as the ones that had rung the day Doreen was killed.
If she was right—then she’d had it all wrong.
She opened the Filofax to the front of the calendar section and began to flip over the January pages. There it was: “P.” She flipped to February, and there it was again: “P.” March had a “P,” so did April. She slammed the book shut.
“It’s Frank!”
“Where?” James said, looking past her. “Yeah, he’s coming out of the bathroom. And Stan is—holy shit!”
“What?” said Percival and Delphi together.
“Stan just poured something into Frank’s drink!”
Isobel’s face went white.
Percival grabbed her arm. “Iz? What is it?”
“He’s trying to kill Frank,” she said breathlessly. “He’s poisoned his Amaretto! We can’t let Frank drink it!”
“Amaretto?” Percival grabbed Delphi’s arm and pulled her up. “Jump over the barrier, push, shove, do whatever it takes to get over there and grab Frank’s glass off the table.”
Delphi blanched. “Why me?”
“Because you’re dressed like the waiters. Get the glass, and whatever you do, don’t spill it. Go!”
Percival helped her over the divide, and Delphi bowed her head and began to elbow her way through the crowd toward Stan’s table.
Isobel turned to James, but he was already on his feet
, heading toward Frank. She reached into her coat pocket for her cell phone and scrolled through to Detective Kozinski’s number.
Percival looked at Isobel. “You’re sure about this?”
She nodded gravely. “Absolutely.”
“Whaz all the fuss about?” slurred Felice.
Isobel and Percival looked at each other, then Isobel thrust the bottle at Felice.
“Just finish it,” she said.
FORTY-SIX
James had never been more grateful to be sober as he barreled his way through the crowd. Frank was moving faster than he seemed from a distance, and as James drew nearer, he realized he had no idea what he was going to do or say once he reached him. He only knew he had to keep Frank from returning to the table. He wasn’t sure what it was that Isobel had figured out, but he realized that her brother understood, and he seemed like a pretty smart kid.
There were only a few people separating him from Frank now, and James saw that Frank looked preoccupied.
Well, why not? He was on a date with a woman who was really a man.
Suddenly, James knew exactly what to say to Frank.
“Aw, shit,” he groaned. But he had no choice. He wasn’t going to let Isobel down again.
A tall woman—or was it a man?—standing between them stepped aside, and James put his hand on Frank’s arm.
He cleared his throat. “I was just, er, wondering. Are you here alone?”
Frank turned, surprised, but when he caught James’s eye, his face relaxed into a seductive smile.
“For you, I could be.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Delphi arrived at Stan’s table. Isobel and Percival watched as she smiled and bobbed her head.
Then Delphi grabbed Frank’s glass, and as best as she could in a room growing more crowded by the second, she turned and ran.
After a moment, Stan recovered and shot to his feet, his face creased with panic.
“He’s going after her!” Percival cried.
“Felice!” shouted Isobel.
“Forget about her!”
“We need her!”
But Percival was gone, shoving his way toward the mass of people separating Delphi and Stan. Delphi was heading for the front door, and Stan was knocking over patrons in hot pursuit.
Isobel slapped Felice hard on the face.
“Ow!”
“Come on, Felice,” Isobel pleaded. “I need you to do something for me. You’re drunk on my five-hundred-dollar bottle of Cabernet, so you owe me. I need you to stand on the table. Drunk people stand on tables all the time. Here, I’ll help you.” Isobel threw her arms under Felice’s and tried to maneuver her slack form to her feet.
“Oooh, baby!” purred Felice.
“Come on, climb up!”
Lifting Felice was much harder than she expected. Isobel blew in her face and, in a final act of desperation, tossed the remains of her wineglass at her. Somewhat revived, Felice allowed herself to be pulled up onto the table where she stood, swaying precipitously.
Isobel called up to her. “Come on, wave hello to all your fans! Loud as you can. Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only, the fabulous Felice Edwards!” She put her fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle.
Felice did as she was told, and several people nearby pointed at her and laughed. Isobel grabbed a small hand-blown bottle from the arrangement atop the divider and threw it with all her might in Stan’s direction. It hit the back of a magenta-haired girl in Goth dress, knocking her down, and several people cried out, startled.
But it did the trick. Stan stopped in his tracks and squinted in their direction. Isobel quickly ducked below the divider, watching him through the remaining bottles. She was banking on the fact that Felice in her club getup would be unrecognizable to Stan, yet somehow familiar. If Stan took a moment to work out who she was, then stopped to absorb the fact that InterBank’s director of human resources was standing on a table waving wildly at him, it might be enough to buy Delphi and Percival the time they needed. Isobel watched the play of emotions across Stan’s face. He looked confused, shocked, and then terrified.
Percival took a flying leap and landed on Stan’s back. He threw an arm around Stan’s neck and yanked the wig half off his head. Stan shouted and tried to knock Percival off, but he rode Stan to the floor like a cowboy on a bucking horse. As the commotion grew, the crowd parted, giving Delphi a clear path to the club’s entrance. She put on speed, wrenched open the black door through which they had fought so hard to come in, and disappeared into the night.
“This is fuuuuun!” Felice squealed.
Isobel climbed up next to her on the table and looked over the heads of the crowd until she spotted James and Frank. Frank was staring, openmouthed at Felice. His face darkened with anger as he spotted Isobel, and they locked eyes for a moment. Then Frank made a dash to one side, but James was ready for him with a quick right to the jaw, and in a moment, they too were grappling on the ground.
A tall, handsome Latin man was advancing angrily toward them. “Break it up! Or I’ll call the police!”
“I already have!” Isobel screamed, but he didn’t hear her.
It didn’t matter. At that moment, the front door of the club opened again, and in came Dexter, Detective Kozinski, Detective Harvey, and two other police officers.
Behind them trailed Delphi, clutching the small glass of Amaretto to her chest like an Academy Award.
FORTY-SEVEN
Dexter was still clearing out the club as Isobel, James, Percival, and Delphi settled down at their table again next to Felice, who had passed out on the banquette. Percival held an ice pack to the back of his head, while James massaged the hand he had used to punch Frank.
At the next table, Frank and Stan sat in stony silence with Detectives Harvey and Kozinski. Xavier Barques, the club’s owner, sat at a third table nearby with one of the other policemen, guarding the glass of Amaretto.
Detective Harvey pulled his chair around and looked sternly at Isobel. “Suppose you tell us what’s going on.”
Isobel unfolded her well-worn copy of Doreen’s blackmail log. “This piece of paper is a list of people that Doreen Fink was blackmailing.”
“You gave that to us,” Detective Kozinski reminded her. “We’ve been examining it, and we’ve spoken to everyone on the list.”
“You’ve spoken to Stan?” Isobel asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“I know what he told you. That is, if he told you the truth.” Isobel turned to Stan. “Doreen wasn’t blackmailing you at all. She was taking money from all these other people and giving it to you, so you could get the operation you wanted. Is that what you told the police?”
Stan nodded.
“You and Doreen were married once,” Isobel continued. “The marriage was annulled when Doreen realized it would never be consummated. But she loved you. She’s always loved you, and you stayed in touch all these years. And stayed friends.”
Isobel saw tears begin to leak silently through Stan’s long-lashed, heavily made-up eyes and down his face, leaving black streaks of mascara in their wake. In full makeup and dress, but without his wig, he was a pathetic sight. Isobel felt suddenly, deeply sad for Stan. She reached over and touched his hand.
“I said I was sorry for your loss, and I meant it. Oh, and Maybelline makes the best waterproof mascara.”
“Why are we here if Stan didn’t kill Doreen?” asked Detective Harvey impatiently. “Which, by the way, we never thought he did.”
“Because he was trying to kill Frank.” Isobel pointed to the glass that Xavier Barques was holding. “It’s poisoned.”
Xavier recoiled from the glass, then leaned his head closer and sniffed. “Smells like Amaretto.”
“Test it for prussic acid,” Percival said. “They both smell like almonds.”
Isobel shook her head sadly at Stan. “Amaretto is a weird thing to order if you’re having bottle service. You could never make it through the entire thing in
one night, and they won’t let you take it home.” She shot Xavier a look. “By the way, we have to talk about this crazy bottle service thing.”
“All right, but why did Stan want to kill Frank?” asked Detective Kozinski.
Isobel looked at her like she was crazy. “Oh, come on! There’s only one possible reason for that. Because Frank killed the only person who ever loved Stan for who he was.”
They all looked at Frank.
“Why would I kill Doreen?” he asked indignantly. “She was a very competent secretary. I relied on her. I’ve been lost without her.” He gave Isobel a dirty look. “You haven’t been much help, you know.”
“You killed Doreen because she was blackmailing you like she was everybody else.”
“No she wasn’t.” Frank gestured at the paper. “My name isn’t anywhere on there.”
Isobel shook her head solemnly. “She wasn’t blackmailing you for money, she was blackmailing you for sex. Doreen had the hots for you, Frank, and you knew it. She was obsessed with sex, and she wasn’t getting any. You weren’t interested in her, for all reasons, but she, being the keeper of your secrets, was blackmailing you about being gay.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “My wife knows.”
“And she’s none too happy about it. But that’s not who you were hiding it from. Edmund Jeffards. The man at the top. Archie Conservative, who can’t even deal with the idea of women in management. You were afraid that if he knew you were gay, it would be an obstacle to your own promotion.”
“Blackmailing me for sex? Where would you get a crazy idea like that?”
Isobel set Doreen’s Filofax on the table. Frank’s face went pale when he saw it.
“I found this in your new office tonight after you left.” She opened it to the date of the murder. “You knew about the emergency drill ahead of time. You told me that Stan and Paula knew in advance because they were fire marshals, but you neglected to mention that Doreen told you also.” Isobel flipped to the page with the date of the murder. “You agreed to meet Doreen in the bathroom and have sex with her during the emergency drill.”
The Temporary Detective Page 24
