As worried as she was starting to feel about Hannah Kaye, the idea of working late gave her a little thrill.
Chapter Nine
It was about an hour before sunset when Miranda got back to her office, and rowdy looking dudes were already gathering on the street corner across from the former Plato Caliente.
Briskly she climbed the stairs to the second floor hallway and stepped inside her waiting room.
Her jaw dropped.
Standing across the room, hands on hips, studying the painting of the white cat licking its paw was Joan Fanuzzi.
“Reminds me of Wendy’s cat, Inky. Except it’s the opposite color.” She turned around and gestured. “You know, you really ought to lock that door.” Her Brooklyn accent echoed against the walls.
Her short, spunky frame was clad in a sleeveless apricot print blouse and sky blue Capri slacks. Her dark, shoulder length hair with its frosted highlights looked like it had recently been done. Over her shoulder she carried a big white straw purse that matched her summer sandals.
But her dark, scowling eyes and Italian featured face wore an expression that cut Miranda to the quick.
Not much here to steal, Miranda wanted to say. Instead she began to blubber with guilt. “Oh, God, Fanuzzi. I’m so sorry.”
Fanuzzi shook her head at her. “You mean for ruining the anniversary party I planned for you?”
“What else?”
She put a finger to her cheek. “Let me think. Maybe for not calling me and telling me what was going on with you and Wade?”
Miranda winced.
In the year and a half since she’d come to Atlanta, Fanuzzi had become the best friend she’d ever had. She’d always reached out to her, always checked up on her. But Miranda had a bad habit of not returning the favor.
She gestured toward her office. “Let’s go in here.”
Without waiting for a reply, she crossed to the door—the one she did lock—and stuffed her key into it. “Come in and have a seat.”
She didn’t look back but Miranda heard the squeak of her friend’s cork heeled sandals behind her. She hurried to the stand in the corner where she kept refreshments, wishing she had more than that cheap guest chair to offer her.
Fanuzzi settled into it, still giving her that eye of hers. Must be the one Brooklyn hit men gave to people who didn’t pay up.
Miranda busied herself with the coffee pot. “How’d you find me, anyway?”
“I saw your Craigslist ad.”
“Oh.” Miranda hadn’t realized she had a best friend who read Craigslist. She picked up a silver packet of grounds and gestured at the counter like a game show assistant. “See? I’m all set up. I even have a coffee maker. You want some?”
“Why not?”
Miranda emptied the grounds from the last pot into a nearby trashcan and opened the packet while she made a stab at small talk. “So what’s up with you? How are the kids?”
Fanuzzi’s dark Italian eyes narrowed. “You gonna tell me why you didn’t call me?”
She finished with the pot and pressed the button. What was she supposed to say to that? Finally she raised her hands. “How could I? Your husband still works for the Parker Agency. You get a lot of your connections for your business from Parker.”
Fanuzzi had a thriving catering business and many in Parker’s ritzy circle had hired her for their fancy doings. She was an amazing cook.
“Don’t you think I care more about you than about business?”
Miranda pursed her lips and turned her head away. The coffee machine was busy brewing away. She was on her own. She slunk over to her desk chair and sat down.
“I really am sorry about the party.”
“Wade called me that morning. He apologized for both of you.”
Miranda shuddered at the guilt washing over her like an ocean wave over a sinking life raft. Fanuzzi had been planning that party for weeks. Sending out invitations, picking out little paper favors and decorations—since paper was traditional for the first year, as she’d reminded her a dozen times. For the menu she’d planned to make some of her most delicious treats. She was even going to do the French croquembouche she’d learned to make in Paris.
Plus she was going to get Parker the gift Miranda hadn’t had time to pick out.
Gift.
Miranda sat up. “What about the—?”
Fanuzzi held up a hand. “I got him a Rolex.”
“A what?” That had to have cost a fortune.
“Couldn’t think of anything else. I was going to have it engraved then decided that was going too far.” She let out a sad little laugh. “Good thing I didn’t. Took it back the next day so you don’t owe me a thing.”
Miranda couldn’t have felt worse if her friend had dug out her heart with an ice cream scoop.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
Fanuzzi studied her for a long moment. “What the hell happened, Murray?” She said it with the softness of a mother. “You and Parker are made for each other.”
Her words only made Miranda feel worse.
Made for each other. That’s what she’d thought once. How could she explain it? Parker’s paranoia about her had been there since they’d met. But it started in earnest after they began taking cases together as Parker and Steele Consulting this June. And then she’d started getting those crazy anonymous messages on her phone.
I know who you are.
I know where you are.
I know what you are.
They’d unnerved her, sure, but she’d trained herself a long time ago not to give in to fear. Not to be a wimp. Her mistake, she guessed, was in not telling Parker about them right away. But they’d just finished their first case together when the first text had come in and when she’d gotten the second one, Parker had been convalescing. She wasn’t going to bother him over what might have been something trivial. Heck it was trivial. It was just a prank.
Nothing had come of those messages—except Parker’s overreaction—which made him want to shut down Parker and Steele Consulting. Didn’t he understand she couldn’t live without this work? The work he’d introduced her to? Trained her for?
She glanced up at the pot. “Hey, coffee’s done.” Thank goodness.
She hopped up and returned to the corner. Picking up one of the mugs she’d gotten at the thrift store, she poured the hot brown liquid into it and handed it to her friend. “You get the sweet spot.”
Taking it from her, Fanuzzi smirked. “This is cute.”
“What?”
Fanuzzi pointed to the image on the cup. A tiny gray kitten asleep in a basket next to a big blue ball of yarn.
Feeling her face redden a tad, Miranda shrugged. “This set was the cheapest in the store.”
“I see. Got any sugar?”
“Sure.” She danced back over to the corner, fished out a packet from the drawer and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” Fanuzzi opened the packet, dumped it into the kitten mug, and stirred the hot liquid with the plastic spoon Miranda handed her next.
Miranda steadied her shoulders as she got another mug—this one with two gray kittens stranded on the branch of a tree—and poured herself some brew. She took it black.
Fanuzzi sipped her coffee. “So it was so bad between you and Wade that you can’t even talk about it with your best friend.”
Miranda sank down in her chair again, holding the mug with both hands. Confession time. “We had…a really bad fight. Worst we’ve ever had.”
“There’s always making up afterwards. Dave and I have had some doozies. I’m Italian, you know.”
“Are you?” she teased, smiling sadly. It wasn’t the same. “You know Parker can be very stubborn.”
“Yeah, so what was he being so stubborn about?”
The question told Miranda Parker hadn’t been telling tales out of school. That made her feel a little better. At least he had that much respect for what had been their relationship. Then again it meant he had no one to con
fide in. As she was about to do.
“He told me he’s closing down Parker and Steele Consulting.”
Fanuzzi’s dark brows popped up in shock. “Your partnership?”
“Uh huh.”
“Without even asking you?”
Miranda set down her mug, feeling the familiar anger rising inside her. “Probably wouldn’t have told me until it was done if I hadn’t pushed it out of him.”
“Jeez, Murray. I never thought Wade could be such a hard ass. He’s always been nice to me. Chivalrous, even.”
“That’s the thing. He thinks he is being chivalrous. He thinks the cases have gotten too dangerous. He’s trying to save me like I’m a damn damsel in distress.”
Fanuzzi had to smile at that idea. Then she grew thoughtful. “Things did get pretty hairy in Paris. If your other cases were like that—”
“It’s part of the job. Part of what you have to do for a client. To settle the score, set things right, for justice and all that.”
“Yeah,” she took another sip of coffee. “And so you’re going to prove him wrong with all this?” She gestured around the office.
“I’m doing my own thing with all this. This is my life. I don’t care what Parker thinks of it.”
“I see. Well, Dave says you ought to come back to the Agency. A lot of people there want you to come back.”
That was a nice thought.
“Mackenzie does, too.”
She hated the thought that her breakup with Parker had upset her daughter. She’d had enough turmoil in her life lately. That was the main reason Miranda hadn’t contacted her.
“How is Mackenzie?”
“Fine. She’s started classes at Old Ferncliff Academy now.”
Miranda slid her cup onto her desk. Mackenzie was in high school now. She was missing out on her daughter’s life.
“Is she speaking to Wendy yet?”
Miranda had thought Wendy Van Aarle was her missing daughter when she’d first come to Atlanta. Nothing had made her happier than when Wendy and her real daughter had become real friends—after a toxic relationship. Now they were mortal enemies. Kids.
“Not yet.”
Miranda blew out a breath. “It’s going on a month and a half.”
“I know, but you know how teenagers are.”
Fanuzzi had been at the Chatham mansion the night Mackenzie and Wendy had had a knock down drag out over a boy. That was the night Mackenzie revealed she’d been searching for her father. Her real father.
Actually, it had been Wendy who’d revealed the secret. Another reason Mackenzie was furious with her.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
They were silent a moment, the coffee in the kitten mugs growing cold.
At last Fanuzzi leaned forward. “Murray, is there anything I can do?”
“You mean to get me and Parker back together?”
“I mean anything. You need help with anything? Money? Company?”
Miranda smiled sadly at her friend, remembering the time she’d put her up when she walked out on Parker before they were married. That was different. She was different.
And maybe Fanuzzi had a point. Not about needing help. About proving herself. She needed to prove she could make it on her own as a detective. To herself. To Parker. To her former colleagues at the Agency. To anybody who gave a rip.
It was important.
“No, thanks. I appreciate the offer. Besides, I’ve already got my first client.” Not counting the deadbeat Lauderdale.
“Really?” Fanuzzi looked surprised. “Anybody I know?”
“You met him briefly once.”
“Who is he?”
Why not tell her? If she told Becker and Becker squealed it to Parker, so what? It would make him worry about her, but he was going to do that no matter what she did.
“Remember the night we went out for drinks?”
“We did that a few times.”
“It was over a year ago. Before you and Dave got together. We did the Strip.” The Strip was the main street in Buckhead where revelers and partygoers went on Friday and Saturday nights.
“I raced a guy on his motorcycle.” Miranda added.
Fanuzzi’s brown Italian eyes grew round. She was remembering, all right. “Are you saying—? Do you mean—? Your client is that drug lord? Carlos Santiago?”
“Only one I know personally.”
Fanuzzi slapped down her mug and waved both hands in the air. “Jeez, Murray. Are you out of your fucking mind?”
She’d said the same thing the night Miranda went racing with the gangster. “Are you going to be like Parker and tell me I don’t know how to do my job without getting myself killed?”
Parker had never actually said those words, but he might as well have.
Fanuzzi’s mouth started to move but no words came out. “I—I don’t know what to say. I just hope you don’t. Get killed, that is.”
“It’s just a missing persons case. I’ll be fine.”
“A missing persons case?”
“A dancer from Santiago’s club is missing. He wants me to find her.”
“Dancer?”
“Exotic dancer. Actually, she’s a college student.”
Fanuzzi stared at her open-mouthed.
“From Tech.” The thought of her new client reminded Miranda of the fat retainer he’d given her.
Behind the shield of her desk, she opened her bottom drawer, grabbed the wad of bills and stuffed them into the case that held her new laptop. The laptop had been another big expense. She didn’t feel it would be right to take the Parker Agency’s machine she’d been using, though the thought had crossed her mind. But Santiago’s money would help defray that cost.
Slinging the strap of the case over her shoulder she got to her feet. “I hate to cut this short.”
Fanuzzi looked up at her a bit crestfallen. “You need to go?”
Miranda didn’t want to end the visit, but she had to get a move on. She had work to do.
“Yeah, I’ve gotta be somewhere tonight. You need a ride?”
Fanuzzi rose looking a little bewildered. “No, I’ve got my car.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s later than I thought. I need to get home. Dave and the kids are expecting my famous spaghetti tonight.”
“Sounds good.” Fanuzzi’s cooking was to-die-for.
Fanuzzi smiled sadly at the compliment. “Don’t suppose you can swing by and join us.”
Miranda’s shoulders slumped. Fanuzzi sure knew how to lay a guilt trip. “I can’t. Maybe another night?” Though she sure wouldn’t know what to say to Becker. It would be pretty awkward.
Miranda walked her friend out to the corridor, remembering to lock both of her doors, then they went down the steps together. Fanuzzi’s car was around the corner or she would have seen it when she came in.
She walked her over to it.
“Take care of yourself, Murray.”
“Sure. I’ll be okay. Really.”
“Yeah, I think you will. You’re a survivor.”
Glad somebody thought so.
“But be careful wherever you’re going tonight.”
“I will. Say hi to Becker for me.”
“Will do.” Fanuzzi shifted her weight back and forth from foot to foot for a moment, then she lifted her arms and gave Miranda a big hug. “And call me once in awhile.”
“I’ll try to,” Miranda said.
She watched her friend get into her car and drive off, then headed back around the corner to her Acura.
Miranda was glad Fanuzzi had found her. And maybe she would call her up sometime and get together. But if nothing else, her friend’s visit had convinced her more than ever that her life with Parker was over.
Chapter Ten
Miranda headed home to her tiny apartment, stuffed her laptop in the closet and stuck the money from Santiago under her mattress.
She microwaved a frozen diet meal that tasted only slightly better than its cardboard container, took a shower, chan
ged into something appropriate for clubbing, and headed out a little after nine.
When she got to the parking lot for Exótico, it was already full and she had to park a block away and hoof it down an uneven sidewalk to the entrance. She’d had no idea Santiago’s strip club was so popular. A line in front of the door snaked all the way around the corner and she had to muscle her way through to the entrance.
In the dark alcove a huge muscle bound dude in black with a thick neck blocked her way. He looked like a referee from the MMA.
“Twenty dollars,” he told her, eyeing her getup.
She’d worn some spangled jeans and a low cut pink sparkly thing as a top—an outfit her friend Coco had picked out for her once. She didn’t know how it had gotten mixed in with the things she’d taken from the Parker mansion, but tonight it had come in handy.
“She cut in line,” some short guy behind her whined.
“You can’t do that,” MMA guy said with a grunt.
Miranda sighed and pulled a business card out of the tiny purple purse she’d brought. “I work for the owner.”
Not buying it, the guy shook his head without looking at the card. Of course, it was too dark to read it.
Miranda’s patience was wearing thin. She pointed a finger at MMA guy and struck her best tough chick pose. “Santiago is going to be pissed when he finds out you’re impeding my investigation.” Then she added, “I’m here to see Yolanda. She’s expecting me.” Maybe dropping that name would help. Remembering the manager had told her to use it.
It did.
The big guy’s face went hard and he turned on a little flashlight in his hand and checked a book on a stand. “You’re Miranda Steele?”
“That’s the name on the card.”
He gave a brisk nod and stepped aside. “Just head for the back. Do you need an escort?”
Hah. Too late to play nice. “I’ll find my way,” she snapped and moved into the main room.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” she heard the short dude cry behind her.
But soon his voice was swallowed up in the loud funky horn music that seemed to be bouncing off the black painted walls.
Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7) Page 5
