“So have I. What did you come up with?”
“Not a lot. But here’s the thing—I have a wedding to go to this afternoon, so I won’t be able to do much today. We should use the time to catch our breath. Last night really shook me up, and I know it was rough on you, too. On top of that, our security alarm went off three times during the night. Talk about a three-ring circus.”
“You have an alarm?” I asked. I’d never known anyone rich enough to need one.
“Well, yeah,” she skirted the issue. “Most of the time I forget about it, but man, when that thing lets loose you’d swear you were being attacked by some third-world country.”
“What set it off? Burglars?”
“Nah… Although coming so soon after finding poor Trinnie, I have to admit I was more spooked than usual. It was probably just a couple of raccoons getting romantic in the wrong place. Anyway,” she continued, “between that and the wedding, I need a break.”
My spirits dropped. I’d been planning to go back to Bruisers to meet Reggie. Feeling a tad manipulative, I tested her commitment to the wedding.
“It’s my niece’s wedding,” Beth said. “Jimmy would kick my sorry ass if I tried missing it. I used to skip out on family functions when I was drinking; I’ve long since used up any free passes I had. Besides, I like this girl. She’s one of the few in his family I can stand. And also there’s a chance Jimmy’s first wife will show up drunk and make a scene. She does that every now and then, and it’s a hoot. It makes me look good, and all I have to do is sit like a lump wearing a angelic expression.”
“Sounds like we’re taking a break today, then.”
We talked a little longer about the night before. Her laugh almost cracked my ear drum when I explained the theory that my agitation over Eli was really a way of displacing my real fears.
“Beth, I’m serious.”
“I know, doll, that’s what makes it so funny. What’s so hard about admitting you have the lusties for that man?”
“The what? The lusties?” I took a deep breath. “I’m concerned for you, Beth. Making up words is called loose association, and it’s a symptom of psychosis.”
“Yeah, whatever. Look, I’m not telling you to go after him. I’m just telling you to be honest with yourself. And maybe have a little fun with it.”
“I am honest with myself. And I’m glad you’re not suggesting… Besides, Sue would kill me if I started dating a bartender.” That is, if she found out about it. Since she was away on vacation there was a chance she wouldn’t hear about my popping in and out of bars whilst she was gone. If she, however, did… I shuddered.
“Don’t hide behind your sponsor. Look, have you ever bought a puppy?”
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
“A puppy. Have you ever gone to a kennel or wherever and picked one out? You want to pick out the friskiest, strongest little guy in the litter. That’s what you got to do with a guy, too.”
I was stunned.
“This is the Puppy Theory of Mating? Millions of women all over the world are trying to select a life partner, and they don’t have access to this scientific method. It’s deplorable.”
“Don’t kid yourself, girl. Tell me you didn’t respond to him on a gut level. Women want a guy strong enough for the long haul and fun to be around. The trouble is you have to pick one you can domesticate, if you know what I mean.”
“Now I’ve got to housebreak him, too? What should I do, lay a bunch of newspapers on the floor?”
“That only works if you get naked and lay on top of them. Or so I’ve been told. Listen, you can argue all you want, but the facts are you like him and he sure liked you. Not to mention, he’s sexier than four average men tied up in a red bow. Oo, now there’s an image for you.”
“I thought you weren’t telling me to go after him?”
A heavy sigh rattled through the phone speaker. “I don’t know. Him being a bartender does add a complication… All I’m saying is you should check the situation out a little more before you shut the door on him. Don’t let fear run your life, especially not your love-life. Who wants a partner they can stuff under their thumb? You can’t play it safe all your life.”
“You’re saying I’m boring, aren’t you? See, I don’t even mind; I like to be boring. Believe me, Beth, I’ve dated some pretty sexy men.” Well, one anyway. An image of my former boss flitted through my mind. Instant goosebumps.
And what had that gotten me?
My turn to heave a sigh. “Let’s face it, a guy like Eli could get… Besides, you should have seen the little college twigs who were after him last night. They’re more his speed.”
“I saw. And I saw him ignore them, too. He’s gotta be in his mid-thirties. What’s he want with those babies?”
“What’s any guy want with them? It’s not the same for a woman, you know that. Guys get to trade up. Or, in this case, down.”
“You’re nuts! Hasn’t anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are? You’ve got a great body, legs up to your chin—I could kill you for those—and all that thick, dark hair. Guys love that shit. You two could play Sacajawea and Lewis and Clark. Well, not Lewis and Clark, unless you’re into—”
“Beth. You and I both know once you get past your thirties, things start to go south. Literally. Things are sinking.”
“So, buy a decent bra. You can’t argue with the fact that he zeroed in on you. Go ahead, try. Try to argue. You can’t, can you?”
“Are you done?”
“For now.”
“Well, don’t get excited, I’m not convinced.”
“That’s because you’re a hard-headed, stubborn drunk. Look, I’ll call you after the wedding, if it’s not too late. Otherwise, let’s meet tomorrow at the club. Do you go to church?”
Consumed by raging lusties, I wasn’t ready for God to see into my heart… or any other organ. In fact, I was just getting used to the idea there was a God. Best not taint our budding relationship with my fantasy life. “I think I’ll hit the morning meeting. How about lunch? Satisfy my earthly needs, instead.”
“We’ve just been talking about satisfying your earthly needs, that’s why you’re so cranky.”
“And that’s why I need a meeting.”
The day stretched before me like a newly discovered sore in my mouth. I kept trying to ignore the gaping hole in my schedule, but my mind returned, tongue-like, to poke at it again and again.
I decided to use up nervous energy. I started cleaning. Hauling the vacuum back and forth, moving the couch to flush the dust bunnies from underneath. Watching the pattern of the suction pulling the carpet nap back in place created a near-Zen state. I get sweaty and dirty and feel wonderfully virtuous all at the same time.
Siggy did not agree. He leaped to the top of the fridge, glaring with catly disdain.
After purging my apartment, I felt gritty, but pleased. The clock showed only three hours had ticked past. It was just coming up on noon so I made myself a sandwich, grabbed the latest in the Evanovich series, and carried everything back into my squeaky clean bathroom. Time for some hydrotherapy.
I pampered myself, tossing a swirl of lavender bath salts into the steamy water. The heady fragrance rose up, contrasting with the turkey sandwich I was munching, so it tasted like flowers. Before sinking into the novel, I gave myself the full beauty treatment. A fresh lathering of shampoo and conditioner, shaved legs, shaved pits—the works.
When I finally hauled my dripping body out of the tub, I felt clean in mind, body, and soul. I puttered around doing girly things that I don’t usually make time for. Then, I topped it all off with a greater than usual attention to makeup and spritzed a soft, floral perfume on my neck for good measure.
Now what?
I called Blodgett. Still no answer. At this rate, we’d end up playing phone tag forever. I decided to fill him in on the situation, including Paul’s possible… Well, not involvement—I couldn’t think that—but I did tell him about Paul bein
g taken in for questioning. After I’d hung up I realized I’d forgotten to ask about Belch. A dull ache of unease rose in my gut every time I thought of Paul. I hoped Blodgett called back soon.
Now what?
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into Bruisers lot and parked my little Focus.
NINE
Going by Eli’s estimate of when Reggie typically showed up, I had at least a half-hour to wait. I was still afraid to go in, and I knew if I stopped to think about what I was doing… I hauled myself out of the car, and set off across the urban landscape of hot, rutted blacktop.
As I passed the dumpster, the reek almost made me throw up. At least the death-van was gone. In its place was a faux mini-pickup, the type farmers love to mock. The only other cars were nondescript beaters. Now, those were the kind of cars serial killers should drive. Despite the gruesome practicalities, vans were too obvious. And cliche.
What the hell am I thinking? Putting my mind on lock-down, I walked in. Cut-off shorts were no barrier to the fresh chill of the newly repaired air conditioning. A blind guy could read War and Peace from the goosebumps rising all over my body.
The place was empty. Reluctant to call hello, I sat at the bar. My saliva did its usual disappearing trick. I tried to relax by taking in some cleansing breaths. Worked just peachy, until I realized my reluctance to call out originated in the memory of searching for—and finding—Trinnie.
Just then, a guy walked through the storeroom door in the back. His happy-go-lucky face and amiable grin doused my fears like foam on a fire. The guy had a neon-yellow smiley face flashing across his white t-shirt, for crying out loud. The smiley had a black eye and the legend BRUISERS across the left boob. No self-respecting murderer would do such a thing.
Unless he was very clever.
“Hey! Hi there,” he said. His voice, though deep, came nowhere near the subterranean depths of Eli’s, but the eyes—the same gold-flecked hazel. The black hair matched, too, with the exception of a nearly perfect horseshoe bald spot exposing a shiny dome. The sparse growth exposed tiny, little ears that gave the impression of pointiness.
“Are you… related to Eli?”
He looked blankly at me for the briefest of moments before responding. “Oh, are you her? Snake said he met some flower girl with allergies or something. Wait, that’s not right… ” He paused, looking off into the middle distance. His gaze was so intense I glanced over my shoulder. He seemed disoriented.
In a moment, his little engine seemed to catch on the rail again and he resumed the conversation in the general vicinity of where he’d jumped track.
“Yeah, I’m his brother. My name is Manny, short for Emmanuel. Our dad gave us all ‘E’ names. Cute, huh? We didn’t think so, either. So, is your name Rose or something? Eli said it was like flowers, which is kind of ironic really.”
I thrust aside the unsettling notion that Eli had been speaking of me to anyone, much less this genial elf. “Why ironic?”
“Because of our dad.” Another derailment. He stood blinking gently at me.
“Your dad?” The teeny prompt brought a grin to his face. Perhaps he was used to people nudging him along.
“Sorry about that. I’m a little distractible. I’ve got that attention thing, but I’m not hyper. So anyway, dad, right? Um, yeah, he was a florist. Had his own business and everything. So that’s what I mean about the irony thing. Is it Lily?”
“Lily? No, it’s Violet. You can call me Letty.”
By now, I was feeling distracted as well. Maybe he wasn’t hyper, but then again, the way he jittered from foot to foot, spastically swiping a bar rag over random areas of the counter the whole time we chatted said otherwise. The very air surrounding him was supercharged into an invisible, vibrating energy field. He even trotted on the way down to the soda gun as if he had twenty other people to serve after handing over my drink. Not hyper. Right.
When he got back, he plunked my glass down and waved off my money. I smiled my thanks and asked if he had seen Reggie yet. He hadn’t, but he confirmed she usually showed up around 3:00 or so. Still had at least fifteen minutes.
A sudden crash made me hop in my seat. Manny’s frenetic wiping had knocked over the potato chip rack, spewing bags for several feet in every direction. I climbed down, repressing a therapist’s sigh, and began gathering them up.
“You don’t have to do that, Letty. I didn’t mean to put you to work or nothin’. I’m always knocking things over and stuff. Everyone calls me a klutz.”
“I have to pay for my pop somehow, don’t I? Anyway, I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“No problem. Eli told me to help you any way I could. What do you want to know?”
Again with the “Eli said” stuff.
“Did you know Trinnie? She’s in a picture on the bulletin board, sitting next to Reggie. In fact, she’s why I want to talk to Reggie.”
“Sure, I knew her. She started coming in a couple months after I got the place. Sure is a shame about what happened to her. Eli told me about that, too. She was real nice, but kind of quiet. I don’t think she made a lot of friends.”
The information about Trinnie was about what I had expected, but the news that this bumbling goof actually owned the place took me by surprise.
He beamed. “It’s all mine—lock, stock, and beer barrels. It was pretty bad when I first got it, but it’s turning around. Eli and EZ help out a lot, like with bartending and bouncing. We actually had to throw people out. I’m not real good with that, but both Eli and EZ can get kind of scary if they need to. Lainey bartends sometimes, too, and she and my wife, Bridget, help with the books and inventory, but the money end of it’s all me. They’re all just helping me get it up and running.”
“Who’s EZ? Another brother?”
“Yep. Ezekiel, only he won’t let us call him that. And Lainey is my sister, short for Elaine. All ‘E’ names, remember? Except I think Eli and EZ got the cool names. They both sound tough.”
“Women don’t care about tough,” I said, slightly uneasily. “They want someone nice.” Not passive, just nice.
He looked doubtful, but chose not to argue with a customer. At the sound of chimes, his glance jittered to the door. The woman from Trinnie’s photograph walked in looking as though she’d had a hard day for most of her life. The skin on her face was ultra-tan leather covered by foundation makeup that was a near miss. Her clothes were neat, however, and casually professional.
She sat two stools down, glancing at me disinterestedly, and said hello to Manny. He returned the greeting, and automatically poured her drink, Scotch on the rocks. A glance at the clock told me: 3:05. Right on time.
I waited politely until she had her first swallow. Voyeuristically, I watched her drink. A look of barely restrained ecstasy flowed over her face. I remembered it well. While it may have been her first drink of the day, I doubted it had been her first thought of it.
After a deep, rattling sigh, she set the glass down with a click of ice cubes. Like most serious drinkers, she also smoked. She reached down into her purse and brought out a pack of Winstons for her post-coital smoke.
Manny caught her eye and waggled a no-you-don’t finger. She sighed and stuffed the cigarettes back in her purse.
“Excuse me?” I said.
Besides Manny, we were the only two in the joint, but she glanced around as if to see who I could be talking to.
“You’re Reggie, right? I’m Letty. Snake, um,” I stuttered over his name, “told me I could find you here. I hope you don’t mind. I’m looking for information about my friend, Trinnie. You were in a picture with her on the bulletin board over there.”
“Yeah, so? I was in a picture. She’s dead, you know. Got herself murdered from what I hear.”
“I’m trying to understand what happened, but we sort of lost contact before she died.”
“Whatever it was, it made someone awful mad. Why do you think I can help you?”
“I understand you two used to come in about t
he same time. You hang around with someone, you talk. Even if it’s just about regular, everyday kind of stuff.”
She took a long swallow, apparently mulling that over. During the pause, I ran a quick internal status check: no cravings yet. Good. Actually, watching her helped, reminding me again of the dark side of addiction.
“You’re right,” she broke into my thoughts. “You can get to know someone just by hangin’ around them long enough. I’m not saying Trinnie and I were BFFs. But if she would have kept coming in, we would’ve known each other better.” Reggie waved Manny over for a refill. “So, what are you looking for?”
“How about where she used to party before coming here?” I said. “Did she ever mention that?”
Reggie looked up, to her left, remembering. “She talked a lot about Taz’s. You know, that place up on North Street? I think she got kicked out. I ain’t for sure, but somethin’ like that. Th’ only other bar we talked about was Interlude. That really fancy, high-class joint. She swore up and down that she used to go there. I figured she was lying. Fact is, she could have been telling the truth. It’s not like we all started at the bottom, you know what I mean?” She looked at me suddenly with hard-luck eyes. For a moment, I was afraid she could read my mind, would see my desire to put distance between who she was and who I was. Between her present, my past.
I cleared my throat. “So, she got kicked out of Taz’s? That makes sense. I’ve got reason to believe she used to hang out at a place that started with a ‘T’. Might be the same place.”
“I don’t know any other place. Any other questions?”
I ran through the list of names from Trinnie’s Fourth Step, but only one rang any bells with her—Big Dude. She’d heard people talk about a huge man working at a different bar, Red Hot.
“Doesn’t mean it’s the same guy,” she said. “It could be anyone.”
I knew the place—your basic meat market posing as a dance club. I filed the fact away for later.
I’d been so focused on the conversation, I’d failed to watch my backside. An ominous throat-clearing rumbled behind me. I turned slowly, no sudden moves, holding my hands in the universal “I surrender” gesture.
Whittaker 03 The Secrets We Keep Page 5
