A Whole Latte Murder

by Caroline Fardig

  I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

  “Now go convince someone you’re a hooker.”

  “If only my parents knew what I was doing. They’d be so proud,” I said sarcastically as I got out of Pete’s car.

  I wobbled down the street, trying to get used to my too-high heels. The door to the Genesis Building was open, and I let myself in. Wow. The entry was impressive—it looked like someone’s home, with a gleaming marble floor and a sparkling chandelier. The only thing making this place look like an office building was the nameplate on each closed door. From glancing down the two hallways on either side of the stairs, I spotted the lawyer’s office, Jack’s office, and the STD testing clinic, plus a door that simply read Genesis. Pete had told me the escort office was on the second floor, so I climbed the stairs, wincing as my ridiculous shoes had already begun to pinch my feet.

  After passing the bail bondsman’s office and the talent agency, I stopped at the door to the escort office and took another breath. What was the worst that could happen? I’d be accused of lying? I’d be caught snooping? Considering their questionable line of business, I highly doubted the escort service would rush to call the cops on me.

  Putting on a confident face, I pushed open the door. Odd. It didn’t feel skeevy in here. It rather reminded me of a medical office—a small reception area with a couple of chairs, a bubbling fish tank, and stacks of magazines. The receptionist’s desk was empty, so I called down the little hallway, “Hello?”

  The door at the end of the hall opened, and a short, round, middle-aged lady came waddling out to meet me. “Well, hello, darlin’. You must be Lana,” she drawled, her voice sweet and thick with a Southern accent. Sticking out a pudgy hand to me, she said, “I’m Linda Sue Bass. Come on in, and we’ll get acquainted.”

  Linda Sue led the way down the short hall to her office, which might as well have been my grandmother’s living room. Hideous flowered chairs, check. Crocheted doilies on every flat surface, check. Fifty-two thriving houseplants, check. She sat down behind her desk and offered me a seat in one of the ugly chairs facing it.

  “My, your hair is a lovely shade of red, Lana,” she said.

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  She patted her own hair. “We redheads have to stick together, don’t we? Men want us, and women want to be us.”

  My smile froze on my face. Linda Sue’s “red” hair wasn’t a color that existed in nature. She looked like a sheep who’d been attacked with a can of bright orange spray paint. I didn’t know how to respond. Luckily, she kept right on talking.

  “So, Lana, did you grow up in Nashville?” she asked.

  Shit. I didn’t take the time to glance over my “résumé,” so I didn’t know much about my hooker self. I absently flipped open the folder and found I’d graduated from Stoner Bluff High School in Indiana. Good grief. Could Pete have been more ridiculous?

  “No, I grew up in Indiana.” I flicked my eyes back to the résumé. Yes, it seemed Pete had indeed succeeded in being more ridiculous. My work history included part-time jobs at Hooters, Victoria’s Secret, and a “massage spa” off I-75 in Georgia. I was going to kill him later.

  “I hear it’s lovely there. Lana, why do you want to work here at Exquisite Escorts?”

  I chuckled nervously. “Where to begin? I’ve, uh…heard such good things about this agency. And I, um…love to go out on the town and have fun. And of course I like…men….”

  Linda Sue trilled a laugh. “Oh, honey. Don’t we all?” She blushed a bit and straightened the lace collar of her floral print tent of a dress. “May I see your résumé?”

  Inwardly groaning, I handed it over.

  She perused it for a moment and came up all smiles. “Oh, you’re studying to be a doctor. How wonderful. Smart and beautiful—that’s exactly what we’re looking for here at Exquisite!”

  Linda Sue was most certainly not who I’d expected to conduct my hooker interview. Somehow I pictured a slimy little man who was going to insist he needed to personally check out my merchandise or take me for a test-drive. This was cake.

  “You’re too kind, Linda Sue,” I said warmly.

  She tittered and placed her hands on the desk in front of her. “Well, I think you’re a great fit, Lana. I’ll get your training scheduled and give you a personnel form to fill out. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  I tensed. This sounded like the end of my interview. Pete hadn’t come in yet, so I had to keep her talking.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “Um…I…was wondering if you…offer any…um…any ways to make extra money? Other than just…escorting?”

  “Oh, that would be illegal,” Linda Sue said primly. Then she winked at me. “However, we give our escorts a rating based on the number and scope of ‘additional services’ they provide, so if our clients are in the market for a more full-service experience, they can choose their escort accordingly.”

  My eye twitched when she uttered the words “full-service experience.” I shifted in my chair. “I understand.”

  She continued, “The fees for additional services are paid directly to you. Exquisite Escorts disavows any knowledge of such transactions and never takes a cut.”

  I nodded slowly. “So you make no money on the, uh, additional services?”

  “Well, I didn’t say that. The higher the rating, the higher the price for the escort,” she said, smiling. “The man who called me to set up your appointment was your…handler, correct?”

  Handler? Was that code for pimp? I went with it. “Um, yes.”

  “It’s all right that you have a handler, but understand that any cut he takes would come out of your own profits.”

  “That sounds…fair.”

  Clapping her hands together, Linda Sue said, “Excellent. Now for the fun part—let’s get started on your rating.” She picked up a clipboard and a pen. “Now, rest assured, this in no way affects your interview. This is purely for information purposes only. And remember, it’s not required, so it’s legal…at least on our end.”

  “Okay,” I said uneasily.

  “Lana, I’m going to read a list of the commonly offered additional services, and I’d like you to tell me if you are or are not interested in providing these services. Just give me a yes or a no.”

  My mouth was suddenly dry. “Sure.”

  “Vaginal sex.”

  My stomach lurched. Where was Pete? I didn’t think I could go through a whole list of this.

  “Y-y-yes.”

  “Oral sex.”

  I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

  “Anal sex.”

  The fact that these words were coming out of kindly Linda Sue’s mouth was nearly more than I could handle. I almost wished she’d been a slimy little man instead. This was like talking about sex with your favorite aunt.

  I choked out, “I’m going to have to say no on that one.”

  “Bondage.”

  I reminded myself this was only a fake interview and swallowed the lump of bile creeping up my throat. “Sure, why not?”

  “S and M.”

  I smiled shakily. “Love it.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, goody. Are you a dominant or a submissive? Or a switch?”

  I didn’t even begin to know how to answer that question. I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped up, saying, “Okay, I can’t do—”

  A knock at the door interrupted me before I could spill my guts to sweet but kinky Linda Sue. She lumbered out of her chair and over to the door. Pete was standing outside. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and sent him a death glare over Linda Sue’s shoulder.

  She cooed, “Oh, you must be Mr. Sheen. I’m just finishing up this interview, sir. I’ll be with you in a moment. Please have a seat in the conference room next door. There are some books on the table with headshots of our escorts. Take a look through and see if anyone tickles your fancy.”

  “I’ll do that.” Pete peeked ar
ound Linda Sue to leer at me. “Wow. I think I’ve already found someone here who tickles my fancy.”

  It took every ounce of my strength not to fly out of the chair and beat the hell out of my best friend.

  Linda Sue giggled. “I don’t doubt that, but she hasn’t been trained yet. She’ll be available soon, though.”

  Winking at me, Pete said, “She sure doesn’t look like she needs much training.”

  Behind Linda Sue’s back, I flipped Pete off, using both hands for emphasis. He winked at me one more time before allowing her to usher him into the next room. She came back immediately, still as happy-go-lucky as ever. I would have expected a glorified madam to be more jaded instead of the type who could easily have fit in as a character on The Brady Bunch.

  She plucked a piece of paper from a tray on her desk. “I’ll just have you fill out a personnel form while I’m helping Mr. Sheen.” She clipped the paper to another clipboard and handed it to me. “Don’t forget to list two references.”

  “References? What, like…former boyfriends?” I asked. Wouldn’t Ryder love to get that call? I could just see the steam that would undoubtedly come out of his ears as Linda Sue quizzed him about his degree of satisfaction regarding my sexual skills.

  “No, silly. Your former employers. I want to know about your work ethic, not your sex life.” She giggled.

  Well, thank goodness for that.

  She bustled out, leaving me alone in her office. Score! I immediately hopped out of my chair and locked the office door, figuring if caught I could come up with a better explanation as to why I locked the door than that I was snooping through her desk. I began riffling through papers and files on top of her desk but didn’t find Kira’s name anywhere. I quietly opened all of her desk drawers, but none of them held files. There were, however, even more doilies, a photo of Linda Sue with an enormous calico cat, several half-eaten bags of cookies, and box after box of condoms. At least Exquisite Escorts valued safe sex—“safe” being used loosely since we were talking about prostitution here.

  I thought back to Kira’s injuries—her wounded wrists and whatever kind of pain made it difficult for her to get in and out of a chair. They could have been a by-product of particularly rough sex, especially if bondage was thrown into the mix. I shuddered at the thought of Kira having to go through anything like that. If she would just talk to us, we could help her put a stop to all of her problems.

  I jiggled the mouse to get the monitor to turn on, but, unfortunately, Linda Sue’s computer was locked. I tried “doilies” and “cats” as passwords, but with no luck. For fun, I even tried “S&M” and “switch,” whatever the hell that was, but those didn’t work, either. I went over to the file cabinets. Linda Sue had an efficient filing system, so it took me very little time to find absolutely nothing on Kira. She could have used another name, but I didn’t have a clue how to guess what that might have been. Figuring I had an extra few seconds to spare, on a hunch I looked for files on Chelsea Stone and Amelia Zhou. And again, nothing. This was beginning to feel like a waste of time.

  Dejected, I let myself out and headed down the hall toward the reception area. I tried the computer at the front desk, but it was shut down. I heard shuffling in the next room, so I assumed Pete and Linda Sue were finished and about to come out. I removed my uncomfortable shoes and ran full speed out the door, down the stairs, out the main door, and into the cool night air. I didn’t stop running until I reached Pete’s car.

  Chapter 22

  I stood outside in the cold with nothing but my thin shawl for warmth for a good five minutes before spying Pete sauntering down the sidewalk toward me. When he got closer, he whistled a catcall and said, “Hey, foxy lady! I’m in the market for an exquisite escort. Know of anyone who can help me?”

  I marched up to him and slugged him in his good arm.

  “Ow! What was that for?” he complained, pouting.

  “Where do I start? My idiotic name? Stoner Bluff High School? Hooters? A ‘truckers welcome’ massage spa down South? It was a damn good thing Linda Sue was such a sweet, clueless lady, or the interview would have been over before it even started. And calling yourself Mr. Sheen was just stupid. I hope you didn’t tell her your first name was Charlie. You were asking to get caught!”

  Pete started laughing before I was even halfway through my rant. “Aw, come on, Jules. Bottom line—we didn’t get caught.” He put his arm around me. “You’re becoming way too serious in your old age. And don’t even try to tell me you didn’t think it was funny that I put on your résumé that you’d worked at a rub-n-tug. You know you did.”

  “Well, maybe a little,” I conceded, smiling.

  “Since we’re all dressed up, why don’t I take you out to dinner? I’ll take you someplace nice. Anywhere you want to go.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Anywhere?”

  —

  “When I said ‘anywhere,’ I didn’t mean…here,” Pete complained as we walked down the dark alley toward our destination. He scooted closer to me and put his arm around my waist.

  “Butch up, Pete. It’s not that scary. Besides, no one will go here with me, so I haven’t been in forever. Ryder says the place is a drug front, and apparently it’s too ‘dirty’ for Stan.”

  “For once, I agree with both of those chumps.”

  “But you have to admit it’s the best steak in town. And the babka is to die for.”

  “Yeah, literally. But is it really worth it? I feel like we’re gonna get shanked out here.”

  I laughed. “We’re in Nashville. How dangerous can it really be?”

  “A girl was murdered a few doors down from you.”

  “Touché.”

  We arrived at the entrance to Babka, a Ukrainian restaurant located downtown that admittedly wasn’t your typical five-star dining experience. It was every bit as pricey and delicious, but the atmosphere was more like a basement dive bar. You even had to walk down some filthy, rickety stairs to get there. The only signage was a small, poorly hand-lettered board hanging over the door and an odd plastic light-up bunny perched on the awning.

  Still griping, Pete said, “I don’t get the bunny. It’s an Easter decoration, and they leave it out all year. It’s weird.”

  Word was that when they were open for illegal business dealings, the worn yard ornament would be turned on. It wasn’t on tonight, so I figured we were safe enough. And since Pete didn’t seem to know about the signal, I wasn’t going to clue him in.

  “Babka is a bread that’s generally made at Easter. It’s cute.”

  He opened the door for me. “It’s still weird. And so was your Ukrainian roommate who turned you on to this place.”

  “Shh! Be nice. Her uncle is the owner. He might hear you,” I hissed, adding, “I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t part of the old Soviet mob, so don’t piss him off. He might slip you a mickey.”

  “Not funny, Jules.”

  The place was busy, as it always was, but we didn’t have to wait long before we were shown to a table. Besides the food, the one thing Babka did nicely was the table service. They always had linens on the tables and fancy, albeit mismatched, china, crystal, and flatware. To me, it was part of the charm.

  After we ordered, Pete said, “I’m sorry tonight was such a bust. I went through every headshot Madam Carrot Top had, and none of them was Kira.”

  I smiled. “Yes, I’m sure it was a real hardship for you to look at photo after photo of beautiful women.”

  He puffed out his chest. “You know me—always ready to take one for the team.” His face fell. “But actually, it was kinda sad. She had the girls organized by hair and skin color. You told her what type of physical traits you were looking for, and she’d provide a dozen girls to choose from. It was like…buying a person out of a catalog. It made me feel dirty.”

  I put my hand over his. “You’re such a sweetheart. But, hey, at least you didn’t have to talk to Linda Sue about exactly how far you’d go for a buck. You think you feel
dirty.” I shuddered. “Did you know they rate their girls on the number of additional services they’re willing to offer under the table?”

  “So that’s what the rating was for. Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow.”

  “So if we assume Kira wasn’t in the Genesis Building to peddle her flesh, then why was she there?”

  I shrugged. “STD testing? Trying to land a talent agent? Looking to bust someone out of jail?”

  Pete shook his head. “Nah, I think it has something to do with Jack.”

  “Is your Spidey sense tingling?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, we can’t exactly pull the same type of scam at Jack’s office. He knows us, and more importantly, probably now hates us.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Right. I’ll have to come up with another plan.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  “Hey, let’s nix the murder talk for now.” He looked around. “You know, it’s not as bad as I remembered in here. I say we relax and have fun.”

  Smiling, I replied, “That sounds great to me.”

  —

  Pete and I talked and laughed all through dinner, garnering several disdainful looks from other customers in the semi-quiet restaurant. After out-of-this-world steaks and babka, we left and headed home.

  When he pulled up to my apartment, he said, “I’ll walk you up.”

  “What a gentleman,” I teased, linking my arm through his as we went up the stairs.

  “I know a thing or two about how to treat the ladies.”

  I chuckled as we arrived at my door. I rubbed my cheeks. “Ow. My face hurts from laughing so much tonight.”

  “Mine, too. Thanks for allowing me to escort you to dinner tonight. You were an exquisite date.”

  I made a face at him. “Oh, screw you.”

  “Are you trying to tell me your additional services are on the table, Lana?”

  As I snapped my head up to glare at him, my bangs fell into my eyes. “You are a horrible human being.”

  Pete gently brushed the hair away from my forehead. “Seriously, though, I had a great time with you tonight.” He let his fingers caress my cheek as he dropped his hand back down to his side.