His chest vibrated with the captivating energy and pulsing vibes of the twenty-piece jazz orchestra as they played a burning fast number, functioning as a finely-tuned rhythm machine. It was a gripping, explosive experience more than just a mountain of sound. It shocked him out of his quagmire.
He paused in the foyer, soaking in the glittering spectacle, gaze panning the lowered main floor. A minute later, the flighty tune ended on an exhilarating high note, blasting him like cannon fire.
Strolling up to the smiling hostess, he gave the young ginger a fairly disarming grin, catching some of that uplifting fire which pervaded this place.
“Good evening, sir,” she greeted amidst a rumbling outpour of applause. “Welcome to The Purple Gazelle. Would you like to sit at the bar or do you have a reservation?”
“Actually, I’m with the Greene party,” he answered politely.
“Yes, of course. Right this way.” She led him towards the left to the staircase cordoned off with the braided rope. Disengaging one end, she pulled it away so he could pass through. Just before he did, however, he caught sight of a dark-haired man in his early forties with a Slavic look about him staring hawkishly from a booth. Zach thought he detected malice, but he brushed off the notion. The only danger he’d be facing here was his family.
At the top, several tables in the curved balcony had been pushed together to allow the entire party room to sit. A length of privacy glass formed the left wall of the balcony, through which he assumed the club’s administration could see him.
The buzz of the family guests blended with the music in a cacophonous symphony that he wasn’t sure he liked. Zach heard his grandmother’s sonorous British inflection and located her near the middle of the table. He made his way towards her.
“Good Lord,” Abigail uttered when she saw six-foot-three of dashing towering before her. “Who are you and what on earth have you done with my grandson?”
Zach grinned as he bent forward to give her a kiss on her gently weathered cheek.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said, patting his smooth-shaven face – a rare thing indeed.
“Carrie threatened me,” he replied, a wry smile turning up one corner of his mouth as he crouched, resting on his haunches to talk to her better.
Abigail laughed merrily. “Good for her. It wouldn’t kill you to socialize every once in a while.”
He smirked. “I hate to contradict, but –” His gaze suddenly fixed onto the dominant instrument on stage, the grand piano. But more importantly, the girl seated at it. Granted, he was far away, but he could make her out clearly enough. The pianist from Ramone’s.
He studied her intently as much from shock as appreciation. A deep red halter gown outlined her sensual curves, leaving her slender shoulders and arms uncovered. Rich, mahogany hair cascaded in full-bodied waves down her back, moving with her as she attacked the keys with an innate vigor he hadn’t judged her to possess.
“Lovely, isn’t she?”
Zach blinked and glanced at his grandmother. “Who?”
“The girl at whom you’re staring so blatantly.” Abigail suppressed a pleasurable smile. “Shelley.”
His eyes darkened to a stormy blue as his thoughts ran the gamut. “You know her?”
Abigail arched her brow. “Of course I do.” She looked at him skeptically. “Don’t you recognize her?”
“Nnn” – he started shaking his head – “I don’t.”
“Don’t bother lying,” she chastised. “She’s James’ and Erik’s younger sister.”
She what?! He didn’t know what to say. Maybe he should just feign some police emergency and –
“Za-ach!” Carrie rang out, spotting him from a few chairs away.
“Duty calls,” Abigail crooned, a gleam lighting her countenance. “But I expect a full report later.” She gave her grandson another pat and sent him off.
Despite his apprehension, Zach went to greet Carrie who sat with her fiancé Jared and his parents, Bill and Barbara Greene. There was one vacant seat next to a petite blonde who looked at him and smiled flirtatiously. He cringed. But she bore slight resemblance to her older sister Melissa, the one he actually knew from years gone by.
Carrie stood to welcome him. Rising on tiptoe, she gave him a warm hug, speaking into his ear. “Oh, my God, Zach. You look amazing. Thank you so much.” Then, she pointed to the empty place next to the hungry tigress, as Zach was afraid she would, and instructed him to sit. “Have you met Ashleigh?”
“Uh, maybe. Long time ago.” Going against his nature, Zach greeted Ashleigh with uncanny charm as he took the designated seat.
“And I think you already know everyone else,” Carrie continued, settling herself next to her fiancé.
Jared reached around Carrie to grip Zach’s hand. “You clean up pretty good, man. Never would’ve recognized you.”
Zach gave him a perfunctory smile. “That’s the idea.”
Bill, the quintessential plastic surgeon, graciously extended a warm palm. “It’s been a long time, son.”
Zach forced a smile. “Yes, sir. It has.”
“Amazing how people can live in the same city and go for years without seeing each other,” Bill commented without hidden malice.
“Yeah. It’s – it’s tough,” Zach replied somewhat guiltily.
Barbara Greene, a lemon shark in lime waters, arched her brows coldly. “Isn’t it just.” She appraised him. “My, my but you’ve changed. Abigail,” she said across the table, “you didn’t tell me he’d turned into such a divine catch.”
Abigail beamed with pleasure and pride but countered, “Oh, don’t even go there, Barb. I’ve long since abandoned matchmaking with him. He’s committed to his job.”
“About that. Jared’s been keeping me up to date,” Bill said to Zach. “Heard you run into a lot of trouble.”
“Well, he doesn’t run from it,” Jared input. To his mom: “He comes in with something major every month or so. I can count on it like flu season. What was it this time?” He queried Zach. “A nine-mil or a three-fifty-seven?”
Zach grudgingly replied, “Point forty-five.”
“That’s right. A gaping hole. And it was this close to collapsing his left lung,” Jared said, demonstrating with his thumb and forefinger for the benefit of his dad.
Carrie backhanded her groom-to-be. “Stop being so disgusting.”
Ignoring her: “Plus, he had one in his shoulder. Had to get a specialist to put it back together. But check this.” He looked at Zach wryly. “How’s it feel now?”
Zach made a slight rolling motion with his previously injured joint and nodded. “Just fine.”
Jared shook his head. “See? Three weeks. He’s unbelievable.”
Barb reappraised Zach. “Is that so?”
The senior Dr. Greene frowned. “I hate to sound morbid, but aren’t you the least worried about dying?”
Zach’s face shadowed, and he felt his grandmother’s gaze on him. He refused to look her way.
“Okay, moving on,” Carrie said brightly. “I can’t believe Grandma lives right across from Ashleigh now.”
“Mm hm. And Shelley especially loves having her,” Ashleigh bubbled, tossing her sunshine curls and giving Zach a shimmery, lip gloss smile. “We’ve been there about two years. Did you know that?”
“You know we bought that place originally to rent it out,” Bill said, “but when Ashleigh decided to transfer to NYU, we thought let her stay there. And right around the same time, Shelley was looking for–”
“An asylum,” Barbara intoned.
Bill gave her a silencing look which could have wilted cactus – if only she was. “A place to stay in the city. Couldn’t have worked out better.” He directed a smile towards his daughter. “We essentially got a free chaperone for our baby.”
Ashleigh beamed. “Love you, Daddy,” she said with too much sugar and reached out to peck his cheek, still clutching her new iPhone.
Zach had to refrain from any e
ye-rolling.
Jared directed his attention to the stage and thereby the pianist. He pointed at Shelley. “I can’t believe she’s even playing again. You should have said something, Ash.”
“I didn’t remember it was here!” Ashleigh defended. “And anyway, she made me promise not to say anything. It’s only been like a couple weeks.”
Barb, who’d been watching Zach closely, said without altering her x-ray vision. “Just wait ‘til her mother finds out,” she crooned, swirling her cabernet. “Playing at a club and not telling her family. Or us. And we practically raised her.” She managed to harrumph in a most supercilious manner.
“Now honey,” Bill tempered. “Shelley’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions. Though I don’t know why she didn’t even tell me.” To Zach, he said by way of explanation: “She’s my goddaughter, you know.”
Great. Zach felt his face grow hot. Barb continued to strip his soul, one tormented layer at a time.
“So Jared,” Carrie said, looking to Zach, “I wanna hear some more high school stories about you guys.”
Zach grimaced. “No, no, no. Let’s not bring that up, please.”
“Sorry man. I have to. Carter, James, Brad, and I were all in the same class with Zach,” Jared began, grinning. “Erik was a year behind but always tagging along.”
Zach looked beseechingly at his grandmother.
“This is good for you, dear.” Abigail said it with a light tease to her voice.
“I’d like to say we were all popular studs, but truthfully we were a ragtag bunch,” Jared continued. “Carter and James were all about debate teams and crap. Brad was a baseball fanatic. I was the science geek.”
Zach frowned. “By science you mean social sciences because you only slept with –”
“Baaaa! This isn’t about me!” Jared shot back with a grin.
“No, I wanna hear,” Carrie said, brows riding high. “Tell me more about social sciences, Zach.”
“He told every hot girl that he came from a long line of respected surgeons –”
“Which is true!” Jared interjected.
“– which naturally made their clothes just fall–”
“Oh okay! You wanna tell stories?” Jared adjusted himself, elbows on the table. “Let’s dust off the history, shall we? Zach here was the only one who didn’t really fit our motley crew. Star QB dating the head cheerleader who inevitably couldn’t take his infectious personality and cheated on our boy with a fullback who got her pregnant!”
Carrie and Ashleigh gushed over this while Barb tilted her head urbanely.
“How come you never told me that?” Carrie said.
“Why?” Zach returned. “The whole school knew anyway. And –”
“And your parents were getting divorced,” Jared finished. But the table grew quiet, yielding to the pervasive music. He sobered. “Sorry, man.”
Zach forced an ‘it’s okay’ smile, dropping his gaze.
Abigail intervened. “Let’s change topics. Carrie, are you all set for the wedding?”
“Yes. Let’s talk about that,” Barb said, delving in with gritty enthusiasm. “Do you know Shelley’s not going?”
Carrie’s countenance fell. “What? Why?” She looked to Jared questioningly. “She has to be there.” And then to her grandmother. “Make her go. Does she have a date? Zach can take her.”
The detective grimaced. “Uh, no, I can’t.”
“Well, if you do,” Barb said, “I suggest you watch out. She’s a bit of a black widow.”
Zach narrowed his eyes.
Bill shook his head in disapproval. “Dear, that implies she’s killed every man she’s been with.”
“Hasn’t she?”
“But what about Carter?” Ashleigh piped up, texting studiously. “He’s still around… sort of.”
Dismissing her, Jared shook his head. “Give me a break, Ash. He was just her dad’s pick.”
As Zach puzzled over this, the band wrapped up the set and applause exploded. The MC announced a fifteen-minute intermission before their final set of the night.
The inebriated laughter of a table of rich males finding some great joke at everything rattled the air, fluttering the chandelier. From his seat, Zach watched as one of those Schnapped-up penguins rose unsteadily from his chair and skated over the glassy marble to the stage. The tux-clad fool flagged Shelley over with a healthy tip in his hand.
“Hey, check it out. That guy’s putting the moves on Shell,” Ashleigh joked.
“Zach, why don’t you go rescue her?” Carrie cajoled, eyes glittering in the mood light. “It’ll be so romantic. And oh! If you guys get married, our kids will be cousins!” She squealed. Like a little pig.
Bill’s brows rose, Barb’s lips gave a slight quirk of amusement, and Zach flung her a look, thinking she’d skipped one too many steps. He reached across the table to take away her wine glass. “I think you’ve had enough.”
Jared squelched a chuckle at his fiancée’s disgruntled reaction.
Carrie narrowed her eyes. “Go get her, Zach.”
“Dear, she doesn’t even know we’re here. I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Abigail put in carefully.
“I agree,” Bill added. “She might think we’re ganging up on her.”
But Barbara shut him up with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned to Zach and gave him a brittle smile. “And since you’re the only single male here…”
Zach met her glacial stare with an unruffled look of his own. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
14
“We’re just saying, Shelley, you need to use all your God-given talents,” the drummer quipped.
“Seriously,” the lead tenor saxophonist plugged. “Do you know how much more money I could make if I had your body and could fit into that dress?” His gaze flicked over Shelley’s nicely-packaged figure pointedly as he unhooked his Selmer Mark VI from his neck strap.
“Oh, my God.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which only exacerbated some of her musical assets, and gave both a haughty look. “I don’t want to be some guy’s private pianist.”
“But he’s loaded, baby,” Jean Laurent wailed, rubbing rosin on the horsehairs of his long bow. “You could be on a yacht in the Caribbean, sipping on daiquiris, mais no. Je sais!” He grinned. “Vous attendez l’amour parfait.”
“Oh please. I am not waiting for perfect love,” Shelley retorted.
“Yeah ya are.” The drummer unscrewed the wing nut from a cymbal. “And you can’t tell because you’re too high up on your goddamn horse.” He took the freed cymbal and blew a kiss to Shelley before exchanging it for one with a wetter sound.
Shelley opened her mouth to reply, but from behind her, a deep, smooth voice stole her words. Her arms prickled before she even turned.
“I don’t mean to interrupt.”
The rhythm section and tenor man regarded the speaker: a height-endowed, obviously well-built man in a tantalizing tux who stood in the exact spot her recent admirer had just vacated. A collective gleam crossed all their faces; so much so, she had to look behind her.
“Hi,” Shelley greeted at first, thinking him to be just another handsome guest. But then she recognized the fiery blue eyes, obstinate cleft chin, and dark hair. And her orbs rounded in surprise and dismay.
“Do you have a minute?” he asked, suavely, staring straight at her.
All her composure fell away. Was she somehow dreaming? Was this really the same guy from Ramone’s? The cop. And why was he looking at her that way? Why was he looking like that at all? GQ-perfect. She could smell his evergreen musk from here – dangerous, intoxicating.
Jean appraised the stranger and smiled with his usual brilliance. “Oui, monsieur. She totally does.” Extending his bow like a rapier, he encouraging the speechless dame to take the plunge, having sought a way to repay Shelley for getting him this top-line gig.
The tip of Jean’s bow brought her out of her nervous, desperate t
rance to find that recognizable hand proffered to her. Her heart galloped.
The cop gave her a dashing smile which flummoxed her further. Tentatively, she grasped his rough palm, experiencing an unexpected tingle. She took the steps one at a time. But distraught, she failed to pay attention. Her heel caught on the train of her crimson gown. She fell overboard.
But just in time, he caught her around the waist. Heat rippled all over her as she stared into his cerulean gaze. “Sorry,” she breathed.
“Have fun, Shelley,” the musicians taunted. She was too anxious to acknowledge them, but her escort tossed them a grin which was surely worth a hefty tip. As soon as he looked her way again, she dropped her gaze to the gold-sprinkled marble, unsure of what to do.
His hand contacted the small of her back; it burned her terribly, making it difficult to think. Walking in a cloud, she was unaware of the way the lingering patrons looked at her and the desirable male who drew her along.
“So what happened to Ramone’s?” he asked as he promenaded her at a casual pace through the occupied tables and booths.
She nearly answered but then activity in the balcony above caught her eyes, and she sighted the faces of Jared, Dr. Greene, and Barb. People she’d known all her life. “Shelley!” they all called embarrassingly, waving like fans. They might as well have been I-heart-Shelley shirts.
Shelley stopped in her tracks. “Oh God,” she breathed. “What are they doing here?”
He pressed his hand further into her spine, pushing her along again. “They sent me to bring you up.”
Indignation worked like a charm and cured her of his unnerving affects. “What? They sent a cop?”
“It’s okay. I didn’t remember you either.”
“What does that–” She glanced at him and her eyes widened with sudden realization. “Oh God. You’re–”
“Arianna’s brother.”
She gasped. Agitated, she quickened her pace and broke his contact with her back. Reaching the steps to the foyer first, she hiked up her dress and hurried up them towards the main entrance.
Crime & Counterpoint Page 7
