Delilah: A Ronnie Lake Cold Case (An Accidental Lady Detective, A Private Investigator Crime Series Short Story Book 2)

by Niki Danforth

  “Got it.” Richie goes out to the kitchen to place the order. He comes back and gestures to one of his guys to take over the bar.

  “How were they as a couple, Doreen and Kenny?” I ask.

  “Hey, I’ve known him almost fifty years.” The bartender hesitates. “I hate to say it, but he was always mean to his women.”

  “How mean?”

  “He’d scream and holler a lot. Really controlling, but I don’t think he actually ever beat up a woman.”

  A guy with a dark crew-cut, tight blue jeans, and a black tee-shirt jumps up on the stage and launches into his version of 5 Seconds of Summer’s “She Looks So Perfect.” One of his friends joins him, and the two try to get their dance moves synced. They’re obviously having fun, and the crowd likes them.

  As they wind down, a small group of young professionals—they look like Jersey City financial types—push a lovely mocha-skinned twenty-something toward the stage. She finally removes her suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of her crisp white shirt. She tosses her friends a smile as she saunters onto the stage.

  The first bars of the sax and guitar are immediately recognizable as she sings “What you are…” and wails Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” Her voice is amazing.

  The short order cook delivers my burger and a sandwich for Richie. He digs into his BLT and says, “I never understood why Doreen stayed with Kenny so long. She was beautiful, smart, had a lot going for her.”

  “Kenny said his wives all ‘got away.’ Maybe Doreen couldn’t.” I take a bite of the burger and drink my beer.

  The music starts up again, an old Tom Jones song. Richie raises his voice over the music. “Kenny didn’t do it. The police checked him out, and they found nothing.”

  The karaoke volume goes way up as the performer behind us wails “Deee-li-lah,” followed by the rest of the chorus.

  I turn around, and that guy Ted is on the stage. He’s changed into a tight white shirt that’s open to a deep V and even tighter bellbottom trousers that emphasize his unappealing scrawniness. An assortment of gold chains hangs around his neck. It’s his sad attempt at replicating what Tom Jones wore on stage decades ago.

  It’s amazing how the crowd is singing along as he croons into the microphone. “He’s really working the room,” I say, shocked. I look back at Richie, and he chuckles.

  “He sings that song every night.”

  The next patron hops up on the stage and starts his version of the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” Cavanaugh’s customers quickly crowd the small dance floor.

  Richie spends the next forty-five minutes telling me about other customers in his tavern who were around at the time Doreen was murdered.

  “See that guy? Over there?” He points toward a booth near the kitchen. “That’s Joey Alberti. He knew Doreen, had a thing for her, too. Back in the day, he used to manage the health club where she worked out. Now he has a sporting goods store.” The guy’s at least fifty pounds overweight with a shaggy haircut. His brown hair looks like the early mop-tops on The Dave Clark Five.

  Joey clinks glasses with a woman sitting across from him. “That’s his wife,” Richie says. “They come here a lot for their date night.”

  Joey does look pretty normal, but who knows about back then. I make a mental note to check him out later.

  The bartender’s stories continue along with the karaoke. Finally, around midnight, Ted shuts down the equipment. People pay their tabs, and I do the same.

  “Thanks for all the info, Richie, and the burger.”

  “Any time.”

  ~~~~~

  I put the key in the Mustang’s ignition just as Ted exits the bar and gets into his car. He’s silhouetted against the light from the Cavanaugh’s sign. I watch him squirm as he changes back into his sweatshirt, jeans, and a jacket. It must be freezing in his car.

  Ted peels off the gold chains and throws them on the seat until he gets to the last one. He takes it off, kisses the end of its chain, and hangs it on the front mirror. He stares at it for a moment then touches it. I reach into a tote bag on the floor and feel for my small binoculars.

  I’m too late. I focus the binoculars on his car just as Ted leaves. Oh hell, he’s weird, and now he’s got me curious. I take only a moment to decide to follow. We drive for fifteen minutes then stop at a grocery store. While Ted’s inside, I walk over to his car, which fortunately sits in a dark part of the lot. I watch for any sign of him through the front window of the supermarket. When he heads down an aisle toward the back, I lean in for a good look at the chain hanging from his car’s mirror.

  It’s too dark for me to see what it is that’s dangling from the mirror. The windshield is filthy. All the other windows are dirty, too. I don’t dare turn on my flashlight. I reach into my pocket for my phone and quickly snap a few pictures.

  I glance at the big window. No sign of Ted yet, so I walk back to my car in time to see him paying at the front of the store.

  I continue tailing him as he drives away—I’m definitely in my dog-with-a-bone mode. Will would be super-pissed at me. He approved the interviews, but not surveillance.

  Finally, Ted pulls into a small, dumpy-looking apartment building. He locks his car and goes inside.

  My first inclination is to jump out and try to go inside, too, but Will’s words come back to me. You are not to set foot out of the office on this case until you’ve cleared everything with me. I think back to last summer, how I was guilty of rushing in before thinking. I like to think I’m capable of learning from my past mistakes, so I resist the urge.

  I look up at the apartment building and see a light click on in a third-floor unit. It’s got to be Ted’s.

  I check the pictures I snapped of the mysterious object on the chain. I try to zoom in and focus, but I can’t make out what it is. These are useless.

  I think about grabbing a few more pictures but his car is again parked in the dark, this time in the lot next to his building. Besides, if I don’t get out of here, the boss will fire me for sure.

  ~~~~~

  It’s after midnight, and I’m in my bedroom with a glass of wine and my computer in my lap, swaying to the music and singing along with a YouTube video of Dusty Springfield’s “I Only Want To Be With You.” As she sings about never wanting to let go, I try to put myself inside the mind of Doreen’s attacker. But I’m tired, and my imagination shuts down.

  I click over to “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” Every now and then my adorable Warrior joins Nancy Sinatra with a howl. I give him a kiss on top of his head, jump up, and copy all of Nancy’s old dance moves.

  Finally, I drop back onto my chaise with a second glass of red. Something grates at me, something way back in the depths of my mind that I can’t quite get a fix on. What is it? I shrug and look up old Tom Jones hits. I sing along here and there while Warrior, head between his paws, stares at me with his dark eyes.

  I cycle through the greats: “It’s Not Unusual,” “She’s A Lady,” and “I Who Have Nothing.” He was definitely an amazing crooner with a lot of sex appeal. His wardrobe emphasizes his studliness—the very tight pants, the shirt opened almost to his waist showing a chain with a huge gold cross. He’s not my type, but I get why women went for him.

  I can barely keep my eyes open, but I find a video link in the sidebar for “Delilah,” and I click on it. It’s from a 1968 performance where Jones is dressed in black tie. He’s young and handsome, and wow, can he sing. I drift off just as he belts out the line “…I felt the knife in my hand.”

  ~~~~~

  I’m in a cold, dark room surrounded by endless shelves that tower over me, overflowing with files and boxes, caging me in. A Tom Jones song reverberates eerily through a sound system, the voice garbled as it plays in slow motion. Where the hell am I?

  With my flashlight, I look at a thick file on my lap, and the music changes to Dusty Springfield’s voice floating dreamily among the shelves. I frantically flip through the file, searching for somethin
g. Exactly what it is I don’t know, but I’m sure I have to find it to get the answer. The answer to what? It’s hard to concentrate with these strange songs coming at me…

  The music changes again, now to “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” A cold breeze hits me from above and I shine my light on a ceiling fan, turning slowly. A gold chain hangs from its center, teasing me. I stand on my chair to get a closer look, but the ceiling raises higher and higher, pulling the chain further and further away as the blades rotate.

  I go back to searching the files. What is it that I have to find?

  I bolt upright on the chaise, shake my head groggily, and glance at my clock. 4:45am. How many bizarre dreams will it take to teach me not to drink red wine right before I fall asleep?

  I feel a sudden sinking sensation in my stomach. I know what I was looking for in my dream.

  I grab my phone and flip through the pictures of documents from the police station until I locate it. I zoom in, and there it is.

  ~~~~~

  Will is pissed at me for following Ted without checking in with him first. He grumbles over his coffee at the diner and lectures me about safety. I’ve heard it all before, but I deserve it. When I try to tell him that I think I may have solved the case, his sarcastic laugh cuts me off. To be fair, an entire police department couldn’t solve this murder.

  Our breakfast arrives and I tell him about Ted and Doreen, that they’d known each other since high school and later worked at the same school. Next, I click to the document I was searching for in my strange dream.

  “The victim’s death certificate? So what?” Will sips his coffee.

  “It shows her full name.”

  “Yeah?”

  “See? Doreen Evelyn Lyla. Or, D. E. Lyla. See, if you say it a certain way, it sounds like Deee-lilah. That’s the way Ted pronounces it when he sings ‘Delilah’ every night at Cavanaugh’s. Anyone else would say duh-lilah, but not Ted. Plus, have you ever listened to the lyrics?” I don’t give him time to answer. “It’s basically the story of Doreen’s murder.” I switch over to the lyrics from a website to show him the song. “Look.”

  “Ronnie—” Will shakes his head.

  “I know you think it’s a reach. I did, too.”

  “How’d you come up with this far-fetched theory?” Will rolls his eyes.

  “Do not eye-roll me, Will Benson. You know I’m a music fanatic, especially classic rock. The music tipped me off.”

  “What are you talking about?” He looks at me like I’m nuts.

  “First, I visited Doreen’s old house to get a better feel for the case. While I was there, the radio played Dusty Springfield’s ‘I Only Want To Be With You.’ I wondered about the killer’s mindset. You know, that it wasn’t a stranger, because there was so much violence. Passion, you called it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Next, I read Doreen’s journal, the part where her brother gave her a little silver boots charm for her bracelet because she loved that Nancy Sinatra song. FYI, that charm is missing from the bracelet in evidence. Maybe that part’s not important—”

  “Go on.”

  “Then I got a tip from Doreen’s old boyfriend to drop by Cavanaugh’s to learn more about the people who were in her life. The owner knows everybody.” I watch Will for some kind of reaction.

  “I’m listening.”

  “And weird Ted got up to sing ‘Delilah.’ And then it clicked for me.”

  Will doesn’t say anything, he just stares at his coffee.

  “It’s hard to prove he’s the one, but I just know it for some reason,” I say. “He’ll be at Cavanaugh’s tonight, and we should go.”

  “Slow down, Ronnie,” Will says. “You’ve got my attention. Let’s figure out a plan for tonight. And you’re going to stick with the script. Understood?”

  “Yes.” Chastened but grateful that Will wants me to finish the case with him, I drink the last of my coffee.

  His next comment throws me for a loop. “But we’re gonna have to shock the guy into confessing.”

  ~~~~~

  Will and I arrive at Cavanaugh’s and slip in quietly to sit at a table near the bar. A young flame-haired woman cradles the mic in her hands and sings Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” while some of the customers dance. Ted hovers around the equipment with another unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  Richie waves and comes over, and I introduce Will. We order beer and burgers. As I take off my coat, both Richie and Will notice my outfit.

  “Hey, are you planning to take your turn up there?” Richie smiles and gestures toward the stage.

  “No. Why?” I ask. I notice them both checking out my dress. “Oh, you mean my outfit? No, I just love vintage!”

  Will shakes his head and mumbles, “Oh, my god.” He runs his fingers through his light brown hair.

  I smooth my dress, which is very similar to the one Doreen wore when she was murdered. “I just saved a few of my favorite outfits, that’s all. Everyone had a dress like this back then.”

  “Ronnie, I know you.” Will isn’t buying my explanation. “Remember the plan? Now it looks like you’re changing it. If you rush him, spook him, you could blow our only chance.”

  “Hey, you said to shock him—”

  He cuts me off. “I meant ‘we,’ not ‘you.’ What else have you got up that flapping sleeve of yours?”

  “You’ll see.” I bat my heavily mascaraed false eyelashes. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m blond and Doreen was blond, and if I happen to remind him of her—”

  “Am I going to regret this?”

  “Maybe.” I smile. “But I hope not.”

  A waitress serves our beer and then later the burgers. Will digs into his fries with a scowl, and we settle back to watch the singing.

  Half an hour later as a forty-something guy wraps up a Bruce Springsteen number, Ted steps out of the back. Just like the night before, he’s changed from his old sweatshirt to his Tom Jones outfit. I nudge Will. “Check out all the chains. How many do you count?”

  Will looks for a moment. “A half dozen?”

  “At least.” The opening bars of “Delilah” come through the speakers. “That’s my cue.”

  “Your cue for what?” Will looks concerned. “Ronnie—”

  “It’s all cool,” I say. “Besides, I know you’ve got my back.”

  I make it up to the dance floor by the time Ted sings “…flickering shadows of love on her blind…” I don’t look up but I know he sees me because he’s a half-beat late on the next stanza.

  There are only two other couples on the dance floor—the place has cleared out somewhat by this hour on a week night. I do some moves I remember from my past, tamer versions of the Jerk and the Swim.

  I close my eyes, sway to the music, and listen as Ted sings the story of Delilah’s betrayed lover going out of his mind after watching her in the arms of another man.

  Suddenly, he’s close, singing directly to me. My eyes flutter open to stare at the look of pure lust on his face, not for me, but for the ghost of a girl he knew. I dip my head and let my blond hair swing over the side of my face—just as Doreen’s probably did decades ago—as I turn and continue dancing. Behind me, Will moves in the shadows to get closer to the stage.

  Ted tries to dance with me as he sings. He sticks to me like glue, which gives me the creeps, but I lift up my face and smile flirtatiously while fondling the gold chains.

  I lift one with a gigantic cross. “These are so cool,” I say when the instrumental bridge starts.

  “You want to wear it, baby?”

  Yuck. I lift one with a peace symbol pendant.

  And there it is, underneath the peace symbol—a thin gold chain with a small pair of silver boots.

  “This is the one.” I lift the thin chain as if to remove it from over his head.

  He spots the charm, and freezes. The bridge is finished, and this is the part where he should be singing about watching the other man leave Delilah’s house before
knocking on her door.

  The mic is near his mouth, but he doesn’t sing. I look at his face, and his eyes have gone psychotic. He yells at the top of his lungs while pulling the chain away from me. “DON’T TOUCH THIS ONE!”

  People stop everything to watch us. The music continues, the part in the song where Delilah laughs and her killer stabs her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Will turn down the volume gradually so he can hear what Ted says. I keep my hand low, out of Ted’s line of sight, and gesture for Will to stay back.

  I reach for the necklace again. “Oh, Ted.” My voice is soft. “But it was my favorite.”

  Ted blocks my grab for the chain. He looks confused and something shifts in his eyes as he stares at me in a daze. “I’ve loved you ever since high school, Doreen. I just wanted to protect you.”

  I can do this. I can play my part.

  “But why the knife, Ted? Over and over with the knife…so much blood.”

  “Don’t you remember?” Ted’s voice cracks. “He came out of your house, and he kissed you so long. I tried to warn you about him. I told you he wasn’t right for you, not like I was. But you laughed. Why did you laugh?” The volume of his voice rises, and anger creeps in. “You turned your back on me.”

  “I didn’t laugh, Ted.” I smile and turn my back on him. He grabs my arm and swings me around.

  “How dare you turn away from me, like I was nothing?” He spits out the words. “I loved you! I had to keep you from him.” I try to step back, but he doesn’t let go. Ted has a strong grip, and I see Will moving in slowly from the side, out of Ted’s line of vision. With a small wave, I warn Will away again.

  “He was gonna hurt you, but you wouldn’t listen, Doreen! And when you laughed at me, I couldn’t stand it. I had to stop you.”

  “How could you stop me?” I ask, taunting him.

  “With my knife!” Ted screams at me like a wounded animal and then comes at me, using the microphone like a knife to stab at me over and over. I use my arms to shield myself from his repeated forceful blows.

  Will is on him in a flash, pulling him off me, but Ted is completely out of it and screaming at me. “I had to kill you, Doreen!”