The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen: A Dix Dodd Mystery (Dix Dodd Mysteries)

by Norah Wilson

  The feeling that my friends were abandoning ship niggled at me, and it took all the will I had to push it aside.

  The order had been obtained by that scrawny little poop of a lawyer, Jeremy Poole. You’d think Ned Weatherby was his only client, the way he was hanging off of him. Well, okay, they were obviously friends as well as business associates, judging by the photos I’d taken during that week I’d bird-dogged Ned.

  Then again, Ned had so much money, maybe he truly was Jeremy Poole’s only client.

  Regardless, it was clearly the young lawyer’s doing to get Judge Stephanopoulos to sign the order. One hundred yards away from Weatherby, the home, the business.

  Yeah, right!

  All of this to say that as I sat in my car immediately outside the Weatherby offices waiting for my mark to come back from lunch, I was in full disguise. The last thing I needed was to find myself in jail for breaching the restraining order. I had enough of a jail threat hanging over my head as it was.

  So my disguise had to be a doozie. Ah, but all my disguises are doozies!

  During my surveillance of the Weatherby Industries when I was supposedly in the employ of Ned’s loving wife, I’d seen all kinds of workers entering and leaving. It was a twenty-story building, and it was fully occupied by Weatherby Industries. I’d memorized the faces of all the security guards first. That sorta came with the territory, noticing the ‘heat’ more than the others. But I’d managed to memorize a good chunk of the rest of the staff, too.

  One thing I did notice was that the maintenance staff, a contracted service, wasn’t consistent. I was familiar with the traditional (and butt-ugly) uniform for Watership Building Cleaning & Maintenance. It was solid navy except for the big yellow Watership logo (which looks like a pirate ship loaded with mops for sails and brooms for oars) and the Watership name emblazoned on the back. There were pockets and loops on the pants for carrying a variety of tools and products. And I just so happened to have one of these outfits. It was bulky enough to conceal my figure as well as hide any small recording devices or other equipment I might need. Like a gun.

  I tucked my hair up under the equally ugly Watership cap and pressed on a blond mustache to my make-up free face. I snorted and spit (albeit into a tissue) to work myself up into man-mode. And I checked myself out in the mirror.

  Not bad.

  One would have to look long and hard to tell that I wasn’t of the weaker (male) sex. But I didn’t really worry about it. Like I said, people see what they expect to see. Even me, it seemed. A glimpse of mustache, and they think guy. A dress equals female. (Damn, but it burned that I hadn’t looked harder at ‘Jennifer’.) What I’m saying is, as long as I didn’t stick around long enough for close investigation, I was safe. Sorta.

  Shit, who was I kidding? Safe was the furthest thing from what I felt.

  I crumpled the restraining order and stuck it in the glove compartment, and was just slamming it shut when I saw the reason for my trip to Weatherby Industries walking into the building. His head was bent and his strides scissored determinedly as he entered the front door. Two women stopped to talk to him, one going so far as to put a hand on his shoulder, but he just brushed past them and hurried away as if the devil himself were on his tail.

  Nope, not the devil. Just me.

  I got out of the car, and walked toward the building, determined to have a conversation with Mr. Billy Star.

  And yes, as I walked toward the building, I checked for my gun, reassured by its cold weight. Even as I did it, I wondered if I was being overly paranoid.

  On the other hand, someone had killed Jennifer Weatherby. The same someone had possibly set me up to take the fall. And I had no doubt that same someone wouldn’t think twice about seeing me dead, too, should I get in the way. And I was always getting in the way; it was my job.

  Overly paranoid, my ass.

  I entered the Weatherby building directly after Mr. Billy Star—quickly enough so that I could see him getting on the elevator, lean to push a button, and turn with red-rimmed eyes to stare up at the top of the doors and watch the numbers. I had called his office right after Dylan left my apartment, and was only half surprised to find him working. Ned Weatherby would understandably be absent; Billy had to keep the business running smoothly. But there was more to his appearance at the office.

  Red rimmed eyes didn’t surprise me. If anything, they confirmed my suspicions.

  I watched the elevator lights, rising steadily and stopping on the top floor.

  I took the next elevator up, waiting impatiently then standing as inconspicuously as possible beside the two suited men. It worked. They didn’t seem to notice my presence, or my listening in to their conversation.

  “I heard Mrs. Weatherby had been shot three times.”

  “Maybe it was a suicide?”

  “Three shots?”

  “I heard old Ned had a lover. Bet it was that new girl in accounting.”

  “I heard Mrs. Weatherby was fooling around on Ned.”

  “Holy crap! I can believe it.”

  It didn’t surprise me rumors were flying already. Stuff like that was always flying at times like these. But how much was rumor and how much was truth? Damn elevator. It moved too quickly and dropped my loose-lipped fellow travelers off on the 18th floor.

  I quickly found the maintenance closet and jimmied the lock. I grabbed some Windex and hooked it onto my uniform. I loaded a maintenance trolley with what surely looked official and started heading down the hallway. Star’s office, as I’d ascertained on my way down the hall, was the third to the right off the elevator. Right next to the corner office of Ned Weatherby. I cringed. That had to bite, considering that Star was the major partner just before the stock in the company went skyrocketing. Ned had made millions. And no doubt an enemy in the now under-his-employ Billy Star.

  I passed a couple of other male janitors in the hallway, just as I was about to enter Star’s office—their navy and yellow WATERSHIP uniforms visible from a mile away. They looked at me strangely, trying to place me.

  “‘lo,” I said with a manly nod of acknowledgment. I adjusted the rolls of TP on the cart (like what the hell else was I supposed to do?).

  They nodded back. These guys could have been a father and son team, they looked that similar.

  “You new here?” the older one asked.

  “New? Yeah, very new. First day.” I deepened my voice and slowed my speech.

  “Well, doesn’t that fuckin’ beat all.” His coworker cast me a disgusted look. “Takes us five years to get this floor, and this dude comes in and day one, comes up here.”

  “Don’t seem right.”

  I snorted a laugh and scratched my crotch. “Yeah, well, my uncle owns the company.”

  “Is that right?” the young one said, grinning a smartass grin. “Your uncle is Sophia Maria Watership?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be stupid. My uncle is her husband,” I gambled. Poorly.

  “You mean her late husband?”

  “Yeah.” I squared my shoulders (thanking myself for remembering to add the shoulders pads to the uniform for the decidedly male appearance). “You got a problem with that?” I said it with so much attitude, Steve McQueen would have been proud.

  “I do,” Shorty answered.

  “Let’s call head office, son.” The old fellow shook his head. “Something isn’t quite right here.” They started walking away.

  Aw shit!

  “You do that,” I called. “And when you talk to Aunt Sophia, you tell her I’ll be over for supper at six tonight.”

  They halted and looked back at me.

  “It’s canasta night,” I said, “and Aunt Sophia don’t like me late on canasta night. Tell her I want her to make that seafood lasagna, but don’t use those cheapie small shrimp like last time. And tell her I’ll pick up some of the good rolls at the market on my way in. Oh, and tell her that if I catch my cousin Charlie cheating again, there’ll be hell to pay. Oh, and be sure to tel
l her—”

  “I look like your message boy?” Shorty called. “Tell her yourself!”

  “Yeah,” the other chimed in. “Tell her yourself! We’ve got work to do.”

  It worked. For now. But I wasn’t foolish enough to think what I’d pulled on them would work for long.

  They both gave me one last spiteful look before proceeding down the hall. And I had the sneaking feeling that though I wasn’t yet busted, it wouldn’t take Tweedledee and Tweedledumb long to check out my story.

  I’d have to move fast.

  Every indication I had of Billy Star from my week of running surveillance on his boss was that he was a hot head. And well, maybe there was a legitimate chip on his shoulder—I’d be pissed too if someone bought me out just before business skyrocketed. But really, what was Billy to do? He was well over fifty, had built the business along side Ned from the ground up; it was all he knew. With a mortgage and an aging father to look after, not to mention two kids in college from his former marriage, he had to keep working for Ned.

  That’s why I packed the heat. Just in case I needed some motivation for him to calm down should he be inclined to go ballistic on me. He was a big man. Rugged. Obviously able to take care of himself, and though I wasn’t intimidated by his size, I wasn’t stupid either.

  This was a murder investigation, after all.

  And there had been tension, anger and hatred in the eyes of both Billy and Ned as they’d fought. It didn’t take a trained private eye to come to that conclusion. But why would Ned keep Billy around if they got along so poorly? And oh, wait a minute, didn’t I recall at the house when Jennifer’s body was found, Ned and Jeremy Poole discussing calling Billy? Yes, they had.

  Oh, man, I was missing something here.

  Plus there was the information Mrs. Presley had provided about Billy’s frequent trips to the Underhill Motel. Granted, that could be unrelated, but I was betting it wasn’t.

  Actually, I was betting my ass it wasn’t.

  Literally.

  Suite 2002, Mr. William T. Star, Vice President.

  His door was closed, but I doubted it was locked.

  Slowly, quietly, I turned the doorknob right as far as it would go before I pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. I was hoping to catch a quick look at Billy Star before he noticed me, before his guard went up. I wanted an honest look at his emotions. An honest reaction.

  I lucked out.

  Now the scary thing about catching peeks at people is that you never know what you’re going to catch peeks of. I’ve seen more guys surfing the net for porn that one could shake a... okay, a stick at (no pun intended). I’ve caught more than a few people picking their noses and digging out their ears with their pens (these top my list of things I’d just as soon forget). I’ve overheard telephone conversations that would make a sailor blush. And certainly, I’ve caught people in all sorts of compromising positions. Hell, I’ve caught them in positions I didn’t even know were physically possible. But the sight of Billy Star sitting at his desk without the knowledge that I was watching him is one sight that I will never forget.

  He sat hunched over his desk with his head in his hands, crying softly. He made very little noise, and his shoulders shook with the effort of containing it. For such a big, powerful man, he looked very vulnerable to me then. As if a feather falling onto his shoulder would just break him.

  “Billy Star?” I dropped the fake voice. “We need to talk.”

  Billy’s head shot up as I walked into the office, and closed the door behind me. “I don’t know who you think you are. But get the hell out of here right now.”

  “That’s not possible, Billy,” I said. I ripped off my fake mustache, slowly. Not for sake of drama, but because I’d used too much damn glue and it hurt like hell.

  He looked at me incredulously. “What the— who are you?”

  “Dix Dodd.”

  “And what the hell are you doing here, Dix Dodd?” He stood, all hulking muscle.

  I braced myself as he started toward me, possibly to throttle me.

  “I’m investigating the murder of Jennifer Weatherby,” I said in a rush. “And I’m damn determined to find out who’s responsible.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “Who hired you?”

  I fought the urge to preface my comments with Okay, here’s where it gets tricky. “Jennifer.”

  He blinked. “Jennifer hired you to find out who killed her before she was killed? Are you nuts? Are you... you...” He looked me up and down. “What the hell are you, anyway?”

  “In answer to your last question, I told you, I’m a PI. In answer to your other query, yes, I probably am nuts.”

  “I’m calling security.” Billy picked up his phone and stabbed the first button.

  I had to talk quickly. “Jennifer hired me to find out who was having an affair with her husband. She was sure Ned was cheating on her, and I think her curiosity got her killed. And the only way I’m going to catch who killed her, is if you help me figure things out.” I drew a shaky breath. “And dammit, I’m the only one who can figure this mess out. But not unless you help me, Billy.”

  Billy sat down heavily into his chair. “Jesus Christ.” He put the phone back in the cradle, and shook his head. “Poor Jennifer. Poor, sweet Jennifer.”

  He cried. Big Billy Star was a broken man.

  Okay, I’ve never been good with the right words, unless of course the right words were ‘Aha, caught you!’ But somehow I doubted those would fit this particular situation. It was clear that Billy was heartbroken over Jennifer. Clear that he’d loved her, which didn’t come as a surprise to me. Because I was pretty damn sure which blonde he had been hanging out with at the Underhill Motel and pretty sure why Jennifer had missed so many appointments at the Bombay Spa.

  I didn’t sit; that didn’t feel right. But I did walk closer to Billy, deeper into the office. It was large, as offices go. Billy sat behind a beautiful mahogany desk. Above him hung a huge picture of Billy and Ned Weatherby shaking hands. Happier days, when each of them was twenty pounds lighter and a few gray hairs shorter. Days before the buyout, no doubt.

  “I... I can’t believe Jennifer hired you,” Billy said. He sat up straight and wiped a hand long over his face. “She had her suspicions of Ned, of course. Lots of suspicions over the years. And some of them, I know for a fact, were well founded. But...” He shook his head again. “I can’t believe it would matter to her anymore.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Billy hesitated. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because I think that you and I have the same interest here, Billy. We both want to find out who killed Jennifer.”

  He sighed long and shakily. “I saw you at the Weatherby house the night... the night Jennifer was killed. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when Ned’s lawyer called me. What’s his name...?”

  “Jeremy Poole,” I supplied.

  “Jeremy Fool if you ask me. That guy hangs off Ned like white on rice, or...”

  “Flies on crap?” I offered. Yes, I was truly starting to have a most negative opinion of the young lawyer, but my eloquent metaphor was an attempt to bring Billy more over to my side. Hopefully, it let Billy feel that I was a kindred spirit in his time of need. Hopefully, we’d semi-bond in our trashing of the lawyer.

  He snorted a halfhearted laugh.

  I drew a breath, and took the lead. “How long have you been sleeping with Jennifer Weatherby?” I asked with an authority I hoped to soon have.

  He didn’t hesitate a heartbeat. “A year, six months, twelve days.”

  “Continuously?”

  His eyebrows knit. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Ms. Dodd, but not even I can keep it up that long.”

  “I mean, were you having an affair the whole year, six months and twelve days, or did you have a hiatus in there?”

  The look he gave me affirmed my suspicions that there had been a break, or at least an attempted break, by one of them. And i
f it was Jennifer, I could very well be sitting with her killer.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Confirmation,” I lied. “Just confirmation of what I already know.”

  “We... cooled things down for a while. It was all part of the plan.”

  “What plan?”

  His eyes misted over, and though I’m sure he realized he was still talking to me, it was as if he thought Jennifer could hear him herself. “I really loved that woman. With all my heart. And we were planning on making it happen. Planning on making a life together. Jennifer was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “And she loved you?”

  He stirred in his seat. And paused for just one telltale heartbeat. “She did.”

  “Then why do you think she hired me, Billy?”

  “You see,” he said, clearly rattled, “that’s what I don’t understand. Why Jennifer would give a rat’s ass about whether or not Ned was fooling around when we were planning on running away together.”

  “There’s a possibility, Mr. Star, that whoever came into my office last week was merely posing as Jennifer. And it’s possible that that imposter is responsible for her death.”

  “Then you’d better find her before I do, Dodd.” I could see the clenching of his fists, a graphic reminder of his temper. “Because if I get my hands on whoever killed Jenny, I’ll kill them.”

  I nodded, fully believing him.

  “How did it start between Jennifer and you?”

  Billy tensed visibly. “It was payback at first. Ned took from me, I wanted to take from him. For years, I wanted that bastard to hurt like he hurt me and so many others. So, I thought what better means of payback than to take his wife. Not that I had any initial interest in Jennifer.” He paused for my reaction.

  Which would have been fuckin’ pig in other circumstances. “Go on,” I said evenly.

  “I’d known Jennifer for years, but always as Ned’s wife. Nothing more. But I did know that she was lonely. And yes, I knew I could take full advantage of that. So I started to flirt with her whenever I saw her. I’d call her to say ‘hello’. And it led to more. But then... when I started to get to know her, how could I not fall in love with her? She was so smart, so witty and so very alone in the world.”