“And that slimy Damon What’s-His-Name, what’s he doing here?”
Brant was trying to calm her. “Honey, we’ll just take a quick look. If it’s here, we’ll give it to him; if it’s not, we’ll tell him you don’t have it, and he leaves.”
Rachel-Ann’s voice was desperate. “What am I going to do? Jim let our insurance lapse, he took out another mortgage on the house. I can’t afford this place. The shop doesn’t make that much money.”
Well, that sucked. I was beginning to feel bad for Rachel-Ann.
“Rachel, I’ll take care of you and the kids.”
Brant’s voice was incredibly tender and it was quiet for a few seconds, so I peeked over Jim’s clothes to see what was going on.
He was kissing her. Not an I’m-sorry-your-husband-is-a-dead-bastard kiss, but a real kiss, complete with tongue. And she was tonguing back. My eyes were barely in their sockets. Brant was starting to unbutton Rachel-Ann’s blouse, and she wasn’t stopping him. Oh, she gave him a ‘Darling, I don’t think we should do this.’ But she did it while her hand was down his pants, so I don’t think he was taking her seriously.
What had I gotten myself into? I was hiding in a dead man’s closet, looking over the shoulders of his suits, watching his grieving widow get it on with… well, I didn’t know exactly what Brant was to Jim. Right now the term “friend” was really stretching it.
“Brant, I’m serious. My children are here.”
He turned around. I moved back, deeper in the closet, scrunched up as small as I could, closed my eyes tight, and willed him not to see me.
I heard the office door close.
I got out of the closet as quickly and as quietly as possible. I was relieved and repulsed at the same time. Then I remembered Jim’s day planner with my name on it. Rachel’s naked butt was probably firmly planted right on that planner. They were doing it right there, on my name. There was no way I could get it now.
I rushed down the stairs and headed straight for the door. It was really time for me to go. Naturally, I ran right into Damon.
“I was getting worried about you.”
I did my best not to sound like a complete freak. “It’s big up there, I got a little lost. It was real nice to meet you. I gotta go.”
“What about that drink? You promised.”
“I really have to go.” I wasn’t feeling particularly creative and that was the best excuse I could come up with.
He grabbed my wrists, kissed my cheeks, and whispered in my ear, “You have my card. I want you to call me. I want that drink.”
I nodded. “I will.” I could feel him watching me as I made my way to the door. Rachel-Ann could be right. He might be slimy, but up close, he smelled good.
Chapter Fourteen
“You stole the register from the funeral home?” Dennis gasped.
I’d decided I wasn’t going to tell Dennis about investigating Jim’s death. He had never come around to accepting the whole phone kitten thing. He wasn’t going to go for my doing a little detective work. Besides, I certainly didn’t know everything that was going on in his world. He and Craig were obviously more serious than he was letting on. Why should I tell him my secrets? He’d just roll his eyes, grumble, then yell. That was what Dennis called “communication.”
I was able to keep my mouth shut for two days.
I ended up telling Dennis everything. I was busting to tell him I was working on a murder case.
His reaction was exactly what I thought it would be. Dennis never disappointed, that was for sure.
We’d met at Le Bel Age for breakfast. It had become our routine. He would read the paper and eat his bran while I chattered over my grapefruit.
“It really wasn’t stealing.”
“You took a dead man’s register,” he hissed. “That’s stealing, Emily. It doesn’t matter if you want to call it that or not. I think there’s a special place in hell for people who steal from the dead. You’re going there.”
“I’m going to solve his murder. I’m going to bring the killer to justice. So I think Jim’s not going to hold one little indiscretion against me.”
“What about his wife? How do you think she’s going to feel about your sticky fingers?”
“She’s not going to mind, trust me. Unless she’s the killer, then who cares?”
“You’re not a detective.”
Craig was sweeping the small stage at the back of the café. “Nancy Drew was just a girl with a shiny blue roadster when she started out. Look at her now.”
Dennis shot him a dirty look. “Emmie doesn’t have a blue roadster.”
“I have a Toyota. I get better mileage than Nancy.”
Dennis ignored my feeble attempt at humor. “You’re not thinking straight. This could get dangerous. Let the police take care of it. You go to school and date your little boyfriend.”
“That’s right, Emmie, no fun for you,” Craig called from the counter.
“I’m not saying she can’t have fun. She can have all the fun she wants. Dating her boyfriend should be a lot of fun. Hell, I’ll take her to Busch Gardens and we’ll ride Sheikra five hundred times in a row if she wants. That’s fun. Trying to find a killer isn’t fun. It’s dangerous and stupid.”
I was shocked. How could he even suggest that? I’ve never ridden Sheikra in my life. Dennis knew I hated roller coasters. I believe there are two types of amusement park people: people who like the droppy rides, and people that like the spinny rides. I’m a spinny girl. I hate roller coasters, but I’m a freak for the tea cups at Disney World.
“You’re not getting me on a roller coaster.”
“That’s not the point. I just don’t get this ‘Justice for Jim’ kick. Don’t you remember what he wanted to do to you?”
He had me there. Luckily, Craig joined us at the table and answered for me. “Ease up, Dennis, she’s trying to make good. Right, Emmie?”
I nodded. “Yeah, Dennis. Imagine if I do solve the case.”
“The case? Is that what you’re calling it now?” Dennis was disgusted with both of us.
Craig patted my hand, not waiting for Dennis to respond. “Dennis wants you to succeed; he just doesn’t know how to say it. We’re behind you one-hundred percent.” He left us to meet a customer who’d wandered in for coffee.
Dennis lowered his voice. “I’m not behind this. You might have seen whoever did this. You were there that night. If you saw them, then they saw you, and if you start poking around…”
I didn’t let him finish. “I’m not so sure I saw the killer. The lounge lizard wasn’t at the funeral. There were plenty of people who wanted Jim dead.” I looked around. I didn’t want anyone to overhear. Craig was still at the register making nice with his customer, “Jim was embezzling from his company He’d been fired. He took short cuts. I bet there are tons of code violations in those buildings. He didn’t even tell his wife that he’d been canned. He was in a lot of financial trouble. He left his wife nothing. Nothing! She’s not taking it well. I’m telling ya, tons of suspects.”
“So you stole the guest register.”
“It’s a suspect list. Damon told me that everyone there was glad Jim was dead. And his widow is having an affair with this guy named Brant.”
Craig came back to the table and sat down between Dennis and me. “Back in time for the gossip. Who’s having an affair?”
“Jim’s wife, Rachel-Ann. From what I saw, this thing’s been going on for a long time.”
“What did you see?”
“First, they were kissing. With tongues. Then he was undressing her, and she was touching him. You know where.”
Craig was almost as shocked as I’d been. “They did all that in front of you?”
“They didn’t know I was there. I had to hide.” I was about to say the words that you never want to use in front of out and proud gay men. “I was in the closet.”
“You were in the closet?”
I nodded. “A huge walk-in closet is connected to
Jim’s home office. When I heard them coming, I hid in Jim’s closet.”
Dennis erupted. “You’re telling me that you hid in a dead man’s closet while you watched his widow get it on with some guy?”
“I didn’t watch. Rachel-Ann was worried the kids would catch them, so Brant shut the door. I took off after that.”
Dennis leaned back in his chair. “You know, Emily, you’ve always been a little kooky, but now you’ve lost it. You’re completely insane.”
I ignored him and talked to Craig. He was the one who understood me. “Jim was having affairs, too. At least I think he was. He told Peyton about his neighbor, Kaz. Then there was this woman at the funeral. She sat in the back with me, and she was gorgeous. She looked like Wonder Woman. She didn’t want anyone to see her. That’s why she was sitting in the back. I bet they were sleeping together.”
Craig got up to meet another customer. Dennis waited until he was out of earshot, then hissed at me, “Christ, Emmie! You think that Jim was having an affair with her because she sat in the back at the funeral? Where did you sit?”
“In the back. I was having phone sex with him. See, it makes sense.”
Dennis began to massage his forehead. I was giving him a headache. “This isn’t just a crazy idea, it’s dangerous. I’m worried something is going to happen to you. What do I need to say to get you to realize this is dangerous?”
“I can’t stop. I’ve got to figure it out. Peyton’s name is written in his date book. It’s only a matter of time until the police find out about her. I could be a suspect.”
Dennis rolled his eyes. “This is not an episode of ‘Murder, She Wrote.’ You aren’t Nancy Drew or Trixie Belden. You need to stop and think. You’ll see how crazy you’re being. You got carried away. You’re like that, but now you’ve got to stop.”
Under normal circumstances, I might have actually listened to Dennis. I might have taken what he said under advisement. He was right about almost everything.
But not that time.
I believe in signs, and someone was sending me a big one. Wonder Woman was standing in the doorway. She was wearing jeans, but her T-shirt was definitely designer, as were her sunglasses, her shoes, and just about every other thing she had on. She was wearing her hair in a long ponytail, but I knew it was her. Who wouldn’t know Wonder Woman when she was standing right there?
She walked slowly to the counter, looking at all the paintings on the wall. Craig had recently sponsored an “Icons” party, and the participating artists brought in paintings and drawings of different icons throughout history. There were a few different portraits of Madonna, as well as the other predictable legends Marlene Deitrich, Judy Garland, and the like. My favorite was one of Marlon Brando done up as St. Sebastian, all shirtless and shot full of arrows. Wonder Woman seemed to like the painting of Marie Antoinette.
I cleared my throat to get Craig’s attention, then pointed at her and mouthed the words WONDER WOMAN at him.
He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t understand.
I did it again, this time deflecting imaginary bullets with my imaginary bracelets of power while mouthing WONDER WOMAN.
His eyes widened and he gasped loud enough for her to look over.
I grabbed part of the paper and held it front of me, trying to peek around the edge.
“Are these for sale?” Wonder Woman asked.
Craig nodded. “They sure are. Every couple of months we do a little showing. You know, some music, a little art, a little poetry. It’s always a good time.”
She was eyeing the St. Brando piece now. “Some of them are incredible.”
“There are so many talented people around here. We’ve got a lot of great poets and musicians too. I know it doesn’t look too busy now, but at night we’re groovin’.” Even Craig winced when he said ‘groovin’.”
“I bet. You know, I just wanted a cup of coffee, but I love that portrait of Marie Antoinette. Is it really only $150?”
Funny, I never put the words “$150” and “only” in the same sentence.
Craig flashed his boyish smile and leaned on the counter. “I can do better than that. I’ve got a special going on right now. If you sign up for our newsletter, I’ll take twenty-five bucks off the price and throw in a cup of coffee on the house.”
She beamed at him. “Even the caramel coffee?”
Dennis grimaced and whispered, “She’s flirting with him.”
Craig eyed her up and down. “Absolutely, darlin’.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a spiral notebook. “Sign up right here. I just need your name and address.”
Dennis muttered, “Oh, now he’s flirting with her?”
She began to scribble on one of the pages as he fixed her caramel coffee. “Am I the only one to sign up so far?” She slid her credit card across the counter to him.
He started to ring up the sale. “As of a matter of fact, you are.”
She took her newly acquired painting, her receipt and coffee, and headed for the door. She turned around, tossed her ponytail, and looked over her shoulder like the Amazonian Princess I knew that she was. “I also wrote down my phone number in case you want to call me.”
Craig waited until she was out of the café and down the block before he ripped out the piece of paper and handed it to me.
I wrapped my arms around him. “You’re so wonderful. Thank you.”
Dennis scowled. “That was just gross.”
I grabbed my bag. “I have to go. I have class and I’m going out with Rick tonight.”
“Since I’m your hero, why don’t you bring him by? We want to meet him.”
Yikes! I saw the night develop into a “meet the parents” thing. Scary thought. “If you promise to make Dennis behave.”
Craig didn’t hesitate in answering. “Done.”
I was heading down the block when I heard Craig call out after me. “Just Drew it, girl!”
I liked having Craig on my side.
Chapter Fifteen
I couldn’t wait to get home after class. This would be Date Three. (I’d decided to count The Globe as a full date.)
Getting ready for the date was almost as traumatic as the actual date. Hair up, hair down? What do I wear? If I ignored the awkward “What should I order for dinner?” and the “Is he going to kiss me?” thing, this had to be the worst thing about dating. There just weren’t enough outfits. I’d become what I loathed most, a girl who peered into her closet and said “I have nothing to wear!” Except with me, it was true. I finally picked a white skirt with blue and pink flowers, and a short sleeved sweater that matched the blue in the skirt. I decided on hair up, but loose. Ideally, it would fall in perfect little wisps and ringlets to give me a casual romantic look. On me, cute little curls never stayed for long; they ended up just being loose strands of hair that stuck to my face. But it was date number three, and I was feeling lucky.
Rick was right on time. I like a man who’s punctual. It cuts down on the is-he-just-running-late-or-have-I-been-dumped drama. He looked handsome, which was nothing new for Rick.
Looking at him in his black pants and crimson shirt, I doubted he ever turned his back to the mirror and wondered, “Do these pants make my butt look big?” His butt looked perfect in all his pants, and I was sure he knew it. It made me a little self-conscious, his being so perfect and my being considerably less than perfect.
Rick was unaware of my inner angst. “Emily, you look gorgeous.”
I remembered what he’d said at The Alibi about taking a compliment. “Thank you.” I gave him a gentle poke in the stomach, hoping it would pass as some sort of flirtatious gesture. “So do you.”
I said a silent prayer at the top of the stairs. The last thing I needed to do was trip and fall, my cute little skirt flying over my head to reveal my granny panties. It was way too soon for Rick to see my bloomers.
He opened the car door for me, and I hesitated before getting in. “Where are we going?”
&nbs
p; He gave me a sly smile. “I told you I wanted to take you dancing.”
A thousand thoughts screamed in my head, the loudest being I can’t dance! Dennis and I had spent Homecoming and Prom in his basement specifically not dancing. We watched seventies horror films. I’d seen Carrie; I knew what dances were like. Maybe it was different for Rick, but I didn’t think streamers and pig’s blood made for a good time.
“I hope you don’t mind, but a couple of friends wanted to meet you. I thought we could have dinner there.”
“Meeting the friends; that’s a big step. Okay, we’ll go on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to meet my sisters. Seriously, they’re horrible and you’re gonna hate it, but you have to.”
He wanted me to meet his sisters! I wanted to squeal, but managed to maintain maximum coolness. “I’ll bet they’re nice.”
“Nice and evil. Think Harpie.”
Speaking of evil, I was hoping Dennis would be on the nicer side tonight. It wasn’t that he was surly or mean. He was overly-protective. So to a stranger like Rick, he might seem surly and mean.
Although it was still early in the evening when we arrived at Le Bel Age, there was a small crowd. Craig vaulted over the counter to meet us the moment he saw us walk through the door. He kissed my cheek and shook Rick’s hand. “You must be the history hottie.”
“I hope so. I’m Rick Diaz.” Rick looked a little surprised. When he glanced at me, I could feel heat rising off my cheeks. Obviously Dennis was not the one I should have been worried about.
“Craig Boone.” He was glowing. Either he was quite pleased with himself or with my catch. “Things get pretty busy here on Fridays, so I saved you a table in the courtyard. Dennis is out there.” He whispered to Rick. “Don’t let Dennis scare you. He only looks like a skinhead.”
I loved the courtyard. Craig had taken a dingy little space facing a garbage alley and made it beautiful. Flowers were planted along the brick walls and potted plants and shrubby little trees obscured the alley, where every other store had their dumpsters. A Parisian street scene was painted on one of the walls. Candles and torches flickered in the moonlight and music spilled from the stage.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 10
