Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery

by Marika Christian

  “Emma, from the newspaper, right? Yeah, I remember you. You skipped out on having a drink with me.”

  “You said I should call you, and here I am, calling you.”

  “I hear that. So what do you think, Emma? Are you ready to go out for a drink with me?”

  “I am. And it’s Emily.”

  He didn’t acknowledge that he got my name wrong. “How about we meet up at Beethoven’s? You know where it is, right?”

  I sure did. It was right around the corner from Craig’s place. It was a little too pretentious for my taste. Beethoven’s only served foreign beers and wine that were ridiculously overpriced. Mostly, I remembered the review that had run in the newspaper. Beethoven’s was heralded as a place for St. Pete “hipsters.” A place to “see and be seen.” Beethoven’s wasn’t all that. The reviewer in question was a wannabe hipster who was dying to be seen. Damon did seem like the red-carpet kind, so it didn’t surprise me he’d want to go there.

  “Sure. I can definitely meet you there.”

  “It gets a little crowded, so I’ll wait for you out front. Does eight o’clock work for you?”

  “That sounds great.”

  It did sound great. I didn’t have to worry about dinner conversation or possible spillage. A definite win-win situation.

  “Then I‘ll see you tonight.”

  Click, he was gone. Was I the only one in the bay area who actually said goodbye before hanging up the phone?

  Next on my “to do” list. Go to The Alibi.

  I had to admit I felt a little pang in my heart when I pulled into the parking lot. My first date with Rick, my first ice cream with him, and of course, my first lie. My little trip down memory lane sucked.

  By the light of day, The Alibi wasn’t so much romantic as it was seedy. Everything inside was exactly as I remembered it. I sat on one of the stools at the bar and waited for the bartender.

  Since I was the only patron in the place, he came over quickly and tossed a coaster in front of me. “What can I get you?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for a little information.”

  “Information comes with a one-drink minimum.”

  That seemed fair. “I’ll have a coke. Regular.” If there was one thing I could never get used to, it was the taste of diet soda. There were certain things I was willing to sacrifice for the diet: candies, cakes, and Kentucky Fried Chicken, but there was no way I was giving up fully loaded Coca-Cola.

  He didn’t take his eyes off of me and handed me the glass. I slid a five-dollar bill over to him. “Thanks.”

  He was still standing right in front of me, staring. I knew why. I was the only person in the bar and I’d said I was there looking for information. Still, he made me nervous.

  “I was hoping you could tell me where I could find Sonny Damone.”

  “You’re looking for Sonny Damone? You?” He threw his head back and howled with laughter. “You are looking for Sonny Damone.”

  “Yes.” What was so funny about that?

  He leaned on the bar “So tell me, Honey, why did you come here looking for Sonny Damone? You think because we serve Italian food we’re a mob hangout?”

  Well, that and the fact that the place was called The Alibi were clues. “I saw him here.” Laugh now, Chuckles.

  “Oh.”

  That shut him up, which made me happy, until I realized that was the one thing I didn’t want.

  “It’s going to cost you more than a Coke to get that information.”

  I was prepared for that. I knew getting people to talk might cost me a little green. I put a ten on the table for him.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I took out another ten and gave it to him.

  “So you’re trying to buy me off with twenty bucks? Babe, information costs a little more than that, especially if you’re looking for Sonny Damone.”

  He had something I wanted.

  W.W. P. D.?

  Peyton would unbutton her blouse and reveal breasts so glorious in their perfection that my menacing friend would be forced to his knees to worship her. Why, he’d be lucky if his retinas weren’t burned out by the sheer magnificence of the sight.

  I opted for tears.

  My eyes exploded. “I have to see him. You see, my boyfriend…” I started to sob. “I have to give him money and now you want more…” I screeched in faux-hysteria, my body shaking. He'd better buy this. My next step was to fall on the floor and convulse.

  Apparently, I frightened him. His eyes were wide and he was speaking to me the way people talk to scared children and bunny rabbits. “Shh. It’s okay. Really, it’s okay. Mr. Damone likes to have lunch at the China Palace. If you have to see him, that’s where he’ll be. I’m sure you’ll be able to work out whatever is going on. Just give him whatever your boyfriend owes him, and everything will be fine.”

  I wiped my eyes. “Thank you. I have to get this money to him. I just need to know where to go. I appreciate your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It appeared Sonny Damone and I had two things in common. We both saw Jim the night he was murdered, and we both loved Chinese buffets. Sometimes I had difficulty remembering that “all you can eat” is not a personal challenge.

  Imagine a pagoda dropped right in the middle of a beach town, and that was the China Palace. Golden lions guarded the entrance into the parking lot. As always, there were only a couple of cars. The China Palace was always empty. How it managed to stay in business was beyond me; I was just glad it did. They served the best General Tsao’s chicken in town.

  There’s only one way to describe the interior: super-max strip club. That’s precisely what it used to be. Of course, it was just called The Palace then, and there was no explanation for the Chinese exterior. The place was dimly lit. There was a lot of red crushed velvet and two huge stages with poles smack dab right in the middle of them. The only thing that might be different was that the buffet was set up on the stages now, one for Chinese specialties, and the other for American fare. Although I guess one could argue that, as a strip club, The Palace had offered a buffet as well.

  I spotted Sonny Damone right away. He was the lounge lizard with beefy body guards in the back of the restaurant, in what I assumed was once the champagne room.

  My guts rolled. Was I ready to walk over to a gangster and question him in the death of a guy who paid me to talk to him on the phone while he self-indulged? I started walking over to him. I guess I was.

  I stood right in front of his table. “Mr. Damone, may I have a few moments of your time?”

  He looked me up and down. I think he was fitting me for a pair of cement shoes. Of course, he might not be too good at that. Jim didn’t stay on the bottom of the bay. “Exactly who are you?”

  “Emily Summers. I work at the St. Pete Times.” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence. The two goons grabbed my arms and started pulling me away from the table. I was going to have bruises in the morning.

  He looked back at his plate. “I don’t talk to reporters.”

  I practically squealed. “Okay, okay. I’m not really a reporter. I lied. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Jim Alexander.”

  The goons stopped pulling me, but they held my arms tight.

  “How do you know Jimmy?”

  “He and I were friends, sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  The goons started dragging me out of the place again.

  “I used to talk to him on the phone. He paid me for—” I whispered the next part. I didn’t want the waiter to know, unless of course he had a Mastercard or Visa— “phone sex.”

  The goons let me go and just stared.

  So did Mr. Damone, then he started to smile. Not a nice smile either. He smiled the same smile that the Grinch smiles the moment he comes up with his evil plan to steal Christmas from all the Who’s in Whoville. It was slow, sinister, and scary.

  “Well, I always have time to talk to phone-sex girls. Sit down Ms…�
�

  I sat across from him. “Emily Winters.”

  Goon Number One corrected me. “You said it was Emily Summers.”

  “I was lying then.”

  Great, the only person I was being honest with was a mobster who might have killed my best client. Some kind of brain cramp had to be affecting my judgment.

  “It’s always best to tell the truth, Emily. Lies always come back to haunt you.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  He motioned to Goon Number One. “Go get Ms. Winters something to eat.” He looked at me. “Anything you want specifically?”

  “General Tsao’s chicken and fried rice.”

  We were left with a single goon while the other fetched my lunch. He stood by the table, his arms crossed, and pretended not to listen to anything we were saying.

  “So Ms Winters.”

  “Please call me Emily.”

  “Okay, Emily. Phone sex, huh? What did you and Jim talk about? I gotta admit I’m curious.”

  “Oh you know, typical stuff—not clowns, circus midgets or anything like that.” I left out the part about him liking acrobats.

  “I’m glad to know Jim didn’t have any unusual requests. You never know with some people, but I don’t have to tell you that. Now you tell me what a phone-sex girl wants to talk to me about.”

  “I saw you with Jim the night he was killed.” This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be spilling my guts to this guy. I didn’t want cement shoes, but for some reason, I just couldn’t help myself.

  “You’re a brave girl, Emily.”

  Nope, nothing brave about me. I’m just stupid.

  He finally started eating again. “I like that about you. You know what? I saw you too. That’s why you’re here; you want to know what happened to Jimmy. So do I.” He leaned over the table and whispered to me, emphasizing every single word. “Typically, I don’t share my information. I certainly don’t share it with phone-sex girls who date cops.”

  I sighed. It seemed I was the last to know Rick’s vocation. “I didn’t know he was a cop and I don’t think we’re seeing each other anymore. He didn’t like the phone thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s the thing with cops. Sometimes they’re too clean. If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, you’re better off without him. A cute girl like you won’t have a problem finding another guy, especially if he likes a dirty mouth.”

  Goon Number One placed my dish in front of me and immediately took his place guarding our booth before I could thank him.

  “I didn’t kill Jim.”

  “I know. If you’d killed Jim, you probably wouldn’t be giving me dating advice. I’m just trying to figure out what happened that night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think anyone else cares.”

  Not completely untrue. It wasn’t my motivation, but it was true. Everyone seemed to be pretty glad Jim was dead. Except for Rachel-Ann. She missed his money.

  “A phone whore with a heart of gold. I like that.”

  I could feel myself bristle a little. I hated the term “phone whore.” It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t playful. It was just nasty. I liked my verbiage better. But I didn’t think Sonny Damone was interested in my twist on porn linguistics.

  Since he thought I was brave, I might as well push the envelope. “So why were you meeting him that night?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I take it you know about my… .” He was careful about choosing his words. “Interests. I’m a businessman, Emily.”

  Yeah, right. He calls me a phone whore, but he’s a “businessman.”

  “Believe it or not, Jim and I were friends. What you saw was two old friends meeting for a drink.”

  “Friends?” Hanging out with mobsters was kinda sexy. I was completely surprised Jim had never used that line to get a few free minutes.

  “Jim and I grew up together.”

  Thank God he was starting to explain things. I could finally eat my chicken.

  “Our fathers were close friends. We went to school together. Our families took vacations together. Jim and I were very good friends. He came to me for help. He knew he could trust me, and it was a personal matter. It had nothing to do with my business or his. It was just one friend coming to another for help.”

  “He needed your help?”

  “Come on, Emily, when you’re in trouble, don’t you go to your friends? I considered him part of my family.”

  I was willing to bet family had two meanings for Mr. Damone.

  “So you met just to talk?” I didn’t know what was harder to believe: that Jim had a friend, or that Sonny Damone and Jim had gotten together “just to talk”.

  It was like he was reading my mind. “I’m getting the feeling you don’t believe me.”

  Direct questions weren’t going to get me anywhere with him, so I went with coy. “Well, you have to admit, Jim coming to a man like you, just to catch up on old times is sweet, but it doesn’t make sense, especially when he was murdered later that night. You and I were the last people to see him alive.”

  “Except for the murderer. You said that you didn’t think I killed him.” He flashed his teeth at me. He really worked the shark thing he had going on.

  “I don’t.” If Sonny was the actual murderer, I’d be in the trunk of his Cadillac, not chowing down on General Tsao’s chicken with a side of fried rice.

  He relaxed. “You’re a doll. We have something in common. Our career choices have led us to be… shall we say, misunderstood?”

  Professional mob boss, phone kitten, I think he was stretching the connection, but I wasn’t going to argue the point.

  “I’m going to be honest with you. Jim and I weren’t just catching up on old times. He came to me for help, and as a friend. He was looking for a fresh start. You talked to him; you know he wasn’t happy. He and Rachel-Ann went south a long time ago. He wasn’t wise with some of his financial choices.”

  I could see where calling phone-sex girls and seeing call girls might be considered a poor financial choice.

  “He lost his job, and he came to me. He had a plan to start his own consulting business. Jim’s personal life was a mess, but he had a good head for business. I’m always looking for investment opportunities. He knew that. I was going to help him out.”

  “But wasn’t he fired from his last job?”

  “Things aren’t always what they appear to be.”

  “You’re saying that as his friend.”

  “But I’m also a businessman. I’m not going to invest a large chunk of my money in something shaky. Jim was my friend, but I never like to waste my money. Jim knew that. Do you know why he was fired?”

  I shook my head. “Not details.”

  “I’m telling you this because I believe you. I think you do care about what happened to him. I want you to know the truth about him. Jim was fired because they suspected him of embezzling. Everything led back to him, but they couldn’t find the cash. He had ideas about who did it, but nothing could be proven. He might’ve done some bad things, but he wasn’t a bad guy.”

  I think I could argue that.

  I took a last bite of my lunch. The only thing keeping me from running straight to the Buffett table was the knowledge that, if someone was going to trip on a stripper stage while piling Chinese food on her plate, it would be me. I love lo-mein, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

  “I hate to eat and run, but I should go.” I stood up and held out my hand. “Mr. Damone, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  He took my hand and gave it a kiss. “All mine, Ms. Winters. You take care of yourself. Tell your cop boyfriend they need to find who did this before someone else does.”

  Sonny was letting me know, in his not-too-subtle manner, that if the police didn’t find the killer, he would.

  “Like I said, we aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  “He’ll come around.” He looked at Goon Number One. “Tony you walk her back to her car.”

  Tony did exactly what he
was told. He walked me to my car, stood by quietly as I fumbled with my key, and held the door while I was getting situated inside. He leaned in before shutting the door. “You know, if you’re ever free and looking for something to do some night, I can make myself available.” He handed me his business card. “Give me a call sometime.”

  I had a lot to process. Jim was best buds with a mob boss, he was a victim of a frame-up, and a business-card-carrying leg breaker was coming on to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Damon McCormick seemed like a high-heel type of guy. That was unfortunate for me. I had high heels, cute ones; in fact, they were hazardous for me to wear. I was usually wearing sneakers when I fell. In heels, I always felt like I was teetering on the edge. Every minute I spent in them was a minute closer to disaster. But for Damon, I persevered. I wobbled my way downtown to Beethoven’s.

  He was true to his word: Damon was waiting for me by the front door of the bar. It was amazingly easy for me to sneak up on him even with my wobbly walk. He was too busy noticing the passing posterior of a girl navigating the sidewalk in front of the bar. There were tables set out to give Beethoven’s a café feel, and they were already full. Craig hated Beethoven’s. He thought they were taking business away from him. To me, it seemed like a fratty aren’t-we-too-cool-for-domestic-beer crowd, not like the people you might see at a little cabaret.

  I plastered a girly little smile on my face and tapped Damon on the shoulder.

  For some reason, he seemed surprised to see me. “Hey, Emma.”

  And then he kissed me.

  Only it wasn’t like that old song. It didn’t make me want to be kissed some more.

  His kiss kinda repulsed me.

  Okay, technically it wasn’t bad. Damon was a good-looking guy and he smelled even better. His lips were soft, and when his skin brushed against mine, there was a little bit of a tingle. Mechanically, it was good. Not Rick good, but an adequate sugar substitute.

  It was what was underneath the saccharine that made me icy.

  The only thing we had in common was that we’d attended a murdered man’s funeral. I wasn’t sure death really qualifies as the kind of icebreaker that leads to a kiss. I wasn’t sure what his motivation was, either. I knew mine. I was going to be deceptive and cunning. I was going to get information from him. I was pretty sure if someone really had set up Jim, it probably was Damon. I’ve seen All About Eve; I know how personal assistants work. One minute they’re backstage asking for your autograph; the next they’re trying to steal your money, your man, and your reputation.