Kay. Kay. Kay. I did believe she might have been in over her head with this one. This one was a stud-muffin on steroids. I contemplated Dante as I walked back across the open space to the booth. He had pushed over to the window, farther away from Twinkles. He had what looked like an artist’s portfolio on the seat beside him. I wouldn’t call this guy handsome, or even cute, but he was…something. Charismatic might be the right word.
Twinkles’ muscles tightened as I got closer. I sat on the other side of the booth and Twinkles sat right beside me, alert. I was alert, too. I had a couple of bar rags with me ready to deploy at the first sign of dog spew.
Dante tapped his portfolio. “I’m an artist. I do mostly commercial properties, murals and the like. Oil paintings of the corporate presidents and CEOs.”
“Can I see?”
He ran the zipper along the teeth, then flipped the leather cover off. I shuffled through the pages. They were really good. I was passing time waiting for Kay.
“I was here last night. You had a great crowd.”
“It was a good night,” I said, and turned to another group of work. These ones were of animals painted in a kaleidoscope of colors. They were astonishing. They were modern, yet he was able to capture the personalities of each animal. The horses were especially beautiful.
“I met one of your servers, Kay,” he said, and though the lighting was dim, I thought he might be blushing a little bit. So this was his way to schmooze himself in to find out about Kay, huh?
“I expect her to be by here soon.” I looked out the window. It would be just like her to arrive with amazingly serendipitous timing, sailing through the door at the mere taste of her name on Dante’s lips. That thought made me grin.
Dante tipped his head and considered me. “Kay told me that you were running the bar and that you were trying to revive it. It’s in a great location,” Dante said. “Maybe a little close to the police department to make people feel comfortable—they might be concerned about getting pulled over and checked all the time with so many cops around. Or on the other hand, maybe they feel safer because the cops are there. That might be a good draw for women.”
“I hadn’t considered either of those angles.” I took a sip of cola. “To be honest, the crowd that was here last night, while helpful, is not the crowd I’d like to encourage. I want this to be the go-to local cop bar.”
Dante looked slowly around the bar space. The front was taken up by awning-protected windows. The back had a long L-shaped bar, where Daphne sat. A mirror and shelves took up the vertical space. The wall to the right was brick and had a little corridor that led to the bathrooms. His focus landed on the wall to the left. It was a plain white wall with a few tchotchkies hanging on it. Nothing exciting. Came off as drab, really. It was as if I was seeing the place through a new set of eyes as I followed Dante’s gaze.
He sucked his upper lip between his teeth as he considered the wall. I imagined he was thinking of it as an empty canvas. “Do you have a theme here? Some way that you’re marketing to cops?” he asked, turning back to me.
“We serve our house-brand Badge Bunny Booze. That’s as close as we get to ‘theme.’”
Dante looked over at Daphne. “Is that why your mascot is wearing ears? I thought a badge bunny was a girl who…” His gaze rested on me. “Sorry, you probably already know that since you run the place.”
I met his gaze with pure innocence and blinked twice. “Probably know what?” I asked.
“That a badge bunny is a girl who likes to date cops.”
I furrowed my brow. “Badge bunnies are girls that date cops?” I asked.
“Not date. They just…” He spun his head at the sound of the door opening.
There stood Kay, looking fresh and beautiful in a white sundress and gold sandals. Twinkles got up, went toward her, grabbed a mouthful of skirt and dragged Kay back to my side of the table.
I scooted over to give her space to join me. Kay bent to give me a kiss on the cheek and slid into the place I had been keeping warm for her.
“What’s up with Twinkles?” she asked.
Yeah, I’d never seen him escort anyone to a seat before, either. “I think he has a sick stomach. I’m going to take him to the vet in just a second. Dante, here, was just explaining to me that there is actually something called a badge bunny. He said it was a girl who dates cops.”
“Dates cops?” Kay asked and turned a look to Dante. “Why would they call her badge bunny if she dates cops?”
“Ha ha,” Dante said. “I can see you two are pulling my leg.” He stopped and sent a sweet smile to Kay. “Hi there. You look lovely today.”
Now it was Kay’s turn to blush. “Thank you. What have we got here?” Kay turned to leaf through the artwork.
Dante reached out and flipped through several of the animals. “Look at this one.” He pointed to a multicolored German shepherd. “If I put a collar on him with a police badge,” he spread his hands wide as if he was drawing curtains aside, “wouldn’t that give a fresh new look to the place?”
“It would,” I said. “But I have no money for this. Not even a dime. I’m sorry.”
“But I wouldn’t need to be paid. What I want to do is put it up, it won’t take long, maybe a day or so. Then I’d take some pictures and try to hook into your social media vibe, include the mannequin in the pictures. It’ll be a win-win. All I need is your okay. I could get this done tomorrow. Obviously, the sooner the better. People have short attention spans these days. I assume you close Sundays?”
I looked at Kay, and Kay looked at me. We both raised our brows with a private question. We both tipped our heads back and forth. We both looked down at the German shepherd, then back at each other, and smiled. I stuck my hand out to shake with Dante.
Twinkles let out a horrible rumble.
Kay put her hand on his head. “That sounds awful. Like there’s a monster in him that wants to get out.”
I pushed over in the booth, knowing that Kay would move with me and get up. “Time for the vet. Kay, I need to lock up and put on the alarm. How about you and Dante go hang out, get some coffee or something, and I’ll call you later?” I turned to Dante. “There’s a cute little coffee shop right next to the police station. They make fabulous homemade doughnuts.”
11
I watched as Kay and Dante sauntered off. From the back, they made a cute couple. He was dark and a little roguish; she was sweet and fresh, like a bowl of strawberries and cream. If I were a writer, the sight of them might just inspire a romance novel. Maybe something about a girl traveling the world and meeting the man of her dreams. Of course, Dante walking into the picture just when I was nudging Kay and Terrance back together (where they belonged) was not great timing. I’d need to talk to her about that. A serious talking-to.
I sighed and looked around to tell Twinkles about it. Twinkles wasn’t there. I called to him and went to search him out. He was in my office. In the brief moment he was out of my sight, he’d gobbled down his bowl of food and now lay on his back with his legs hanging open in the little stream of light that was put off by my desk lamp, like he hadn’t a care in the world.
I sniffed the air to see if he’d vomited up what was bothering him, but I smelled no tell-tale signs. I was distracted from my confusion by the bell jingling as the front door opened. Shoot, I hadn’t locked it.
I walked into the bar to find a woman standing next to Daphne, stroking her fingers over Daphne’s cheek. A chill ran down my spine, and I patted my pocket to make sure I had my phone on me. I turned my head to see the woman’s reflection in the mirror and realized she had tears running down her face. I didn’t know what to do. This moment seemed brimming over with emotion for the woman, and I wondered if she was mentally stable.
I sent a quick text to Peter. Can you swing by the bar now? Plz?
My movements caught the woman’s attention. She was trembling when she turned. I sent a quick glance to the office and Twinkles. I could see the tip of his pink t
ongue lolling out and that was about it. Well, surely if he thought I was in danger, he’d be here protecting me.
I walked behind the bar and picked up a cloth. “You look cold. Can I make you some coffee?”
She cleared her throat. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
I watched her in the mirror as I scooped the grounds and poured the water. She ran the palms of her hands over her cheeks, wiping the tears away, then lifted a leg and slid onto the stool. I’d guess she was about mid-twenties or so. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a rust-colored blouse that looked lovely with her auburn hair. She definitely wasn’t a bag-woman or anything. If she was sliding down the mental health scale, she was a high-functioning loon. Then she went back to staring at Daphne. I’ve seen a lot of mannequins in my lifetime; I’ve never seen one that made me want to cry. Daphne seemed to be a magnet for strange characters.
After pressing the perc button, I turned back to her. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Oh, just black is fine.” She folded her hands on the bar. They looked cold and bloodless. “Maybe a splash of whisky, if you don’t mind.”
“Irish coffee?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
When I reached for a mug, I saw the woman stroke a hand down Daphne’s arm. It was similar to what the perv did last night. But not quite. It was intimate. But this woman’s interaction had a forlorn quality to it. Sad. Distressed. Something about this was eerie.
“Have I seen you here before?” I asked, to get the conversation going. I had a feeling that I both wanted to hear what this woman was about to say and would regret knowing it at the same time.
“No I live in North Carolina, just over the Virginia border.”
“Are you here on business?” I ran the mug under hot water to warm it, dried it off, then sprinkled brown sugar in the bottom. There’s an art to making a proper Irish coffee, and if you’re best friends with Connor Patrick and Mary Katherine Fitzgerald, then you’d better know the way to do it right.
“Actually, a friend of mine sent me a link to your mannequin party last night on Channel 13.” She swallowed hard and glanced over at Daphne. “I came up to see Daphne for myself and to ask where you might have purchased it…her…it?” She pulled her hands back in her lap and stretched her arms out straight, locking her elbows and thrusting her shoulders up to her ears.
I picked up the coffee carafe and poured the dark roast into her mug. “I came upon the mannequin in the park. I brought it to the police’s attention. They said that it would be thrown in the trash bin, so I brought it back to my bar.”
Her lips tightened down to a fine, thin, colorless line. I gave her time to process that information as I poured the Irish whiskey. “Do you prefer cream or whipped cream?” I asked, trying to stay detached and professional. Which was going badly.
“Whipped, if you don’t mind.”
I pulled my buzzing phone from my pocket as I opened the mini-fridge and grabbed a can.
On my way. Ten minutes tops
Peter, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure what was going on but I was spooked for sure. This conversation was like the shiver that runs down your body when someone walks over your grave. It was the spiders-running-across-your-scalp kind of fear. I wondered if this chick was a psycho of some kind. She held herself together, but there was an undercurrent that I couldn’t define. Horror, maybe.
I shook the can as I looked toward the office door; same pink lolling tongue was visible. I walked forward to make sure Twinkles hadn’t passed out or died. When I approached the door, I could see him breathing, and he popped one eye open to watch me. “Peter’s on his way. Let me know when he gets here,” I told Twinkles in a voice that was modulated to project so the woman knew that I had a dog and I wouldn’t be alone here long.
I swirled a festive top on the woman’s coffee and pushed it toward her. I looked her hard in the face, then glanced over to Daphne. Back to the woman, over to Daphne. “It’s uncanny. You look so much alike. Daphne looks younger. But you two could be sisters.” I scrunched the bar cloth into my hand and polished it along the counter. “Is that why your friend sent you the video, do you think? It’s a very long way to drive from the North Carolina border to here just to see a mannequin. Hours.”
She took a sip from her mug and set it down.
“Hot,” I warned her, too late. Without fully thinking things through, I stuck out my hand. “I’m BJ Reid.”
She shook my hand with ice-cold fingers. “Mary Newburg.”
“Mary, this mannequin seems to be upsetting you. Do you know something about it that I don’t know?”
Mary looked at Daphne for a long moment, then shook her head slowly, “No. I was hoping you knew something that I didn’t.” She opened her purse and pulled out an envelope. Inside was a picture that was the spitting image of Daphne, right down to the freckle on the right side of her nose. Another shiver raked over me. “That’s uncanny.”
Mary took a deep breath in, then let her chest fall as she exhaled. “There’s a good explanation for the resemblance, I’m sure. I was thinking maybe Chloe, my sister, Chloe Walsh,” she pointed to the photo, “posed for an art student. Her roommate was an art student. Or maybe she let someone take her picture.” She wrapped her hands around the mug and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “I was hoping to find someone who knows Chloe. I haven’t seen my sister in over a year. Last May she was supposed to graduate from college. I saw her the Christmas before. Then over spring break, she disappeared. Vanished into thin air. No one has heard from her since spring break last year.”
“Chloe disappeared?” I looked at Daphne for an explanation. Daphne had nothing to say on the matter. “The police didn’t find anything? A clue? A reasonable explanation?”
Mary tried again for a sip of coffee; she got a glob of whipped cream on her nose and wiped it off with her wrist. I handed her a napkin. Then, I reached under the bar and pulled out a shot glass, set it on the bar, poured Irish whiskey, and slid it to her. This woman needed something to drink, a stabilizing influence, that was for sure.
“That Christmas, Chloe had been depressed. She had fought depression since she was in high school. She was trying new meds. She was going to her therapist, but she was despondent. We were worried for her safety. We hid the guns and meds. She never talked about suicide, but her therapists had warned us to be on the lookout for signs.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “My parents wanted her to take a semester off and move home. She was finishing her senior year, but when the depression hit, she didn’t go to classes, didn’t do her work… She’s very bright. But she failed the semesters when her depression hit her hard. We had to go through letters from the doctors to get everything removed from her transcripts and so forth. My parents wasted all that money on lost tuition. Chloe was sure she could power through it though. Just one more semester. And we all reluctantly agreed.”
It wasn’t my time to talk. It was my time to listen. I laced my fingers and propped my elbows on the bar, then dropped my chin down to focus.
“We thought she was okay. We did.” Mary nodded. “She met a guy.” She chuckled without mirth. “Chloe called him her Orlando—she was an English lit major. She was in love for the first time in her life. She said she never felt so healthy and alive. Awake, she said, not alive. She was awake for the first time in her life.”
The woman’s complexion went grey. I was afraid she might faint. I filled the shot glass again, and she knocked it back and came up coughing.
“Did you meet this guy? Did you ever know his real name?”
“No, just that he had a gentle smile and kind eyes. We were supposed to meet him at the graduation ceremony. The whole family was travelling in.”
Gentle smile and kind eyes; that could easily describe the guy who came in for a date with Daphne last night. Had he done something with the real Daphne—ehm, Chloe? What did he say he did for a living, plastics engineer? Yes, that’s what he said. My lungs were tightening. My sk
in went cold with goose bumps. The hair over my entire body stood on end. Had I been talking to Orlando last night? Had I been in the park when he was masturbating onto the mannequin? Did he know where Chloe was? Or worse, had he done something to hurt Chloe?
I could feel bile slicking up the back of my throat. Okay, first rule in cop novels, don’t jump to conclusions. Gather information. “Do you think this man has some role to play in Chloe’s disappearance?”
“I have no idea. It would be nice to talk to him and ask him what he knows.”
“The police haven’t questioned him?”
“The police aren’t really looking for Chloe. She disappeared over spring break. We knew she was traveling somewhere with him; we don’t know where. She took her car, her purse, her clothes. The police think she went missing wherever she went on vacation. Or given her mental health history, that she just decided to keep going and live her life elsewhere.”
“You don’t agree?”
She shook her head. “When she was younger, we were very close. Depression robbed us of that same relationship. I always hoped to get it back. Through everything she was dealing with, though, we had a special bond. And something in my heart feels like that bond was broken. I just want to understand why.”
“Of course you do,” I agreed. “And no one has any information where she might have gone?”
“No one we can scrounge up who knew her has a clue where she could be. Her car was at the train station. The case, according to the police, is cold. They have no direction. I call them every week, but there’s never anything new. And then I saw…” She lifted her hand toward Daphne and the tears spilled down her cheeks again. “I was wondering about the man standing next to the mannequin on the Internet. Terrance somebody. I thought he had a gentle smile. Nice eyes. He looked like someone my sister would call Orlando. Do you know him?”
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