Couldn't Cheat Death

by A. P. Eisen

  She stiffened, and Paul watched her intently as she hesitated. “I…I didn’t.”

  “You don’t want to play this game with me.” Cliff’s lips curled in a sneer. “Jade. I’m not a fool. I’ve heard you gave him whatever hours he wanted, and I checked the last six months of schedules for the bartenders. The only bartender who worked every convention, plus every Wednesday through Sunday evening shift, was Jerry Gregoria.”

  Her mouth opened, then shut, red lips pressed tight. Her eyes snapped fire. “He asked for them first. And he was our best bartender. Why shouldn’t he have had those hours?” Her hands gripped the arms of the chair. “Who complained? That little mouse, Amy? She wishes she could do the job Jerry did. She never liked him and was always jealous because he got bigger tips than she did.” She was breathing hard, her wild gaze swinging from Cliff to Paul, then again to Cliff, like a trapped wild animal. “You know I’m right.”

  Much to Paul’s admiration, Cliff remained calm and unflappable and leaned back in his chair. “What I do know is that you weren’t following my directive to give every worker an equal chance to work the weekend shifts.”

  Hoping to keep her off-balance, Paul threw in a question of his own. “Ms. Kennedy. How well did you know the deceased?”

  “I told you already. We were coworkers.” She spit her words at him like watermelon seeds.

  “And?” His gaze met hers challengingly. “Remember, we’re conducting a murder investigation. I suggest you tell me the truth.” He paused for effect. “Or you can come down to the station with me.”

  His words seemed to take the fire out of her, and she sagged in her chair, her lips pinched and white under the bright slash of lipstick.

  “He…we were lovers. We talked about getting married.”

  A heavy sigh escaped Cliff, and Paul felt sympathy for this woman who had deluded herself into thinking Jerry Gregoria was marriage material.

  “Why are you staring at me like that? We loved each other. Maybe it was wrong to give him the best assignments, but I work evenings and wanted to be with him.”

  More likely, she didn’t trust her horndog lover, and rightly so, from what Paul had learned. Everyone he’d talked to so far about the bartender had given the indication that Gregoria thought with his dick, not his brain.

  “So not only did you break the rule about favoritism in shift assignments, you also broke the rule about not dating coworkers.” Cliff frowned, picked up a pen from his desk, and drew a pad closer to him. “Really, Jade. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Paul remained silent, concentrating on the unraveling of the smooth, confident Jade Kennedy.

  “No one follows that rule. Come on, Cliff. Jerry and I loved each other. We weren’t just dating or fooling around. We were different.”

  It was at this time that Paul decided to drop the bomb. “So then it would surprise you that Jerry Gregoria was seen on numerous occasions at a bar called the Light Bulb, where he’d meet various men and have sex in the bathroom or go home with them?”

  Jade turned white, then gray. “N-no. No, he wouldn’t.”

  Paul regarded her with sympathy. “My partner has spent all morning checking out Jerry’s social media accounts while our forensics team has been going through his computer and phone. Jerry’s calendar alone has names and numbers of at least ten men, each marked with a star system. I’m sure you’d rather not hear what the ratings were.”

  “No,” she whispered. Her long hair fell forward, covering her face.

  “He also had profiles on Tinder and Grindr and was setting up dates with men and women he met online as recently as last week.”

  Her shoulders shook. “I didn’t know. I thought we were exclusive. He never said…” Cliff handed her a tissue. “Thanks. I feel like such a fool.” Cliff left his seat to put his arm around her shoulders and comfort her.

  Paul regarded her as she wept in Cliff’s arms. Did she know her lover was a man-whore and killed him? Were her tears real? It wouldn’t be the first time a person became a fool for love. But was it enough for her to kill Jerry Gregoria?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hellish didn’t begin to describe Cliff’s morning. The phone didn’t stop ringing with people wanting to talk—aka gossip—about Jerry’s death. After the discussion with Jade, where despite her grief over Jerry’s death, she was given a warning, Paul Monroe had thanked him and left. There had been none of the personal intensity of their conversation from the previous night, Cliff mused as he finished his second cup of coffee, when for a moment he’d thought Paul might kiss him.

  He wasn’t a fool. He knew desire in a man’s eyes when he saw it. He’d also had enough experience to recognize a closet case, and after being with Lincoln, who refused to acknowledge him not only to family and friends, but anywhere else except the confines of the bedroom, Cliff had sworn never to be anyone’s dirty little secret again. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Paul had gotten his cock sucked in the bathroom, and while Cliff had flirted at the Light Bulb, it didn’t sit well with him to know Paul had been with someone.

  “You’re an ass,” he muttered to himself. “That man is so deep in the closet, he’s in another universe.” Ignoring his libido, Cliff made a phone call to Duffy to check on the status of the camera footage.

  “Just getting it together for you now, Cliff. I hate to tell you this—”

  “But you are and I’m going to get pissed off, right?”

  “Well, maybe…” Duffy sighed. “Several of the cameras weren’t functional.”

  “Shit. That’s not good. The police were counting on the footage.”

  “I know, I know. I have my guys working on fixing that today. We do have some footage, and the tech guys put it on a flash drive. Want me to bring it over?”

  “Yes, please.” Cliff knew Paul would want to come view it, and called the number on the card, but it went to voice mail. He left a message: “This is Cliff Baxter. I have the camera footage. Come to my office when you’re ready.”

  That was it. Impersonal as possible.

  Someone rapped on his door. “Come in.”

  The door swung open, and Brian Duffy stuck his head inside. “Ready for me?”

  “Sure.” He waved Duffy inside.

  Cliff’s office wasn’t large, and Duffy, at six foot three and two hundred and forty pounds, filled the space. He might’ve torn his knee, effectively ending his baseball career, but he hadn’t let it slow him down. Once he’d had the knee replaced, Duffy went into the security business, and Cliff hired him when their last head of security had retired.

  He fit himself into the same chair Jade Kennedy had sat in and handed over a small flash drive. “Here you go.”

  Cliff inserted it in his computer, and they waited. “How’re Marsha and the kids?”

  Duffy’s face lit up. “They’re great. Erin’s starting to walk, and Celia is finally sleeping through the night.”

  Cliff grinned. “Bet you’re happy about that.”

  “Dude. I love her, but she was killing me. It’s like she knew every time Marsha and I got in the mood, and started screaming her head off. Kids are great, but they fuck up your sex life.”

  Cliff had nothing to contribute to that remark, so he remained silent and watched as the screen came to life.

  “The footage gets overwritten every forty-eight hours. We have the day it happened,” he said as Cliff fiddled with the mouse, “and the time. So right now you’re looking at five thirty.”

  He came around the desk, and they leaned forward as the video started. Cliff could see various people walking to and from their cars, but no sign of Jerry.

  He jumped at the sudden, insistent knocking on his door. “Yes?”

  Paul Monroe strode into the room, scowling. “You have it?”

  “Yeah. We’re just watching it now.”

  Paul joined Duffy and him behind the desk. “You’re Brian Duffy, right? I followed you from your college days at Michigan. Detective Paul Monroe.”
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  Duffy and Paul shook hands, and the three of them stared at the screen. Watching. Waiting. The minutes ticked by.

  “There.” He pointed to the screen. “There’s Jerry.”

  Cliff felt the tension rolling off Paul when he leaned in close. Their bodies pressed together, making Cliff a bit weak, but he forced himself to stay focused. On-screen, Jerry got out of his car and stood for a second checking something on his phone, when someone came up behind him. Unaware, Jerry shut the car door, and with his gaze still fixed on his phone, activated the alarm from his key remote.

  “That’s them. Dammit, turn around.” Paul sounded tense.

  Whoever the person was, their black hoodie was pulled over their head, obscuring not only their hair color, but their face as well. The person was about as tall as Jerry, but with their baggy pants and shapeless hoodie, it was impossible to tell body type.

  “This bastard is smart. Even wore gloves so we can’t tell skin color.” Paul’s disgust came through loud and clear.

  They watched as Jerry turned around, and the two began talking. From Jerry’s expression and hand motions, it became apparent there was some disagreement. They continued to argue, and the person pushed Jerry, who seemed surprised but didn’t push back.

  Cliff glanced at Paul, whose gaze remained fixed on the screen.

  The person pushed Jerry again, and this time Jerry gave them the finger and turned away.

  “There. They’re putting their hand in their pocket.” Paul’s breath hit his cheek.

  Cliff found he didn’t want to watch the moment Jerry was murdered. He never liked the guy, but it wasn’t anything he wanted to see. He turned away and faced the wall.

  “Shit.” Duffy’s voice rang out, and he walked to the opposite side of the room. Cliff cut a sharp glance to Duffy and saw the big man pale and sweating. Real-life murder wasn’t like television. It was brutal, vicious, and Cliff wondered how Paul could become immune to it.

  As if to prove his point, Paul remained glued to the computer; then replayed the scene again before shutting it down and pulling out the flash drive.

  “I’m going to take this with me. I presume it’s the only copy?” At Duffy’s nod, Paul slipped it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll need signed affidavits from everyone who was involved in downloading this, to verify the chain of custody. I can send the templates to you, Cliff, and then you can distribute them?”

  Cold as ice. Damn. “Sure. No problem.”

  “Thank you. This is an incredible piece of evidence, and we’re going to go over it from every angle. Now we know that the suspect didn’t arrive with Jerry and that they weren’t complete strangers.”

  “I couldn’t watch it even once.” He shuddered. “It was horrible.”

  “It was,” Paul said sympathetically and squeezed his shoulder. “But so is murder. I’m here to make sure that person is caught, and whatever I have to do, I will. It’s the worst part of the job, but the most important.” Cliff found himself nodding at Paul’s passionate words, watching his firm lips as he spoke. Shit, he was getting turned-on, which was wrong when death lingered around them.

  “Yes, I wasn’t criticizing.”

  Paul shot him a quick smile. “I know. Also, to let you know, I’ve set up interviews with the staff over the course of the next few days.”

  “Do you want them to come down to the police station? I’ll need to know for coverage purposes.”

  “No. I plan on doing them on-site. It makes people more comfortable, and gives me a chance to observe them in their environment, which might spark something.”

  “Understood. If you need a private room to speak with them, that can be arranged.”

  “I will, and thank you.”

  “Happy to help in any way possible.”

  “Talk to you later.” He left the room, and Duffy sat in the chair with a heavy thump.

  “Jesus, that was awful.”

  “I couldn’t watch it.” He swallowed. “Did you…see it?”

  “Yeah.” He shuddered. “It’s not something I’m gonna be able to unsee, at least not for a while. I dunno how those guys do it. He—the cop—had no reaction. Zero.”

  For some reason, Cliff felt the need to defend Paul. “I guess when you see so much death, you have to detach yourself. Like doctors do.”

  From Duffy’s skeptical expression, he remained unconvinced.

  “Anyway, I have the bar employees’ schedules for Paul. I meant to give them to him, but I got so rattled, I forgot. I’m going to have to call him.”

  “Paul, huh?” Duffy quirked a brow. “You two are buddies now?”

  “I knew him years ago. His younger brother and I were best friends.”

  “Yeah. Funny how these things happen.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know if you come up with anything interesting on any other videos.”

  “Of course.”

  Duffy left, and Cliff gathered his papers. Finding Jerry’s killer was important, but he also had a hotel to run. The rest of the morning he caught up on emails and contacted Human Resources to place an ad for an experienced bartender.

  Three hours later he ate a small chicken salad sandwich for lunch and decided to do a walk-through of the hotel. He stopped by the bar to get a drink of iced tea. Amy poured him a glass, then leaned on the bar to chat.

  “So terrible about Jerry. I can’t believe it.” Her sturdy, weathered hands smoothed over the glossy bar top, and Cliff watched them tremble.

  “You guys worked closely together. I know it must hurt.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her expression turned mournful. “Jerry was so sweet to me. If I ever needed to switch a shift, he was always willing. Plus, he helped me with Mason.”

  Cliff knew Amy had it rough. Her husband had left her when Mason was born with special needs. The boy, now fourteen, had the capacity of an eight-year-old, and Cliff had sometimes seen her with him at the park, in one of the children’s playgrounds.

  Hearing that Jerry helped Amy with her son surprised him. Jerry didn’t seem the giving type if it didn’t involve his dick. And Amy—rawboned and weary from what life had both given and taken from her—wasn’t a woman who fell easily for a pretty smile.

  “I didn’t know. He had a hidden side, I guess.”

  Anger blazed from her eyes. “People didn’t know him. No, he wasn’t the best judge of character. Like, just this week, I told him he shouldn’t have gotten into that screaming fight in the lobby with that author he spent the night with. She should’ve known it was only a one-night stand. And then there was that male cover model who knew better than to take steroids, but Jerry would have never ratted him out.”

  “What? I didn’t hear any of this.”

  She straightened and thrust her shoulders back with self-importance. “Yeah. I’m going to talk to that detective and tell him everything I know. We bartenders hear all the secrets and confessions. Like hairdressers.”

  “Good.” He nodded approvingly. “That could be important. I’m sure the detective will be happy to hear it.” His mind raced. Could one of them be the killer? It was a more likely scenario than Jade. She might’ve known Jerry cheated on her and was covering it up, but Cliff still had a hard time imagining Jade Kennedy hurting anyone.

  He drained his glass. “Well, thanks, Amy. When you talk to the detective, make sure you don’t leave anything out. Do you know the names of the author and the cover model?”

  “I won’t forget a thing. Don’t worry. No one wants to see his killer caught more than I do.”

  Walking away from the bar and back to his office, Cliff thought Amy’s statement a little strange, but he chalked it up to her distress. If Jerry had helped her as she’d said, this would be a big blow to her and her son. He approached the front desk, where a woman in a bright pink-and-purple tight-fitting dress was berating one of the clerks.

  “May I help?” he asked smoothly. “I’m Cliff Baxter, the hotel manager. Is there a problem?”

  �
�There most certainly is,” she snapped. “I’m Dana Dickerson.”

  Her pause indicated Cliff should know who she was, but as he hadn’t a clue, he remained silent.

  “The author? I’m here for the convention. I have over fifty novels. My books have won Hottest First Kiss, Best Bedroom Scene, and Sexiest Book Boyfriend from the Romance Authors Association of America.”

  Cliff, whose taste ran more to biographies and general fiction, had no idea how to answer that, so he picked the safest course. “Okay, Ms. Dickerson. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been asked to speak to a detective about some murder investigation. This is outrageous. Who gave them my name and why?” Her full pink lips thinned in disgust. “I demand to know.”

  His nerves tingled. Was this the person Amy had mentioned had a one-night stand with Jerry?

  “Ms. Dickerson, I can assure you none of my staff gave out your information to anyone. If you’ve been asked to speak with the police, you can find out more information from them.”

  “It’s ridiculous. I come for a convention and get dragged into this for no reason.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about,” Cliff said mildly.

  She shot him a look and huffed away, her stilettos clicking on the gleaming marble floors.

  “Thanks, Mr. Baxter. She was so insistent we did something wrong. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t come by.” Marvin King, the front-desk clerk, gave him a relieved smile.

  “Not a problem. If anyone wants me, I’ll be in my office.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Cliff gave him a pat on the back as he passed him, and walked to his office. For the rest of the workday he answered emails, returned phone calls, and dealt with the everyday management problems of running the hotel, from irate customers demanding room changes to delivery people who failed to follow proper procedures, resulting in a thousand pounds of ice spilling all over the street outside the hotel. By the time six o’clock came around, he was whipped. Normally he’d go home and cook dinner for himself, but the thought of all that prep work and cleanup made him tired. On his drive home, he passed by Maria’s Homestyle Italian, a place he’d been meaning to try for as long as he could remember, and decided to have dinner there.