A Novel Murder (10 page)

“Yeah, sure.” He stared up at the dancer, his hand locked on his freshly delivered brew. His tensed shoulders and distant demeanor showed he‘d gotten her message. His focus turned to his wristwatch. “So, let’s get this over with. I’d like to blow the joint since it is my time off.”

Guilt niggled her. Had she unintentionally sent him the wrong message?
Regardless, she had a job to do and answers to get. She took a deep breath. “The girls…I asked how they got along with one another.”

An icy demeanor reflected in his eyes. “Far as I know, they get on fine. I sit at front and watch for problems and collect the money at the door, I don’t
babysit them…unless of course they have a problem with the audience.”

His evasive response stiffened her determination. Even from the front door, he had more than ample opportunity to see what went on out front.

“I realize you don’t spend time in their dressing room, but have you ever witnessed any sort of disagreement between one or more of the dancers?”

“Nah.”
He shook his head. “Other than Siamese always complaining that the younger girls make more money than she does, I’d say they tolerate each other.”

She grimaced. No wonder Siamese offered her a lap dance. From the faces and bodies Michelle saw in the dressing room and gyrating on the bar, competition for the older gal had to be tough. What better motive than to eliminate a few of them.

“Are we through here?” Louis snapped her from her thoughts.

“One more question. How about the boss?
He ever have any problems with his ladies?”

“Not that I can say…usual disagreements over who should get the biggest share out of the tip jar, more hours…things like that.”

Does Mr. C have a favorite?”

“Geez, you expect me to know that?
I don’t butt into the boss’s business.” Louis drained his beer.

“No, of course you don’t, but surely he might pay attention to one more than the other occasionally.”

Louis checked his watch again. “If I have to guess his favorite, it would be Persia, but since she didn’t show up tonight, that might change. Now, I’m outta here.

Before she could utter a word, he slid off the bar stool and hurried out the door. A painful stab pierced her heart.
Louis had a much as confirmed what Tony had already discovered. She’d hoped for an informative evening, but not one quite so painful. At least she had two promising leads but someone here knew more than they were telling, and she wasn’t leaving until she got more answers.

She left her bitter wine glass with only a few sips missing and walked toward the door, stopping to speak again with the new bouncer. “Remember me? I’m a private investigator and I wonder if I might go backstage again?
Your boss already okayed me talking with the dancers and I have a few more questions.”

He shrugged. “I already heard about you, but I reckon if Mr. C said you could, it’s fine with me. Just don’t interfere with their stage time.”

“I won’t. I shouldn’t be back there very long.” She turned toward the exit to the dressing room.

“Guess your date with Louis didn’t go well. He didn’t even say goodbye when he stormed out.”
The man’s intimation caused her to jerk around.

“It wasn’t a date!”

“Oh…well I just—”

“I’m working a case, and my interest in Louis was purely professional.”
She practically barked at him.

The bouncer held up his hands as if surrendering. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to piss you off.”

Why was she so angry? Tired, disappointed, sad, but mad? She recalled her late father’s admonishment about expecting too much too soon and realized her problem. Once again, she wanted immediate resolution and battled impatience. She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap your head off….” Raising her chin, she flashed a “forgive me” smile.

“No problem.”
He returned a grin. “I shouldn’t have butted into something that didn’t concern me.”

The obvious smacked her in the face. “Hey, maybe I should have involved you in my investigation since you work here, too.”

He hunched his shoulders. “Not too often. I’m only filling in for Louis tonight. You need to talk to Rodrigo. He’s the other regular.”

“Thanks for the info. Do you know his working hours?”

“Not really sure, but Louis will know. They sore of rotate days and only call me when I’m needed.”

Funny, she hadn’t noticed how handsome the bouncer was before now. His kind, dark eyes, muscular build, and well-combed wavy hair had escaped her until this very moment. He sort of resembled her…why the hell did everyone remind her of her partner?
Forcing her thoughts back to the case, she smiled again. “It was very nice meeting you…I don’t even know you name, but I appreciate your help.”

“Hey, no problem. Glad I could be of assistance. Name’s Sam, say…you wouldn’t want to go out sometime would you?”
He cocked his head and gave her a most alluring smile.

She swallowed hard. “If I wasn’t so engrossed in work, I’d say yes, but….” Temptation almost consumed her, but time was something she couldn’t spare right now.

“Well, I had to ask.” His smile turned to a boyish grin. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.” He jotted down his name and phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to her.

She tucked his info into her pocket, sure she’d never call, but flattery heated her cheeks. She offered her hand. The warmth from his when he grasped palms with her sent a shiver through her. Damn, she known the guy for all of five minutes and responded like a high school girl anxious for her first date. Maybe she should call…involve herself with something other than dreams about a partner that might be on hold forever. She’d barely had time to breathe, let alone write her number one novel to free her from the department’s ’hands off’ policy. At this rate, she’d die an old maid.

She released the breath she didn’t realize she held. “Well, I’d best get backstage and ask my questions. Thanks again, Sam.”

My pleasure, I’m sure.” He nodded and winked.

She walked toward the dancer’s dressing area, noting Manx was taking her seductive turn on stage.
Michelle averted her gaze and pondered her instant attraction to Sam. Damn men! They never came along at the right time. Admittedly, the handsome bouncer made it hard to focus on her job, but she squared her shoulders and walked up the three stairs, trading the stench of the bar for the overpowering smell of mixed perfumes and lotions lingering backstage.

* * *

In the car, Michelle started the engine and flipped the AC to high. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. The women hadn’t revealed anything more than she’d already learned. Persia wasn’t missed because she’d called in and requested the night off. Siamese was scheduled off as well and that fact gnawed at Michelle. Still, according to the ladies present, they all got along and no one had a problem, especially with the boss. In fact, they all proclaimed his fairness and impartiality. Michelle scanned the room for the camera she felt certain was hidden somewhere. No one was ever entirely happy where they worked.

One woman had skimmed over Siamese being a little envious of the younger women, but that seed had already been planted in Michelle’s mind and made the stripper a prime suspect. Her absence tonight heightened Shell’s suspicions and gave her somewhere positive to begin an investigation.
At least the night hadn’t been a total wash.

She patted her pocket, making sure the paper with Sam’s number on it was still there. Maybe when things slowed down, she’d give him a call, but right now she had to focus on the case. His beguiling smile made it difficult.

With the car idling, she grabbed her cell phone and pushed two on her speed dial for Tony. The neon sign over the building fluttered, creating eerie images around her. Michelle made sure her doors were locked and made a cursory inspection of her back seat. No doubt about it, the whole place was creepy. She opened the glove box and took out her gun, keeping it close by on the seat.

“Rizetti.
" Tony’s answering voice raised goosebumps on her arms, but she chalked it up to the air conditioning.

“It’s Michelle. I’ve finished up at Kitty Katz. Do you need me at the crime scene?”

“No need, the body’s been removed and the CSI guys are going through the vic’s apartment. I made notes to share with you, so I’ll see you in the morning. I’m heading home.”
He cleared his throat. “B-by the way, how did things go with you tonight? Did the bouncer behave himself?” Concern etched her partner’s voice.

“I’m fine, but I didn’t really get anything useful. Persia wasn’t there nor was my prime suspect at the moment. I keep hoping there’s more than one Bernadette in the city and Persia really isn’t dead.”

“Sorry, Meesh, but I’m afraid they’re one and the same.”

“It can’t be.
What color were the victims eyes?”

“Brown, why?”

“Persia’s eyes were sky blue.”

“Maybe when she wore the contacts we found in their case next to her bed, but….”

Welling tears blurred the cars parked around her. She squeezed her lids together and took a deep breath, but wetness spilled down her cheeks. She’d barely known the woman, yet sadness clutched her heart at the loss of such a bubbly spirit.

“Are you okay?” Tony broke the silence.

Michelle sniffed back her tears and took a moment to compose. “Yeah, I‘m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m headed home, too. It’s been a long day.”

Michelle unlocked her apartment and stepped inside. A flick of the wall switch turned on the ceramic lamp on the end table. She tossed her purse on the sofa, picked up her used wine glass from the coffee table and headed for the refrigerator. After withdrawing the wine bottle from the almost empty top rack, she removed the stopper and filled the crystal goblet. Carrying her Zinfandel, she rounded the sofa and sat. Her apartment was small, but convenient, especially when she was bone tired. Grocery shopping would have to wait one more day, but then she didn‘t even have an appetite of late.

Sagging against the cushiony back and holding the filled glass, she stared into space and thought of Persia. Who could have wanted her dead and why?
Was it just a coincidence that both strangled victims worked in the same establishment? Michelle took a drink, savoring the sweet difference between her own brand and the rot gut she’d been served at Kitty Katz. Though her eyes felt gritty and her body craved rest, she couldn’t halt the questions. Of course Persia didn’t show up, but did Siamese’s absence tie in somehow? She drained her glass and set it back on the table. Perhaps tomorrow, the investigator’s reports would show they discovered a lead to some answers.

Michelle flipped off the lamp, and following the beam from her bathroom nightlight, headed to bed. Her dilemma now was to turn off her brain.

* * *

Before her alarm even sounded, Michelle bolted upright from a restless night. The journal!
She'd been so busy following other clues, she hadn’t even checked Cara Austin’s evidence log. The book might hold the key to both murders. Unable to wait a moment longer to find out, she slid the alarm button to off, preventing the jarring buzz that normally woke her. Adrenalin pumping, she slipped from beneath the covers, taking little note of the morning chill from the air conditioner she’d left running all night.

She showered and dressed, pulled her long tresses into a ponytail, and put on a minimal of make-up. While she exchanged her terrycloth wrap for clothing, her mind buzzed with all the ‘what ifs’ her brain could conjure. Finally clad in her normal pair of slacks with a complimenting top, she grabbed her shoulder bag and headed out the door. With fingers crossed she’d find the journal in the evidence locker, she cranked over the engine on her Nissan and followed her usual route to the office. Early rising minimized her frustration with the normal daily commuters. She chuckled at her chance of having many such days. Congested traveling was her destiny, given her crazy work schedule.

All the traffic lights were green in her favor, and in the shortest time ever, she pulled into the department parking lot. Now if she found the journal, the day would be off to a perfect start.

* * *

“I need to check the evidence inventory for Cara Austin, please.”
Michelle smiled at the chubby woman at the desk in the secured area. Unlike the prisoners in the jail down the hall who stared at bars all day, the clerk was locked behind a wire screen except for the small counter area where Michelle rested the hot cup of coffee she’d just bought from the machine in the hallway. She rubbed her palms together to quell the burning sensation in her right one. Great deal! Thin cups and a bitter, stale tasting brew.

“Sign the roster please.”
The woman, whose ID badge read Luanne, pointed to the clipboard beneath Michelle’s cup. “I’ll get the records for you.” She rose and disappeared into a file room.

A passing janitor rolled a plastic lined trashcan by, and Michelle discarded her recent purchase into it. “Have a nice day,” she said, “and I‘d avoid the coffee machine if I were you.