Deadly Accusations (18 page)

“There's the club,” Lou said, making a right turn into a parking lot across the street.

When they reached the club's entrance, two tall women emerged. Despite their pink wigs and beaded dresses, their Adam's apples were obvious under the bright lights.

Lou gripped Casey's arm. “You're kidding me, right?”

“Not me.” Smiling, she urged him forward.

“Am I going to need a tiara and a pair of sling-backs to get in?” he asked.

“I doubt it. See those guys?” Casey pointed toward a bearded man escorting what definitely looked like a woman. “If you don't like the place, we won't stay along.”

Inside, her eardrums were assaulted by “Car Wash” blasting from speakers. Too bad she hadn't brought earplugs. While they edged past crowded tables and clusters of people standing around in pastel suits and shiny dresses, Casey looked for Ursula Gallenski. Lou led her to an empty table on the far side of the room, near a hallway that led to the bathrooms.

They were barely seated before a server in a hot pink mini-skirt with matching headband approached and took their drink orders. In a corner of the room, the
DJ
stood on a platform surrounded by strobe lights. Casey spotted a crowded bar at the back of the room. Men dominated the bar and looked anywhere from twenty to over fifty years old. Some of the guys were holding hands. Others were either alone or in small groups and ogling the women. When the song ended, the
DJ
announced a short break. Canned music, quieter than the
DJ
's brain-shaking noise, began to play. Their server appeared with two beers. Casey paid before Lou could retrieve his wallet.

She picked up her glass and studied the colorful, crowded room. “How odd.”

Lou spluttered as he swallowed his beer. “Ya think?”

“I've never been to a club with such a mix of gay and straight couples, not to mention a shared love of sequins, feathers, and disco.”

Lou glanced at the room. “It's packed for a Thursday night.”

Casey gazed at the enormous silver ball above the dance floor. A rainbow of lights flashed over patrons shimmying to “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” on the floor. It was all so gaudy, so seventies tacky.

“What do you think of the décor?” she asked.

“Cool.” His head began to bob.

A young woman strutted past them, wearing clear plastic, high-heeled sandals with lights in the heels. Every time she moved, blue and red lights flickered.

Lou said, “I'm buying you a pair of those for Christmas.”

“Please don't.”

“Come on, it'd be worth it to hear what Stan would say if you sauntered into work in blinking heels. You're a size eight, right?”

“I'm not telling.”

Given the amount of strutting and preening happening on the dance floor's perimeter, people were as interested in being seen as they were in dancing. Women seemed particularly engaged in a notice-me competition. Rhinestones and beads wound through hairdos shaped like birds wings. Two women in short, lime dresses and matching shoes wore sparkles on their faces and chests.

“This explains all the wigs and mini-skirts I saw in Jasmine's closet, right next to her church-going dresses,” Casey said. “I never pictured so many sides to her.”

“Jasmine spent a lot of time trying to find herself.”

Casey watched him. “What was missing?”

“A sense of belonging, I think.”

“She always seemed so ultra-cool at work; like she had it together.”

“It was an act.” Lou gaped at a young woman with muscular legs and bleached blond hair that reached her butt.

Casey put down her drink and tried to recapture his attention. “How do you know it was an act?”

“She asked me out for a beer in August, after we'd both had a crappy shift. She was really down about her mom.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I knew you two didn't get along, and I didn't want you to feel worse.”

He was right. She would have felt lousy, even more than she did right now. Jasmine had been dead two weeks, and Lou hadn't once mentioned that he'd already known about her birth mother. Once again, though, why make an issue of it?

“Was she down because her mom was sick?” she asked, her tone casual.

“Pretty much. After her mother's stroke, Jasmine wanted to go see her, but her mother kept putting her off, saying she didn't want Jasmine to see her paralyzed and feeble.” He shook his head. “Jasmine had begun to think that her mother didn't want to meet at all.”

Three young guys in striped spandex sauntered past them. The man nearest Lou winked at him. Lou developed a sudden interest in his beer.

“That's what happens when you wear a
TWO BEERS AND I'M NEGOTIABLE
shirt, especially on someone as cute as you,” Casey remarked.

“You're really enjoying this, aren't ya?”

“It's getting better.”

“Dancing Queen” began to play, transforming the floor into a congested, psychedelic swirl. When everyone started to sing, the whole scene became suffocating. Ursula emerged from the bathroom, wearing a red feather boa and purple dress. Hadn't there been a boa just like it in Jasmine's bedroom? Ursula had her arm around a woman who looked far too sad to be clubbing.

“That's Ursula.” Casey pointed to her. “The one in purple.”

“Really? Is she pregnant?”

“Yep.” Ursula spotted Casey, who gave her a quick nod. “She doesn't look surprised to see me.”

“Or that thrilled.” Lou's finger tapped the edge of his glass.

“That's fine, just as long as she talks.” Casey waved Ursula over and watched her speak to her friend. “I wonder if she could pinpoint any of the guys Jasmine went to dinner with.”

“Does it matter? You're here only to ask about Eisler, right?”

He was doing it again, damn it. Telling her what she should and shouldn't do. Making sure she didn't become too involved. The friend headed toward the washroom while Ursula ambled toward them.

“Paval said you might drop by.” She plopped into a chair, grinned at Lou, and then looked at his shirt. “How many beers have you had?”

“Just this one.” He raised his glass.

After Casey introduced him, Ursula asked, “Do you take good care of Casey, Lou?”

“She's good at taking care of herself.”

“Paval takes excellent care of me.” She patted her belly. “He'll be a great dad.”

“You must be excited,” Lou said.

Ursula's smile lasted one second. “Paval loves kids. He's wanted one of his own for ages, so what the hell?”

Casey already felt sorry for the baby. What kind of mother decided that she might as well get pregnant because she has a great househusband? On the other hand, it wasn't her business. She needed to focus on Jasmine. “Were you and Jasmine often here at the same time?”

“Not if I could help it.” Ursula waved at a couple of women nearby. “I brought her here after she first moved into our building and introduced her to people, but she was so snobby that I never did it again. I figured she kept coming back for the rich guys.”

Casey caught Lou's disapproving expression. Did he honestly believe that people who saw the dark side of Jasmine were wrong?

“Did your husband say why I wanted to talk to you?”

Ursula's gaze bore down on Casey. “To ask about the guy who showed up at our building last month, looking for Jasmine.” She rested her elbows on the table and gave Casey a slinky smile. “My price for information is a soda water with a twist of lemon, and twenty bucks.”

Lou flagged down a server.

“I've only got ten on me,” she replied.

Ursula rolled her eyes.

As Casey handed her the cash, Ursula said, “He was a tanned, skinny guy with short brown hair and manicured nails. Wore a suit and walked like someone had shoved a stick up his butt.”

This definitely sounded like Eisler. She and Lou exchanged solemn glances.

“Did he give you his name?” she asked.

“Nope. Just said he wanted to see Jasmine. I told him to buzz her apartment.”

“Did he?”

“Nah.” Ursula leaned back in her chair. “The twit took off.”

When “Jive Talkin'” started playing, Ursula and Lou began bobbing their heads. An older guy escorted a young woman in white vinyl boots and a teeny yellow skirt onto the dance floor. When the entire room started singing again, Casey cringed. Oh, dear god, she was in disco hell.

Lou paid for the soda while Ursula glanced at the washrooms, presumably to see if her friend was around, which she wasn't. When the song finally ended, Ursula raised her glass to Lou. “Cheers.” After taking a gulp, she gave Casey a bemused look. “So, was Tight-ass one of Jasmine's admirers?”

“Apparently.”

“That explains his lovesick face.”

“Did you see this guy more than once near her apartment?”

“Nope, but Pav and I are too busy to keep track of everyone.”

Paval seemed to know what was going on with tenants, though. “Your husband told me that Jasmine's half sister, Gabrielle, showed up at your building two days before Jasmine died. Did either of you see Gabrielle near your building after that Sunday?”

“I didn't, and Paval would have told me if he had.” She gave Casey a shrewd look. “So, are Tight-ass and Gabrielle your murder suspects?”

“I don't have suspects. I'm not investigating.”

“Then why are you here?”

Lou slipped his hand under his chin and peered at Casey.

“It's a work issue.” She shrugged. “Too boring to explain.”

“Yeah, well, I heard the cops are pretty interested in Noel Merryweather,” Ursula said, “which is a good call.”

“Why?” Casey asked.

“The night before Jasmine died, Pav and I saw him zoom out of the building like his chair was on fire.” Ursula sipped her drink. “The guy looked mad as hell and stank of wine.”

“How could you tell? Your apartment isn't near the door.”

“We'd been out for a walk and bumped into him outside. His van was parked in the handicapped spot out front.” Ursula looked around the room. “Jasmine had a way of pissing people off. A couple of them are here.” She nodded toward the bar.

“How do you know she pissed these guys off?” Casey asked.

“I told some of her dates about her death, and you know what?” She leaned close to Casey. “They didn't give a shit. It seems that little Miss Too-Good-for-the-World was happy to let men take her out to dinner, but she wouldn't put out.”

Lou's upper body went rigid. “So they didn't like her because she wasn't a tramp?”

“No, sweet pea, they didn't like her because she was one hell of a tease. A taker.”

“Excuse me.” Lou stood and headed for the bathroom.

Ursula watched him leave. “Don't tell me your boyfriend's a Jasmine fan.”

Casey bristled. “They got along.”

“Is that so?” She raised a painted brow. “What did she want from him?”

“A boyfriend for Marie Crenshaw.”

“Fight for him, honey. He seems like a keeper.”

“I intend to, but let's talk about losers, like Jasmine's ex. He would hang around the building, right?”

“All the time.” She examined her silver nails. “When it came to men, Jasmine made some really bad choices. That chick was playing a dangerous game, and I should know; I've been down that road.” She sipped her drink. “Never dreamed that hers would lead to death.”

“Did her ex ever have a woman with him when he came by the apartment?”

Ursula played with her straw. “I drove past his car in early September, and saw some chick wearing a ball cap and sunglasses in the passenger's seat.”

“Making it tough to
ID
her.”

“Damn straight.” Ursula turned and spotted her friend standing a few feet away, wiping her eyes. “I gotta run.”

“Your friend seems upset.”

“If you had a husband who'd cheated on you, wouldn't you be?”

“I did, and I was for a while.”

Ursula turned to her. “Were you pregnant at the time?”

“No.”

“She is, which reminds me; one Saturday last month, when Jasmine left her kid with Paval, Birch and his friend were sitting in his car, watching. Instead of following Jasmine, they stayed to watch Jeremy, who was with Paval outside. It freaked Paval out so he took the boy in. Birch left after that, but it made me wonder if the jerk was more interested in Jeremy than Jasmine.”

Casey spotted Lou edging past Ursula's friend.

“By the way, Birch's passenger also wore a dark jacket,” Ursula said. “I heard that the killer wore a dark jacket, ball cap, and sunglasses. Curious, ain't it?”

“It is.” Casey's skin prickled.

CASEY IGNORED THE CHATTER OF
passengers on the M6 bus while she scanned the sidewalk for anyone who might be carrying a fist-sized rock. The last hit happened on September twenty-seventh and she'd worked this route several times since without incident. Today was October fifteenth. The rockhound had either found a new hobby or had had few opportunities.