Murder in the Aisles (11 page)

When Felicia got to the Madison Building, she took the elevator from the C level to the first floor and maneuvered her way around until she reached the Manuscript Division office where Harriette Blaine ruled.

Harriette Blaine was a Senior Archivist who was often called upon to research and/or locate long lost information, and not because she was better than anyone else in her division, but because Harriette Blaine had worked at the Library of Congress since she was seventeen years old. She was now seventy-two and still as sharp as the day she started, mentally and fashion-wise. Harriette knew where all the bodies were buried,
and
where the next designer sale would be held before word hit the street.

Felicia tapped lightly on the metal frame of Harriette's cubicle. When Felicia first started at the library, she remembered hearing a rumor that there was a big dust-up years earlier when the Administration wanted to give Harriette her own office. According to the urban legend, she had a made-for-television fit in the middle of the conference room. Reportedly she'd wanted to know what the hell she was going to do in an office. “I'm good at what I do because I hear and see things. How's that going to happen with me locked up in some office?” Supposedly the honchos backed off and left Harriette right where she was and where she remained.

A bright smile showcased the gold incisor tooth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Harriette stood to her full five-foot height.

Felicia couldn't help but grin. For Harriette's seventy-plus years she remained a fashionista, which was how she and Felicia became friends. They'd both been entering the building one morning and Felicia remarked about the classy swing coat that Harriette was wearing and Harriette was enamored of Felicia's thigh-high boots. And the rest was history.

Today Harriette's petite frame was draped in what Felicia knew on sight to be a Donna Karan original. The cut of the simple cream dress that gathered at the waist fit as if it was designed especially for Harriette.

“Where did you get those shoes?” Felicia gasped.

Harriette winked. “Sale at the designer outlet.”

Felicia fisted her hands on her hips and made a face. “And you didn't tell me!”

“I'm sorry. Very last minute. I promise, next time.”

“Hmm,” she groused. She stepped into the very organized cubicle—another reason why she adored Harriette—and leaned against the frame.

“How are you, Harriette?”

“How are you is the question? I know I should have come over and checked on you after that awful mess with Paul…”

“It's okay. I totally understand and I'm moving on day by day. But I do have something that you might be able to help me with.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Felicia dug in her tote for her notebook. She pulled out the page with the list of names of the poets. “Can you check these guys out for me? I did a cursory search. Got a hit on two or three but the rest are ghosts. Would you see what you could find out?”

“Sure. If they exist, I'll find something on them. Want to tell me why I'm looking?”

“I'd rather not. And I'm asking for your discretion. No one is to know what you're doing.”

Harriette frowned. “Sounds serious.”

“It might be. Please, no one is to know.”

“Understood. I'll let you know as soon as I find something.”

“Thanks. You're a doll.”

“You're not in some kind of man trouble, are you?”

Felicia burst out laughing. “Six men, Harriette! My life is never that interesting.”

“It could be if you let it,” she called out to Felicia's receding back.

Felicia made her way past the Performing Arts Reading Room, around the bend past the Recorded Sound Research Center and along the corridor to the bank of elevators that would take her to the fourth floor.

The fourth floor of the Madison Building was the epicenter for copyright. All the records were maintained there and the research conducted. There was also a copyright public record reading room, and of course the Registrar's Office, which was Derrick Weathers's domain. Felicia found him deep in concentration behind his computer screen.

“Dr. Weathers, sorry to interrupt.”

Derrick Weathers peered from around the side of his movie-theater-sized flat screen. His boyish grin and the mischievous gleam in his eyes were all smoke and mirrors. Derrick Weathers, like Felicia, was part of the intellectual elite of Mensa. He could talk to anyone about anything at any time from the inane to the esoteric and make everyone feel equally comfortable. It was a gift that Felicia wished she possessed.

“If it isn't the ultra fine Dr. Swift.” He pushed back from his desk, got up and came around to where she stood at the entrance. Before she could react, he'd scooped her into an embrace and dipped her like Fred Astaire on the dance floor. And just as swiftly he set her right on her feet and pecked her cheek.

Felicia doubled over in laughter. “One of these days you are going to pull one of your routines on the wrong woman,” she said over her giggles and smoothed out her skirt.

“Ahh, but getting to the wrong woman is half the fun.” He sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. “I wouldn't have to go through all of these antics if you would say yes and go out with me.”

They'd been doing this routine since the day they met. Derrick made it very clear that he was interested in her and wanted to be more than professional colleagues. She'd sidestepped his advances for years, but he never gave up. Now it was part of their repartee.

Felicia cocked her head to the side and flashed him a “don't start” look. He held up his hands in surrender.

“Fine. Wound me.”

“Can we be serious for a minute?”

“Anything for the gorgeous and maybe overly sensitive Dr. Swift. What can I do for you?”

“I need you to check into these poets. I want to find out if any of their work has ever been copyrighted.” She took a second copy of the list from her notebook and handed it to him.

Derrick glanced at the list, shrugged. “Sure. What's it for?”

“I…just need some background on them.”

He studied her for a moment. “When do you need this?”

“Sooner rather than later.”

“Not a problem. There's no guarantee that I'll find anything. Some people never copyright their work.”

“Yes, I know.”

He placed the sheet of paper on his desk. “Now that we have business out of the way; how are you doing these days?”

She pulled in a slow breath. “Good. I'm good.” She nodded, agreeing with her own feeble assessment.

“Really rough what happened with Dr. Dresden. I heard that it was a heart attack.”

“Hmm. Yes. That's what they're saying.”

“Whoa. What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It doesn't mean anything. That's what the doctor said. Heart attack and he took a fall from the ladder.” She pressed her lips together into a tight line.

“You don't sound like you believe it. Why?”

“You're reading too much into nothing,” she said, shoving lightness into her voice. She smiled at him. “Seriously, you are. Now, would you please let me know what you find out on those poets?”

He gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma'am.”

Felicia moved toward the door, stopped and turned back around. “Please do this yourself. Don't pass it along to the staff. Okay?”

His light brown eyes darkened. “Yeah…sure. Anything else I need to know?”

“That's it,” Felicia said brightly and spun away before the conversation took a turn down a bad alley.

As she click-clacked her way down the corridor she felt her phone vibrating inside her tote. She stopped, reached inside and took it out. Mark Rizzo. The shells of her ears heated. She pressed the green talk icon.

“Detective. Good morning.”

“Mornin'. Uh, I have some news. Thought we could talk about it after work.”

She grinned in delight. “Really, Detective. Must every bit of information you have to share with me be done over dinner or drinks?”

“Makes news go down better. Six good for you?”

“Pretty presumptuous, Detective.”

He waited.

“Six is fine. Do you know where Meridian is?”

“I can find it.”

“Then I'll see you at six.” She disconnected the call and was irrationally giddy with anticipation.

Chapter Fifteen

“So let me get this straight, you're conducting your own investigation and you have involved employees of the library? Federal Government employees I might add,” Elizabeth said, pointing her fork at Felicia.

“What choice do I have? And Derrick and Harriette don't know. They think they're simply doing me a favor.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Girl, are you crazy?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “If what you think is true then you're putting yourself in danger as well as your friends.”

Felicia studied her salad. “I can't sit back and do nothing. I know I'm onto something and now I think Mark…Detective Rizzo believes me.”

Elizabeth leaned back and gave Felicia the side-eye. “Fee, what's this really about? You think I don't hear the dip in your voice or see the faraway look in your eye whenever you mention him? When you met him he was the consummate asshole and now he's ‘Mark'.”

“What are you saying?”

“You're the one with the genius IQ. You know perfectly well what I'm saying. You have a thing for him. And it's okay to admit it. He may be a little rough around the edges but he's fine as he wants to be. I mean let's be for real, Fee, you deserve more than what you have going with Blake, which is no more than booty calls on steroids.”

“Blake wants to actually make it something,” she quietly admitted.

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “And?”

Felicia shook her head slowly in denial. “It would never work. He's a great guy, smart, good in bed, perfect career…but me and relationships…you know…” Felicia's knee rapidly began to bounce up and down.

Elizabeth reached across the table and covered her hand. “Breathe,” she said softly. “Just breathe.”

Felicia blinked rapidly, reached for her glass of water, and took several long swallows until the glass was drained. She set the glass down. The jumping knee slowed then stopped.

“Fee, you have to give yourself permission to feel.” Her eyes tightened at the corners. “I know how hard it is for you, but with the right person—”

“How would I ever know if it's the right person? I wouldn't. Keeping things purely sexual is easier. Safer.”

“But in the long run completely unfulfilling.” She waited a beat. “Mark is different isn't he?”

Felicia's pensive gaze jumped to her friend then slid away.

“And if you ask me it's pretty damned curious that every time he needs to talk to you it's over dinner. You don't need to be a detective to figure that one out.” Elizabeth stabbed her salad.

“So are you saying I shouldn't go?”

“Sometimes, girl, you are really slow. No, I'm not saying that you shouldn't go. I'm saying be honest with yourself.”

“I am being honest. I can't get involved in a relationship with Blake, Mark or anyone else for that matter. It would never work. I know myself.” Her voice cracked. “And my limitations.” She reached for her glass but it was empty.

Elizabeth slid her still full glass of water across the table.

“Thanks.” Felicia knocked back half of the glass and set it back down. “I'm going to do what I can to find out what happened. That's it.”

“Fine,” Elizabeth said, the disbelief evident in her tone.

Felicia reached for her purse, took out her wallet and plucked out a twenty. She put it under her glass. “I have to get back to the office.” She pushed back from her seat and gathered her coat from the back of the chair. “I'll call you tomorrow.” She came around and pecked Elizabeth on the cheek.

Felicia offered a tight smile before heading out of the restaurant.

* * * * *

Mark had dashed home to put on a fresh shirt. “It's not like this is some kinda date or anything,” he mumbled at his reflection. He adjusted his tie, then opted to go without one. It was after hours and it wasn't a date. Still uncertain, he folded the tie and stuck it in his jacket pocket just in case. He checked his cheeks in the mirror. The after-five shadow was moving toward six, but he didn't have time for a shave, and he needed a haircut. When his hair reached his collar it was time to go.

He snatched up his keys from the dresser and got his coat out of the hall closet, checked for his phone and wallet and then headed out. He was jumpy. His body was vibrating like a tuning fork. Maybe he needed to eat. He hadn't had a thing since noon. Yeah, that was probably it. He slid behind the wheel of his Honda, and contemplated seeing Felicia again while his baby warmed up.

Mark knew he could have told her everything he needed to say over the phone. She knew it too. That was part of the thrill, the pretending that nothing was happening. He clenched his jaw, put the car in gear and backed out of his parking space.

What was happening between them? Was it all in his head? Felicia never gave him any real indication that she was interested in him beyond the investigation of the death of her colleague. Maybe he only saw what he wanted to see. Yeah, it was good that he was going to tell her tonight to back off. Keep their contact to a minimum. There was no reason for her to be involved beyond tonight, just like the captain said. Civilians caused problems.

Mark checked his GPS. The Meridian was in the center of Georgetown, near jazz row. He'd never been, but he'd heard good things about the place. Elaine wasn't really into the jazz scene so…well that was another life. Funny that his first experience would be with Felicia Swift.

He cruised by the front entrance of the Meridian and even on a snow-clogged evening there was plenty activity. There were signs indicting that there was parking in the back. He drove around the corner and was able to ease into one of only two available spaces. The lot was full.

Mark locked up, pulled his coat collar around his neck and walked back to the front. The blast of warmth, the aroma of food, dim lighting and congenial chatter were all pleasant greetings when the heavy glass and chrome door swished closed behind him, successfully shutting out the rest of the world. His eyes slowly adjusted to the twilight and he approached the hostess's podium.

“Good evening, welcome to the Meridian. Table or would you prefer the bar?”

“Actually, I'm meeting someone. Maybe I'll just wait at the bar.”

“Absolutely. Enjoy your evening.”

Mark unbuttoned his coat as he walked toward the bar in search of an empty seat. He found one on the end.

“What can I get you?” The bartender wiped the space in front of Mark with a damp white cloth.

“Dewar's on the rocks.”

“Sure thing.”

“I hope you are officially off duty, Detective.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He turned slowly. Felicia was standing behind him. As always she was impeccable, looking as if she was ready for a photo shoot. He may not know much about women's fashion but he would bet his paycheck that Felicia did from the top of her head to her thigh high boots.

He reached for his throat with the intention of loosening his tie and realized that the tie was not the reason for the knot. He stood. “Dr. Swift. Yes, I'm off duty.”

Felicia adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, tugged lightly on the belt of her white wool coat to reveal an all-black getup underneath. Mark tried to swallow.

“Is this news dinner worthy or drink worthy, Detective?” She stepped closer to allow a patron to walk around her. Her breasts nearly touched him.

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “I don't know about you but I'm hungry.”

She gave a slight shrug. “Fine.”

Mark paid for his drink, took his glass and walked with Felicia back to the front of the establishment to check their coats and wait to be seated. Shortly after, they were escorted to a booth in the back but with a good line of sight to the stage.

Mark helped Felicia into her seat and stealthily inhaled her scent.

“They have a great menu,” Felicia said absently while she arranged and straightened the items on the table: napkin, condiments and flatware.

Mark watched in rapt silence.

Finally Felicia linked her fingers together on the top of the table and looked directly at him, which was equivalent to being shot with a jolt of electricity. Mark shifted in his seat.

“What would you recommend?” Mark asked.

“If you stick to beef the steaks are incredible, seafood is great as well or if you want pasta…” Her voice trailed off and she offered a soft smile. “Depends on what you are in the mood for.”

He could read so much into that but opted not to. “I need something to chew on tonight. I guess I'll go with the steak.”

Felicia gave a “whatever” shrug and perused her menu. “My father used to always order steaks whenever we went out. No matter where it was or what was on the menu. If the restaurant couldn't fix a steak they were forever crossed off his list as ‘decent places to eat'.” She chuckled lightly at the memory.

Mark studied the lighthearted expression on her face. “Are you and your father close?”

“We were.” She reached for her glass of water. Her hand shook ever so slightly.

Mark wasn't sure how to interpret that, so he let it go. Thankfully the waiter came to take their orders and the awkward gap of silence was filled.

“So, tell me some of the places that you've been. I saw the photos at your house. Where were they taken?”

She glanced off. “Hmm, the one of me in the canoe, I was on the Nile doing some research for my dissertation. A couple of them are me and Liz at a concert, I think. The rest are the usual picture-taking occasions.”

One thing that he did notice was that although her mother was pictured in several of the photos, there were none of her father, other than from when she was an infant. He was not present in any of the “picture-taking occasions,” except for one graduation picture. He didn't know if that meant that he was physically dead or emotionally dead to her. Her earlier comment about her father was ambiguous at best.

“What exactly does your friend Liz do at Channel 7?”

“She's an on-air producer.” She sipped her martini, then looked straight at Mark. “Ever been married, Detective?”

The question caught him completely off guard. He blinked. “Nope. Close but no cigar,” he joked. “What about you?'

Felicia shook her head and focused on her fork. “No. I can't see myself in that role.”

“Why not?”

She frowned a bit. “I've never been one who…fit into a prescribed position. It's hard for me to imagine sharing that much of myself with one person every day for the rest of my life.”

“Well, since you put it that way.” He chuckled lightly. “I would think it could have its benefits with the right person.”

The waiter returned with their drink orders. In unison they murmured their thanks.

Mark lifted his glass. “To the single life.”

Felicia's gaze held his for a moment before she raised her glass. “It must be difficult for you to have relationships in your line of work,” she said.

Mark's thick brows rose and lowered. “It is.” His thoughts flashed to Elaine and all that it could have been and what it wasn't. The old saying of being married to the job had become his mantra. At this stage of his life he didn't know any other way to be.

“Since we're on the subject of relationships—and long term is not in the cards for you—how do you fill the space?”

Felicia pushed out a soft breath. “How can I say this without sounding crass and shallow?” She paused a moment. “I maintain a no strings attached philosophy. The man that I deal with understands that. As long as that understanding remains in place,” she shrugged, “things will be fine.”

She was seeing someone
. “Takes a special kind of man to go along with that.”

“Perhaps.”

“Where'd you grow up?” he asked, switching gears.

“Charlotte, North Carolina.”

“Ahh, a southern belle.”

Felicia smiled.

“You have a great smile,” he said and regretted it the moment the words flew out of his mouth.

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Their meals arrived and mercifully deflected the embarrassment they both felt.

Felicia focused all of her attention on her perfectly cooked grilled salmon and not the way her stomach was fluttering. What was it about Mark Rizzo that threw her? Men, for her, were only a means to a satisfying physical end. Beyond that she didn't let them into her world, her heart, her mind. She'd been down that ugly road and didn't like the destination. But Mark was different. For all of his rough edges and testosterone attitude, she'd found herself revealing portions of her life that she didn't share with anyone other than Liz. And he didn't judge. He didn't freak out or think differently about her, even when she ran like a banshee out of the police station. Maybe it was all due to his line of work. She was certain he'd seen plenty. Compound that with the unrelenting sexual attraction that she had for him and Felicia could almost see a relationship with him.

“How's your steak?”

“Perfect.” He took a forkful of mashed potatoes and chewed slowly.

“I'm sure that you must have something to tell me about the case. It is the reason why we're here, right, Detective?”

Mark put his fork down and reached for his glass of water. He took a long swallow, then set it down. “I do, actually.” He leaned forward. “Look, if it was up to me it would be no problem, but the captain—he has real issues about civilians being involved in cases unless they're CI's—confidential informants.” He cleared his throat.

“Why don't you say what you mean?”

He lowered his head for a second, then looked right at her. “The captain thinks that there may be something to this disk. However, we won't be able to use it because the chain of custody was broken. But,” he held up his finger, “he says if I can come up with some other evidence he will officially reopen the case.”