Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) (3 page)

“Ms. Delacroix, what exactly is Tom Worthy to the production and where was he during rehearsals and the break?”

Her head thoughtfully cocks to the side and I realize she unknowingly does this when she is carefully considering something.  The hair sweeps across her face, and she doesn’t immediately tuck it back behind her ear.  Before I know what I am doing, I get up and delicately remove the hair from her face.  Her contemplative demeanor turns on me. 
Damn, what happened to keeping things professional?

Em doesn’t say anything about it or pull away, much like when I held her hand earlier.  “Tom is the producer of our revival.  Normally, he isn’t at any of our rehearsals.  This isn’t the only show he’s invested in.  As to his whereabouts during the rehearsal and break,” she finishes by shrugging her shoulders.

She stands which puts her eye level with me.  How did I miss how tall she is for a woman? 
Shit, the captain is right.  I’m getting tangled up in a skirt.
  But Em is so close.  I close my eyes and take a steadying breath to try to clamp down on my attraction.  It doesn’t work.  With my sight closed off her floral scent washes over me, making my heart race.  “Richard?”  I open my eyes and find Em still there, no closer, no further.  That sly smile I am beginning to long for curves the corners of her plump lips.  I wet mine and she rewards me with the deepening of her smile.  “In case you need anything,
detective
?”

Wait, what?
  I follow her gaze to find her card in her proffered hand.  “Ah, yes, thank you.”  My voice isn’t steady at all this time.  “Um, if you don’t mind following me back to my desk, I’ll give you one of mine also.  In case you remember or need anything,” stumbles out. 
Yeah, it’s not obvious you want her to call!

“I’d like that,” Em replies and backs away as I stand.  We leave the room, walking silently back to my desk.  As I give her my card, my fingers brush her hand.  This time I am not the one who is jolted by the spark.  For the first time in our limited history, she seems as attracted to me as I am to her.  She thanks me and turns to leave but pauses before taking a step.  She doesn’t turn completely back around as she asks, “Is this only good for matters of the case, Detective Giordano?”

“For now, Ms. Delacroix.” 
Please, let this be an open and shut case!
  There is no way Em is a woman without a line of men waiting for her.

She nods.  “That seems reasonable.  I’m sure as it progresses
you’ll
certainly have some follow-up questions for me, yes?”

This woman is going to end my career if she doesn’t leave. 
Em finally waltzes out of the precinct after I agree that there will probably be follow-ups.  I am able to relax completely for the first time since I realized she was waiting by the front door to the precinct.

“Empathy, huh?”  Steve is at my shoulder, staring down at her card.  I didn’t even hear his approach. 
What the hell is he rambling on about this time?
  “Not what I thought Em was short for but I can see now why she goes by it.  Good luck with that one, Dick.”  What?  It isn’t until I read her card that I understand.  It reads
Empathy Delacroix, Choreographer.

Richard Giordano: The Morgue

“I
hear you got her number, Rich?”

Grief.  That’s all I’ve gotten since Em left the precinct.  If criminals used the same gossip channels as my co-workers, I would never have to investigate again!  “Strictly professional, Frisco.  How about we talk about the girl?” I ask as I motion to the corpse.

“I’m trying too but you keep deflecting.”  Frisco looks at me with her safety goggles on and the scope pointed upwards with a chummy smile on her face.  I can’t help but return it.  There aren’t many people I consider friends—especially women, and especially women I have dated—but Frisco is the exception.  She constantly tries to hook me up with some woman or another.  Once, one of the women was an EMT who said I wasn’t her type, but she had a friend whose type I was about halfway through our date.  She gave me the woman’s number, but I never called.  How do you open that conversation?

“Don’t try to hide the fact you’re interested in her,” Frisco teases.  “You tired of living that solitary, celibate lifestyle you keep insisting on, yet?  You are getting on in years.”

“I’m thirty,” I snap.  “I still have plenty of time.”  It’s not like I don’t have prospects.  I’m just picky about the women I date and even pickier about the women I sleep with.  “Besides, I don’t see you settling down with anyone and we’re the same age.”

“Yeah, but I go out and at least try to meet people,” she counters.

“How’s that working out for you?”

It’s a low blow since I know none of the creepers she has met at the bars is anyone she wants to see long term.  But it seems to shut her up, if only for a heartbeat.  “We’re not talking about me,” she grumbles and screws up her face.  “Are you interested?”

“I found her intriguing, alright,” I admit with a roll of my eyes.  “Is that enough for you?”

“No, but we have other matters to discuss at the moment.  We’ll talk about that later, say over drinks?”  I agree, and we start discussing the body.  “Asphyxiation is the official cause of death.  The rig must have fallen on her within minutes of her passing.  Whether your perp did it because they thought it would finish her off or to hide the fact she was murdered is up to you to determine.  But she did have sex a few hours earlier, and I would say she liked it rough.”  With that, she points out some bruising along the girl’s thighs.

“You don’t suspect rape?” I counter.  It is getting harder and harder to tell these days.  Especially when the victim can’t confirm either way for you.

Frisco shakes her head.  “The vaginal clock didn’t seem to indicate it.  Everything pointed to good old, hard-core sex.  Good news, the semen was still there so I collected it, along with the nail scrapings, and sent them to DNA.  If I’m lucky, they’ll turn out to be the same guy and that’ll tidy up the case a bit.  I sent the blood draw to tox already to see how good of a time she had.  Other than what we already observed at the crime scene, I think that’s it.”

“Thanks, Frisco.  It’s a place to start.”  Steve is up with evidence talking to the lab rat about what was found on Annie’s clothes and in the belongings we confiscated from the theater.

Frisco’s voice stops me mid stride of my exit.  “I expect to see you at Haven at o’clock sharp, Rich.  We have lots to discuss.”  I don’t respond as I head back to my desk.  She knows I will be there.

Empathy Delacroix: Coincidences

“Em, what the hell were you thinking?”  Tom wants to yell at me, but he knows better which is why he is trying to control his anger.  But he is still loud, and I know his secretary can hear every word he bellows.  I don’t immediately answer.  The whiskey glass flies to his mouth as he upends it then slams it down on the credenza.

I prepare my response with a deep breath.  My friendship with Tom is long standing and we’ve known each other for years.  He gave me my first break as a choreographer and over the years, with his help, I built a solid business and became a sought-after member of the Broadway community.  I had a huge crush on him in the beginning.  We never dated because it quickly became clear that he is a womanizer.  He’s not cruel or demeaning.  If anything, he loves women,
all of them.

Trouble was, about the time I got over my crush was the same time he decided to try getting into my bed.  He’s harmless as long as I keep rejecting his advances.  I’m not the only one aware of his reputation or the only one to have said it would never happen.  But so far, I’m the only one he hasn’t conquered once deciding to be interested.

“I was thinking I’m innocent so there was nothing to discuss with your attorney.  I didn’t do anything wrong and after your stunt I needed to do something drastic to offset the perception of guilt.”

He pours himself another drink before coming to sit beside me on his leather couch.  One I hate because I am well aware of what else he sometimes uses it for.  “Em, let me offer you protection,” he says while putting a hand on my thigh.
Good God, I’m not a damsel in distress!  I’m a witness to a tragic accident.
  A gentle swipe of my hand removes Tom’s from my leg and I scoot further down the couch away from him.

“We shouldn’t be discussing the case, Tom.  I thought you called me here to discuss what we needed to do about the show.  The theatre isn’t going to be available for at least a week between the police and the repairs.  My opinion is we halt production to let everyone grieve.  As far as the choreography and staging, we’re ahead of schedule anyway.”

I try to maintain strict professionalism.  Tom, on the other hand, well let’s just say it becomes swiftly apparent these two glasses of whiskey aren’t his first for the day.  “Em,” he purrs, “why do you keep denying me?”  He leans back on the couch with hungry desire oozing out of his features.  It’s a look many rookie girls to Broadway fall for every time.  I’m no rookie.  “You and I would be great together.”

I pull away from his outstretched hand as inoffensively as I can.  “Because, you and I both know I wouldn’t be enough for you.”  I have more self-respect than to be someone’s proclaimed spoil at the end of a man’s conquest.  My actions are always gentle, but I never let Tom think I am even remotely caving.  It is a very delicate balance because I want to maintain our friendship and our business relationship.

“Who knows, maybe you’re the woman who can tame my roving nature.”  His eyes devour my body over the rim of his whiskey glass as he takes another swig of his drink.

Maybe I am but the odds are, more likely, I’m not.  “Okay, Tom,” I say as I stand to leave, “I think that’s about my limit for the day.  Between you and the cop-”

“THE COP!” he blows. 
Crap, bring on the jealous, drunk knight
.  “What liberties did that good for nothing Giordano take?  You shouldn’t have been alone with him, Em!  That is it!  I am calling my lawyer and that guy will be lucky if he can get a job street sweeping after we’re done!”  Tom gets halfway to the phone before my mind fully processes his tirade.  He spoke so fast and the liquor slurred his words together.

I race towards him and snatch the phone out of his hands before anyone answers.  “Tom, stop this.  Richard was a complete gentleman.  He didn’t try anything.”  Well, not consciously, that I could tell.  There were a few moments when it seemed if the circumstances had been different, ‘complete gentleman’ might not have remained the characterization.  Sexy, tasty cop would have been more appropriate!

“What do you mean he didn’t try anything?” Tom asks while glaring at me out the corners of his eyes.  “He gay?” 
Good Lord, seriously?
  He furrows his brows and examines my features to tell if I am lying or not.  He, of all people, should know I have no problem saying something if someone gets a little too frisky.

“Not that I can give an expert answer,” I huff, “but no, I don’t think he’s gay.”  In an effort to get off the subject of Richard, I pack my thoughts about him away.  “And what I mean is that Richard took my statement concerning the break and asked me a couple of follow-up questions.  That’s all.” 
That you need to know about anyway
.

“How come you said between me and the cop then?” he presses.

“Because it was his partner.  Beauregard, I think was his name.”  Tom moves to take the phone from me, but I scurry out of reach.  “Before you go calling your lawyer again, other than comments I know I’ve heard before from a particular producer friend I have, he was harmless.”

I expect some of the tension to dissipate.  Instead, Tom takes another step towards me, befuddlement in his eyes.  “How come you called the one by his first name and the other by his last?

What is Tom talking about?  I referred to Richard as … Richard.  Crap!
That isn’t going to be easy to explain away.  So I don’t.  “Tom, it’s been a long day, and I’m tired, so I’m leaving.  But if I find out you called your lawyer on either of those detectives,
all
of our relationships will be over.  Is that clear?”

“Em.  Don’t you think me hitting on you is quite different than a detective you just met?”  Interesting tactic twist.  I wasn’t expecting whiny.

“I suppose it would be if you want to forget I’d only know you for maybe five seconds before you started hitting on me, along with all the other girls I was standing with.”  Tom isn’t actually as bad as Beauregard is.  I hope that the kiss I leave on his cheek will smooth things over between us.  “Get some rest, Tom.  It’s been a trying day for you too.  You can handle all the investors beginning tomorrow.”

He ensnares my elbow and gives it a light squeeze.  “Thanks, Em.  No hard feelings?  I’m just trying to look out for my best girl.”

That makes me laugh.  “No hard feelings.  Call me later this week and we’ll do lunch to rework the schedule, okay?”  He agrees and offers to call his car to drive me home.  Normally, I don’t allow him, but this time I accept his gesture.

The afternoon hours pass and by evening I’m in my living room drinking a glass of wine with Sabene.  Sabene Williams is my best friend and the minute she got off work she drove over to see if I needed anything.  She’s an EMT and heard about the death on her scanner.  Short and sassy, she has no problem getting and holding the attention of the opposite sex.  Just under five feet, she has long, and I mean long, jet black, silky hair.  There is a constant mysterious twinkle in her almond-shaped, green eyes, as if she is sitting on a secret you will never uncover.  I wouldn’t say she’s slim, but she’s definitely fit.  Where my musculature stems from constant fluid movement, hers comes from running and lifting heavy equipment.

“So tell me more about the detective,” she slyly inquires.  We just finished discussing the morbid particulars of Annie’s death.  I didn’t think there was much to discuss.  The poor girl was choked to death only to then be crushed by a lighting rig, but Sabene had all kinds of medical questions.  How much blood was there?  What position was the body in?  Did I smell copper?  All things I’m more than happy not to pay close attention too.

“Why do you ask?” I hedge.  “There’s not much to tell.  He took my statement at the precinct and asked me a couple of questions, nothing more.”  I choose that moment to get up and put the dishes away.  Any time I mention a guy Sabene is all over me, wanting every detail of how they look and if I am attracted to them.  I designate my dating life as casual.  Years have passed since my last serious relationship, and that one didn’t last long.  In truth, I really just don’t have the time for it.  I’ve always been too focused on building my career, still am.  Months turned into years and girls’ night became more and more blind dates and surprise fix ups.  If Sabene even gets a whiff that I am even remotely attracted to Richard, she will be relentless in her pursuits to get me to ask him out.  And if that fails, she will go through her own personal channels to get him to ask me out.  Some weird six degrees of separation ties that entire community to each other.  I have seen it in action before.  Which is why I purposely didn’t use his name and only referred to him as “the detective.”

I come back with another bottle of wine with hopes of turning our topic from the handsome detective to whatever man is warming Sabene’s bed. Unfortunately, she doesn’t wait for me to finish pouring and sit.  “What’s his name, Em?”

“Just what I was about to ask you, Sabene.  What is the name of the newest bed warmer?”  I don’t meet her eyes.  She has sniffed out that whiff.

“Matthew.  If I thought you would actually sleep with him, I’d let you borrow him for a night or two.  Now the name of the detective you obviously wish
was warming your bed
?”

I turn my head to gaze out the window overlooking Central Park.  It doesn’t hide the blush across my cheeks caused by an image of Richard in my bed flittering across my mind.  “Richard,” I concede knowing defiance won’t work.  “His name is Richard and that’s all I’m going to tell you.”  It won’t stop her from reaching out to her contacts but hopefully only having his first name will at least slow her down.  Thank God, he has a common first name!

“Not Richard Giordano?!” Sabene exclaims.  My eyes bulge and I am unable to stop them from swinging to her.  My reaction is enough confirmation for her.  She practically rolls on the couch, laughing, as she furiously tries to get me to take her glass of wine.  I take it and set it on the end table beside me.  “I knew it!  I knew it!  I knew it!”