Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) (6 page)

We don’t talk for a few streets.  “So,” Steve’s slick tone tells me I am about to be grilled.  It’s not a surprise.  The plan had been for him to interview Em and for me to talk to the techs.  “How deep in her web are you exactly, Dick?”

Steve knows how deep.  However, it is his personal mission to get me to admit it aloud.  So far, the only person I speak to about it is Frisco, and she knows everything.  The dreams.  The fantasies.  The nightmares.  I’m a mess, and all over a woman.

“Still in denial.  Fine, but I’m putting you on notice now, Dick.  When this case is over, you better move on her quick, or I will,” Steve’s hollow voice pronounces.  “What did you learn from the toity?”

“Ah, I didn’t get a chance to ask any questions,” I confess.  “Her dancers needed her.”

“Tongue-tied again,” Steve sneers.  “Thought that was why I was supposed to talk to her.”  I don’t answer.  “Look, what are you going to do if she’s our perp?”

I glare at him. “She’s not.  She’s not involved in any of it.”

He brings his hands up in a defensive gesture and treads a little more carefully.  “Easy there.  I’m not the bad guy.  You’ve got the best gut I’ve ever worked with, but you’re saying she’s innocent without any evidence.”

“I know it’s not her semen,” I growl in frustration.

Steve rolls his eyes.  “Don’t need a dick to fuck a person.  She still could have killed the girl,” he grumbles, and I bite my tongue.  Em has been Steve’s primary focus and I am not sure why.  We review our case notes daily and have re-questioned the cast.  There are no helpful tidbits.  No one knows of any enemies or jilted lovers.  The location of Annie’s phone is yet another mystery.  Tracking the damn thing only works if it is on.  I’m starting to think the killer has it.

Steve’s interrogations always center on how Em picks and treats her chorus girls; the audition process and promotional gigs.  He is well versed in a business he reviles, using their jargon.  “Were producers or investors present?” he would ask to which the particular cast member would answer, “It depends.”  We learned that Em and Worthy are thick as thieves among the Broadway elite.  One doesn’t do much without the other.

Because of that, Steve is determined to get a warrant for their financial records.  He is convinced they paid to have Annie killed.  It is a subject I avoid talking with him about because while I can see it from Worthy, I can’t from Em, and not just because of my admittedly unsubstantiated feelings for her.  The recent refusal of the judge on the matter of the warrants for phone or financial records has put Steve in an uncharacteristic foul mood.

Silence rules the rest of the ride to the department, both of us seething in our thoughts.  Steve puts a hand on my shoulder after we get out and before I walk inside.  “We both need to let the evidence come in
before
jumping to any more conclusions.  The only way we’re going to catch this son of a bitch is if we stop battling each other and go back to working together.”

“Sounds good to me, partner,” I answer because the truth of the matter is, Em is tied to this case, murderer or not.  The only way to get what I truly want is to separate her from it as quickly as possible.

Empathy Delacroix: The Other Show

They look beautiful.  My vision is playing out on the stage precisely how I imaged it.  Tom puts his hand on my knee and gives it a pat about halfway through the song.  He leans into my ear, “You did it, Em.  It fits the rest of the show and captures the essence of the original.”

But that isn’t shocking.  I
knew
Tom would love it.  When the number ends, I sit in anxious anticipation for whatever scathing retort is about to pass Sam’s lips.  The writers and he are sitting in front of Tom and me.

Sam turns, confusion etching his features and his lips purse.  “Em,” he swallows before continuing, “I owe you an apology.  What we had before didn’t work and you always knew it.  This does.”  That is the extent of his comments and actually, from him, I consider it gushing.

That evening I go to dinner with Tom. “What updates have you gotten about Annie’s case?”  His question catches me unaware and it takes me a minute to fully comprehend it.

“What makes you think I have any updates?” I hedge.

“Seriously?  You’re going to play coy with me?  Em, we work in a cesspool of gossips.  I got a call that they were there before they even left yesterday.  Which one did you talk to this time?”

Saying Richard’s name to Tom again would be a bad idea.  He hasn’t called his lawyer
yet
, but that does not mean he won’t.  “It doesn’t matter which one.  There wasn’t a chance to discuss the case.  Avery and Houston needed help with the choreography, and I was allowed to do my job.”

“Then why were they there?”

“Mostly to question the stagehands about the equipment, I suppose.”  I purposely don’t look at him and pause the conversation by taking a drink of water.  “I think the show will play well for the investors and critics tomorrow.”

His arm comes across the table so his hand can capture mine.  “Thanks to you.”  His head bobs around as he tries to capture my gaze.  It is actually quite comical, but I leave my focus just over his shoulders.  “Which brings me to the reason I asked you here.”

“Which show?” I guess with a smile.

He chuckles. “Does it matter, Em?  You can fix them all.”

I laugh with Tom.  “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Except the one place you know I want to be,” he instantly counters with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

I blush and ignore his comment.  “When do you need me?” I say with a laugh after clearing my throat.

“This Sunday.”

My laughter dies.  “I’m busy Sunday.”  I bite my tongue to stop the words that want to follow because I almost confide with who to him.  But of course, Tom inquires about my plans.  “A personal matter, Tom.”

“If it’s personal and around show time, then it must be a date.  Who’s the lucky guy?  Do I know him?”  His cool tone brings my focus to him.  The scrutiny in his eyes and his furrowed brow make me worry that he suspects who my engagement is.

“It’s not a date,” and since it isn’t I see no reason not to accompany Tom to his other show.  Even though my mind concocts many scenarios of the sexy detective losing the battle of control and taking me in his arms, I don’t expect any of them to happen.  “Look, give me the address of the theatre.  My appointment is at five.  If it gets done early enough, I’ll meet you there.”

Tom flashes me a wicked grin before bringing the back of my hand to his lips.  “I’ll leave a ticket for you at the door.  Beth will text you the details tomorrow.”

Richard Giordano: Em’s Office

I
stand outside her office building and wonder for the millionth time what I’m doing here.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, meeting her here, but now I’m not so sure.  Something about this whole thing feels more like a date than an interview.
  Damn it!  You should have met her at the precinct!

I barely register the sound of a car door slamming.  “Richard?” Em calls. 
Shit!  Why isn’t she inside?
  “You’re awfully early.  I’m sorry you had to wait.”  I hear the click of her heels against the pavement as she comes up the stairs to the door.  I don’t turn around to greet her because the heat in my face will give me away.

“Yeah, um, no worries,” I mumble, “I haven’t been waiting long.”  I can see Em out of the corner of my eye.  The cock of her head, the curve of her lips, the sparkle in her lavender eyes.  It takes everything I have not to melt like ice cream right there at her feet.

I just stand there, like an imbecile, while she unlocks the door to the building and leads me inside.  The office is small; with an area for people to wait beside a desk, I assume is for an assistant and a door just to the right.  Once in her private office, Em turns to me.

“I need to check a couple things before we get started.  That alright, Richard?”  She is so close that I can see her long lashes brushing the tops of her eyebrows.

“Um, sure.  Whatever you need.”

Em nods before leaving the room.  I explore her workspace while she’s gone.  There are a handful of framed posters from different shows hanging on the walls.  A bookcase sits in a corner with shelves full of different items that I again suspect are from the plays she has been a part of.  However, two items grab my attention, a photo album and a glass-encased football.  I flip through the album, finding some pictures at the back of a younger looking Em standing beside her parents.  I glance around the room and find one framed picture of the same couple, but again, the picture of Em isn’t recent.  Odd.

“I see you’ve found my most prized possessions.”

Her voice surprises me as I had been staring at the football and I fumble with putting the album back on the shelf.  I turn to ask Em about it and my jaw drops.  She is heart stopping gorgeous!  How did I miss that before?!  I spy a light trench coat hanging from a hook behind the door when she closes it.

She is wearing an emerald dress that draws out the purple in her eyes. I set a hand on the shelf nonchalantly to steady myself before my knees give way.  The dress hugs every line and curve of her delicate, yet muscular, frame.  The neckline doesn’t dip into her cleavage.  The skirt falls just below her knees.  The back rests above her shoulder blades and the sleeves run down to her elbows.

“Sorry if my attire seems inappropriate.  I have a show to go to later this evening, if time permits.” She approaches me and my eyes oscillate back and forth following the sway of her hips.

“Don’t let me keep you, Em.” My voice betrays my racing heart.  “If you’ve got somewhere else to be we can reschedule.” 
Please say we can reschedule
.  I feel underdressed and terrified to be alone with her, looking the way she does.

“Don’t be silly,” Em says with a wave of her hand and giggles.  “We made this appointment before the other offer came up.  It’s a work thing.  There’s a show that’s struggling and I was asked to give my opinion.”  She is so relaxed that I slowly find myself relaxing as well.  “And while rescheduling this interview would be nice because it ensures I will see you again, I’d rather get it over with.”  I can’t help but frown.  “Because I’d prefer to spend any future time together under a different set of circumstances.”

Did she just imply what I think she did?! 
Her hand on my bicep keeps my mind from running too far with that observation.  She smiles up at me and then turns her attention to the football.  “Archie Manning, number eight.  Greatest quarterback on the worst team in the league during his years in New Orleans.  According to my dad, also one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.  It might be the wrong Manning to revere in New York, but it belonged to my dad.  I keep it here to keep him close.”

I watch closely as she speaks of her father, in the past tense, and can’t help but feel as though I am missing something.  “He lets you have it?” I ask.

Em’s eyes meet mine and there is sadness deep in their recesses.  “He sort of had to.  He couldn’t very well take it with him.”

Did he leave her mother?  Was he in prison?  Do I ask or do I drop it?  I want to know all there is about this woman, so why not start now.  “Where does he live?”

“Heaven I hope.  Along with my mother.”  Em says it so candidly, I don’t know what to do.  Other than the glassy quality to her tear heavy, sad eyes, she doesn’t outwardly seem too upset.

“I’m so sorry,” I barely get the words out.

“It’s alright, Richard.  You didn’t know.”  I watch, entranced, as she packs up all the grief and flashes me a spellbinding smile.  “There’s nothing for you to be upset about.”  I didn’t realize tears filled my own eyes until the pads of her thumbs sweep them away.

The urge to kiss her grows overwhelming with her hands on my face.  I want to kiss away her sorrow.  This is not how I want this date to go. 
Holy shit!
 
This is not a date!  You cannot date this woman!
  I move to back away from her but run into the wall in one step. 
Damn, small, New York office!

Thankfully, she doesn’t move towards me, instead, cocking her head to the side to start a thorough examination.  “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. 
Come up with something quick!  You have to explain your own tears
.  I am already in too deep, so I settle on the truth.  “It’s just that hearing you speak of the loss of your parents reminds me of my pops.  He died a few years back, on the job.”

Tears spring back into her eyes but don’t crest over her lids.  “I had no idea!”  I can’t help but smile; she looks how I felt seconds before.  “I’m assuming he was a detective like you, since you said on the job.”  I nod.  “It’s an awful thing to lose someone so unexpectedly.  My parents died in a car accident my freshman year at Julliard.  A deer ran in front of a semi one evening when they were driving home from visiting me at school.  The semi jackknifed and took out their vehicle.  The only solace I had at the time was that I was told it was instantaneous.”

Instinct forces me to wrap my arms around her and pull her into my chest.  She feels so fragile in my arms.  I shift to push her away when I recognize the liberty that I’ve taken, but her arms slide around me in return.  I freeze, unsure what to do, leaving it to her to set the stage for the rest of our time together.  “How long has it been?” I whisper in a weak voice.

“Almost ten years.”  My chest muffles her broken voice, and the sad sound breaks my heart.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

Her head turns to the side but remains pressed against me. “I know that now, but when you’re eighteen it’s a hard pill to swallow.  If they hadn’t been visiting me, they wouldn’t have been on the road and they wouldn’t have been behind the semi.  I’m sure you know how your mind runs away with you and convinces you you’re to blame.”

I do.  I was the patrol officer my father shoved out of the way when the gunman ran out of a room I hadn’t cleared as thoroughly as required.  I don’t admit that to her, though.  I am culpable in my own father’s demise.  It’s a demon I live with every day.

I don’t realize my fingers are combing through her hair until her body shivers against mine.  Her scent wafts into my nostrils and I breathe her in deeply.  “Thank you for sharing your tragedy with me,” she says.  “It’s nice to know someone who actually does understand the pain of losing a loving parent.”  In an instant, she is out of my reach and looking poignantly at me.  “But you came here with questions.”

We move to the loveseat on the opposing wall and sit on opposite ends. I compare myself to her and feel like a slob.  She sits perfectly straight, with her legs crossed at the ankles as she slightly leans in towards me.  It is obvious that she does so without thinking.  I, on the other hand, slouch over my own legs, elbows resting on my knees with my hands clasped between them, shoulders sagging.  She is poise and refinement.  I am not. 
You’re never going to be enough for her.

“Is there anything more you can tell me about Annie’s romantic life?” I start.  “Some of the other chorus members mentioned she was dating some guy.”

Em pauses as her long neck tilts her head into that thoughtful posture I am beginning to adore.  “You already know I don’t know who Annie was seeing.  But it wouldn’t surprise me if it were one of our investors.”

This is a new lead.  “How so?”

Em frowns.  I can see her mind trying to structure her response.  “A lot of our chorus girls end up getting involved with our investors, most of whom are not single.  I guess it would be true of any workplace though.  When fishing gets too expensive or time-consuming to get something fresh, you just pick up whatever is available at the store closest to you.  For that reason, I wouldn’t be surprised if she got involved with a married investor who didn’t want his name tied to gossip fodder about their affair.”

“Any particular fishermen come to mind?”

A pinch of her lips and a crinkle in her brow voice that we are reaching an area she isn’t comfortable discussing.  “What happens if I name names?”

I understand what she’s getting at.  It isn’t a secret how helpful and open she’s been with both my partner and myself.  If we end up arresting someone off information she gives me, it could be the end of her career.  “You don’t have to give them to me if you don’t want to.”  I carefully place a hand on the silk of her dress that is resting on her knee.  Her eyes dart to my hand and a slight smile curls the corners of her mouth.

Em shakes her head and places her hand on top of mine.  My heart skips a beat.  “It’s not that I don’t want too.  I just don’t want to shine suspicion on anyone who doesn’t deserve it.  It’s not fair, especially since I don’t even know for certain who Annie was seeing.”  It makes perfect sense and more than that, I respect her for it.  “But I can offer you this.  No one is ever completely inconspicuous.  If Annie were seeing an investor for any length of time prior to her death, one of the gossip mongrels would have captured a picture of it, even if they didn’t know what they had.  Don’t just search the headlines.  Review every picture, I would say from the last six months.  It was about that long ago, I think, when she began prattling on about this guy.  She’ll probably be in a background or two.  You’ll find him if you look close enough.”

Why hadn’t our own techs figured that out?  We’d done just what she said not to do.  We searched the headlines and print for Annie’s name, but she was a chorus girl; a no name.  She wouldn’t be in any of those spots.  Plus, this will give us the evidence we need to confront the guy, or guys, without implicating Em.  “What else can I offer you, Richard?”

Have dinner with me?
  “Ah, yeah, let’s see.  Steve mentioned that there were many loose screws in some of your stage equipment.”

“Yes,” she responds with a nod.  “I didn’t get all the details but there was more than just the lighting rig at risk of failing.  Everything is fixed now.  The theater reevaluated the inspection schedule and is completing them twice as often now.”

“How often were they inspected before?” I prod.  “Do you know if they keep a record?”

“I think once a week,” she answers with a shrug.  Steve forgot to ask that question.  Found himself his own techie skirt to be interested in, I’m sure.  “Each theater house is required to go through city safety inspections.  I can’t believe the city wouldn’t want to see a record of inspections and accidents.  Start with the executive director.”  She gets up and walks to her desk.  As she leans over to retrieve something, I make the most of the opportunity to admire her shapely legs.  “Richard?”

I blink and find that she is no longer at her desk.  She has materialized beside me like an apparition.  Except this time, she isn’t sitting in the corner of the loveseat.  She is pressed against my side with her arm extended.  I take the card and thank her, trying to remember what we were talking about before I was swept away by my inappropriate daydreams. 
Now I remember: the safety inspection logs.

“Anything else?” Em queries with a penetrating gaze.

Kiss me?
  A moment passes and I think I might have actually said the words out loud.  Her eyes drop to my lips as her tongue runs over her bottom one.  She seems to be holding her breath.

Then clouds suddenly appear in her eyes; I don’t know how else to explain it.  Her gaze drifts to the section of the loveseat behind her, as they turn inward.

“Em?” I whisper.  This is just like what I witnessed in the interrogation room at the precinct.  She throws her head back and a smile creeps onto her otherwise eerily dead face.  “Em?” I repeat a bit louder.  There is a blink in her eyes as the fog slowly recedes, allowing them to shine brightly again.  She looks around in what appears to be horror, her eyes darting between herself, the loveseat, and me.  A mortified, scarlet blush consumes her face.  “What was that about?” I ask since this is the second time I’ve seen this occur.