Digging Up Trouble (11 page)

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Authors: Heather Webber

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #General

BOOK: Digging Up Trouble
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"Oh no. Not the wigs!"
"We have to use the wigs!"
"Well, all right. But I want to be a blonde this time."
I hung up, closed my eyes, replaying what Bobby had said.
I've got something important to ask you.
I prayed he wasn't going to propose.
I didn't know how I was going to tell him no.

Eleven

"Why not marry him?" Ana asked as she drove I-75 south, toward the city.
I looked at her like she was crazy. Actually, she was crazy. It wasn't much of a stretch. "Maybe because I'm not divorced yet?"
"You will be in what? Two weeks?"
Eight days.
My stomach hurt.
"It's too soon," I said.
"Do you love him?"
Did I? I'd only known him five months. Did people fall in love in five months? "I don't know."
"I'd marry him. He's hot."
I couldn't help but laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."
"I don't like the blonde on you, Nina. You look too . . . I don't know."
I peeked in the lighted visor mirror. "Kato Kaelin?"
She banged the steering wheel with her fist. "Yes!"
"Well, it's only for one night." I sighed. "Why are we even doing this?"
"Jean-Claude, that's why."
Oh yeah. Jean-Claude.
"If he's violating his probation, then I have to take action."
Action as in sending Jean-Claude to lockup. A shame, because he only had two more months before he was a completely free man.
That made my stomach hurt too. Jean-Claude had become more than an employee to me. He was a friend.
And here I was helping to get him sent away.
But what if he's doing something dangerous?
my inner voice asked.
I thought about that for a second. If he was a gigolo, as I suspected, then he was definitely doing something illegal, but dangerous? I supposed it wasn't the safest job.
And if he was stealing cars again?
Definitely dangerous. And illegal.
And not something I could condone.
I sighed.
What w
as going on with him?
I wasn't happy being part of this whole bounty hunter thing Ana had going on, but as his friend, I wanted to help Jean-Claude. It was just hard to figure out what kind of help he needed.
"So," I asked, "where are we going exactly?"
"We're going to do a little recon." Ana whipped one of her long fake tresses over her shoulder.
"Recon?"
"A reconnaissance mission."
I arched an eyebrow. "You've been reading too many Tom Clancy novels."
"You know I only read sci-fi, but I did see some of those movies. Harrison Ford. Hubba hubba."
"You've got to be kidding," I said, watching headlights zip by, heading north.
"What? You like Ben Affleck?"
"Not really. But I'd take him over Harrison Ford."
Ana's face scrunched in disgust. "You've obviously been sniffing too much manure."
"Harrison Ford is old enough to be our grandfather!"
"That's only because Nana married Grandpa 'Zo when she was thirteen."
"So? Still old enough."
She held firm. "He's hot."
"Ew!"
"I also had a crush on that
Law & Order
guy. The one who just died."
I could picture his face but didn't know the name. "You're serious?"
"He was cute."
I shook my head. "This could be the root of all your failed relationships."
"Nah," she said, changing lanes. "They're cute, but not the marrying kind."
"Who is the marrying kind?"
"Your Bobby."
I groaned. This subject needed to veer off me ASAP. "What happened with you and S?"
She fidgeted. "His name."
"His name?"
"It's Shakespeare!" Her voice rose. "I can't date a guy named Shakespeare Larue!"
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
"You better not be laughing!"
"Or?" A chuckle escaped.
"Argh!"
"He was a nice guy."
"I know. It's too bad."
I shook my head. "Maybe you ought to give him a second chance."
She shrugged.
I took it to mean that she'd consider a second chance if she became desperate enough—which usually happened twice a week.
"Did you get any information from Harry von Barber? Is that what this recon mission is all about?"
"I called but he didn't return it. I went to his apartment, but he wasn't there."
"Avoiding you?"
"Probably thinks I'm going to try to line him up another job with a crazy lady."
"Ha. Ha."
An eighteen wheeler rumbled past, shaking Ana's little SUV. "I went to his apartment, but he wasn't home. Luckily, his roommate, Flora, recognized the picture of Jean-Claude."
I perked up. "Oh?"
"Saw him in the Blue Zone once."
A glowing haze hovered over the city, the bright lights illuminating the night sky. The highway split off to I-71 north, and narrowed as it approached the bridge spanning the Ohio River. On the other side sat Newport, Kentucky, where we were headed.
Over the past few years, Newport had grown into a family friendly area. Newport on the Levee was a booming spot along the river that boasted boutique shops, a movie theater, restaurants, a book store, an IMAX theater, the Newport Aquarium, and amazing views of downtown Cincinnati.
Along with the growth came the Blue Zone, an upscale adult entertainment area a few blocks south of the river. The Blue Zone was a single street catering to an adult's every whim, from microbreweries to massage parlors, from fortune-tellers to a pricy sports bar where all the local pro players hung out after the game.
It was assumed that more could be attained at the massage parlors than a massage, and more than your palm could be read at the fortune-teller. I wondered if it was at one of these places that Jean-Claude worked.
"Did Flora say where she'd seen Jean-Claude?"
"He."
"Hmm?"
Ana exited the highway. "Flora's a he. I think. A very pretty he at that. I didn't ask for proof."
I turned in my seat to get a good look at her.
"Okay," she said, "I asked, but she/he didn't want to play show and tell."
"Can we trust this information?"
"Why not? It's all we've got."
True enough.
She found a place to park in an overpriced lot near the river. We hoofed it three blocks to the Blue Zone. It was clear where the nickname had come from: All the neon signs along the street were blue, casting an eerie blue glow over everything.
"Where do we start?" I asked.
She handed me a picture of Jean-Claude. It was his mug shot, the one that looked nearly identical to Hugh Grant's, which had been cropped to just see his face. "Flash that around, see what you come up with."
We split up, and I crossed the street carrying a somewhat heavy load of guilt. Because I knew that if I found JeanClaude first, I'd probably warn him off.
If Ana found out . . .
I didn't even want to think about that. After all, she had a little bit of our Nana Ceceri's temper in her too.
The first storefront I came to was a nightclub called Bump. I waited my turn in the long line to get in, a sore thumb in my jeans and white T-shirt. Everyone else was dressed tramp-style, in microminis and barely there tube tops. Even the men had dressed skimpy, in chest clinging T-shirts and hip-hugging sleek pants. Some of them had incredible bodies.
Hey, I'm human.
When I got to the ticket booth, I held up Jean-Claude's picture. The girl, dressed head-to-toe in black—even black lipstick—motioned for me to talk to the big African-American bouncer guarding the door.
I moseyed over. "Hi."
One of his eyebrows dipped as he scanned me up and down. Then he shifted his weight—all four hundred pounds of it—and stared at me, a smirk on his face and a
no way
look in his eyes.
"Oh no," I said, "I don't want to come in."
"Good thing too. Dressed like that, you could maybe wash the dishes."
My feathers ruffled. My shoulders stiffened. Okay, so I wasn't exactly a fashion plate, but still. I held up the picture of Jean-Claude before I started a fight I'd never win. "Have you seen this man?"
The door opened behind him as someone came out of the club. Loud music with a heavy bass thumped against my ribs. The door closed, and the sound dimmed to a dull
whump, whump, whump.
He smiled. "What's it worth to you?"
He had nice teeth, bright white and gleaming. I realized I'd been expecting gold caps, and yelled at myself for buying into stereotypes. Then it registered what he was saying. Ana hadn't mentioned anything about paying for information. In my head, I calculated what money I had. I fished in my leather backpack, pulled out my wallet.
Three fives and two ones. Not likely to buy me much. I held out a five.
He laughed.
"Ten?" I asked, pulling out another five, and giving him my best please-help-me look. I batted my eyelashes and everything.
He rolled his dark eyes, snatched the money. "That's JC."
JC. Jean-Claude. "Does he work here?"
The giant shook his head.
"Around here?"
He shrugged.
Great. I pulled out my last five.
"I've seen him at All Shook Up a few times."
"Does he work there?"
Another shrug.
I was down to my last two bucks. I figured I'd try my luck at All Shook Up. "Down that way?" I asked, pointing down the street.
The giant blew me a kiss, then brushed me aside as he let in two stunning young things with four-inch heels, mile-high legs, and way too much makeup.
In my humble opinion.
I found All Shook Up midway down the Blue Zone. It wasn't another dance club like I'd expected, but a martini bar. When I pulled open the door, I felt like I'd stepped into a zone of another sort—the Twilight Zone.
I was suddenly surrounded by Elvis. At least a hundred of them. Rhinestone jumpsuits, gold lamé, big glasses and all.
A hostess, dressed like Ann-Margret in V
iva Las Vegas,
must have caught my surprise. "Every Saturday night is Elvis night," she said. "Did you want a table?"
I shook my head, still taking in the differing Elvis hairstyles. From pompadour wigs to greased-back black dyed hair.
I held up Jean-Claude's picture. "Do you know him?"
She frowned, pulling in her bottom lip. I couldn't help but notice her breasts spilling out of the skimpy top. She'd have had no problem getting into Bump.
"He looks familiar," she said over the karaoke crooning of "Blue Moon." "Maybe ask Jake?"
"Jake?"
She pointed to a thirty-something man tending one of the three bars in the place. He too was wearing an Elvis costume.
I thanked her and started across the room. "Blue Moon" ended and someone took up the mic and started in on "Blue Suede Shoes." Sure enough, I looked down and saw that my Keds were the only white shoes in the vicinity.
I felt my phone vibrate on my hip. I flipped it open, saw Ana's name.
"Where are you?" she said.
I covered one ear with my hand, shouted, "At All Shook Up."
"Be right there!"
I slipped my phone back onto my waistband.
"Hey, baby." Elvis's hand snaked around my waist, pulling me up close and personal with his chest hair.
"Hi," I said, trying to wiggle free.
"Now now. Let's dance." The opening lines of "All Shook Up" played and the room went wild. I was definitely in the Twilight Zone.
"Really, I—"
Before I could get away, Hairy Chest had me spinning and swirling to the music. Every so often I'd look up to find him smiling at me, one corner of his mouth lifted in a classic Elvis grin.
I clutched his white jumpsuit with my left hand to keep from falling, and kept Jean-Claude's picture tight in my right hand, which was being held captive by Hairy Chest. My backpack thumped my back.
As he twirled me, I said sarcastically, "Come here often?"
He either missed the sarcasm or ignored it. "Every Saturday. You're new, though. We've got to work on your outfit. I'm thinking Joan Blackman in
Blue Hawaii, e
xcept you'd have to go brunette."
Brunette. Right. I'd forgotten about the wig.
"Um, maybe."
The song came to a hip-jarring end. "Want a drink?" Hairy Chest asked.
More than anything. But I only had two dollars.
"My treat," he said, winking. He had pretty blue eyes, and I assumed he knew it—which was why he didn't wear those big aviator glasses like every other Elvis in the room.
"Sure." I figured he owed it to me, grabbing me like that. Though if I were really honest, I'd have to admit I'd had fun dancing. It had been a long time.
He followed me to the bar, where there were two open stools. Hairy Chest held out his hand. "Alan," he said.
"Not Elvis?"
He shrugged. He was kind of cute, and I wondered where Ana was. Maybe I could match-make while I was at this whole Jean-Claude recon thing.
Which reminded me. "Are you Jake?" I asked the bartender, just to make sure.
He winked at me, Elvis-style. I was starting to feel claustrophobic. "That's me, darlin'," he said. "Can I help you?"
After Alan and I ordered a drink, I showed him JeanClaude's picture. "Do you know him?"
Someone started singing "Love Me Tender." Off key. I winced, wishing I'd brought ear plugs.
"Sure. That's JC. Comes in all the time."
"Really?"
"Sure. After work."
"Where's he work?"
"Can't say."

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