Kicking the Habit (7 page)

Something whizzed by Ace’s ear. His
cop instinct kicked in, and he dove on top of the stubborn little nun, knocking
the wind out of her. Seconds before, a thud had splintered the wood behind
where her head would have been if it weren’t for those ridiculous shoes. Another
second later, a loud boom rang out through the night.

“Wh–What
was that?” she wheezed, her face pale as the moon streamed in through the
window.

Ace’s heart raced right along with hers. His
face a mere inch from hers, he was unable to disguise his concern as he stared
down into her frightened eyes. Maybe now she would finally listen to him. “Put
it this way,” he said when he found his voice. “It sure as shit wasn’t the
mechanic’s car.”

Forgive me,
Father, for I have sinned. Sinned in ways I never imagined. Eavesdropping and
gossiping and stripping, Oh my! Yes, you heard me right, Father. Actual stripping. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. All
in the name of justice, mind you, but trust me, it won’t be pretty. I feel like
Dorothy lost in Oz, completely out of my element, as I flounder about in search
of a way home. Unfortunately, home as I knew it no longer exists.

Cece
opened the front door to her counseling clinic, and the aromas of basil,
oregano, and garlic welcomed her. At least something did, because her sister
sure didn’t.

“Where have you been?” Candy grilled her, brushing spices off her
apron.

“What are you doing?” Cece asked.

“I’m knitting you a sweater.” Candy whacked the wooden spoon she
held on the kitchen counter. “What in the hell do you think I’m doing?”

“Well, where’d you get all those ingredients,” Cece
asked.

“Hel-LO, you had it all in the kitchen. Ya
know, the kitchen, where you can put stuff with other stuff and make a meal
that doesn’t say ‘Remove film from tray’?”

“Charity, how on earth did you get
in here?” Cece walked inside, followed closely by her
ever-present shadow, the good detective.

“Oh, please. A child could have
broken into this dump.” Candy stirred the sauce.

“Told you to get
those locks changed.” Ace pushed his way past Cece
and proceeded to do a sweep of her place.

After someone had taken a real shot at Cece,
he had sent his partner to check out the area while he’d whisked her away to
safety. It was going to be harder than ever to lose Ace the next time she went
“snooping.” And there would be a next time. She had to admit, getting shot at
had been quite terrifying, but she had to be strong. Her guilt would never ease
if she didn’t help the senator. She hadn’t found anything at that old barn—other
than trouble—which meant she needed to follow up her only other lead.

The senator’s little black book.

“I told you, I went for a drive in
the country,” Cece answered her sister. She hung up
her coat and kicked off those platform shoes. “And thank you for making dinner.
You didn’t have to do that.”

“You gotta
eat, right?” Candy dropped some pasta in a pot of boiling water. “As far as
your little drive into the country goes, you told me Jacko
here would be with you.” Candy paused to plop a hand on her hip. “When I found
out he wasn’t with you, I was worried sick.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.”

Ace snorted. “Fine for someone who
nearly got her head blown off.”

“Whaaat?” Candy screeched, dropping the sauce lid
onto the counter with a loud clunk.

Cece
winced and then glared at Ace. “Thanks, Detective. You can leave any time now.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,
Sister.” He dropped down on her pea-green and brown plaid couch, crossing his
ankles on the coffee table in front of him.

She took a long, slow breath, relaxing the muscles in her face as
she focused on her sister. “Calm down, Charity. I promise you, I’m okay.”

“The only thing I want you to
promise me is that you will back off and let the police handle this from here
on out.”

“Why, Candy, I think that’s the most
intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Ace said with a grin, saving Cece from having to make a promise she knew she couldn’t
keep.

“Stuff it. I’m not talking to you,”
Candy snapped.

Ace shrugged on a grunt as he looked
around Cece’s small clinic. “Interesting
decorating job. Where’s the remote? Don’t you have a TV?”

“First off, this place came
furnished. I’m not about to complain. Second, I don’t need a TV. A bedroom,
bathroom, kitchen, and sitting room more than meet my needs.”

“What on earth do you do for
entertainment?”

“My sister doesn’t ‘entertain,’
Jackass, so don’t get any ideas,” Candy spat.

“Oh, that’s right; that’s your
department.”

“Would you two please stop? You’re
giving me a headache.” Cece sat in the sky-blue chair,
catty-cornered to the couch, and rubbed her temples. None of her furniture
matched, but the fact that the people in town cared enough about her to donate
the pieces they could spare made her place special.

Candy took a seat in the striped, rust-colored chair on the other
side of the couch, her face looking pinched. To her credit, she didn’t say a
word.

“To answer your question, Detective, I haven’t had time to get
bored,” Cece said. “Even if I did, I would choose to
read over watching TV any day.” Or paint her toenails, but there was no way she
would admit that. “You ought to try it some time. Here, I’ll lend you one of my
books.” She grabbed the nearest volume off an end table and shoved it at him. “You
can take this book of saints home right now and get
started.”

He took the book from her, glanced at the title, and then quickly
set it back on the table, as though the mere cover had burned his hand. “I know
how to read, Sister. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sure you do.” Cece smiled in a way
she knew would set him on edge and send her back to the confessional yet again,
but she couldn’t help it. The man knew just what buttons to push. Turning to
Candy, she asked, “So tell me, how’s work at The Pole?”

Candy stared at her in an odd fashion. “Since when do you want to
hear about my work?”

“Since I’m trying to figure out why you enjoy what you do so much.
Or blame it on the outfit you lent me,” Cece joked.

“Well, you do look like you’d fit right in there in that outfit. It
wasn’t a very good choice, huh?”

“What gave you the clue?” Ace chuckled. Both women nailed him with
an angry stare, and he held up his hands, looking as though he were struggling
to wipe the smile off his face, but not quite succeeding. “Sorry.” He picked up
an entertainment magazine Candy must have brought with her and began to read.

Figures, a picture book would
be more his speed
, Cece thought, then ignored him and
answered Candy. “The outfit’s not quite me, but that’s okay. It’s been a while
since we spent much time together. We’re still getting to know each other’s
likes and dislikes. Like your work, for instance.” She stole a quick peek at
Ace, but he seemed to be engrossed in an article or the picture of the
half-naked actress staring back at him. Cece was
betting on the latter. She refocused on her sister and lowered her voice. “I’m
just trying to understand it all. So, do you like The Pole as much as other
places you’ve worked?”

Candy jerked a shoulder. “The manager’s nicer at The Pole, but
most strip clubs are pretty much the same.”

“Hmmmm. One of my
clients mentioned a club called Woody’s, but I’ve never heard of it.”

Ace continued to read his magazine, but his foot stopped wiggling.
“Since when do you have clients? You just opened.”

“I might not have a TV, but I do have a phone, Detective. I’ve
spoken to a few people already, setting up appointments and such. And no, I’m
not going to tell you about those conversations either.”

“Big surprise there.” He went back to reading.

“Woody’s is different. It’s in Boston. I worked there a long time
ago, but I only lasted one day. It wasn’t exactly my type of place,” Candy
pierced Ace with a scathing look, “but it’s right up
his alley.” Then she looked back at Cece. “Why do you
want to know?”

Ace studied Cece as well. “Yeah, why
do
you want to know?”

“Why, so I’ll be better informed on
how to counsel my client, of course.”

“Of course.”
Ace’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” He got up and wandered to the far corner as
he flipped his phone open. “Jackson here.” He listened
for a full minute and then stared at Cece, looking
indecisive. At last, he said, “I’m on my way.” He closed his phone and slipped
it in his coat pocket. “That was Detective Antonelli.
I gotta go. You gonna be
okay here?”

“I’m okay. Really.”
Thank you for small miracles. He’s
leaving
, Cece thought.

“Use the deadbolt I installed this
time. Don’t open the door for anyone, and call my cell if you need me.” He
pointed at Cece’s face as he stood in the threshold. “I
mean it—don’t go out alone. It’s not safe.”

Cece
clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say anything that might make him stick
around.

“I have to get to work.” Candy stood
as well. “I can’t believe I’m going to agree with
him
.” She jerked her head in Ace’s direction. “But please use that
lock, Cece. You’re starting to stress me out.”

“For Pete’s sake.
I’m not a child, you two, and I’m not stupid. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh. Like I haven’t heard that
before,” Ace said on his way out the door.

“Seriously.
Don’t make me call Gran,” Candy added.

“I’ll be careful, I swear. Scout’s honor.” Cece made the sign
from their Girl Scout days so many years ago, and Candy just rolled her eyes as
she left.

Cece hadn’t lied. She had every intention of being careful.

Careful not to get caught.

Later that
night, after stuffing herself with spaghetti and changing out of her sister’s
idea of a makeover, Cece took the commuter rail—better known as the T—into
Boston. No way was she attempting to drive Granny’s Witchmobile again. Getting
off at her stop, she walked the city streets until she stood outside of
Woody’s. Second thoughts plagued her. No matter how hard she tried, she always
messed up and found herself in the most ridiculous predicaments, even before
she had entered the convent.

Like the time her sister talked her into waxing her eyebrows and
wearing makeup. Cece had insisted on doing it herself and proceeded to wax the
entire brow clean off one eye. There wasn’t enough makeup on the planet to hide
that shiny, swollen, bald patch of naked flesh. At least it had gone perfectly
with her bloodshot eye that had resulted from her missing her lashes and instead
poking her eyeball with the mascara wand. No waxing, no makeup, no worries.
Donning a habit had been a relief.

Only, her relief had been short lived.

One time, she mixed up the holy water with clear liquid hand soap.
She’d had to watch, horrified, as parishioner after parishioner blessed
themselves with a trail of stringy slime dangling from their fingertips and oozing
down their foreheads.

Then she tried to conduct the choir, but a sudden attack of the
itchies from a bad heat rash resulted in the altos chiming in on the tenors and
the sopranos hitting notes that would make an opera singer proud, as the choir tried
to keep up with the direction of her crazy wand. In her defense, nun’s robes
were hot, but a maestro she was not. Several parishioners wore earplugs to
church the next week, much to her mortification.

She pushed her doubts aside and opened her tote bag. At least
she’d come prepared to snoop properly this time. She peeked inside to make sure
she had everything she might need.

Disposable camera: check.

Okay, so she didn’t have a cell phone or one of those high-tech
digital cameras, but a disposable camera should be okay.

Cassette recorder: check.

My how times had changed. She didn’t have one of those
mini-recorders either—just her old cassette tape recorder. It could work,
assuming she could keep the bulky thing hidden.

Gloves: check.

Hey, at least she remembered a pair this time. Not sleek, fancy
leather ones like she imagined most seasoned investigators used, but big bulky
winter gloves. No worries. They would do. And last but never least …

Prayer book and special pen:
check, check.

She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the bag on
her shoulder and opened the door to the club before she could change her mind.

Loud, racy music boomed beneath her feet as she took a few
tentative steps inside. Men of all shapes and sizes filled every nook and
cranny of the huge building, but she’d expected no less. All the tables in
front were occupied. Colorful spotlights punctuated the dark room, drawing all
eyes to the big, beautiful women in outrageous costumes dancing on stage.

Wow!
Cece had
never realized strippers were just like dancers and models. Tall, with perfect
bodies. At least all of these dancers had some meat on their bones, unlike the
ultra-thin supermodels. Now she could see why her sister hadn’t fit in here.
Candy was tall enough, but way too thin and not nearly as well endowed as these
women. Big bosoms must be a requirement here. Besides, Candy went for sexy, not
gaudy. These women looked more like Las Vegas showgirls than exotic dancers.

Cece studied the room, trying to decide on her next move. She
really needed to speak to the strippers the senator had noted in his book. She
made her way along the back, keeping to the shadows until she neared the
dressing room. Maybe she’d be able to hear something from outside the door.

“There you are, Spanky,” someone said from behind her. “You’re
late.”

Cece whirled around and looked up into the face of a stunning
woman with exotic features and caramel-colored skin. “Oh, I, well—”

“Honey, they said you were little, but I didn’t expect this
little. What was your father, two feet tall?” She clucked as she spun Cece
around in a circle, swatting her fanny and lifting her breasts. “Amazing hair,
plenty of curves, and a great rack. You’ll do.”

Cece took a step back, unable to speak.

The Amazon woman grinned. “That innocent act really works for you—
stick with it. What’s your real name, sugar?”

“Sister …” Cece said without thinking and then quickly amended,
“Uh, I mean, Spanky.”

The woman tipped back her head, and the purple feathery plumes on
her sequined hat fluttered as she let out a throaty laugh. “Your act is a nun?
Oh, that’s priceless. They are gonna love you.”

“Act?” Cece sputtered.

“Fine, your ‘show’ then.” The woman fluttered her false eyelashes,
bending her wrist and flopping her white, satiny-gloved hand forward. “Pleaaase
tell me you’re not another diva.”

“Um, no, I’m probably the complete opposite of a diva.”

“Good.” She grabbed Cece’s arm and led her into a corner booth of
the dressing room. “You’re on in ten.”

“Ten?”

“Hey, you’re the one who was late, Sister Spanky. There are some
accessories in the wardrobe, but you’d better hurry up. The crowd is getting
restless.” With that, she spun around on her three-inch stilettos, her peacock
tail feathers waving goodbye as she exited stage left with style.

Dancing?
Cece gulped.
What had she gotten herself into?

Another sticky situation, that’s what. But “Sister Spanky”? That
had to top them all. She groaned and surveyed her black pants and sweater, her
stomach turning sour over the thought of confessing this one.

She wandered to the wardrobe closet, getting closer to a group of
strippers talking in the corner. Flipping through the garments, all she saw
were satin, sequins, lace, and feathers.
So
many feathers,
she thought, spitting one out of her mouth.

Aha. Finally. “Thank the Lord for small miracles,” she muttered,
as she pulled a black silk scarf off the rack. She draped it over the top of
her head and then tied it beneath her hair at the back of her neck. There.
Instant habit. And with her makeshift habit on, a bit more confidence seeped
into her.

She would need all the confidence she could get to pull off what
she was about to do.

Joining the group of strippers in the corner, Cece said, “Hi
there. I just wanted to say ‘Hi.’” Okay, so she’d said it twice now. She smiled
wide and clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s my first night, and I’m kind
of nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” a woman with red hair said, glancing at Cece’s
hands. “It’s a quiet crowd tonight. You’ll be fine.”

The brunette next to her looked Cece up and down, tsk-ing. “Good
thing you weren’t here last night. Now,
that
was a rowdy crowd. They would have chewed you up with one bite.”

“Hey, don’t complain,” a blonde woman interjected. “They might
have been animals, but at least the tips were better.”

Chewing, biting animals? Cece’s stomach clenched, and she thought
she was going to be sick. She couldn’t go out there on stage, which meant she
needed to hurry up and get some answers now. She knew the senator frequented
this club a lot, so she said, “What do you ladies do for extra money now that
Senator Sloan’s gone?”

They froze, looking at each other accusingly.

“What do you know about Senator Sloan?” Red asked.

“Just because I’m new here, doesn’t mean I didn’t know the
senator.” Cece put on her best you-can-trust-me face. “Relax ladies. I’m one of
you. I understand what it’s like not being taken seriously and not getting the
respect you deserve. We’re all misunderstood in one way or another. And
certainly no one wants to be a stripper, but sometimes life doesn’t give us much
choice.” She thought of Candy and realized how true that statement was.

“Anyway, I worked with the senator before. He even confided in me
once.” She paused and looked around, then lowered her voice. “I was in his
little black book too.” She adjusted her habit in the mirror, giving them a
moment to digest that little tidbit. “Anyway, I could really use the money. Can
you blame me for wanting in on the action?”

The women studied her for a full, tense moment, then glanced at
each other and shrugged.

“Yeah, well, there is no more action. Our moonlighting career is
officially over,” Red said, as she pulled on a pair of fishnet stockings.

“Maybe not, Glitter.” A brunette applied a fresh coat of hot-pink
lipstick and smacked her lips in the mirror. “Just because the senator’s gone
doesn’t mean one of those other horny politicians won’t pick up where he left
off in organizing the meetings.”

“Yeah, but he was so good.” A blonde woman sighed, slipping on
amazingly high white platform shoes. “I would have done him for free.”

“Get real, Creamy. No matter how much he favored you, he never
would have left his wife, and you know it,” Red added.

“A girl can always dream,” Blondie said.

All three giggled.

“What’s your name, New Girl?” Red asked.

Cece quit fiddling with her habit and tried hard not to blush as
she said, “Sis–Sister Spanky.” That sounded so wrong.

“Sister Spank-me?” Glitter twirled her red locks. “Nice. Where do
you come from? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Oh, I’m from a small town. I worked at a place called The Pole
for years. Just thought I’d try something new. Speaking of new, what exactly
does this moonlighting gig involve?”

“It’s pretty wild.” Hot Lips looked at the other women, and they
all seemed to make up their minds about something. “It’s good money, but I’m
not sure a little thing like you could handle an orgy that size,” Hot Lips
finished.

Cece went into a choking
fit. “Sorry,” she croaked. “Swallowed my gum.” The senator wasn’t just a
ladies’ man, he was involved in a prostitution ring, and it sounded like he was
the organizer. That had to be the illegal matter he was talking about. She
needed to find out what politicians were involved, and then maybe she could
find out who had betrayed him.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Creamy said, sweeping her blond hair
onto the top of her head. “No one else has stepped forward to take the
senator’s place.”

Cece wrote down her phone number, with her fake name listed, and
handed it to the women, struggling to find the courage to say, “If anyone does
plan another orgy, please call me. You’d be surprised what I can handle.” She
didn’t wait for an answer but just grabbed her tote bag and backed out of the
room.

“Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome for our newest dancer,
Sister Spanky,” said the woman Cece met when she first came into the club. The
microphone boomed, and a spotlight shined brightly on Cece’s back.

Oh no!

No, no, no, no!

She hadn’t backed out a door at all—she’d stumbled through a
curtain onto the stage, and now everyone was waiting for her to dance. Only one
problem.

Cece couldn’t dance to save her life, much less strip.

They started chanting her name, and the women from the dressing
room came to the edge of the curtain to watch. They frowned and started
whispering, leaving Cece no choice if she wanted them to take her seriously.
Pasting on a huge smile, she turned around to face the music.

Gulping loudly, she made the sign of the cross and proceeded to
give them a show they weren’t likely to forget even if they tried.

“What the hell is taking her so long?” Ace muttered, as he sat
inside his truck down the street from Woody’s.

When Rocco had called him earlier, it had been to give him an
update about the mayor. Turned out the mayor
had
been blackmailing the senator’s father, after all. Both their
phone records showed numerous calls back and forth, and the mayor’s bank
account revealed regular deposits of checks from Old Man Sloan. But Ace still
didn’t know what the mayor could be holding over Sloan Senior’s head.

Ace had decided to give Cece some space earlier because he knew
she was hiding something. After she’d blessed the senator’s office, he’d had
Rocco check the place out again. Her fingerprints were everywhere, but he still
hadn’t found anything new. Because the warehouse had turned up empty, Ace
figured whatever she’d found, she still had. When she’d mentioned a strip club
called Woody’s, he knew exactly what he had to do.

He’d made an excuse to leave but had never actually left her
place, and sure enough Cece went snooping again. So much for her counseling
skills; his reverse psychology had worked like a charm, and she had no clue he
had followed her. But now, she’d been in the club for a good fifteen minutes.

Well, hell.

He climbed out of his truck and headed into the club. Scanning the
inside, he saw a sea of men and the gaudily dressed women, and his jaw hit the
floor.
Holy Christ,
he had to find
Cece now. Pushing his way through the crowd, he searched for the nun with no
luck. Until he heard someone say the new dancer Sister Spanky sucked, and he
looked up at the stage.

“No fucking way,” Ace muttered.

“No shit, right?” some guy next to Ace said. “The outfit’s totally
lame, and I haven’t seen anyone dance that bad since the losers back in high
school during the eighties.”

Slap, slap, clap, clap,
double-fist, double-fist, over, over, under, under, double-thumb, double-thumb.
Cece’s hands
moved at the speed of light, and her smile was so wide and stiff, her face
looked like it would split in two at any moment.

“Jesus, what the hell is she doing?” Ace asked.

“That would be a really crappy version of the Hand Jive,” another
guy chimed in. “I mean, who still does the Hand Jive, anyway?”