Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) (12 page)

“Let’s go, go, go,” Riley said. She thumped the side of the car.

“You’re way too excited about this,” Lacy said.

“When it’s your turn to have a baby, tell me if you’re willing to do anything but think about how the baby is actually supposed to get out of you,” Riley said.

“I don’t even want to think about how it’s supposed to get out of you. New subject.”

“How’s your death investigation coming?” Riley said.

“Not well. It looks like an accident, despite the fact that the control was on the wrong side of his body. So far the ex-wife is the only one with an axe to grind, and she was also the beneficiary of his life insurance. But there’s no reason why she should kill him now instead of a few years ago when she found out he was cheating. And today Marcia said Dan and Bob had some kind of falling out right before Bob’s death, but I don’t think that means anything. Dan’s so smiley and image conscious. I can’t imagine him doing anything that might tarnish the reputation of his dealership.

“Maybe Marcia did it,” Riley said.

“Why would Marcia do it?”

“To protect Dan? She seems like the type that would do anything to keep her man, including murder.”

“That part is true, but I can’t imagine what would be bad enough to have to kill someone to protect Dan from it. How bad could their fight have been to make it worth dying over?” Lacy asked.

“Sounds like that’s what you need to find out.”

“Yeah,” Lacy agreed, thinking. “You know, Tosh used to listen to me talk and figure things out when I wrote for the paper.”

“He still would, I’m sure,” Riley said.

“It’s not the same. He’s married now and about to become a dad. Before he was some goofy, lonely single person like me.”

“You’re not a lonely single person anymore, either,” Riley pointed out.

“Duly noted that you didn’t say I’m not goofy,” Lacy said.

“I’m married to a pastor now. I’m not supposed to lie anymore. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to take him away from you. I fell in love with him, the big dork.”

“I know that now, and he gets to be my brother. I guess it’s a win for everyone,” Lacy said.

“Maybe not Tosh. He’s had to live with Mom the last couple of weeks.”

“Hey, if we locked Mom in a room with Tosh and Jason, which one of them do you think she would break first?” Lacy asked.

“Jason.”

“What? Jason’s a cop. He’s used to dealing with difficult people.”

“Street thugs and druggies are a different kind of difficult than family. He’s basically an only child and estranged from his parents. Tosh grew up in a huge family, and his sisters can almost out-crazy Mom. Family stuff is a walk in the park for him. Jason, though, he has no idea what’s coming for him.”

“I think he has some idea,” Lacy said.

“No. Dating is different than married. At the end of the day, he can go home. He isn’t shackled to it for eternity. One day if you guys get married, there will be no escape for him. Then see how quickly he breaks.”

“You’re starting to freak me out,” Lacy said.

“You should be freaked out. And you’re driving too close to Mom. She’s going to recognize Tosh’s car. Stay three SUV-lengths back.”

“When did you get to be such an expert on surveillance?” Lacy asked.

“Since I stayed up last night watching
Remington Steele
reruns on my computer.”

They followed their mother as she drove into the capital and wended her way downtown.

“Seriously, where is she going?” Riley said as they entered a rundown neighborhood full of empty warehouses. “Is she buying drugs?”

“She could have done that in town. I could name five guys Jason arrested last week for possession who could set her up.”

“You realize you’re talking about finding a drug dealer for our mother,” Riley said.

“I didn’t say I was
going
to. I said I
could
,” Lacy said.

They watched as Frannie parked in front of a three-story brick building.

“What is she doing here?” Riley asked. They watched as another woman parked behind her and got out. The two women went into the building together. “Did she and her friends decide to renovate a crack house?”

“Hold on, I’m looking up the address.” Lacy pulled out her phone and began scanning. “No way.”

“What?”

“You’re not going to believe what this place is.”

“I can’t pretend to be shocked if you don’t fill me in,” Riley said.

Lacy handed her the phone. Riley started to laugh. “I am
so
putting this on my Facebook. You’ve got to get pictures.”

“I am not taking pictures of Mom in a pole dancing class,” Lacy said. Her cheeks burned just thinking about it.

“She will never own up to this if we don’t confront her with the facts. You have to continue the surveillance and get proof.”

“Me? You’re the one who binged on
Remington Steele.
You do it.”

“How am I supposed to go incognito with this?” She pointed to her absurdly distended abdomen.

“How am I supposed to go incognito with this?” Lacy asked and pointed to her head. “Believe me, red hair stands out.”

Riley considered that. “You’re right. We’ll have to cover it. And your clothes are all wrong for this neighborhood. If you’re plotting a sneak attack, you’re going to have to blend in.”

“How unfortunate that I left my Cher wig and stripper costume in my other pants,” Lacy said.

“There has to be something in here. Tosh always keeps a load of junk in his car.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and tried to crane over the seat to reach into the back.

“You look like a T-Rex,” Lacy said when Riley’s arms flailed helplessly above her too-big stomach.

“Bring that box up here,” Riley commanded. Lacy unbuckled and did her bidding. Together, they began to rifle through Tosh’s anonymous cardboard box of junk.

“Here, one of Tosh’s wife-beater undershirts. He wears them on days he has to wear his clerical collar because he sweats so much.”

“Ew.”

Riley held the tank top close and sniffed. “You’re in luck; it’s clean. And take off those khakis. Seriously, Lacy, who wears khakis to spy on people?”

“The
How to Spy on Your Mother
handbook said khakis were acceptable attire. What is your solution for pants? Because I’ve been without them one day too many already this week,” Lacy said.

“You can wear mine,” Riley said.

“No offense, but if your pants fit me right now, I’m going to harm myself.”

“These aren’t maternity pants. They’re my regular pants and they’re unzipped beneath the belly. I put a rubber band around them to keep them together.” She lifted her shirt to show Lacy the miraculous feat of engineering that was keeping her pants aloft, despite the fact that they were balanced precariously below the bump.

“Where am I supposed to change?” Lacy asked.

“You can use that leather-paneled changing room by the burned out phone booth. Or, I don’t know, you could change right here.”

“In the car?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never changed in a car before.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Lacy said, but she dutifully began changing out of her khaki pants and matching sweater set and into the ragged white undershirt and jeans that had spent too many days pretending to be maternity pants.

“There’s nothing to be done for your sensible brown loafers,” Riley said. “PS, Patty Duke called. She wants her wardrobe back.”

“It’s time for you to turn off the TV and stop watching reruns,” Lacy said. “Is this better?” she sat up straight so Riley could make her inspection.

“You should take off your bra.”

“What? Riley, I am not taking off my bra.”

“It would look more authentic. People in this neighborhood aren’t so tightly bound, in more ways than one. But losing the bra would be a good start.”

“I lost the ability to be ‘authentic’ after I surpassed a C cup. And these people have been traumatized enough by poverty. They don’t need to add to that by seeing my unfettered chariots swing low.”

“Okay, A—I just threw up in my mouth. B—unfettered? And C—I can never watch the chariot scene in
Ben-Hur
again, thanks.”

“Serves you right for making the suggestion. What about my hair?” Lacy asked. She patted her tresses self-consciously.

Riley checked the box again. “Here, you can use this. It’s leftover from Halloween.” She held an object aloft, dangling between two fingers.

“You want me to wear a gorilla mask? People are going to think I’m robbing a bank. If I walk into that building with this thing on, they’ll hit the deck and toss me their wallets,” Lacy said.

“Not the whole mask, stupid, just the hair part. We’ll fold the face up. The back part looks like hair.”

“This is cheap, matted, one-inch-long fake fur. No one is going to believe it’s my hair,” Lacy said.

“You’re not participating in a casting call for a shampoo commercial. You’re sneaking into a building. You’re going to be moving the whole time. Walk in, take the pictures, walk out. No one is going to see you long enough to analyze whether this hair is yours or a poly-nylon blend,” Riley said.

“I don’t know about this.”

“Oh, come on. You know what Mom has been like lately. How good would it feel to have something on her? To be able to know, every time she’s driving us crazy, that we have this on her? That we have pictures of her dancing on a pole? Come on, you know you want revenge as much as I do,” Riley said.

“Maybe, but don’t call it revenge. That makes us sound evil and deranged.”

“What would you call it?”

“Protective intervention. Mom wouldn’t even let us get our ears double pierced because she said only prostitutes have more than one piercing. If she’s really taking a pole dancing class, she’s flipped her lid and needs help.”

“Fine, call it what you will. The end result remains the same; you need to get in there and figure out what’s going on. And take pictures, lots and lots of pictures.”

Lacy folded the mask in half and shoved it on top of her head, tucking her ponytail beneath. “I fee ridiculous.”

“I’m not going to lie—you don’t look good. But I don’t think Mom will recognize you. And at least you’re no longer screaming, ‘Please rob me and take my pearls.’”

“Oh, my pearls,” Lacy said. She unclasped her necklace and handed it to Riley.

“Are you ready now, June Cleaver?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Lacy said. She glanced in the mirror and quickly away. It was better not to see how utterly preposterous she looked. Cautiously, she eased from the vehicle and scanned the area. No one was looking at her. Good. Maybe she could make it through the whole ordeal with no one noticing the jeans that were bursting at their seams, the see-through tank top that, although belonging to a man, still clung uncomfortably, and the gorilla mask that only covered most of her hair. On closer inspection, there were still spots of red poking through. From a distance, she either looked like someone who’d had a dye-job gone wrong or someone who had intermittent bleeding patches on her scalp.

She approached the building like a cat, easing from post to post and pausing to scout her surroundings. The street was empty. The fact that no one was watching her bolstered her courage. She pushed open the door to the building, but it also appeared empty. She walked the entire first floor. No one was there.

Overhead, a music beat pulsed and throbbed. The kind of music one might play during a pole dancing class? Maybe. The elevator appeared to be out of service, so Lacy sprinted up the flight of stairs and put her hand on the door. The music was softer now, and it seemed mellower than it had downstairs. Had she mistaken classical music for hip-hop? Maybe they were dancing to a slow song. Whatever the case, she needed to be ready with the camera. She intended to poke her head in, snap a few pictures, and dash back to the car.

She pulled out her phone, aimed it, and reached for the door. It didn’t budge. It wasn’t locked, but it was sticky. She leaned on it, but it didn’t give way. She took a few steps back and ran at it.

Not only did it give way, but it exploded with a loud, “BANG!” that sent Lacy cascading through to the other side. The forward momentum sent her toppling. She landed hard on her hands and knees and looked up. Her phone clattered and skidded to a stop. Instinctively, she reached for it.

Once she caught her breath, she realized that the room of women had come to a standstill, and none of them was her mother. Instead they all looked like Barbara Bush, only more stately and dignified. And they were all staring at her with her ill-fitting, worn jeans, too-tight white tank top and gorilla mask. She could feel the mask teetering precariously on her head. She reached for it and knocked it off. It landed on the floor with the loud smack of rubber meeting wood.

Someone stopped the music. They were all staring at her, judging her. She did the only thing she could think of—she jumped to her feet and turned to run away. But before she could take a step, a vice-like grip surrounded her wrist, anchoring her in place.

Chapter 11

“Lacy Steele?”

Please not him. Please not now.

“Lacy? That is you. It’s me, Ben.”

Reluctantly, she turned to face the man now manacled to her wrist. “Oh, Ben, hello. Nice day, isn’t it? Very sunny for autumn.”

He let go of her wrist. She bent and scooped up the gorilla mask, stuffing it into her back pocket. Why did she have to meet the governor’s right hand man today? This man had the power to grant her town development money. Why, why, why did the one person she knew in the city have to be the person she ran into when she looked like someone who had come to sell her plasma at the free clinic?

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?” he asked. He sounded completely puzzled, as anyone might when encountering a businesswoman from another town who showed up dressed like she was ready to jump out of a cake at a bachelor party.

She was so nervous that she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I was looking for a pole dancing place.”

“Oh,” he drawled.

“Not for me. For my mom.”