Night of the Living Deb (27 page)

Ah, yes, the perfect attire for a society maven engaged in nefarious activities. She could write a book on what the well-bred woman should wear to an intimate little kidnapping.

“No,” I corrected her. “I mean, who’s behind this whole charade, because it was all about money, not about Brian.

The bag is gone, Stephen, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his mouth set grimly. “I’m still tracking the GPS, Andy. We’ll catch ’em.”

“I know we will,” I told him, as I had a good idea where the money trail would end, even without the fancy GPS equipment.

“You called it a charade, Kendricks,” Allie the Observant remarked, giving me a “told you so” smirk. “So you believe me, that the ransom demand isn’t connected with Malone going MIA?”

Much as I despised having to say it, I coughed up a “Yeah, I believe you.”

Even through the dark, her smile gleamed.

I took a few slow steps toward my Jeep, which had seemed so close to the Dumpster when I’d parked but suddenly appeared a million miles away.

“I don’t think you should drive in your condition, Andrea,”

my mother stated, and I paused, looking over my shoulder at the three of them, thankful to see only one of each. No double vision. Maybe all the furniture stripping I’d done in the past, rescuing old pieces from flea markets, had helped my tolerance to the turpentine.

“What’s my condition?” I said, wanting to laugh. “That I’m an imbecile for buying the ransom plot? That I’m a dope for not involving the police? Or that I’m about the worst judge of character ever? Take your pick.”

That left them dumbfounded, which should’ve tickled me.

Instead I felt queasy.

“Why don’t you ride with me, Andy,” Stephen suggested.

“I’ve got the laptop with the GPS tracking map. We’ll see where it leads.”

I’d wager it would point us right up the street.

To the strip club.

I jerked my chin at Mother and Allie. “Tell them to go home, would you, Stephen? I don’t want them getting

more involved than they are already.”

My mother’s beau had the gall to laugh, and I watched the play of shadow across his weathered face, his expression softening. “Oh, sweet girl, I don’t know Ms. Price well enough to order her about”—he gestured at Mother—“and I wouldn’t even try telling Cissy where to go. I’m much too

fond of the family jewels.”

“Smart man,” my mother drawled, winking at him, the exchange between them enough to make me nauseous, if the turpentine hadn’t done the trick already.

“Let’s go,” I said, figuring we’d stood around long enough.

It was time to shake down Lu and Cricket. I was through being a patsy.

I just hoped that I wasn’t too late.

Chapter 20

As I suspected, the blipping red light on Stephen’s laptop showed the GPS chip had stopped moving a mere smidge farther up Northwest Highway.

A small hop, skip, and a jump away from the IHOP, as it were.

How convenient,
I mused,
for us and for the lying pair who’d been pulling my leg
—
and stringing along my hopes
—
for the last twelve hours, the jerks.

In the few minutes it took to get to our target location, I filled Stephen in on every epiphany I’d had about this whole thing since I’d awakened from my turpentine induced stupor: who I believed was behind the kidnapping stunt, as well as what I’d learned from Allie, and how it all fell together to point toward Oleksiy Petrenko as the real Malone-snatcher.

From the grim look on Stephen’s face, he didn’t exactly like thinking a good old-fashioned mobster was involved.

Not that it made me feel any too warm and fuzzy either.

As Stephen guided the black Volvo sedan toward the pink stucco building with its ornamental lions and deceptively elegant sign, I composed a million different scenarios in my head, everything I wanted to say to Lu and Cricket, all of it as violent as a Bruce Willis movie.

I was ready to jump out of the moving car as Stephen pulled up to the valet in front of The Men’s Club. This time, I didn’t smile back at the pimple-faced fellow in the white shirt who took Stephen’s keys, the very same dude who’d parked my Jeep when Allie and I had come the night before.

As soon as the locks popped up, I scrambled out of the Volvo, pausing to suck in a deep breath and square my shoulders. Then I took the steps, one by one, slow and steady, my eyes narrowed on the doors; my heart set on doing battle.

Stephen caught me from behind, taking hold of my shoulder. I didn’t want to stop, but I did. I even turned around and gave him a chance to speak his piece.

“Maybe it’s time we got the police involved in this, Andy,” he said, blue eyes so damned earnest beneath the hank of faded ginger-colored hair rumpled across his brow. “I don’t know that it’s a good idea to just march in there and confront anyone. We should exercise caution.”

I didn’t care about caution. I wanted to kick some barmaid butt, and how.

“Give me fifteen minutes, Stephen,” I pleaded, glancing back at the driveway and noting a red Roadster disgorging a blond driver, while a pale Lexus with tinted windows sat patiently behind, awaiting its turn with the valet. “You keep my mother and Allie out here, so they don’t screw things up. Or see anything that would burn the back of Cissy’s eyeballs.”

“Is that all?” Stephen smiled tightly, and I realized that was no small task.

But I didn’t want my mother setting foot inside this place.

I was sure she’d have a heart attack were she to catch the goings-on beneath the chandeliers and red velvet drapes. I could already envision her pulling near-naked women off the laps of drooling men and throwing her silk jacket over the bare-breasted stripper onstage.

Like that wouldn’t cause a stink.

Allie was starting up the steps just as Stephen released me. “All right, Andy.” He relented. “You go in alone. But if you’re not back in fifteen minutes flat, I’ll ring your cell.

And if you don’t answer, I’m coming in, and I’m bringing the cavalry.”

“Okay,” I said, because it sounded more than fair.

Though there was one little thing I would need from him, and I told him what it was. He didn’t look any too happy about my request; but he did as I asked, and I pocketed the item in question.

I murmured “Thank you” as I pulled away from him and slipped through the front doors. I thought I heard Allie howling, “Hey, Kendricks!” from somewhere behind me, but I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t want a sidekick this go-round.

A different hostess was taking covers this evening, a dark-skinned girl with close-cropped hair and very shiny makeup. She didn’t try to make conversation, and neither did I, even as I handed over the last of the cash from my back pocket.

I locked eyes briefly with the bouncer who had previously studied Malone’s photo and dismissed it; then he glanced away, dismissing me, his expression bored. Not like someone who’d been involved in a kidnapping scam with the tattooed bartender and duplicitous barmaid.

As I reached for the doors leading into the club itself, I paused to take a deep breath—still smelling paint thinner in my nose—before pushing my way into the Wonderful World of Stripdom.

At this point, nothing surprised me, not the green and blue laser lights shooting through the dark or the sea of endless boobs or the ongoing lap dances being performed right in the middle of the room.

Maybe that’s what happened if you worked here. You just got used to it, stopped seeing the decadence and nakedness, ceased to smell the cologne and perfume, and ignored the pounding of the overloud music in your head.

Thank God, I’d never get the chance.

I strode straight up to the bar on the right-hand side of the stage, planted my palms on the counter and caught my wild-eyed appearance in the mirror. If I’d had the chest for it and fewer layers on, I could’ve passed for an angry stripper whose G-string had cut off her circulation.

“Can I get you something, honey?”

I frowned at the unfamiliar skinny dude with glasses who’d had the gall to ask such a question. Of course, he could get me something. Like, um, how about a man with a funny name for starters?

“Cricket,” I told him.

He squinted at me. “You mean a Grasshopper?” he said over the noise of Shania Twain wailing, “Man, I feel like a woman!”

“No, I’m looking for Cricket, the other bartender. The one who was here last night before ten,” I practically barked at him. “And where’s Lu McCarthy?” I added, because I knew she was working tonight, as the reporter on the six o’clock news had interviewed her from here and the shot was live. She had to be around somewhere.

He swung a white bar towel over his shoulder. “You a friend of theirs? You don’t look like their type.”

“Well, no and yes. I’m sort of an acquaintance who loaned them money, and I want it back,” I said, because it was hardly a lie. They owed me a bowling bag full of it.

He cracked a grin. “Oh, shit, honey, you should’ve never loaned the likes of them cash. You’ll never see a dime. Those two would pick your pocket if you turned your back on ’em.”

“Wish I’d known that before,” I replied, thinking that I sucked big-time in the first impressions department. I gave folks the benefit of the doubt, when I probably should just figure everyone was out to get me until they proved otherwise.

Or would that make me paranoid?

“I’ve got no allegiance to either one of ’em, sweet cakes, so you can break their knees for all I care.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the stage, and I knew he meant the doors beyond it. “Lu’s in back, on a break. I saw Cricket pop in a few minutes ago and head for the back.

Looked like he had a bag packed.”

Oh, yeah, he had a bag packed, all right. And I knew precisely what was in it.

“I’ll bet he did.”

“Maybe he’s gonna take a trip.”

“I do believe you may be right about that,” I said.

It’d be a one-way ticket to the pokey, if I had anything to do with it.

“Good ol’ Crick let it slip earlier that he was coming into some dough, an inheritance or something. Said he wanted me to cover for him if he took off for a while.

Can’t imagine who’d leave him squat. Unless one of his, um, buddies from his motorcycle club from Brokeback Mountain went boots up.”

So Cricket had invented a cover story for the money?

How very enlightening.

I felt my innards tighten, like spaghetti that’s cooked too long and sticks together in a big clump.

“Thanks for your help,” I told him, and if I’d had any bills left in my back pocket, I would’ve tipped him large, because he could easily have made it hard for me, or called Security because I smelled like trouble, or rather, reeked like the Dumpster behind the neighboring IHOP.

I skirted the stage where the dancer was engaged in such heavy shimmying I wanted to shout, “Shake it, don’t break it!” But I restrained myself and ducked into the same door through which Lu had led Allie and me once before.

I sidestepped a pair of heavily made-up women who lounged in the hallway, wearing nothing but the highest of heels, the skimpiest of thongs, and the tiniest sparkly pasties.

Though my gait wasn’t quite as steady as it usually was—thanks to the whiff of solvents—I was feeling extremely sure-footed, and the flood of adrenaline shooting through my veins propelled me forward; straight back toward the room where Lu had taken me the day before.

I had a feeling that’s where she and Cricket would be examining their loot. I couldn’t imagine Lu letting him take the cash anywhere without giving her a gander first, and that seemed the perfect spot. Empty and with a door that locked. Being near the rear exit surely didn’t hurt. If Cricket had had an ounce of brain cells, he would’ve slipped in that way instead of parading through the club with the bag in hand, although it sounded like he’d been bragging about the money already.

I figured he’d end up on one of those “Stupid Criminal” Web sites someday after passing a robbery note to a bank teller on the back of his business card.

Genius.

The noise of the pulsating music dimmed the farther I walked, until I was there, outside Trayla’s old dressing room with the handmade star on the door.

I put my palms on the surface, leaned my ear against the wood and heard mumbled voices, unmistakably those of a man and a woman. When I heard a burst of laughter, it was all I could do not to rush in kicking and screaming.

But I couldn’t.

I had to do this right.

Emotion bubbled inside me, anger like I hadn’t felt since I can’t remember when, and I stood back for a moment, gritting my teeth and getting ahold of myself.

Then I reached for the knob and twisted.

The door didn’t budge.

I gnawed the inside of my cheek, wondering what to do next, how best to approach this. But that hesitation was short-lived.

I snapped.

I was mad as hell and I wasn’t gonna take it anymore!

With both fists, I started beating on the door.

“Lu and Cricket! I know you’re in there,” I shouted, my forehead pressed against the wood. “It’s Andrea Kendricks, you lousy frauds. Let me in, or I’ll have the cops on your tail in five seconds flat. You got that?”

I turned around, breathing heavily, glancing right and left to see if anyone had heard my raised voice; but I didn’t spot any concerned parties racing in my direction. I was about to bang again when the door pulled in, and I fell inside with it.

As I scrambled to stay upright, I heard the door click closed behind me, and I glanced back to see Lu in her red corset and black thigh-high boots leaning against it. She didn’t appear any too pleased to see me there.

The feeling was mutual.

“What the
hell
are you doing? You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed.

“Is that so? Well, you know, I decided if I wanted to hunt a couple rats, I had to drop in on the nest. You counted your blood money yet?” I asked, and my gaze ping-ponged from her to Cricket, who sat on the floor with the satchel between his legs.

He was all in black, and I realized such a color scheme was perfectly suited to both picking up a ransom drop and bartending.