Plateful of Murder (8 page)

Mallorie grinned like we were old friends. “I remember you, you’re the private eye.”

My eyes darted nervously around the room, wondering if Dwayne had overheard. A suspicious fiancé like Jezebel and a PI that just happens to show up on while he’s doing…what? Dancing? I wanted to get out fast, before Dwayne put two and two together and used my camera strap to strangle me. And what would he do to Michael whose only mistake was being a great cook?

Mallorie peered at Michael through her fake eyelashes, talking him up like she wanted him to invest in a Ponzi scheme. Or was that her way of flirting?

I hooked my arm through Michael’s. “We better get going. It was nice to see—” But Mallorie slid her arm through Michael’s other one and gave it a tug. “No way. You came for a reason.”

I gaped at Michael. Before either of us could respond though, Ed piped up, “They came to dance, Mal. Let’s show ‘em how.”

He pulled me away from Michael, signaled to turn the music up, and whirled me around the dance floor. He twirled me out and back in like he was Fred Astaire, but I was Raggedy Ann. When he got me in a clutch he whispered, “She knows more.” With that he spun me out again, smack into Dwayne, who was dancing with a middle-aged woman in spandex pants that probably fit her twenty pounds ago.

I tripped and Dwayne caught me. “Are you okay?”

I righted myself, thankful I hadn’t worn heels. “I’m fine.”

He smiled. “Good. I’m Dwayne. And you’re…?”

“Claire. Just Claire.” I could feel the moisture in my underarms.

“Nice to meet you, Claire.” He motioned toward Michael and Mallorie. “Looks like your friend knows a thing or two about salsa. That’s what I want. Gonna surprise my baby. Her name is Jezebel.”

I felt warm all over, like when a puppy snuggles up to you. “That’s so nice.” I grinned. “So nice.”

Before I babbled further, Ed grabbed hold of me again. “Excuse us, but Claire’s got more to learn tonight.” With that, he whisked me away past Michael. To my amazement and distraction, Michael was gliding around the dance floor like he’d been born to do it.

Through clenched teeth, Ed hissed, “Don’t want you ruining my setup. Mallorie held back with you and the cops. I aim to find out what else she knows.”

“How do you know she’s got anything else?”

Ed held onto my waist while the song ended and another started. “Let’s just say she spends a hell of a lot more than she makes, even with this side job.”

That got my full attention. “So someone’s paying her off.” I panted, slightly out of breath.

He nodded. “But who and why’s the question.” Missing my spin cue, I mashed his ankle. He winced and dropped his arms. “Ooph!” He rubbed his ankle and murmured, “You’re pretty timid as a PI, but you’re deadly on the dance floor.”

I could feel the others stop and my face felt hot. Michael rushed over, leaving Mallorie to dance solo. “Claire, it’s my turn to dance with you.” He gave Ed a look that said, “Get lost, pal.”

Ed stopped massaging his ankle and stepped back with his hands in the air. “No problemo. But I hope you got steel in your shoes and socks.” As he turned to go, he whispered, “Great job. Now I can get back to Miss Mal.” He moved in her direction. “Mallorie, may I have this dance?” He only limped a little.

Michael’s eyebrows lowered. “Mind if I ask what that was about?”

“Tell you later.” A slower musical number started. His hand on my waist felt strong, confident. I relaxed and let him guide me. “Hey, you’re pretty good.”

He shrugged. “Dancing lessons. My mother insisted my sister and I go.” His face clouded over. “Constance made it bearable.” He turned his head away and swallowed hard.

The music ended, but we stood still, like a porcelain statue of two dancers, until Mallorie shattered the moment when she clapped her hands. “Break time, everyone.”

As the others collapsed into surrounding chairs, I massaged my forehead and sighed, “One of my headaches is coming on.” I had to get out of there before my cover got completely blown.

After Michael graciously insisted on paying for our so-called dance lesson, we made our escape to the car, now fragrant with the scent of veal and lemon.

I laid my hand on his arm. “Thank you.” In all likelihood, Gino had some rule about not letting a client pay expenses for another client. “I’ll pay you back just as soon as this Jezebel pays her balance.”

He shrugged. “Forget it. I should thank you. It was fun.”

Fun?
I was pleased, but sure wouldn’t have called it that.

He reached for the casserole and grinned. “Shall we eat?”

“Good idea. We can go to my apar-, ah, office. We’ll be more comfortable there.” 

He thought about it a moment, then said, “We can go back to my place. For dinner.”

I wondered if I’d be dessert, picturing myself in just some whipped cream and a cherry, and shivered.

I needn’t have wondered. Michael was so engrossed in my recounting of what Ed had told me about Mallorie, I wasn’t even an after-dinner mint. My relief mixed with disappointment, neither gaining a foothold.

After my second glass of wine, I slouched in one of his comfy chairs and felt my whole body mellow out. Unfortunately my mouth took the opportunity to sever ties with my brain and I proclaimed, “Michael, you’re the best cook around, and a wonderful host, and a charming dinner companion.” Thank God, he stopped me before I nominated him for sainthood.

“Thank you, but you make it easy.” He blushed.

I blamed it on the wine but I couldn’t think of anything witty, so settled for, “Back at ya.”

We both fell silent and it seemed like the ticking of his mantle clock got louder. I swirled the wine in my glass and he cleared his throat.
Time for me to say something.
“This was great but I better go.” I rose too fast, and the room began to spin. Scared of falling, I latched on to the table, holding as tight as a kid on a roller coaster for the first time. Michael sprang up and grabbed my shoulders for support. Even when the dizziness subsided, he didn’t let go. “Are you okay, Claire?”

“Never better.” His hands felt good on me and I was afraid if I moved, he’d pull them away. We stood like that for a moment, neither of us going any further.

He must have felt me stiffen just a bit because he dropped his hands and stepped away. “I better clear the dishes.”

Offering to help would’ve been the right thing to do, but sticking around there with him would’ve been a mistake. I didn’t want to get in too deep, at least not until Constance’s murder was solved. I stretched and produced a few faked yawns. “Dinner was great, Michael, but it’s been a long day. I’ll call you when something new turns up.”

He walked me to the door where we both stood there like mummies, stiff and brainless. I managed to grab his hand and pumped it. “Thanks again.” I practically ran out the door. Not exactly my moment of glory.

***

After a restless night and early morning, my notes on Dwayne’s activities lay on my desk in a semblance of order. Jezebel sat in the chair opposite me. Another of Gino’s rules was “Don’t give them the lowdown ‘til they give you the dough.”

“As you know, I’ve completed my investigation.”

The woman, in funeral-like garb, sat stiff in her chair, rubbing her hands together so hard I wondered if they’d spark. Having no desire to prolong her uncertainty, I showed her the photo taken of Dwayne entering the dance studio.

My findings concluded, I smiled, thinking she’d do the same. Or at least show some sign of relief. 

Instead, her mouth twisted and her eyes bulged. “You’re telling me he wasn’t with another woman?”

Didn’t she believe me?
“No, he isn’t. He’s just taking dance lessons.” I tilted my head. “Isn’t that good news?”

She slumped in her chair. “Yeah, it is. But now he’ll know I lied.”

My eyebrows knit and my stomach tensed.
Why is nothing in this job easy?

She looked like she was about to cry. “He’s taking those damned lessons because I bragged about what a good dancer I was.”

My brain screamed, “Stay out of it.” But my mouth never took orders from anyone. “What made you do that?”

She leaned her head back like the answer was on the ceiling. “He’s great at so many things, I wanted to be better than him at something.”

I shrugged. “If it’s that important, take lessons yourself.”

She shook her head. “Can’t afford to. Unless…” A Cheshire cat grin appeared on her face.

I glanced at the check she’d written me like it was a lover who’d just told me we were through. Jezebel’s eyes followed mine. “The fee was stated in the contract you signed.”

“You’re right.” She let out a defeated sigh.

I sat back, satisfied, until my sentimental gene began aggressively reproducing. I gave in and pushed back my practical worries. “Do you know how much they cost?” My voice, barely above a whisper.

Jezebel’s eyes sparkled and she looked eighteen, although that birthday was in the distant past. “A friend of mine once offered to teach me off the clock for a hundred dollars.”

Subtracting that amount from the total on this case, I pursed my lips. “Can’t he be more off the clock than that?” Admitting the stakeout had actually turned out to be pleasant made it easier for me to give in. “Okay, I could subtract $75 from what you owe me right now. You can pay it back at $25 a month.” I had a hunch I’d never see that money.

Jezebel pounced. “Really?” She scooped my hand up in hers. “You’re great. I mean it. Anytime someone needs an investigator, I’ll make sure they have your name.”

I rubbed my forehead, already regretting my generosity, especially since it was using borrowed money. Guilt crept up on me. My promise to Dad to repay him with this contract money now became impossible. Not if I wanted to eat and pay Michael back for the dance lessons. 

We settled up and an ecstatic Jezebel thanked me even as she walked out my door. She even promised to invite me to the wedding. At least I knew someone who could dance with me there.

Busy berating myself for being a softie, I ignored the phone ringing until I realized the caller was Mallorie. She wanted to meet with me to talk about Constance. That was a shock, and questions boomeranged in my mind, but they went unasked. Afraid of spooking her, I played it cool, keeping my comments to a minimum, and quickly agreeing on a time and place.

Calling Michael crossed my mind. Or maybe Ed. Even Detective Corrigan’s name popped into my head, but in the end, I decided it was my case to follow through.

Stuffing two granola bars in my purse, I headed out to meet Mallorie. The congested roads stretched my fifteen minute drive into twenty-five. Frustrated and overheated, I hustled into the café where Mallorie sat at a back table, drinking from a jumbo plastic cup. She tilted her chin towards me, then looked at her cell phone and frowned.

I pulled up a chair. “Sorry for being a little late. Traffic was—”

She nodded. “A bitch, I know, but one of us is on the clock.” She scanned the room, then looked straight at me, biting her lower lip.

I thought maybe she needed some prompting. “You wanted to see me about Constance.”

Her eyes darted back and forth. “Yeah, I, uh, Ed told me I could trust you.”

Good for Ed.
“Do you want to talk about who killed Constance?”

She drummed her fingers against her cheek. “Maybe.”

I leaned in so close it looked like I was moving in for a kiss. “If you know something, why haven’t you gone to the police?”

“Let’s just say it isn’t in my best interest.” She checked the time again. “Can’t talk about it now. I gotta get back to work.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Look, I need help.”

One murder, two clients?
If this kept up my business would be booming. “Come by at 6:00 tonight.” I handed her my card.

She snatched it and without looking at the card or me, she tossed her now empty plastic cup in the trash. Without another word, she hurried out of the café.

Upset with myself about ruining the meeting with Mallorie, I had to make sure my encounter with Ed would be successful so I stopped at the bank. Whatever information he’d provide would require a payment. I withdrew as much as I could afford, and counted each dollar, afraid Ed might withhold a vital piece of information due to a lack of funds.

Ed was leaning against the wall near Triton’s back entrance. It was a mystery how the man unearthed anything since he seemed to always be on break. Once he saw me approach, he shook a cigarette out from a crushed soft pack. “Hi there, Miss Private Investigator. What can I do you for?”

“Mallorie contacted me.”

He whistled through his teeth. “That was fast. She must be plenty scared.”

I had my hand on my wallet, realizing nothing he’d tell me would be free. “What do you know about it?”

He placed his interlaced fingers across his belly. “Depends on the green.”

I pulled out a five, hoping that was green enough for him.

He shook his head. “Whatever happened to the twenty we talked about?” He pointed his unlit cigarette at me. “And you still owe me from the last time.”

Claiming amnesia might make him angry, so I added a ten to the five. “Here’s the rest of what I owe you. How about you advance me your information?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Have to hand it to you. You’ve got nerve.”

Unfortunately, not much of that, but I kept going. “Once this case is solved, I’ll have more than enough money to pay off my debt and then some.” My mouth drooped and my sad eyes stared at him as if I was a poor orphan and he was withholding the porridge.

He lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew out a ring of smoke. “I’m already deep in it, so what the hell.”

I suppressed a smile, afraid he’d change his mind or think I was taking advantage. Maybe I was a little, but for a good cause. “Thank you.” He nodded and I pushed forward. “Are you sure Mallorie is blackmailing someone?”

He looked at me like I’d just asked him if he knew how to spell his name. “And I bet she’s squeezin’ tight. Not that she admitted as much to me though. My money’s on Eagleton for the one she’s blackmailing. He probably only took so much, and now he’s getting ugly about it.”