Authors: Ginger Simpson
The clerk appeared a few moments later with a folder. After noting the date and time next to Michelle’s signature, Luanne passed the file through the opening. “I’ll need it back as soon as possible.”
“No problem. I’ll scan through it and get the records back in a few. Hopefully, I’ll find what I need.”
She held crossed fingers up and smiled as she turned toward her unit.
Her heels clicking on the tiled floor echoed in the silence. A glance at her watch showed the quiet time fleeting; co-workers would soon be reporting in. Before Tony showed up to distract her, she sat at her desk and opened the folder. She ran a finger down the page of listed items, scanning for the prize she sought. “Damn,” she muttered. No journal, diary, or any book of any kind listed. Cara’s daily notations had to be somewhere, but where?
Michelle tilted back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, nibbling her bottom lip. How could something so important just disappear? The victim’s notes kept popping into Michelle’s mind for one reason…obviously Cara wrote something so revealing that the killer took the journal. If that was the case, then Michelle had to find the diary…but how?
“Who peed in your cereal this morning?”
Tony’s voice drew her attention while he removed his sport coat and hung it on the back of his chair. “The look on your face tells me maybe I should just keep my mouth shut.”
She leaned forward and rested her arms on her desk. “I’m fine, really. Just disappointed more than anything. I had this brilliant idea the journal Cara’s parents mentioned might provide the lead we need, and I came in early to check the evidence inventory, but the damn thing isn’t listed.”
“You should have mentioned it to me. I thought about that too, but I already asked the CSI people and got a negatory on discovery. Then, you and I made a second sweep and didn’t find it. I can only surmise the perp nabbed it.”
“We’re definitely on the same page then. Whoever killed Cara Austin took the journal
because he feared his name might be mentioned.”
“How do you know the killer is a
him
?” Tony flashed that boyish grin that always set loose a passel of butterflies in her stomach.
Ignoring the fluttering, she straightened her shoulders. “Based on history,
most
serial killers are male, but just call it a hunch.” She stood, grasped her handbag from the floor where she‘d plopped it earlier, the evidence list from her desk and headed back toward the hallway.
“Where you going?”
She waved the red folder in the air. “I promised to get this right back, but then you and I are heading out to do some more investigation. Follow me.”
***
Tony, his jacket hanging by two fingers over his shoulder, stood next to her while Michelle handed back the evidence folder. Retrieving a pen from the pouch on her shoulder bag, she crossed her name off the checkout list, and then put the writing utensil back in place. She faced him. “I figured we’d pay another visit to Mr. and Mrs. Austin and see if we can find out a little more about this journal.”
Tony’s forehead scrunched into a mass of wrinkles. “Oh, not there again, Meesh. They’ve already told me everything they know, and talking to them is like rubbing salt in an open wound. I’m convinced they won’t be of further help.”
“Well, then what do you suggest?”
“I say we follow another trail. Let’s dig around a little more at Kitty Katz. You said you had a suspect in mind.”
He looked down his nose at her. “Or…maybe you just don’t want me to be around while you flirt with your bouncer friend.”
“Pahlease!
There’s no flirting going on…at least on my part. My meeting with him was merely what some call a means to an end. I hoped he might divulge something helpful about “Kitten’s” demise, but I highly doubt he had anything to do with killing Persia since he was at work. His alibi takes him off the list of possible perps.”
“So, maybe someone else knows something. I think we’ll get more information there than from Cara Austin’s parents.”
“Okay, you win.” Michelle pulled her mouth into a pout. Going to Kitty Katz was difficult enough without exposing Tony to possible lap dance offers, pole antics and a whole lot of shimmying and grinding. She’d much rather think he was a strip club virgin, although he probably wasn’t.
Tony drove his assigned vehicle while Michelle rode along and pondered what questions to ask and who to ask them of. Before she realized his altered route, he turned into a pancake house.
“Thought we’d have something to eat. It’s a little early for a strip joint.”
Michelle sipped coffee and nibbled a piece of toast while Tony gorged himself on a plate filled with ham, eggs, hashbrowns and a side of pancakes.
He ate as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks, while she forced down her meager order. She did most of the talking while he chewed, but shared boring details from her childhood. During her rambling, she found it difficult not to focus on his strong chin and the Adam’s apple in the middle of a thick throat that bobbed with his every swallow.
After her third cup of coffee, she excused herself to use the bathroom.
Her bladder screamed, “enough,” and she’d had all she could take of smelling grease from the kitchen. Besides, it was nearly ten and time for the club to open. She did her business, washed her hands in ice cold water, stood patiently while rubbing her palms together under a useless blow dryer and ended up finishing the job by dabbing the dampness down the sides of her slacks.
Tony waited at the register, the bill already paid, and joined her at the door.
The humidity already high, made the air feel like walking into a pizza oven.
Back on track, Tony pulled into Kitty Katz’s lot and parked. He turned off the engine and swiveled to face her, leaning on the steering wheel. “Got a strategy?”
She blew out a loud breath. “I suppose we’ll just see how they’re reacting to Persia’s murder and see if something seems suspicious.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
He exited the car and came around to open her door. She was already out by the time he made the effort.
“Sorry, I guess I’m not used to special treatment.” She swiped at the creases in her slacks and shouldered her bag.
He smiled and clicked his heels together. “Well, at least you know my mother raised a gentleman.”
At the front of the establishment, he tugged open the door for her and followed her into the dimly lit room. As usual, the smell of smoke lingered in the air, along with the musty smell of an old building and stale beer.
Louis sat at his podium, his eyes wide when he spied her. He held out his hand. “Ten dollars each, please.” The unfamiliarity in his voice showed his bitterness over his last encounter with Michelle.
Tony hand the bouncer a twenty, his gaze skirting from Louis to the woman gyrating on stage.
Michelle swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping Louis wouldn’t notice the badge displayed on the inside of Tony’s wallet. She should have warned him to be more discreet. Awkwardness took on a new meaning. How would she explain being in the company of a detective? She breathed ease into her tense shoulders. “Hello, Louis. It’s nice to see you again. I’d like you to meet my friend, Tony Rizetii.”
Louis didn’t pay attention to where the money came from, but displayed a quick eye roll. He thrust out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”
He shifted his focus to Shell. “So, Alicia, back for more answers?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Everyone is in a bit of a panic since now two of our dancers have been offed. I think all the girls are feeling vulnerable. In fact, the boss has all three bouncers working every day to increase security, but then I suppose you already know about Persia—”
“I do, and I’m so sorry. I really liked her.”
“Any idea why someone is targeting strippers?” His brow rose.
“I wasn’t sure someone was until now, but two murders of women from the same line of work, and employed in the same place sure looks like someone has a grudge against strippers. If that’s the case, I want to find out the reason. Have you noticed anything unusual that might give us…I mean
me
a lead?”
He exhaled with an obvious chuckle. “Unusual?
Yeah, two dancers are dead and everything is in chaos. I’d say that qualifies, wouldn’t you?”
Michelle nodded. Chaos, indeed. The word didn’t seem quite descriptive enough.
Louis cast an appraising glance at Tony. “You bring along a body guard these days?”
She gulped back her surprise. “Oh…no, Tony is my friend, I just invited him to come along. He has no connection to the case.” The lie thickened in her throat, but she didn’t want to divulge the fact they were both police investigators, although certainly some in the place wondered why in the Hell the cops hadn’t shown up after
two
murders. If she could just get the answer to her one question about the journal, having Tony introduce his true profession might be wise, but not quite yet.
“Hey Louis.”
She summoned his glare from Tony. “You know the layout of the place pretty well, don’t you?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I just wondered if the girls have their own lockers here…you know a place to hold their personal items and keep them safe. I didn’t notice anything like that inside their dressing area.”
He adjusted himself on his stool, squaring his shoulders the moment she inferred confidence in him. “Yeah, the lockers are on the outside wall of the room. You probably didn’t see them because of the darkness backstage. Why?”
“Just curious to see what might be in…ah.” She cleared her throat. “Just a hunch I have about finding something helpful in solving Kitten’s murder. Despite Tony standing so close his breath warmed Michelle’s neck, she decided to utilize her best feminine wiles and covered Louis’ hand with hers. “You wouldn’t happen to have key, would you?” She lowered her voice to a sexy purr.
The loud sigh from behind her ruined the moment. Tony clearly didn’t approve of her flirtatious behavior. She quickly pulled her palm away and winced at sending the bouncer mixed messages again. Obviously perplexed, his brow arched and he opened and closed the fingers of the hand she’d touched.
“I’m sorry, Louis,” she admitted, cheeks afire. "I wasn’t fair, trying to seduce information from you after I’ve already made it clear my interest in you is purely professional. I hope you’ll forgive me…and tell me, is there a possible key? I’d be in your debt.”
“There is no key.”
His voice held no emotion. “Everyone supplies their own combination-type lock. That’s as much as I know, but you can always check with the others.”
Disappointment sucked the smile from Michelle’s face. Couldn’t anything about this case come easy?
She took a deep breath. “I appreciate the help. Would you mind if I go to the dressing room again?”
He gestured toward the backstage door. “Be my guest. You know the way, but your friend can’t go.”
Michelle turned to Tony. “Since the dressing room is off limits, have a seat at the bar. I won’t be long."
He nodded toward the half-naked dancer on stage. “You think I’d see more skin backstage?”
He chuckled and strode to an empty stool.
Michelle sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and climbed the three stairs to the dancer’s dressing room. Tony’s interest in the on-stage performance stirred jealousy she wasn’t ready to deal with. Maybe bringing him along hadn’t been such a good idea. At least, he’d remembered her alias and hadn’t blown her cover...not on purpose anyhow.
Before knocking, she sidestepped to the left and viewed the bank of lockers Louis had described. She moved closer, squinting in the dimness. Some of them on the bottom, hung ajar, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the images became clearer. Cara Austin’s door was one of the few locked ones on the last row, the gemstones and gold stars like those adorning all the other lockers remained undisturbed along with the bold printing of her stage name, Kitten. Persia’s, in the row just above was clearly the most decorated of all with faux gemstones and beads and remained secured with a silver lock that also bore signs of her sparkling personality…or past personality. Michelle’s eyes welled for two women gone far too soon…maybe more if she didn’t find some answers soon.
Blinking away tears she didn‘t understand, she stood before the dressing-room door and took a deep breath. Her mind spun. How would she approach the others about Cara’s journal?
Had the diary even been in her locker? If so, where was it now? Damn that book. What if it didn’t even hold the clues needed to solve her murder? What perp was too smart to leave behind a hair, a skin cell, or a print? Could the killer be a cop?
Yeah, right! A cop or anyone who watched CSI, NCIS, or Body of Proof on TV and knew enough about forensic science to be extra cautious.
She rapped her knuckles against the worn-wooden portal. Was it time to tell the truth and shed her alter-identity? After all, maybe someone was targeting all the strippers for reasons she had yet to discover. She responded to the call to “come in,” and fixed a smile on her face. The dancer known as, “Bengal,” brushed by her, giving a polite nod. Dressed in jeans and a cowl-neck jersey top, and sans all the excess stage make-up, the woman looked quite normal. Judging from her present attire, no one would guess she stripped for a living.