Authors: Ginger Simpson
A silver-haired man wearing suspenders that confirmed his age answered. The white tee shirt he wore beneath the elastic supporters bore stains from past meals. His swollen, red-rimmed eyes attested to his feelings of loss. “May I help you?” His gaze scanned Tony from head to foot.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to intrude.“ He flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Tony Rizetti from the Philadelphia PD, and I have some questions I’m hoping you might be able to answer. First, let me express my condolences. I can’t begin to imagine your loss. My partner and I are assigned to find the person responsible for your daughter’s death and if I could have a minute of your time….”
Mr. Austin opened the door wider. “Please come in.”
He motioned toward the living room where a much older image of the victim sat on the sofa. “My wife and I aren’t anxious to relive the details of Cara’s demise again, but if there is anything we can do to help find the horrible person who did this, then please ask away.”
Mrs. Austin, tears glistening on her leathery cheeks, clutched a lace-edged hankie in one hand and a gold-framed photo of her deceased daughter in the other. She nodded her agreement and sniffed.
Tony bobbed his head in return. “Ma’am. Thank you for allowing my intrusion into your sorrow. I’ll try to keep this as delicate as I can.”
He sat in a dated floral armed chair, reminiscent of one he recalled from his grandmother’s home. The same medicinal smell he remembered in her house churned fond memories.
Withdrawing a notepad and pen from his jacket, he prepared to take notes. “First, is there anyone you can think of who harbored ill-will toward your daughter?”
Both shook their heads.
“Cara was such a good girl, everyone loved her.” Her father’s voice crackled.
Not everyone
, Tony thought. He smiled and made a notation, then looked up. “Was Cara seeing anyone on a regular basis or had she recently ended a relationship with someone…a longtime boyfriend perhaps?”
The distasteful look on her mother’s face screamed he’d hit a sour note, but she remained silent.
“A…a…” Mr. Austin’s throat wobbled with a hard swallow. “Our daughter wasn’t too interested in men.”
Tony arched his brow. “I don’t follow…?”
“We believe she was lesbian. Her mother and I didn’t approve, but Cara never seemed to care much for boys, even as a young girl. We’re basing our suspicion on the recent answer she gave when we questioned her about giving us a grandchild one day soon. Although she never confessed to her lifestyle, she did make it clear that children weren’t in her future.
“Then, did she have a girlfriend that you know of?”
“She had lots of female friends…especially from that distasteful place where she worked, but Cara did what Cara wanted.” Mr. Austin sagged onto the sofa next to his wife and patted her hand. “I suppose it’s our fault because we brought her up to be strong and independent.”
Words failed Tony. Nothing he said would erase the disappointment or pain these parents obviously felt but he needed more information. There wasn’t an easy way to proceed.
“When was the last time you saw your daughter?”
Mr. Austin stared into space, a sign he was trying to recall. “About two weeks ago, I think. She stopped by to pick up her mail. Some of it still comes to our address.”
“She called me day before yesterday,” her mother added. “She just wanted to check on us and make sure we were doing okay.” The woman covered her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a sob.
“I’m sorry if I’m dredging up more pain for you, Mrs. Austin. I know how difficult this is so I’ll try to be brief.”
Cara’s mother squared her shoulders. “It’s quite all right, Detective. If there is anything at all we can tell you that’s helpful, we’re more than willing.”
“You mentioned some of your daughter’s mail still comes here. Why is that?”
“It’s mostly junk mail,” Mr. Austin offered. “She put in a change of address a year ago when she moved, but they don’t forward everything. She made it a habit of stopping by occasionally just to go through it. Most of it ended up in the trash”
After making another note, Tony moved his gaze from one parent to the other. “I want you to think very hard. Was there ever a time when Cara mentioned someone’s name in passing?
What may seem insignificant could prove to be quite important.”
Mr. Austin’s brow furrowed. “Cara talked about the women at the strip club, but I can’t remember their names. Besides, they weren’t their real ones. The only redeeming quality about being an ‘exotic’ dancer is choosing a fake name. Cara went by Kitten, of all things.”
His sneer showed further disapproval of his daughter’s career choice.
“Did she ever mention her boss?”
“Not by name, but the establishment is called Kitty Katz, so you can imagine that’s probably not the owner’s real moniker either.” He stared at the ceiling. “I can’t stop wondering where we failed our daughter.”
A thousand responses ran through Tony’s mind, but every one sounded empty. He wanted to remind the grieving pair that kids developed their own personalities despite the type of parenting they dealt with, but if they asked how he knew, he’d have to admit to being single and childless. Hardly an authority on the topic, he held his tongue and hoped his silence conveyed the sorrow he felt for the duo. He had no advice to offer except memories of the struggles and rebellion he put his own parents through as a teen. The best he could do for the Austins was track down the person who killed Cara. He vowed to give it his best shot.
Tony stood and tucked away his notebook and pen. Withdrawing his shield case from his pocket, he produced a business card. “Here’s my phone number. If you think of anything at all that might help solve your daughter’s murder, please call me anytime, day or night.” He walked to the door, but stopped short of opening it. “Thank you again for your help during this difficult time, and rest assured, I’ll do everything I can to find the responsible party.” With a parting bob of his head, he left.
With the Austin’s door closed behind and his hand still on the knob, Tony blew a loud breath through pursed lips. His shirt sucked the humidity from the oppressive heat and shrink-wrapped against his skin. The air reeked of stale exhaust from crowded city living and mingled with the smell of rotting garbage from a nearby can. Taking broad steps, he sought relief in his car parked parallel between two others. How had he maneuvered into such a tight spot? Could he get out?
His forehead taut with determination, he slid into the seat, started the engine, and sighed at the initial hot blast from the air conditioner. The refreshing odor of new leather lingered in the cooling surge. A glance in the rearview mirror showed beads of sweat dotting his brow. Heat or tension?
Both, he imagined.
Thank goodness, he’d faced the parents with dignity and grace
although the visit didn’t garner many helpful answers, he at least had a few additional details to share with Meesh. The simple passing of her name through his mind dropped a curtain on the sad scene he’d just left and brought a smile…and even more, an uncomfortable tightness to the crotch of his slacks.
According to statistics he’d read in a recent magazine, at twenty-seven he should be married, own a home and have one point two children, but the right woman hadn’t yet materialized. Until meeting Meesh, no woman stirred more than a thought of a second date. He’d finally found the right person, and just his luck, she was ‘forbidden fruit.’
Wrestling within the confines of the parking space, he cranked the wheel left and right while inching forward and back, swallowing the string of curse words that came to mind. His arms like jelly, he finally freed his sedan and moved into the light stream of traffic. One project complete, now he had to tackle something harder than grief-stricken parents—facing Michelle and pretending he felt nothing for her. Again, that annoying tightness caused him to tug at his crotch. If she only knew what she did to him.
* * *
After listing the pros and cons of carrying a weapon inside, Michelle locked her gun in the glove box and slunk out of her car.
Despite the time of day, a neon sign blazed over Kitty Katz
. Surely, it wasn‘t any brighter than her burning cheeks. Why in the world had she taken on this particular assignment solo? Was her ego so low that she needed to prove something to herself…or live up to her dad? Regardless, here she was and with no time for self-pity or remorse.
The strip joint bordered a shabby neighborhood, but the parking lot was a lot fuller than anticipated. She’d expected a crowd at night, but in the middle of the day?
Judging from the various vehicles, patrons from all walks of life were inside.
An inch of discarded cigarette butts littered the pavement outside the door, and the smell of smoke cloaked her. Although she wanted to believe the rubbish resulted from those obeying the ‘non-smoking’ ordinance, she knew better. People were just generally slobs. Confirmation in the form of a metal container, specifically for snuffing used cigs, stood only a few feet away looking brand new. She brushed a newspaper page aside with her foot and, cringing, reached for the door handle. She could only imagine germs clinging to it.
Frozen in place by a sudden revelation, she shook her head and moaned. Why hadn’t she considered how strange a single woman entering a nudie bar would look? Was she really prepared to see what went on inside?
A patron pushed his way past her on his way out and confirmed her suspicions by casting her an ogling leer.
Yeah, she wouldn’t stand out any more than a brown pup among a litter of black ones. Her nervousness eased at the thought of keeping Tony from enjoying the show. The thought of him watching women disrobe ignited jealousy she couldn’t explain, but she definitely understood why. She wanted him more than someone on a liquid diet who craved something to chew. Yeah, well people in Hell wanted ice water, too, but…
Steeling herself, Michelle walked inside a dimly lit arena illuminated only by colored spotlights shining on scantily clad women clinging to poles and gyrating to a deafening beat. What appeared to be Christmas lights, only half still working and left up well after the festive season, sparkled from the walls.
She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust from the outside brightness, only to discover her assumption about people conforming to the laws of smoking had totally fizzled. A haze filled the room, hanging like a low cloud over a mountain peak. Instead of the fresh air she expected, co-mingled perfumes, tobacco, sweat and beer assailed her senses. She wriggled her nose and looked for an empty seat. She spied one in a far corner—a perfect vantage point to watch and satisfy her curiosity before she sought the manager and got permission to ask Cara’s dancing pals a few questions.
“That’ll be ten bucks.”
A deep voice drew her attention. A very buff but crabby-looking man perched atop a stool next to a podium holding a cash box. Funny, she hadn’t even noticed him despite the spotlight shining overhead.
“Excuse me.”
Michelle’s naiveté showed her inexperience.
“Cover charge. Two drink minimum.”
He extended his hand, palm up.
She fumbled in her purse for her wallet and handed him a ten-dollar bill. Thankful for the enveloping darkness to mask her discomfort, she ambled toward her targeted spot.
She’d barely sat before the cocktail waitress appeared.
“What’ll it be?”
The woman’s jaw gave her chewing gum a good workout while she waited for an answer. Her skimpy outfit revealed the assets lacking to make her a dancer. Tall, skinny, and not very curvy, her blonde tresses pulled back into a severe bun added sharpness to her nose and chin.
Dark hair and a witch’s hat came to mind, but Michelle bit her lip to quell her smile. “Concentrate,” she mumbled beneath her breath.
Asking for two sodas would probably cause a problem and Michelle certainly didn’t want to be tempted by ordering her favorite white zinfandel so she relied on a phrase she’d heard on TV. “Tequila with a beer back.” Michelle shouted to be heard over the music.
“You want lime with that?”
“Sure.”
She had no idea why she needed one since she had no intention of drinking what she ordered. Why not go for the whole tamale when she‘d donated a ten spot up front?
She pulled an extra buck from her wallet for a tip and set her purse on her lap. She settled back to observe, but her investigatory skills fell short when one of the nearly nude dancers sauntered toward her table.
“You interested in a lap dance?” What distance masked, closeness revealed. The stripper was far from her prime.
“Me?”
Michelle’s eyeshot aimed directly at the dancer’s crotch. She yanked her gaze upward, certain her brow formed a perfect arch, startled by an invitation she found so strange.
“You see anyone else with you?”
The stripper leaned on the table, displaying ample cleavage in Michelle’s face. “Name’s Siamese, and I can take you to heaven for ten bucks.”
Shuddering at the thought of what the woman considered heaven, Michelle’s shoulders rose in forced confidence. She shook her head. “No, but thanks.”