The men picked at their food, waiting for Veronica to finish dancing. Finally her music ended and she exited the stage to the sound of whistles and catcalls. As she came down the steps, the girl waiting to go next threw her a contemptuous look and muttered something, but Veronica brushed past as if she was invisible. Joe and Brent’s waitress hurried up to her and yelled something in her ear in order to be heard over the sound of the next girl's song. Veronica looked toward the men’s table, frowned and said something to the waitress, who shrugged. Then she headed across the room to a table of men near the stage who had been particularly raucous during her act. With limber grace, she sat in the offered chair and contorted herself so the man next to her could massage one of her feet.
Joe turned to Brent. “Doesn’t look like it worked."
“Maybe she’d already promised those guys before she heard we wanted her. Maybe she’ll come over here next.”
“I hope so,” Joe said, “I don’t want to have to spend the entire afternoon here.”
“We'll wait until she’s finished, then I’ll go see what I can do.”
After several minutes, Veronica finished with her customers, but instead of coming over to Joe and Brent’s table, she disappeared through a set of double doors.
Brent waved the waitress over. “Where did Veronica go? Didn't you tell her we wanted to see her?”
“I told her,” the girl said. “She said she needed to see her regulars first. If she gets done with them and you’re still here, she’ll come over.”
“Where is she now?”
The girl shrugged. “She probably just went into the back to change her costume and powder her nose. She’ll be back out in a minute.”
“Powder her nose, huh?” Joe eyed the double doors suspiciously, and sure enough, Veronica came back out rubbing her nose thoughtfully. Joe got up from his seat. “I think Veronica will want to see us.” He wove his way through the tables to where she was talking to a customer. Brent watched as he interrupted her conversation. Appearing to talk to her casually, Joe grabbed Veronica’s hand and held it. The girl's eyes took on a suspicious cast, but when he released her, she darted her hand into a jacket pocket, flipped her hair over her shoulder and went back through the double doors without a word. Joe came back to the table, grinning. “Give her five minutes,” he said. “She’ll be here.”
Brent frowned. “Did you give her what I think you did?”
“Don't worry about it.”
“Dammit,” Brent said, shoving his half-eaten plate of food out of the way. “Do you realize you could get us arrested?”
Joe turned a condescending glance on him. “Are you a part-time narc or something?”
“No, but a few probably work here.”
“You're such a tedious poser sometimes, you know that? I may not go to these kinds of places, but I know they pay off the cops. My cousin is a cop and he told me about the racket these places have.”
“Well, I still think it was a dumb thing to do.”
“Think all you want,” Joe said. “But look, she’s heading over here. That stuff works better than cash sometimes.”
"Yeah, like it worked really great with Perry," Brent mumbled.
Before Joe could answer, Veronica sauntered up to their table in her leather tap pants and bolero jacket. She glanced at Brent and her eyes widened in recognition, but then her features went blank and she turned to Joe. “You want to see me about something, and you obviously want it pretty bad.” She pulled up a chair, her eyes still wary. “That’s pretty good stuff. I wouldn’t mind knowing where you got it.”
“There’s more where it came from if you’re willing to help us out,” Joe said.
Veronica raised her eyebrows, but her cynical expression remained unchanged. “I don’t fuck customers, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Don’t worry,” Joe said, “I’m madly in love with my wife.”
“So is every man in this room,” Veronica said with a shrug. She waved the waitress over. “Married men are worse than dogs.” When the waitress appeared, Veronica ordered a Jack and coke and sent her away. “If you don’t want to fuck, and you don’t want me to dance for you, what do you want?”
“I want to know where Elise Riddisee is,” Joe said.
Veronica darted a glance at Brent, but her face and voice remained neutral. “I haven't seen Elise in years. Why do you think I would know where she is?”
Brent spoke up. “Come on, Lamia. Don't you remember me?"
"I remember you," she said coolly. "I just don't like you. Now what's this about Elise? I said I don't know what you guys are talking about, so maybe you should leave."
"Stop lying. A woman named Cece Kirk dropped her off at your place two nights ago,” Brent said.
Veronica turned on him. “Okay, maybe I did see her recently. But why should I tell either of you anything about it?”
“Because she’s my wife and I need to find her.”
Veronica grinned. “So you’re the artist. You don’t look artistic.”
Joe rubbed his forehead as if he had a sudden headache. “I’m not artistic,” he said wearily. “I just enjoy what I do, okay? And for some reason, other people seem to like it and are willing to pay for it.”
The waitress appeared at Veronica’s elbow with her drink and set it on the table in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie,” Veronica told her. "You look hot tonight." The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away. Veronica turned back to the men. “Bet you didn’t know a lot of us are lesbians, did you?”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Brent said.
Veronica turned on him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because look at what you deal with every day. If I was hanging around guys like this, I wouldn’t think much of men, either.” He took a sip of his martini. “Besides,” he added, “Where else can a lesbian meet so many attractive half-naked women?”
Veronica turned back to Joe with a smirk. “I forgot he can be pretty smart when he wants to be.” She took a sip of her drink. “Where’d you pick him up?”
“He tagged along.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked, turning back to Brent. "Unless--"
“Unless what?”
Veronica grinned like a cat. “Unless you’re the cause of all this mess.” She looked from one man to another, then laughed. “This is actually pretty funny.”
“Glad we can entertain you,” Joe said. “So where is Elise?”
Veronica’s eyes widened in innocence. “Hey, I already told you I don't know.”
“Oh, come on,” Joe said. “She was at your place as recently as two nights ago. Is she still there?”
“No,” Veronica said, jiggling her ice cubes.
“We figured as much,” Joe said. He turned to Brent. “I could just kill Cece.”
“It’s our own fault in a way,” Brent reminded him. “We should’ve pinned her to the wall and threatened her a lot sooner.”
“You did what?” Veronica's eyes lit up. “Don’t tell me you got violent with that poor woman.”
“It's not like we used a gun or threatened to detonate a bomb,” Brent pointed out. “It was all a lot of bluff.”
Veronica shrieked with laughter, causing the men at one of the other tables to turn around and look. “I can’t believe it, you two threatening that sweet woman with bodily harm. She should’ve called the police if she had any sense at all.”
“Well, apparently she doesn’t have any sense,” Joe said. “And how do you know Cece, by the way? She says she just dropped Elise off in the parking lot and never actually met you.”
“That is such bullshit." Veronica motioned the waitress back to the table and ordered a round for all three of them. “She came in with Elise, they sat on my sofa, we had a couple of drinks – not Elise, of course, because of the baby. You do know about the baby, right?”
“Yes,” Joe and Brent both said simultaneously. Then they looked at each other. Brent turned away first. “I don’t suppose you know any more about that situation than we do?” Joe asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.”
“Oh.” Veronica grinned. “I haven’t a clue, and believe me, I asked. I don’t think Elise is sure, herself.”
The waitress appeared with their drinks, and Veronica enthusiastically grabbed hers off the tray before it could be set in front of her. “So you guys really don’t know which one of you is the father of Elise’s baby? And you don’t care?”
The men looked at each other. “We care,” Joe said.
“It's just that there isn't a whole lot we can do about it,” Brent added.
“I guess that’s true,” she said, suddenly engrossed in her drink. “I told her to get an abortion. That would make the most sense. She doesn't want to be a single mother." She waved a hand in the direction of the stage. "A lot of these girls are single mothers, and it's a bitch."
"Is she planning on taking your advice?" Joe asked, his face blank but his hand clenched tightly around his beer.
Veronica shrugged. "Who knows? I hope she does, because she'd be a lousy mother, but you can never tell with her. She was never one to let on what she was planning to do." She sighed in apparent unconcern. "I have to hand it to you both. You seem to be handling this pretty well. I guess I’ve been around guys like these so long that I forget there’s other kinds of men in the world.” She leaned back in her chair. “Not that I have much use for men, but they do pay the bills.”
“Glad you think so highly of us,” Brent said.
“Hey, no offense.”
“None taken,” Joe said. “So where is Elise now?”
Veronica had been leaning back in her chair, but now she leaned forward. “I keep telling you I don't know. And even if I did, why should I tell you?”
“Because I’m her husband and I love her.”
“So?” Veronica examined her drink carefully. “I don’t believe all this crap about the sanctity of marriage, and the importance of having a man in one’s life. No matter what Elise decides to do, she doesn't need either one of you chasing after her, harassing her about it.”
“We’re not trying to harass her,” Joe said. "We just want to make sure she isn’t running away for the wrong reasons. I want her to know that I love her no matter what she’s done, and I want her to come home. If she tells me she still doesn’t want to come home after that, fine. But I want to be sure.”
“How noble of you.” She turned to Brent. “And what’s your story?”
Brent shrugged. “I’m helping him.” He indicated Joe with a jerk of his chin. “I want Elise to be happy, and I think she would be happiest with Joe.”
Veronica choked and set her glass on the table as she alternated between hacking and laughing. Joe patted her on the back, but she waved him away and tried to pull herself together. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever encountered in my life,” she said when she finally caught her breath.
“Thanks,” Brent said sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Veronica waved the waitress over again. The girl came over wearily, just dodging Veronica’s attempt to pinch her on the ass. “Another round?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Veronica told her. “And hurry. These men are talking like fools.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Joe and Brent stepped into the dimly lit entryway. The walls were encrusted with shells, nets, and paintings of bare-breasted women with bodies that merged into fish tails. A fountain sent water down a tiny stream bed where carp swam lethargically to the echo of the music thumping in the next room. A brown-haired girl in a green bikini top and mini-skirt smiled at them from behind a podium designed to resemble a giant scallop shell. “Two for lunch?”
Joe and Brent looked at each other. “Actually,” Joe said, “We were wondering if Lamia is working today.”
A wary expression crossed the girl’s face. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
Brent spoke up. “Lamia’s her real name. We don’t know her stage name. We’re old friends of hers, not clients.”
The girl eyed both men critically and appeared to find them trustworthy. “She goes by Veronica.” She checked her roster. “Yeah, she’s working. Will you guys want a table, or were you just going to the bar?”
“We’ll get a table,” Joe said, darting a suspicious glance at Brent. After they were seated, he leaned over, shouting to be heard over the din of the stage music. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about on the way up here. I'd completely forgotten these girls use phony names. I’ve been inside one of these places only one other time, and it was only because it was my buddy’s bachelor party, but you act like you're an old pro.”
Brent frowned. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a man of the world. Everyone goes to these places.”
“I don't,” Joe said, “I never saw the point. I don’t think much of a woman who’ll be your best friend for twenty minutes, if you've got enough money.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was my cup of tea, either. My frat brothers liked to come to these places, and I have clients at some companies where this is what passes for lunchtime entertainment for the guys. Sometimes I have to go with them to network.”
“I’m sure it's a great hardship for you.” Joe looked up as the waitress approached—a frizzy blonde in the same green bikini and miniskirt combination that the girl at the hostess podium had been wearing. He nodded as the girl introduced herself and asked to take their drink order. “Do you have Dos Equis?”
“Sure do.”
“That’ll be fine, then.”
The girl turned to Brent.
“Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”
“Will you be having the buffet?” She gestured toward the steam table. “It’s free with your drink order.”
“Yeah, why not?” Joe said.
“Help yourselves, then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
After the waitress left, the men hesitated, looking around the room as if they had only just now noticed it. The walls were covered in mermaid murals, with waves, rocks, mermaid hair and mermaid breasts picked out in neon. Most of the tables were small and packed closely together, but in a dimly lit back corner were a few booths that seemed too far out of the action to be as popular as they appeared to be. The mystery was solved when a dancer darted under the table to service a man sitting alone in a booth drinking beer from a pilsner. Joe shook his head and turned his attention to the stage, a blue affair framed with plastic palms and draped in fishing nets. An Asian girl was strutting to a recent hip-hop hit swinging her long black hair as she shrugged out of her tight bolero jacket to reveal a sequined bustier. At the other end of the room, a pale blonde leaned over a man, rubbing her bare breasts inches from his nose. Joe turned to Brent in disgust. “Where on earth did Elise get friends like these?” he asked.
Brent sighed. “Hell, I don't know. That was one thing I never could figure out about her. She seems to attract all types. For what it's worth though, Lamia was in the chorus of the ballet, like Elise when I first met her. It's not like she was involved with this kind of stuff back then."
"So how do you figure she ended up in this business?"
"Who knows?" Brent said. "She was struggling when I knew her. Diet pills, then amphetamines. Dancers have to keep their weight down you know. She probably never got off the pills. For a girl strung out on drugs and without the kind of education to get a good job behind a desk somewhere, I suppose this is a pretty decent gig." He looked around the room, then honed in on the buffet. “Let’s get some food. She'll probably be out in a minute.”
Joe followed Brent to the buffet, where they loaded their plates with pasta, chicken wings, mini-pizzas and tortilla chips. On their way back to the table, a skinny girl with lots of dark curly hair approached them. “Can I dance for you?”
Joe was about to tell her no, but Brent interrupted. “Maybe. What’s your name?”
“Denise.”
“Do you know a girl named Veronica?”
“What do you want with her?” She untied the top lace of her jacket, revealing the tops of her high, firm breasts. “Mine are bigger.”
“Actually, she’s a friend of someone I know,” Joe told her, setting his plate down and trying not to stare at the girl’s chest.
Denise jerked her head in the direction of the stage. “She’s up in a few minutes. After that, maybe you can get her to come over and talk to you." She turned her full attention on Brent. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” she asked, stroking his calf with the toe of her stiletto sandal.
Brent shook his head. “Maybe later. We just want to eat right now, and talk to Veronica.”
Denise sauntered away in disgust and went in search of a more appreciative audience. A moment later, the waitress reappeared and set Joe and Brent’s drinks in front of them. Brent slid his credit card across the table and told her to open a tab.
"I hope this doesn't turn out to be another false lead," Joe said, biting into a chicken wing. "I'm getting tired of everywhere we go, people won't talk to us."
"It probably won't be much different here," Brent said. "I can't imagine why Lamia would be any more forthcoming than anyone else has been. We weren't that great of friends. She actively despised me, in fact." He pushed the overdone ziti around his plate, then gingerly picked up a piece and tasted it. "But I could be wrong. If Cece really did drop Elise off at Lamia's a couple nights ago, she's probably not there any more, so maybe she won't mind talking." Brent looked up at the stage, where a curvy redhead had slipped out of a turquoise dress and was wiggling her thong-clad rump in front of a group of men in blue warehouse uniforms. He raised his eyebrows, then directed his attention back to his food, which he pushed around on his plate some more before nibbling a mini-pizza. “Maybe she'll be up next.”
“So what’s the plan?” Joe asked. “When she finishes, do we go up to her, wave her over, or what? Do we tell her we want a lap dance, or tell her the truth straight up?”
“I think we should tell her we want a dance,” Brent said. “In fact, I think I’ll ask our waitress to tell her we want her after she’s done. That way none of these oafs will get to her first.”
“Good idea.” Joe caught the waitress's eye and waved her over. “Tell Veronica we’d like to see her after she gets off stage."
The girl hesitated. Noting her reluctance, Brent pulled out his wallet and slipped her a bill. “Thanks.” The girl grinned and sauntered away with a swish of her tiny green skirt. Brent turned to Joe with a mildly patronizing look. “You're expected to pay for everything in these places.”
“So I see.”
Just then the DJ announced Veronica, who strutted onstage. She was a tall girl, rangy and muscular, with wavy dark hair that she tossed around as she pranced across the stage in her ankle-strap spikes. She seemed to be a favorite with the regular crowd, because they cheered as she started to remove pieces of her tap pants, bustier and jacket ensemble. When she was down to nothing but her thong, she moved to the edge of the stage, teasing the men with her body as they stuffed bills down the front of her g-string. A few of them called comments and questions to her, and she winked, teased and answered some of them.
“I hope she’s not so popular we can’t get her over here,” Joe remarked.
Brent cursed softly to himself and pushed his plate of inedible food aside. “I'm beginning to think it'll take a little more money than I’d counted on us having to spend.”
Joe and Brent looked at each other. “Actually,” Joe said, “We were wondering if Lamia is working today.”
A wary expression crossed the girl’s face. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
Brent spoke up. “Lamia’s her real name. We don’t know her stage name. We’re old friends of hers, not clients.”
The girl eyed both men critically and appeared to find them trustworthy. “She goes by Veronica.” She checked her roster. “Yeah, she’s working. Will you guys want a table, or were you just going to the bar?”
“We’ll get a table,” Joe said, darting a suspicious glance at Brent. After they were seated, he leaned over, shouting to be heard over the din of the stage music. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about on the way up here. I'd completely forgotten these girls use phony names. I’ve been inside one of these places only one other time, and it was only because it was my buddy’s bachelor party, but you act like you're an old pro.”
Brent frowned. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a man of the world. Everyone goes to these places.”
“I don't,” Joe said, “I never saw the point. I don’t think much of a woman who’ll be your best friend for twenty minutes, if you've got enough money.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was my cup of tea, either. My frat brothers liked to come to these places, and I have clients at some companies where this is what passes for lunchtime entertainment for the guys. Sometimes I have to go with them to network.”
“I’m sure it's a great hardship for you.” Joe looked up as the waitress approached—a frizzy blonde in the same green bikini and miniskirt combination that the girl at the hostess podium had been wearing. He nodded as the girl introduced herself and asked to take their drink order. “Do you have Dos Equis?”
“Sure do.”
“That’ll be fine, then.”
The girl turned to Brent.
“Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”
“Will you be having the buffet?” She gestured toward the steam table. “It’s free with your drink order.”
“Yeah, why not?” Joe said.
“Help yourselves, then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
After the waitress left, the men hesitated, looking around the room as if they had only just now noticed it. The walls were covered in mermaid murals, with waves, rocks, mermaid hair and mermaid breasts picked out in neon. Most of the tables were small and packed closely together, but in a dimly lit back corner were a few booths that seemed too far out of the action to be as popular as they appeared to be. The mystery was solved when a dancer darted under the table to service a man sitting alone in a booth drinking beer from a pilsner. Joe shook his head and turned his attention to the stage, a blue affair framed with plastic palms and draped in fishing nets. An Asian girl was strutting to a recent hip-hop hit swinging her long black hair as she shrugged out of her tight bolero jacket to reveal a sequined bustier. At the other end of the room, a pale blonde leaned over a man, rubbing her bare breasts inches from his nose. Joe turned to Brent in disgust. “Where on earth did Elise get friends like these?” he asked.
Brent sighed. “Hell, I don't know. That was one thing I never could figure out about her. She seems to attract all types. For what it's worth though, Lamia was in the chorus of the ballet, like Elise when I first met her. It's not like she was involved with this kind of stuff back then."
"So how do you figure she ended up in this business?"
"Who knows?" Brent said. "She was struggling when I knew her. Diet pills, then amphetamines. Dancers have to keep their weight down you know. She probably never got off the pills. For a girl strung out on drugs and without the kind of education to get a good job behind a desk somewhere, I suppose this is a pretty decent gig." He looked around the room, then honed in on the buffet. “Let’s get some food. She'll probably be out in a minute.”
Joe followed Brent to the buffet, where they loaded their plates with pasta, chicken wings, mini-pizzas and tortilla chips. On their way back to the table, a skinny girl with lots of dark curly hair approached them. “Can I dance for you?”
Joe was about to tell her no, but Brent interrupted. “Maybe. What’s your name?”
“Denise.”
“Do you know a girl named Veronica?”
“What do you want with her?” She untied the top lace of her jacket, revealing the tops of her high, firm breasts. “Mine are bigger.”
“Actually, she’s a friend of someone I know,” Joe told her, setting his plate down and trying not to stare at the girl’s chest.
Denise jerked her head in the direction of the stage. “She’s up in a few minutes. After that, maybe you can get her to come over and talk to you." She turned her full attention on Brent. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” she asked, stroking his calf with the toe of her stiletto sandal.
Brent shook his head. “Maybe later. We just want to eat right now, and talk to Veronica.”
Denise sauntered away in disgust and went in search of a more appreciative audience. A moment later, the waitress reappeared and set Joe and Brent’s drinks in front of them. Brent slid his credit card across the table and told her to open a tab.
"I hope this doesn't turn out to be another false lead," Joe said, biting into a chicken wing. "I'm getting tired of everywhere we go, people won't talk to us."
"It probably won't be much different here," Brent said. "I can't imagine why Lamia would be any more forthcoming than anyone else has been. We weren't that great of friends. She actively despised me, in fact." He pushed the overdone ziti around his plate, then gingerly picked up a piece and tasted it. "But I could be wrong. If Cece really did drop Elise off at Lamia's a couple nights ago, she's probably not there any more, so maybe she won't mind talking." Brent looked up at the stage, where a curvy redhead had slipped out of a turquoise dress and was wiggling her thong-clad rump in front of a group of men in blue warehouse uniforms. He raised his eyebrows, then directed his attention back to his food, which he pushed around on his plate some more before nibbling a mini-pizza. “Maybe she'll be up next.”
“So what’s the plan?” Joe asked. “When she finishes, do we go up to her, wave her over, or what? Do we tell her we want a lap dance, or tell her the truth straight up?”
“I think we should tell her we want a dance,” Brent said. “In fact, I think I’ll ask our waitress to tell her we want her after she’s done. That way none of these oafs will get to her first.”
“Good idea.” Joe caught the waitress's eye and waved her over. “Tell Veronica we’d like to see her after she gets off stage."
The girl hesitated. Noting her reluctance, Brent pulled out his wallet and slipped her a bill. “Thanks.” The girl grinned and sauntered away with a swish of her tiny green skirt. Brent turned to Joe with a mildly patronizing look. “You're expected to pay for everything in these places.”
“So I see.”
Just then the DJ announced Veronica, who strutted onstage. She was a tall girl, rangy and muscular, with wavy dark hair that she tossed around as she pranced across the stage in her ankle-strap spikes. She seemed to be a favorite with the regular crowd, because they cheered as she started to remove pieces of her tap pants, bustier and jacket ensemble. When she was down to nothing but her thong, she moved to the edge of the stage, teasing the men with her body as they stuffed bills down the front of her g-string. A few of them called comments and questions to her, and she winked, teased and answered some of them.
“I hope she’s not so popular we can’t get her over here,” Joe remarked.
Brent cursed softly to himself and pushed his plate of inedible food aside. “I'm beginning to think it'll take a little more money than I’d counted on us having to spend.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
"What do you think?" Joe asked. "Should we try the apartments first, or the club?"
Brent looked at his watch. "It's lunchtime, so let's try the club. Those topless bars usually have free buffet and I don't know if I trust eating anything from Cece after what you found out last night. Besides, I don't want to go through another scene like we did trying to get in to see Sylvia."
"Why not? Are you running low on pants?"
"Just running low on patience. Petra was able to do a pretty good patch job on the pants, by the way. You'd hardly know I ripped them."
"That's good, since you felt ethically bound to return the ones Cece gave you."
"Actually," Brent said, "I figured since I was keeping the sweater..."
Joe shook his head. "No wonder you were able to justify sleeping with my wife, if that's your attitude about things."
Brent's ears flushed red. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do," Joe said. "It's okay, by the way. I'm getting used to it. I don't want to kill you any more, just maybe knock some sense into you, or at least call you on your bullshit until you learn to cut the crap."
Brent folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window.
"You know, you'd be a real interesting character if you weren't such a hypocrite," Joe went on.
"Just go on and insult me. You've done it so often, it doesn't even bother me any more."
"What I'm talking about," Joe said with exaggerated patience, "Is the act you put on. Always trying to come off like you're Mr. Straight-Arrow or something. But it turns out you've got all kinds of abnormal skeletons in your closet. Your friend Sylvia, for instance. I think you like having slummy friends. You figure it gives you bragging rights that you're really not the spoiled rich kid you are. Too bad you're too high and mighty to admit it."
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Sylvia and Gerry are hardly friends of mine, in case you didn't notice how they treated me back there."
"Uh-huh. And the way you got us in there was something else, confusing the guard, jumping the fence, threatening Sylvia..."
"I didn't hear you trying to stop me."
"And how about the way you treated Cece? I didn't know what to think when you started threatening to tie her up and gag her. You scared that poor lady to death."
"You know I wasn't going to actually do it," Brent said. "Scaring her was the whole point. It was the only way we were going to get her to talk. It's not like you weren't willing to play along."
"It seemed to be working."
"So you admit you're no saint yourself." Brent scowled. "Besides, you're the one who stole all that cocaine and broke into that apartment. Talk about calling the kettle black."
"Yeah, but at least I don't claim to be anything other than what I am." Joe slowed down for a red light. "I'm just an inner-city kid who went to juvie for a few years and managed to make good in spite of it." The light changed and he hit the gas. "You, on the other hand, try to bill yourself as some kind of holy martyr." Joe turned in his seat. "I don't buy it, you know. Not for a minute."
"Don't buy what?" Brent waved an arm. "Why does everyone think I put on some kind of martyr act? I love Elise, okay? I know she's your wife, and I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really care about her happiness. Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Maybe because it's so obvious you just wanted to go to bed with her," Joe said, turning back around and moving forward again into traffic. "Don't tell me you would've had the same feelings for her if she'd been ugly."
Brent opened his mouth to reply, but then clamped his jaw shut and threw himself back against the seat cushion. "Look, I won't deny I wanted her that way, because I did. But I would've loved her for herself no matter what she looked like."
Joe let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think you're kidding? You wanted to get into her pants, and that was it. She was probably the only girl you wanted in school but couldn't have, so you couldn't let yourself give up." Joe slowed down for another light. "The only thing worse than someone who lies to other people is someone who lies to himself."
"Look, will you just drive? When are we going to get to this Sirens place, anyway?"
Joe started. "You know, I don't even know where we're going. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea, but I'm not sure."
"Well this has been a waste of our time," Brent said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on it. "We're not too far away," he finally said. "It used to be a legit nightclub called Vitus. It's off the interstate feeder near Genesius Street."
Joe nodded, made the block and rejoined traffic going the other way. After a little while, he said, "I'm sorry I jumped your shit back there."
"Anything you have to say to me, I probably deserve. I think you've got me pegged wrong, though."
"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "I've got no business dogging you about it, though."
"Whatever." Brent leaned forward in his seat, scanning the road. "There it is," he finally said, pointing. "Kinda sleazy looking, don't you think?"
"What'd you expect from a topless joint?"
"Well, you know, some are more upscale than others."
"They're all just titty bars to me."
"Looks like they're going after the working class or worse at this place," Brent said, gazing in revulsion at the profusion of neon and dangling, blinking lights. "Too bad. Lamia could be a little rough around the edges back in the day, but at least she had class. If she's working at a place like this, the drugs must've taken over."
They pulled into a parking spot and Brent jumped out, slammed the door hard and stood for a moment gazing at the neon sign of a buxom mermaid. “I can’t believe we’ve come to this.”
Joe snorted. “It’s no worse than Sylvia’s place, or the waiting room at St. Jude’s.” He dropped his keys in his pocket and began walking toward the door. “You really can’t handle the seamier side of life, can you? You like things lavish, all nice and pretty, like at Cece’s.”
“Nothing wrong with liking nice things,” Brent countered. “So what if I have good taste?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having good taste, as you call it,” Joe said. “There is something wrong with getting on your high horse about it, though. People do the best they can.”
Brent looked at his watch. "It's lunchtime, so let's try the club. Those topless bars usually have free buffet and I don't know if I trust eating anything from Cece after what you found out last night. Besides, I don't want to go through another scene like we did trying to get in to see Sylvia."
"Why not? Are you running low on pants?"
"Just running low on patience. Petra was able to do a pretty good patch job on the pants, by the way. You'd hardly know I ripped them."
"That's good, since you felt ethically bound to return the ones Cece gave you."
"Actually," Brent said, "I figured since I was keeping the sweater..."
Joe shook his head. "No wonder you were able to justify sleeping with my wife, if that's your attitude about things."
Brent's ears flushed red. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do," Joe said. "It's okay, by the way. I'm getting used to it. I don't want to kill you any more, just maybe knock some sense into you, or at least call you on your bullshit until you learn to cut the crap."
Brent folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window.
"You know, you'd be a real interesting character if you weren't such a hypocrite," Joe went on.
"Just go on and insult me. You've done it so often, it doesn't even bother me any more."
"What I'm talking about," Joe said with exaggerated patience, "Is the act you put on. Always trying to come off like you're Mr. Straight-Arrow or something. But it turns out you've got all kinds of abnormal skeletons in your closet. Your friend Sylvia, for instance. I think you like having slummy friends. You figure it gives you bragging rights that you're really not the spoiled rich kid you are. Too bad you're too high and mighty to admit it."
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, Sylvia and Gerry are hardly friends of mine, in case you didn't notice how they treated me back there."
"Uh-huh. And the way you got us in there was something else, confusing the guard, jumping the fence, threatening Sylvia..."
"I didn't hear you trying to stop me."
"And how about the way you treated Cece? I didn't know what to think when you started threatening to tie her up and gag her. You scared that poor lady to death."
"You know I wasn't going to actually do it," Brent said. "Scaring her was the whole point. It was the only way we were going to get her to talk. It's not like you weren't willing to play along."
"It seemed to be working."
"So you admit you're no saint yourself." Brent scowled. "Besides, you're the one who stole all that cocaine and broke into that apartment. Talk about calling the kettle black."
"Yeah, but at least I don't claim to be anything other than what I am." Joe slowed down for a red light. "I'm just an inner-city kid who went to juvie for a few years and managed to make good in spite of it." The light changed and he hit the gas. "You, on the other hand, try to bill yourself as some kind of holy martyr." Joe turned in his seat. "I don't buy it, you know. Not for a minute."
"Don't buy what?" Brent waved an arm. "Why does everyone think I put on some kind of martyr act? I love Elise, okay? I know she's your wife, and I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really care about her happiness. Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Maybe because it's so obvious you just wanted to go to bed with her," Joe said, turning back around and moving forward again into traffic. "Don't tell me you would've had the same feelings for her if she'd been ugly."
Brent opened his mouth to reply, but then clamped his jaw shut and threw himself back against the seat cushion. "Look, I won't deny I wanted her that way, because I did. But I would've loved her for herself no matter what she looked like."
Joe let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think you're kidding? You wanted to get into her pants, and that was it. She was probably the only girl you wanted in school but couldn't have, so you couldn't let yourself give up." Joe slowed down for another light. "The only thing worse than someone who lies to other people is someone who lies to himself."
"Look, will you just drive? When are we going to get to this Sirens place, anyway?"
Joe started. "You know, I don't even know where we're going. I mean, I've got a pretty good idea, but I'm not sure."
"Well this has been a waste of our time," Brent said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on it. "We're not too far away," he finally said. "It used to be a legit nightclub called Vitus. It's off the interstate feeder near Genesius Street."
Joe nodded, made the block and rejoined traffic going the other way. After a little while, he said, "I'm sorry I jumped your shit back there."
"Anything you have to say to me, I probably deserve. I think you've got me pegged wrong, though."
"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "I've got no business dogging you about it, though."
"Whatever." Brent leaned forward in his seat, scanning the road. "There it is," he finally said, pointing. "Kinda sleazy looking, don't you think?"
"What'd you expect from a topless joint?"
"Well, you know, some are more upscale than others."
"They're all just titty bars to me."
"Looks like they're going after the working class or worse at this place," Brent said, gazing in revulsion at the profusion of neon and dangling, blinking lights. "Too bad. Lamia could be a little rough around the edges back in the day, but at least she had class. If she's working at a place like this, the drugs must've taken over."
They pulled into a parking spot and Brent jumped out, slammed the door hard and stood for a moment gazing at the neon sign of a buxom mermaid. “I can’t believe we’ve come to this.”
Joe snorted. “It’s no worse than Sylvia’s place, or the waiting room at St. Jude’s.” He dropped his keys in his pocket and began walking toward the door. “You really can’t handle the seamier side of life, can you? You like things lavish, all nice and pretty, like at Cece’s.”
“Nothing wrong with liking nice things,” Brent countered. “So what if I have good taste?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having good taste, as you call it,” Joe said. “There is something wrong with getting on your high horse about it, though. People do the best they can.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The men hurried into their rooms and began throwing clothes, combs, socks and razors into their bags. Joe finished first and went to get Brent. "Aren't you done yet?"
Brent looked up from putting his computer in its case. "I've got more than you, remember?"
Joe dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the floor. "Just hurry, okay? I want to get out of here before Cece decides to call the cops on us, or comes up with some new excuse why we have to stay."
"I've just about got it," Brent said. He zipped his laptop case and returned to his leather overnight bag. He frowned, then went to the closet and began removing slacks, shirts and sweaters from hangers. A few of these he put into the bag, others he folded neatly and laid on the bed. There was one sweater, though, that he didn't appear to know what to do with. "Do you think it would be unethical to take this cashmere sweater Cece gave me? I'm leaving all the other stuff, but I really like this one, and she did keep us here under false pretenses."
"In case you haven't noticed, ethics isn't your strong suit. Or hers, either. If you want it, take it. Take the whole goddamn room if you want to. But whatever you do, don't just stand there rationalizing."
Brent put the sweater in his bag along with his other clothes. Noticing that Joe was looking the other direction, he threw a few more items of clothing in there as well. After one last look around, he slung both bags over his shoulder in a single fluid motion and headed out the door.
At the bottom of the stairs Lupe ran up to them. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yes," Joe said. "We've stayed too long already."
The maid cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen. "Cece says to wait a minute."
"We can't wait," Brent told her.
Just then Petra and Cece burst out of the kitchen and hurried toward them, loaded down with bags, thermoses and a small cooler. "You can't leave without provisions," Cece said.
Joe and Brent exchanged incredulous looks. "Thank you," Joe told her cautiously, "But we really don't need anything else from you."
"You'll get hungry."
"We're not going into the wilderness," Brent pointed out.
"But..." Cece looked helplessly from Joe to Brent and back again.
"Oh, all right," Joe said. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. "I'm not going to do battle with you over this. If this is what it takes, fine."
"I really do feel bad about what happened," Cece said, following them to the truck with Petra in tow. "I want to do something."
"There's not much you can do at this point," Joe told her. "You've probably ruined whatever small chance we had. Feeding us isn't going to fix a damn thing."
Brent stood aside while Petra crammed a season harvest's worth of bags and coolers into the space behind the seat and on the floor of the passenger side of the cab. "You've done more than enough," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"There is one thing I didn't mention before that might help," Cece said hesitantly. "This girl Lamia, she doesn't do professional dance any more. Or I guess you could say she does, but not that kind. She works as a dancer at someplace called Sirens. I don't know where the place is, or what shifts she works, or anything, but if you can't find her at the Mariner apartments, you might find her there."
"That's very helpful," Joe said. "Thanks."
"You know you're always welcome here, if you change your mind. I'm not mad at you, and I meant what I said earlier. If you don't find Elise, or even if you do, you can always consider this place home."
"I'll keep that in mind," Joe said. He glanced at Brent. "Ready?
Brent got into the truck, not bothering to say goodbye as he slammed the door.
Joe climbed in and started the engine. As they pulled out of the circular driveway, Joe looked in his rearview mirror, watching as the image of Cece and her maids got smaller and smaller. She lifted a hand and waved, but Joe merely shook his head and punched the gas.
Brent looked up from putting his computer in its case. "I've got more than you, remember?"
Joe dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the floor. "Just hurry, okay? I want to get out of here before Cece decides to call the cops on us, or comes up with some new excuse why we have to stay."
"I've just about got it," Brent said. He zipped his laptop case and returned to his leather overnight bag. He frowned, then went to the closet and began removing slacks, shirts and sweaters from hangers. A few of these he put into the bag, others he folded neatly and laid on the bed. There was one sweater, though, that he didn't appear to know what to do with. "Do you think it would be unethical to take this cashmere sweater Cece gave me? I'm leaving all the other stuff, but I really like this one, and she did keep us here under false pretenses."
"In case you haven't noticed, ethics isn't your strong suit. Or hers, either. If you want it, take it. Take the whole goddamn room if you want to. But whatever you do, don't just stand there rationalizing."
Brent put the sweater in his bag along with his other clothes. Noticing that Joe was looking the other direction, he threw a few more items of clothing in there as well. After one last look around, he slung both bags over his shoulder in a single fluid motion and headed out the door.
At the bottom of the stairs Lupe ran up to them. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yes," Joe said. "We've stayed too long already."
The maid cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen. "Cece says to wait a minute."
"We can't wait," Brent told her.
Just then Petra and Cece burst out of the kitchen and hurried toward them, loaded down with bags, thermoses and a small cooler. "You can't leave without provisions," Cece said.
Joe and Brent exchanged incredulous looks. "Thank you," Joe told her cautiously, "But we really don't need anything else from you."
"You'll get hungry."
"We're not going into the wilderness," Brent pointed out.
"But..." Cece looked helplessly from Joe to Brent and back again.
"Oh, all right," Joe said. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. "I'm not going to do battle with you over this. If this is what it takes, fine."
"I really do feel bad about what happened," Cece said, following them to the truck with Petra in tow. "I want to do something."
"There's not much you can do at this point," Joe told her. "You've probably ruined whatever small chance we had. Feeding us isn't going to fix a damn thing."
Brent stood aside while Petra crammed a season harvest's worth of bags and coolers into the space behind the seat and on the floor of the passenger side of the cab. "You've done more than enough," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"There is one thing I didn't mention before that might help," Cece said hesitantly. "This girl Lamia, she doesn't do professional dance any more. Or I guess you could say she does, but not that kind. She works as a dancer at someplace called Sirens. I don't know where the place is, or what shifts she works, or anything, but if you can't find her at the Mariner apartments, you might find her there."
"That's very helpful," Joe said. "Thanks."
"You know you're always welcome here, if you change your mind. I'm not mad at you, and I meant what I said earlier. If you don't find Elise, or even if you do, you can always consider this place home."
"I'll keep that in mind," Joe said. He glanced at Brent. "Ready?
Brent got into the truck, not bothering to say goodbye as he slammed the door.
Joe climbed in and started the engine. As they pulled out of the circular driveway, Joe looked in his rearview mirror, watching as the image of Cece and her maids got smaller and smaller. She lifted a hand and waved, but Joe merely shook his head and punched the gas.
Chapter Thirty-Three
At breakfast, Cece was nowhere to be found. Joe prodded Petra for information but got only noncommittal responses. They went to Cece's empty studio, paced amid the paintings of roses, irises and sacred mountaintops, then returned to the main house. While Petra was occupied kneading bread dough, they searched room by room, going through the formal dining room with its heavy dark furniture, the dim, imposing library, the black and white formal parlor and the den full of antique vases and figurines.
Giving up on finding Cece on the first floor, they started up the stairs. "Think she's in her room?"
"Don't know where else she'd be."
"Should we just walk in on her?"
"I don't like it, but I don't see that we've got other options at this point."
At the end of the hall was Cece's closed door, and Joe put a hand on the knob. He tried to turn it, but found it locked.
"Knock," Brent said, but then grabbed him by the sleeve. "Wait. Maybe it would be better if you acted like you want to apologize for last night."
"I'm not an actor," Joe whispered.
"Just try."
Joe composed himself then tapped at the door. "Cece, I know you're in there."
A muffled voice answered.
"I can't hear you. Why don't you let me in so I can talk to you?"
"Go away. I'm not feeling well today."
Brent rolled his eyes and indicated that Joe should continue.
"I wanted to tell you I'm not mad about last night." He glanced at Brent and took a deep breath. "I guess you just surprised me. I can be a little shy sometimes. Anyway, I came to apologize."
"You don't have to lie to me, Joe." Cece's voice was directly on the other side of the door now.
"Can I come in and talk to you, please?"
There was a long silence, then they heard Cece fumbling with the lock. As soon as the door was open, both men both pushed their way into the room and Brent shut the door behind him. Cece scowled. "What's this all about?"
"We want you to call Elise," Joe said. "Now."
"I already did. She wasn't there."
"Maybe she's back," Brent said. "Why don't you call again?"
"And do it on the land line this time so I can listen on the other end." Joe added.
"I can't let you do that." Cece backed toward her nightstand. "Elise might hear you and--"
"You let me worry about that."
Cece shook her head. "Either I call alone, or I don't call at all."
Joe had her trapped against the nightstand now. He grabbed her by the wrist so she couldn't get away, and reached around her for the phone. "If you won't let me listen on the other line, then you're going to call with me standing right here. What's the number? I'll dial it for you."
"I'm not giving you that number, and I don't have it memorized. It's in my contacts list on my cell phone."
"Where's your cell phone?" Brent asked. "I'll get it for you."
Cece's eyes widened in panic. "I don't remember."
Joe grabbed Cece by both shoulders and steered her to the wall. "Why don't you just admit it? You've been stringing us along. You don't have Elise's phone number, or if you do, you haven't been calling. You just want to keep us here for your own personal reasons, and you don't care if I find my wife or not."
"Why should I care?" Cece blurted. "She told me she was never going back to you." She turned to Brent. "Or you, either." She looked up at Joe, her eyes wide and pleading. "What's so wrong with wanting you for myself? I can make sure you never have to work for money again. You'll have nothing to worry about except your art. Wouldn't you like that?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Joe's grip on her shoulders tightened and Cece winced. "This isn't about money or art. This isn't something you can buy. This is about me needing to see my wife and hear her tell me to my face that she doesn't love me and isn't coming home with me. Then, and only then, will I leave her alone." He gave Cece a shake. "Now, are you going to tell me where she is?"
Cece shook her head, cringing as Joe's fingers dug deeper into her shoulders.
Joe shook her again, harder. "I'm going to ask you again. Where is she?"
Brent leaned over Cece, too. "We can do this all day, you know. I don't have a job any more. Elise is probably long gone from wherever you took her to. We have nothing better to do than hold you against this wall. We can even take turns."
"I'll scream. My girls will call the police."
Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at Joe. "Think we should gag her until she's ready to talk? Maybe we could tie her to a chair or something while we look for her cell phone."
"You can't do that!" Cece said. "I get panic attacks-- I could die."
"You won't die," Brent stripped a bed pillow of its case. "Think this would work for a gag?"
"I'm serious, you can't do this," Cece stammered. "I won't be able to breathe. I'll faint."
"Then why don't you tell us how to find Elise?" Joe said through clenched teeth.
Cece bit her lower lip. "I took her to stay with her friend from the ballet-- Lamia Scopuli. North side of town."
"Oh, hell," Brent said. "I should've guessed she'd look her up."
"Who is she?" Joe asked.
"A friend of hers. They were roommates for awhile." He turned back to Cece. "What's the address?" He fumbled on the nightstand for a pen and something to write with.
"I don't remember," Cece said. "It's the Mariner apartments off the interstate, though, near the beltway."
"Apartment number?"
"I don't know. I dropped her off in the parking lot. I think it's upstairs, though, on the left."
"That's not very helpful. Phone number?"
Cece looked away. "I don't know."
"You mean all this time you didn't even have her number?"
"You say you knew I wasn't calling anyway."
Joe let her go but the intensity of his scowl kept her cowering against the wall. "It's bad enough you lied about calling, but you didn't even have the number so you could."
He moved to grab her again, but Brent put a hand on his arm. "Come on, this may be enough. Let's not waste any more time."
"If it's too late," Joe warned Cece, "I'm holding you responsible. Do you understand?"
Cece nodded.
"Come on," Brent said again. "Yelling at her may make you feel better, but it's not like we didn't suspect this anyway. Let's get out of here."
Giving up on finding Cece on the first floor, they started up the stairs. "Think she's in her room?"
"Don't know where else she'd be."
"Should we just walk in on her?"
"I don't like it, but I don't see that we've got other options at this point."
At the end of the hall was Cece's closed door, and Joe put a hand on the knob. He tried to turn it, but found it locked.
"Knock," Brent said, but then grabbed him by the sleeve. "Wait. Maybe it would be better if you acted like you want to apologize for last night."
"I'm not an actor," Joe whispered.
"Just try."
Joe composed himself then tapped at the door. "Cece, I know you're in there."
A muffled voice answered.
"I can't hear you. Why don't you let me in so I can talk to you?"
"Go away. I'm not feeling well today."
Brent rolled his eyes and indicated that Joe should continue.
"I wanted to tell you I'm not mad about last night." He glanced at Brent and took a deep breath. "I guess you just surprised me. I can be a little shy sometimes. Anyway, I came to apologize."
"You don't have to lie to me, Joe." Cece's voice was directly on the other side of the door now.
"Can I come in and talk to you, please?"
There was a long silence, then they heard Cece fumbling with the lock. As soon as the door was open, both men both pushed their way into the room and Brent shut the door behind him. Cece scowled. "What's this all about?"
"We want you to call Elise," Joe said. "Now."
"I already did. She wasn't there."
"Maybe she's back," Brent said. "Why don't you call again?"
"And do it on the land line this time so I can listen on the other end." Joe added.
"I can't let you do that." Cece backed toward her nightstand. "Elise might hear you and--"
"You let me worry about that."
Cece shook her head. "Either I call alone, or I don't call at all."
Joe had her trapped against the nightstand now. He grabbed her by the wrist so she couldn't get away, and reached around her for the phone. "If you won't let me listen on the other line, then you're going to call with me standing right here. What's the number? I'll dial it for you."
"I'm not giving you that number, and I don't have it memorized. It's in my contacts list on my cell phone."
"Where's your cell phone?" Brent asked. "I'll get it for you."
Cece's eyes widened in panic. "I don't remember."
Joe grabbed Cece by both shoulders and steered her to the wall. "Why don't you just admit it? You've been stringing us along. You don't have Elise's phone number, or if you do, you haven't been calling. You just want to keep us here for your own personal reasons, and you don't care if I find my wife or not."
"Why should I care?" Cece blurted. "She told me she was never going back to you." She turned to Brent. "Or you, either." She looked up at Joe, her eyes wide and pleading. "What's so wrong with wanting you for myself? I can make sure you never have to work for money again. You'll have nothing to worry about except your art. Wouldn't you like that?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Joe's grip on her shoulders tightened and Cece winced. "This isn't about money or art. This isn't something you can buy. This is about me needing to see my wife and hear her tell me to my face that she doesn't love me and isn't coming home with me. Then, and only then, will I leave her alone." He gave Cece a shake. "Now, are you going to tell me where she is?"
Cece shook her head, cringing as Joe's fingers dug deeper into her shoulders.
Joe shook her again, harder. "I'm going to ask you again. Where is she?"
Brent leaned over Cece, too. "We can do this all day, you know. I don't have a job any more. Elise is probably long gone from wherever you took her to. We have nothing better to do than hold you against this wall. We can even take turns."
"I'll scream. My girls will call the police."
Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at Joe. "Think we should gag her until she's ready to talk? Maybe we could tie her to a chair or something while we look for her cell phone."
"You can't do that!" Cece said. "I get panic attacks-- I could die."
"You won't die," Brent stripped a bed pillow of its case. "Think this would work for a gag?"
"I'm serious, you can't do this," Cece stammered. "I won't be able to breathe. I'll faint."
"Then why don't you tell us how to find Elise?" Joe said through clenched teeth.
Cece bit her lower lip. "I took her to stay with her friend from the ballet-- Lamia Scopuli. North side of town."
"Oh, hell," Brent said. "I should've guessed she'd look her up."
"Who is she?" Joe asked.
"A friend of hers. They were roommates for awhile." He turned back to Cece. "What's the address?" He fumbled on the nightstand for a pen and something to write with.
"I don't remember," Cece said. "It's the Mariner apartments off the interstate, though, near the beltway."
"Apartment number?"
"I don't know. I dropped her off in the parking lot. I think it's upstairs, though, on the left."
"That's not very helpful. Phone number?"
Cece looked away. "I don't know."
"You mean all this time you didn't even have her number?"
"You say you knew I wasn't calling anyway."
Joe let her go but the intensity of his scowl kept her cowering against the wall. "It's bad enough you lied about calling, but you didn't even have the number so you could."
He moved to grab her again, but Brent put a hand on his arm. "Come on, this may be enough. Let's not waste any more time."
"If it's too late," Joe warned Cece, "I'm holding you responsible. Do you understand?"
Cece nodded.
"Come on," Brent said again. "Yelling at her may make you feel better, but it's not like we didn't suspect this anyway. Let's get out of here."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, peacefully eating a ham sandwich, when he heard Cece come home and go upstairs to her room. A few minutes later, she wandered into the kitchen wearing a red velvet robe. "Don't you like to eat regular meals? I would've been happy to have Petra cook you a proper dinner this evening, but you and your friend took off again, like last night." She frowned at Joe's sandwich. "At least Brent said he was going out to eat. From the looks of things, I'd say you haven't eaten since lunch."
"I haven't." Joe crunched a potato chip, then reached for his glass of coke. "I got in early, but I wasn't hungry until now."
Cece called for Lupe. "Bring me a glass of the Margherita di Cascia Pinot Noir. And bring one for Joe, too. In fact, just bring us the bottle."
Joe tried to protest but Cece silenced him with a motion of her hand. "This is an excellent vintage, and if I don't share it with you, who will I share it with? They say it's not good for a person to drink alone."
Joe sighed. "You know, Cece, for all your talk about how lonely you are, I find it hard to believe you couldn't get plenty of company if you wanted it."
Cece ran a hand through her curls. "You flatter me. I know how you men are, though. You like the young ones."
"You're hardly old," Joe pointed out.
Cece fussed with the collar of her robe, exposing her cleavage. Before she could speak again though, the maid set a glass in front of her. She set a glass in front of Joe too, opened the wine and poured a little for each of them. Cece took a sip. "Thank you, Lupe. You can leave the bottle on the table." After Lupe left, Cece leaned toward Joe. "This is an excellent vintage that I picked up in France on my last vacation. I brought home several bottles, much to the dismay of the customs agent."
Joe took a sip of his wine, then set the glass back on the table. "It's fine, but it doesn't go with my potato chips."
Cece put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "So tell me why it is you think I should have no trouble finding a man," she said, returning to their previous topic. "You think I'm still pretty?"
Joe looked down at his plate. "I'm sure there are plenty of men who find you attractive."
"Do you find me attractive?"
"That's not the point." Joe pushed the remainder of his sandwich and chips away and stood up. "I'm tired. If you'll excuse me--"
"Don't go," Cece said, jumping to her feet. "We won't talk about me any more. That was completely inappropriate, and I'm sorry. Please sit down."
"I'm not mad at you. I'm just tired. I've had a busy day."
"Well, you could at least tell me how your search for Elise is going. Have some more wine. Please."
Reluctantly, Joe sat down and reached for his glass. "My 'search,' as you call it, isn't going anywhere. You're the only lead I've got, and you aren't talking."
Cece's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Am I really your only lead? I thought with all your comings and goings, you must have other clues."
"No, we don't. Brent and I have been visiting old friends to pass the time. Other than that, we're waiting on you."
"I'm doing all I can."
Joe tossed back the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle. "No you aren't Cece. In fact, you've been about as unhelpful as you could possibly be, stringing us along, making us think you're going to get us in touch with Elise, when day after day nothing happens."
"Can I help it if she refuses to see you?"
"Why don't you just tell me where she is and let me see for myself if she'll talk to me or not?"
Cece held out her glass for Joe to top it off. "I can't do that. A promise is a promise."
"Maybe so," Joe said. "But what are any of us really gaining by all this? You're stuck with two extra mouths to feed and the disruption to your household. Brent's about to lose his job, and I'm climbing the walls." He leaned across the table. "You're doing no one any favors by keeping this stupid promise of yours, if you even made one at all."
Cece sipped some wine to keep from having to speak for a moment. "I think that's the most words I've heard out of you since you arrived. And maybe you're right-- maybe I could be doing more to help. But we women have to stick together, especially since she was there to give me her emotional support when I was going through my own difficulties."
"Like when your husband died? Kind of unusual circumstances, don't you think? I mean, the man had never been sick a day in his life."
"Some people drop dead just like that, you know. Aneurysms, heart problems, things like that."
"Except that no one ever could find evidence of any 'things like that.' Odd."
"Yes, it was." Cece met Joe's eyes steadily.
Joe sucked down the rest of his wine. "This has been an interesting conversation, as always. I'm going to bed now." He headed toward the stairs, but heard the patter of Cece's footsteps behind him. "What do you want?"
Cece paused, one foot on the bottom step. "I just wanted to make sure Lupe got your room ready for you."
"I'm sure it's fine." He started back up the steps.
Cece hurried after him. "Why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at you, Cece," Joe said, turning down the hallway toward his room.
"You are too mad at me," she said, chasing him to his doorway. "Surely you don't believe those awful rumors about me?"
"What happened between you and your husband is none of my business. I just want you to quit interfering between me and my wife." Joe stepped inside the room, turned around and placed a hand on the door. "Good night, and thank you for your hospitality."
"You're certainly welcome. May I come in and make sure you've got enough towels?"
"I'm sure I have plenty."
"I'd feel better if I checked. I want to make sure my maids are doing their job." She pushed past Joe before he could protest again and disappeared into the bathroom. When she reappeared, she had taken off her robe, revealing a red silk nightgown. She walked across the room and then sat on the edge of the bed. "So tell me," she said, leaning back a little and gazing up at Joe, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded across his chest. "Has this room been okay for you? Not too cold or too hot, is it? Have you had everything you needed? Enough pillows, blankets, things like that?"
"Everything's fine."
"Oh, good. I worry, you know, since I don't have many guests and my maids aren't used to it." She looked around the room, as if she hadn't ever examined it closely before. "Kind of a big room. Don't you get lonely?"
"Not really. Now, if it's all right with you, I'd like to get some sleep."
Cece stood up and put her arms around his neck. "Let's you and me quit playing games. You must be lonely without your wife, and I've been lonely, too." She grasped a loose lock of his hair and twined it around a finger. "Let me take your mind off things for awhile."
Joe reached grabbed Cece by the shoulders and pushed her away. When she tried to move toward him again, he held her at arm's length. "Stop this. You're making a fool of yourself."
"Don't be such a prude. Elise left you. You aren't obligated to her now."
"This isn't about Elise," Joe said. "I just don't want to."
Cece paused, a hurt expression on her face. "I thought you liked me."
"I do, but not that way."
"Maybe if you just gave me a chance..." she made to put her arms around him again.
Joe took a step back, caught his ankle on the bed and fell onto the mattress. "You have got to be the most persistent woman I've ever met." He tried to push her off him as she attempted to seat herself on his lap. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you no?"
Just then there was a tap at the door and Cece jumped to her feet as Brent pushed open the door and stepped into the room. He looked from Joe to Cece and back again. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Before Cece could speak, Joe jumped up. "Cece was just saying good night."
Cece smiled primly at Brent. "Yes, and good night to you, too."
Brent took in Cece's slinky attire. "Looks like you might get cold running around in that."
Without a word, Cece went into the bathroom, then stormed back out, pulling her velvet robe about her as she hurried away down the hall.
Brent went to the door, peeked into the hallway, then came back in and shut the door behind him. "Can I say 'I told you so' now?"
Joe sat on the bed and ran a hand across the top of his head. "If you must."
Brent hesitated a minute, then pulled up the desk chair and sat down. "I don't think I will. You seem traumatized enough as it is."
"I knew she was pushy, but not like that."
"Kind of a cute getup she had on," Brent observed. "I can envision the two of you together, you know. I'm surprised you were able to resist."
Joe was about to make a smart remark, then realized Brent was teasing him. "Why don't you go knock on her door and tell her how attractive you think she is? Make her evening."
"No, I don't do much for her, I'm afraid."
"Maybe now that I've turned her down, she'll reconsider."
"I hope not." Brent loosened his tie. "What have you been up to tonight, besides fending off our hostess?"
"I went to see an old friend. My old probation officer, actually."
"What for?"
Joe gave an embarrassed shrug. "Guilt, I guess. Here I've been a model member of the community all these years and now in two days I've been guilty of assault, trespassing, theft, drug possession, and breaking and entering. I needed to talk to someone about it, get it off my chest."
"Maybe you should've gone to see a priest instead."
"I thought about it, but Ott understood where I was coming from. I didn't have a real dad around when I was growing up, and Ott was like a father to me. It's because of him I didn't end up dead or in prison. He straightened my head out. Not too many guys like that out there, especially working as probation officers."
"So you feel better now?"
Joe shrugged. "I guess so. Not that he did me any good."
"What do you mean?"
"After I saw him, I came back here and broke into Cece's study."
Brent let out a whoop. "Go forth and sin no more."
"I don't suppose you want to know what I found out."
"Did you find out where she is?"
"No."
Brent turned away with a small shrug, as if to say that anything else was beneath his concern.
"Cece was once suspected of murder."
Brent leaned forward in his chair, suddenly all attention. "Her husband?"
Joe nodded. "Very mysterious circumstances. And he left everything to her, cutting out his mother, sister, and a child from a previous marriage."
"I thought something wasn't right around here."
"Doesn't relate to our case of course," Joe went on, "But it gives us an idea what kind of woman we're dealing with."
Brent nodded. "We were wrong to trust her for even a minute."
"I think she's harmless enough, but she was obviously lying through her teeth when she said she was a lousy actress. Judging from her little performance with us, I'd say she's Academy Award material."
"We'll put a stop to that," Brent said, standing up. "Maybe she can get away with murder, but she's not getting away with this. We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to insist that she let you listen on the other line when she calls Elise?"
"That's still the plan," Joe agreed. "I'm not sure what I’m going to do when she tells me I can't, but one way or another, we're going to get this resolved."
"It'll work out," Brent said. "Even if we get nothing out of her, at least we'll be able to cross this lead off our list and move on." He took a few steps toward the door. "Well, good night. I just wanted to drop in and check we were on the same page."
"Glad you did, or I might never have gotten Cece off of me."
"Happy to be of service."
"I know it's none of my business, but where were you tonight, anyway?"
"I met with an old friend. She has some good connections and she's going to try and find out if Elise has any travel plans coming up."
"How soon do you think we'll know something?"
"That depends," Brent said with a small look of annoyance.
"Depends on what?"
"On whether or not she remembers anything in the morning. Selene is a sweet girl, but she's become a drunk."
"I haven't." Joe crunched a potato chip, then reached for his glass of coke. "I got in early, but I wasn't hungry until now."
Cece called for Lupe. "Bring me a glass of the Margherita di Cascia Pinot Noir. And bring one for Joe, too. In fact, just bring us the bottle."
Joe tried to protest but Cece silenced him with a motion of her hand. "This is an excellent vintage, and if I don't share it with you, who will I share it with? They say it's not good for a person to drink alone."
Joe sighed. "You know, Cece, for all your talk about how lonely you are, I find it hard to believe you couldn't get plenty of company if you wanted it."
Cece ran a hand through her curls. "You flatter me. I know how you men are, though. You like the young ones."
"You're hardly old," Joe pointed out.
Cece fussed with the collar of her robe, exposing her cleavage. Before she could speak again though, the maid set a glass in front of her. She set a glass in front of Joe too, opened the wine and poured a little for each of them. Cece took a sip. "Thank you, Lupe. You can leave the bottle on the table." After Lupe left, Cece leaned toward Joe. "This is an excellent vintage that I picked up in France on my last vacation. I brought home several bottles, much to the dismay of the customs agent."
Joe took a sip of his wine, then set the glass back on the table. "It's fine, but it doesn't go with my potato chips."
Cece put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "So tell me why it is you think I should have no trouble finding a man," she said, returning to their previous topic. "You think I'm still pretty?"
Joe looked down at his plate. "I'm sure there are plenty of men who find you attractive."
"Do you find me attractive?"
"That's not the point." Joe pushed the remainder of his sandwich and chips away and stood up. "I'm tired. If you'll excuse me--"
"Don't go," Cece said, jumping to her feet. "We won't talk about me any more. That was completely inappropriate, and I'm sorry. Please sit down."
"I'm not mad at you. I'm just tired. I've had a busy day."
"Well, you could at least tell me how your search for Elise is going. Have some more wine. Please."
Reluctantly, Joe sat down and reached for his glass. "My 'search,' as you call it, isn't going anywhere. You're the only lead I've got, and you aren't talking."
Cece's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Am I really your only lead? I thought with all your comings and goings, you must have other clues."
"No, we don't. Brent and I have been visiting old friends to pass the time. Other than that, we're waiting on you."
"I'm doing all I can."
Joe tossed back the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle. "No you aren't Cece. In fact, you've been about as unhelpful as you could possibly be, stringing us along, making us think you're going to get us in touch with Elise, when day after day nothing happens."
"Can I help it if she refuses to see you?"
"Why don't you just tell me where she is and let me see for myself if she'll talk to me or not?"
Cece held out her glass for Joe to top it off. "I can't do that. A promise is a promise."
"Maybe so," Joe said. "But what are any of us really gaining by all this? You're stuck with two extra mouths to feed and the disruption to your household. Brent's about to lose his job, and I'm climbing the walls." He leaned across the table. "You're doing no one any favors by keeping this stupid promise of yours, if you even made one at all."
Cece sipped some wine to keep from having to speak for a moment. "I think that's the most words I've heard out of you since you arrived. And maybe you're right-- maybe I could be doing more to help. But we women have to stick together, especially since she was there to give me her emotional support when I was going through my own difficulties."
"Like when your husband died? Kind of unusual circumstances, don't you think? I mean, the man had never been sick a day in his life."
"Some people drop dead just like that, you know. Aneurysms, heart problems, things like that."
"Except that no one ever could find evidence of any 'things like that.' Odd."
"Yes, it was." Cece met Joe's eyes steadily.
Joe sucked down the rest of his wine. "This has been an interesting conversation, as always. I'm going to bed now." He headed toward the stairs, but heard the patter of Cece's footsteps behind him. "What do you want?"
Cece paused, one foot on the bottom step. "I just wanted to make sure Lupe got your room ready for you."
"I'm sure it's fine." He started back up the steps.
Cece hurried after him. "Why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at you, Cece," Joe said, turning down the hallway toward his room.
"You are too mad at me," she said, chasing him to his doorway. "Surely you don't believe those awful rumors about me?"
"What happened between you and your husband is none of my business. I just want you to quit interfering between me and my wife." Joe stepped inside the room, turned around and placed a hand on the door. "Good night, and thank you for your hospitality."
"You're certainly welcome. May I come in and make sure you've got enough towels?"
"I'm sure I have plenty."
"I'd feel better if I checked. I want to make sure my maids are doing their job." She pushed past Joe before he could protest again and disappeared into the bathroom. When she reappeared, she had taken off her robe, revealing a red silk nightgown. She walked across the room and then sat on the edge of the bed. "So tell me," she said, leaning back a little and gazing up at Joe, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded across his chest. "Has this room been okay for you? Not too cold or too hot, is it? Have you had everything you needed? Enough pillows, blankets, things like that?"
"Everything's fine."
"Oh, good. I worry, you know, since I don't have many guests and my maids aren't used to it." She looked around the room, as if she hadn't ever examined it closely before. "Kind of a big room. Don't you get lonely?"
"Not really. Now, if it's all right with you, I'd like to get some sleep."
Cece stood up and put her arms around his neck. "Let's you and me quit playing games. You must be lonely without your wife, and I've been lonely, too." She grasped a loose lock of his hair and twined it around a finger. "Let me take your mind off things for awhile."
Joe reached grabbed Cece by the shoulders and pushed her away. When she tried to move toward him again, he held her at arm's length. "Stop this. You're making a fool of yourself."
"Don't be such a prude. Elise left you. You aren't obligated to her now."
"This isn't about Elise," Joe said. "I just don't want to."
Cece paused, a hurt expression on her face. "I thought you liked me."
"I do, but not that way."
"Maybe if you just gave me a chance..." she made to put her arms around him again.
Joe took a step back, caught his ankle on the bed and fell onto the mattress. "You have got to be the most persistent woman I've ever met." He tried to push her off him as she attempted to seat herself on his lap. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you no?"
Just then there was a tap at the door and Cece jumped to her feet as Brent pushed open the door and stepped into the room. He looked from Joe to Cece and back again. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Before Cece could speak, Joe jumped up. "Cece was just saying good night."
Cece smiled primly at Brent. "Yes, and good night to you, too."
Brent took in Cece's slinky attire. "Looks like you might get cold running around in that."
Without a word, Cece went into the bathroom, then stormed back out, pulling her velvet robe about her as she hurried away down the hall.
Brent went to the door, peeked into the hallway, then came back in and shut the door behind him. "Can I say 'I told you so' now?"
Joe sat on the bed and ran a hand across the top of his head. "If you must."
Brent hesitated a minute, then pulled up the desk chair and sat down. "I don't think I will. You seem traumatized enough as it is."
"I knew she was pushy, but not like that."
"Kind of a cute getup she had on," Brent observed. "I can envision the two of you together, you know. I'm surprised you were able to resist."
Joe was about to make a smart remark, then realized Brent was teasing him. "Why don't you go knock on her door and tell her how attractive you think she is? Make her evening."
"No, I don't do much for her, I'm afraid."
"Maybe now that I've turned her down, she'll reconsider."
"I hope not." Brent loosened his tie. "What have you been up to tonight, besides fending off our hostess?"
"I went to see an old friend. My old probation officer, actually."
"What for?"
Joe gave an embarrassed shrug. "Guilt, I guess. Here I've been a model member of the community all these years and now in two days I've been guilty of assault, trespassing, theft, drug possession, and breaking and entering. I needed to talk to someone about it, get it off my chest."
"Maybe you should've gone to see a priest instead."
"I thought about it, but Ott understood where I was coming from. I didn't have a real dad around when I was growing up, and Ott was like a father to me. It's because of him I didn't end up dead or in prison. He straightened my head out. Not too many guys like that out there, especially working as probation officers."
"So you feel better now?"
Joe shrugged. "I guess so. Not that he did me any good."
"What do you mean?"
"After I saw him, I came back here and broke into Cece's study."
Brent let out a whoop. "Go forth and sin no more."
"I don't suppose you want to know what I found out."
"Did you find out where she is?"
"No."
Brent turned away with a small shrug, as if to say that anything else was beneath his concern.
"Cece was once suspected of murder."
Brent leaned forward in his chair, suddenly all attention. "Her husband?"
Joe nodded. "Very mysterious circumstances. And he left everything to her, cutting out his mother, sister, and a child from a previous marriage."
"I thought something wasn't right around here."
"Doesn't relate to our case of course," Joe went on, "But it gives us an idea what kind of woman we're dealing with."
Brent nodded. "We were wrong to trust her for even a minute."
"I think she's harmless enough, but she was obviously lying through her teeth when she said she was a lousy actress. Judging from her little performance with us, I'd say she's Academy Award material."
"We'll put a stop to that," Brent said, standing up. "Maybe she can get away with murder, but she's not getting away with this. We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to insist that she let you listen on the other line when she calls Elise?"
"That's still the plan," Joe agreed. "I'm not sure what I’m going to do when she tells me I can't, but one way or another, we're going to get this resolved."
"It'll work out," Brent said. "Even if we get nothing out of her, at least we'll be able to cross this lead off our list and move on." He took a few steps toward the door. "Well, good night. I just wanted to drop in and check we were on the same page."
"Glad you did, or I might never have gotten Cece off of me."
"Happy to be of service."
"I know it's none of my business, but where were you tonight, anyway?"
"I met with an old friend. She has some good connections and she's going to try and find out if Elise has any travel plans coming up."
"How soon do you think we'll know something?"
"That depends," Brent said with a small look of annoyance.
"Depends on what?"
"On whether or not she remembers anything in the morning. Selene is a sweet girl, but she's become a drunk."
Chapter Thirty-One
Alone in Cece's house, Joe moved silently through the empty rooms. At the kitchen door he paused and listened. Hearing nothing, he stepped inside, adopting the brisk attitude of a man merely looking for a snack or glass of water. Seeing that there was no one to impress with his study in casualness, he stopped and listened again. Down a short hallway to the right came a faint noise. Quietly, he followed it, moving down the hall as the sound clarified into singing-- an off-key Spanish song in the high, thin voice of one of Cece's maids. Joe peeked around the corner and found Lupe sorting and folding laundry as she took it from the dryer. An ironing board nearby suggested she would be in the utility room for awhile.
With a satisfied smile, Joe returned to the kitchen as silently as he had come. After making a quick tour of all the downstairs rooms, he headed up the stairs, then did checked each guest room as he moved down the hall. Finally he found himself outside Cece's room. He placed a hand on the knob and turned, breathing a sigh of relief to find it unlocked.
It was a large room with high ceilings and heavy, red-upholstered furniture. A small claw-footed lamp on the bedside table had been left on, casting black shadows off Cece's high-backed easy chair, ornately carved vanity and hulking four-poster bed with its tapestry curtains. A light from another room drew Joe into the bathroom, but after a quick look around at the marble, mirrors and deep jacuzzi tub, he lost interest.
The next door to catch his eye was the closet-- an enormous walk-in, full to the ceiling with clothes, shoes and handbags. This wasn't what Joe was looking for either, and he returned to the main room. Almost as an afterthought, he opened the nightstand drawers and rifled through their contents, but found nothing more interesting than an inspirational book, some aspirin and a box of throat lozenges. He was on the point of leaving when he noticed yet another door. This one locked.
He hurried back to his room, returning a few moments later with a thin metal wire on a wooden handle-- a lock picker's tool. After jiggling it patiently in the lock and fiddling with the knob, the door finally swung open. He put the tool in his back pocket and after checking that the blinds and curtains were drawn, he turned on the light.
The room was small and intimate, made smaller by the presence of a heavy roll-top desk along one wall and two wing-back chairs with ottomans on the other. One wall held a painting of a much younger Cece, dolled up for an evening on the town. The fourth wall was a solid mass of bookshelves. Joe's main interest though, was the desk. It opened easily with his lock pick, revealing a desk calendar, ledgers, pens and notepads in front of an array of pigeonholes stuffed with papers and envelopes. Most of it was the ordinary bills and records of running a large home, along with dues and meeting reminders for a few clubs and charities that Cece was involved with. Nothing here implicated Cece in anything worse than a bad spending habit. With a sigh, Joe closed the desk and locked it, then started on the side drawers. He had just unlocked the first one when he heard a sound in the bedroom and jumped to turn off the light.
In the darkness, he inched his way to the door and silently turned the lock, keeping his ear pressed against the door and listening to the footsteps as they moved across the room. They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom and closet, and Joe wrestled with the urge to bolt. But before he could make a decision, the steps came back, this time accompanied by a voice humming a little tune-- the tune he had heard downstairs in the utility room. It was just the maid, putting clothes away. Relieved, Joe waited in the darkness for minutes that felt like hours, stretching the limits of his patience until he finally felt certain she wasn't coming back. Then he turned the light back on and returned to the desk.
The first two drawers revealed nothing more interesting than what had been in the desk, but the deeper bottom drawer was more intriguing. With growing interest, Joe flipped through a few albums of newspaper clippings about Cece's life. A few of them were reviews of plays she had been in with Elise. What interested him more though, were a series of later articles, all dealing with the death of Cece's husband, the fight over his inheritance, and the lingering mystery of just what had caused his death in the first place.
With a satisfied smile, Joe returned to the kitchen as silently as he had come. After making a quick tour of all the downstairs rooms, he headed up the stairs, then did checked each guest room as he moved down the hall. Finally he found himself outside Cece's room. He placed a hand on the knob and turned, breathing a sigh of relief to find it unlocked.
It was a large room with high ceilings and heavy, red-upholstered furniture. A small claw-footed lamp on the bedside table had been left on, casting black shadows off Cece's high-backed easy chair, ornately carved vanity and hulking four-poster bed with its tapestry curtains. A light from another room drew Joe into the bathroom, but after a quick look around at the marble, mirrors and deep jacuzzi tub, he lost interest.
The next door to catch his eye was the closet-- an enormous walk-in, full to the ceiling with clothes, shoes and handbags. This wasn't what Joe was looking for either, and he returned to the main room. Almost as an afterthought, he opened the nightstand drawers and rifled through their contents, but found nothing more interesting than an inspirational book, some aspirin and a box of throat lozenges. He was on the point of leaving when he noticed yet another door. This one locked.
He hurried back to his room, returning a few moments later with a thin metal wire on a wooden handle-- a lock picker's tool. After jiggling it patiently in the lock and fiddling with the knob, the door finally swung open. He put the tool in his back pocket and after checking that the blinds and curtains were drawn, he turned on the light.
The room was small and intimate, made smaller by the presence of a heavy roll-top desk along one wall and two wing-back chairs with ottomans on the other. One wall held a painting of a much younger Cece, dolled up for an evening on the town. The fourth wall was a solid mass of bookshelves. Joe's main interest though, was the desk. It opened easily with his lock pick, revealing a desk calendar, ledgers, pens and notepads in front of an array of pigeonholes stuffed with papers and envelopes. Most of it was the ordinary bills and records of running a large home, along with dues and meeting reminders for a few clubs and charities that Cece was involved with. Nothing here implicated Cece in anything worse than a bad spending habit. With a sigh, Joe closed the desk and locked it, then started on the side drawers. He had just unlocked the first one when he heard a sound in the bedroom and jumped to turn off the light.
In the darkness, he inched his way to the door and silently turned the lock, keeping his ear pressed against the door and listening to the footsteps as they moved across the room. They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom and closet, and Joe wrestled with the urge to bolt. But before he could make a decision, the steps came back, this time accompanied by a voice humming a little tune-- the tune he had heard downstairs in the utility room. It was just the maid, putting clothes away. Relieved, Joe waited in the darkness for minutes that felt like hours, stretching the limits of his patience until he finally felt certain she wasn't coming back. Then he turned the light back on and returned to the desk.
The first two drawers revealed nothing more interesting than what had been in the desk, but the deeper bottom drawer was more intriguing. With growing interest, Joe flipped through a few albums of newspaper clippings about Cece's life. A few of them were reviews of plays she had been in with Elise. What interested him more though, were a series of later articles, all dealing with the death of Cece's husband, the fight over his inheritance, and the lingering mystery of just what had caused his death in the first place.
Chapter Thirty
Dinner over, Selene leaned her head on Brent's shoulder, picking with her fork at her dessert-- a torta de kore made with lemon, pomegranate, and other fruits. She had moved her chair next to his after they finished their second bottle of wine and just before she ordered a snifter of Benedictine. When Brent asked if she wouldn't prefer a cup of coffee, she ordered coffee, too, but still insisted on getting her liqueur.
"Aren't you going to drink your coffee?" Brent asked.
Selene's sleepy eyes searched the table for the cup, but failed to find it. "Won't do me any good anyway."
"I told you not to drink so much."
"What are you, my mother?" Selene turned an unfocused gaze on him. "It's no wonder Elise ran away from you, if this is how you treat a girl these days. Always saying what to do and what not to do, never letting a girl make any decisions of her own..." She settled herself back on his shoulder. "Good thing I broke up with you. I would've gotten bored."
"I didn't bore you as a friend."
"Friendship is different. Besides, I wanted you for more than that. You knew it, too."
Brent took her hand. "I guess I did. It was wrong of me to pretend like I didn't."
Selene shrugged and reached for her snifter. Finding it empty, she looked around for the waiter.
"Can you take you mind off the liquor long enough to listen to me for a minute? I need to ask you a favor."
Selene struggled to sit up. "So we finally get to the real business of this evening's entertainment."
"I wanted to see you for your sake, not just your connections."
She adopted a look of tipsy unconcern. "I don't know why you think I'd believe that, but whatever. Let's get to the truth of the matter."
"I was hoping you could help me out. Elise got her identity changed and if I give you the data I have on her, I was wondering if you could find out if she's planning to go anywhere. In particular if she's planning to leave the country."
"How would I know something like that?
"Your husband is a consul and your father used to be the CEO of a major airline and is still a principal shareholder. Are you saying you don't know anyone who could find out if she's bought a plane ticket or arranged for a visa?"
Selene brooded in silence for a few minutes. "I suppose I could make a few phone calls, but I really couldn't care less if you found this girl or not. It's obvious she doesn't give a damn about you."
"Maybe not, but I give a damn about her."
"Must be nice to have someone who cares," Selene sniffed.
"As if you don't," Brent pointed out. "Your husband adores you, by your own admission. You say you have other men who like you pretty well, too. You don't sound like you're hurting for men who care."
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
Selene met his eyes unsteadily. "Do you still care about me?"
Brent smiled. "I think you've had too much to drink. Would you like me to take you home? You know I can't let you drive in this condition."
She shook her head. "What would my husband think if I came home late with a strange man? Have the waiter call a cab."
Brent spotted the waiter and motioned him over. Selene looked up and tried to order another Benedictine, but Brent stopped her. "She doesn't need anything else."
After he had given the waiter his card and they were alone again, Selene turned a sullen pout on him. "Spoilsport."
"I don't want to be here all night watching you drink. Go home and drink, if that's what you want to do."
"I probably will. Nothing else to do around there."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until the waiter reappeared with the receipt. Brent signed then helped Selene to her unsteady feet. He guided her to the waiting area near the front door where they would be able to see the cab when it arrived. "Thank you for agreeing to help me," he said, adjusting her coat and guiding her to an upholstered bench by the window. "I know I'm putting you in a potentially compromising situation. And thank you for your company."
"Oh, sure," Selene said. "You got what you what you wanted." She gave a drunken imitation of her most seductive sidelong look. "But I haven't gotten what I want yet. If my husband wasn't at home tonight, I'd invite you over. You're acting uptight, but I bet you're still a lot of fun once a girl gets you alone."
"You've had way too much to drink, or you wouldn't be talking like that."
"How do you know? I've always thought you were fun in bed. If I knew where Elise is, I'd tell the lucky bitch what a good thing she's giving up. Too bad she was only using you."
"She wasn't using me, Selene."
"Oh, wasn't she?" Seeing the cab pull up in front of the restaurant, she tried to stand and Brent jumped to his feet to assist her. "I don't need your help," Selene assured him, pushing his arm away.
"Well, I'm walking out there with you anyway, since that's where my car is." He guided her down the walkway toward the curb. Just as they neared the cab, Brent stopped her with a tug on her elbow. "Here's the information you'll need." He slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "Call me as soon as you find out something. And thanks for meeting me tonight. I really needed to talk to someone, and you're still a great listener."
"Thanks for the crumbs from your table." The cool air seemed to have sobered Selene up a bit, and leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Call me sometime, since you don't seem to mind being a girl's toy. Maybe my husband will be out of town and we can have some fun."
"Aren't you going to drink your coffee?" Brent asked.
Selene's sleepy eyes searched the table for the cup, but failed to find it. "Won't do me any good anyway."
"I told you not to drink so much."
"What are you, my mother?" Selene turned an unfocused gaze on him. "It's no wonder Elise ran away from you, if this is how you treat a girl these days. Always saying what to do and what not to do, never letting a girl make any decisions of her own..." She settled herself back on his shoulder. "Good thing I broke up with you. I would've gotten bored."
"I didn't bore you as a friend."
"Friendship is different. Besides, I wanted you for more than that. You knew it, too."
Brent took her hand. "I guess I did. It was wrong of me to pretend like I didn't."
Selene shrugged and reached for her snifter. Finding it empty, she looked around for the waiter.
"Can you take you mind off the liquor long enough to listen to me for a minute? I need to ask you a favor."
Selene struggled to sit up. "So we finally get to the real business of this evening's entertainment."
"I wanted to see you for your sake, not just your connections."
She adopted a look of tipsy unconcern. "I don't know why you think I'd believe that, but whatever. Let's get to the truth of the matter."
"I was hoping you could help me out. Elise got her identity changed and if I give you the data I have on her, I was wondering if you could find out if she's planning to go anywhere. In particular if she's planning to leave the country."
"How would I know something like that?
"Your husband is a consul and your father used to be the CEO of a major airline and is still a principal shareholder. Are you saying you don't know anyone who could find out if she's bought a plane ticket or arranged for a visa?"
Selene brooded in silence for a few minutes. "I suppose I could make a few phone calls, but I really couldn't care less if you found this girl or not. It's obvious she doesn't give a damn about you."
"Maybe not, but I give a damn about her."
"Must be nice to have someone who cares," Selene sniffed.
"As if you don't," Brent pointed out. "Your husband adores you, by your own admission. You say you have other men who like you pretty well, too. You don't sound like you're hurting for men who care."
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
Selene met his eyes unsteadily. "Do you still care about me?"
Brent smiled. "I think you've had too much to drink. Would you like me to take you home? You know I can't let you drive in this condition."
She shook her head. "What would my husband think if I came home late with a strange man? Have the waiter call a cab."
Brent spotted the waiter and motioned him over. Selene looked up and tried to order another Benedictine, but Brent stopped her. "She doesn't need anything else."
After he had given the waiter his card and they were alone again, Selene turned a sullen pout on him. "Spoilsport."
"I don't want to be here all night watching you drink. Go home and drink, if that's what you want to do."
"I probably will. Nothing else to do around there."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until the waiter reappeared with the receipt. Brent signed then helped Selene to her unsteady feet. He guided her to the waiting area near the front door where they would be able to see the cab when it arrived. "Thank you for agreeing to help me," he said, adjusting her coat and guiding her to an upholstered bench by the window. "I know I'm putting you in a potentially compromising situation. And thank you for your company."
"Oh, sure," Selene said. "You got what you what you wanted." She gave a drunken imitation of her most seductive sidelong look. "But I haven't gotten what I want yet. If my husband wasn't at home tonight, I'd invite you over. You're acting uptight, but I bet you're still a lot of fun once a girl gets you alone."
"You've had way too much to drink, or you wouldn't be talking like that."
"How do you know? I've always thought you were fun in bed. If I knew where Elise is, I'd tell the lucky bitch what a good thing she's giving up. Too bad she was only using you."
"She wasn't using me, Selene."
"Oh, wasn't she?" Seeing the cab pull up in front of the restaurant, she tried to stand and Brent jumped to his feet to assist her. "I don't need your help," Selene assured him, pushing his arm away.
"Well, I'm walking out there with you anyway, since that's where my car is." He guided her down the walkway toward the curb. Just as they neared the cab, Brent stopped her with a tug on her elbow. "Here's the information you'll need." He slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "Call me as soon as you find out something. And thanks for meeting me tonight. I really needed to talk to someone, and you're still a great listener."
"Thanks for the crumbs from your table." The cool air seemed to have sobered Selene up a bit, and leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Call me sometime, since you don't seem to mind being a girl's toy. Maybe my husband will be out of town and we can have some fun."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Several hours after stealing Elise's new identity from Perry's apartment, Brent pushed open the door of the Giardino di Ade restaurant and stood for a moment in the atmospheric gloom. Not seeing who he was looking for, he went to the bar; a black marble affair, lit by candles in red globes. Brent settled himself onto a stool and ordered a glass of Chianti. He was sipping his wine and ignoring the inexplicable glower of a fat, tuxedoed man at the other end of the bar when the woman he was waiting for walked in the door. He set down his glass and went to meet her.
"Brent, so good to see you." The elegantly dressed woman reached out both hands to take his.
Brent pulled her close in a quick embrace then took a step back, taking in her sallow skin, unlined face and smooth blonde hair. She was dressed in black and pearls, and Brent nodded approvingly. "You look great Selene. Still the prettiest girl in the Little Sisters, and still the best dressed."
"And you're still the worst flatterer I ever met." Selene took Brent by the arm. "I'm sorry I'm late. I hate to keep people waiting, but I ran into some delays."
"Oh?"
Selene shrugged. "I'm a married woman, you know. But let's not talk about depressing things."
The hostess led them to a corner table by a window overlooking a garden of creeping vegetation and pale statuary. Selene barely glanced at her menu before craning her neck for a waiter. After a moment a young man in a white uniform approached. Selene started to order a glass of Chianti, but Brent stopped her and ordered a bottle instead. After the waiter left he said, "So how have you been? I wasn't kidding that you still look as pretty as our college days."
Selene ducked her head but appeared pleased. "I manage okay."
"You make it sound like things aren't what they could be."
"Are they for anyone?"
"Such cynicism." He took her hand and squeezed it, causing her rings to bite into her flesh. "I appreciate you meeting me like this on such short notice."
"It's my pleasure." Selene pulled her hand away. "I'm always looking for an excuse to get out of the house. Getting to see an old friend in the bargain is a treat, although knowing you, I'm sure you have other motives besides just wanting my company for a few hours."
"I hope I'm not just an excuse to get out of the house."
One of Selene's eyebrows went up. "You're not arguing with my assertion that you have ulterior motives. Why am I not surprised?"
Before Brent could answer, the waiter appeared at their table and set glasses in front of them both. He presented the wine and uncorked it with practiced ease. After he poured them each a glass, Brent turned back to Selene. "What have you been doing with yourself? I don't think we've corresponded more than once or twice since your wedding."
"I've been doing what all trophy wives do: shopping, charity balls, facials at the salon...don't tell me there's other things I could be doing with my college education."
"I can't think of any better way to use a psychology degree."
"Well, I can." Selene sighed. "Being an old man's doll pays the bills, though, and keeps me in designer labels."
"If that's what you want."
Selene reached for her wineglass. "Let's not talk about me. I'm always interested to hear what my ex-boyfriends are up to, especially when they call me out of the blue. You must have a favor to ask."
Brent looked up as a busboy set bread and herbed olive oil in front of them. "Why would you think that?"
"Because I know you so well? You're right, though. It's gauche for old friends to jump straight into shop talk. Why don't you tell me what brings you to St. Argent? I heard you moved."
Brent reached for a piece of bread. "You know my father had a few companies."
"Who could forget? You were always the guy with the fat wallet, thanks to Daddy."
"There were plenty of guys who had it better than me. My education wasn't for show; it was so I could work."
"And do you work?"
"Of course. It's not a daddy's boy job, either. I'm expected to pull my weight."
"I'm sure you are," Selene said with a disbelieving smile.
"In fact, I'm probably going to be out of a job as of tomorrow. I walked out."
Selene shook her head. "So typical. You had a lot of anger toward your father. It sounds like you still do."
Brent reached for his wine. "You've got it all wrong, but why shouldn't I be angry at him? He used to beat the crap out of me."
"A lot of us were treated like accessories, and when we didn't measure up..."
Brent shrugged. "The toys were good, at any rate."
"Guilty parents give the best presents," she agreed.
They both sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes. "So if you didn't walk away from your job to spite your father, what's this all about? And why are you in St. Argent?"
"Remember Elise Riddissee?"
Selene frowned. "Your little ballerina friend? Something of a charity case, as I recall."
"She had to earn her own money, but she never needed any handouts."
"Other than jobs." Selene played with the stem of her glass. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"She was working for me in Troy as a graphic illustrator."
"Still looking for handouts, I see."
Brent ignored Selene's cattiness. "She left her husband two days ago. He and I are here trying to find her."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "Why does this concern you? Don't tell me you want to become a detective now."
"I'm learning how to be a detective, but I'm not very good at it. Every time we get close, she slips away."
"That doesn't tell me why you're involved in the first place."
"I think she might be pregnant with my child." Brent picked up his bread and began tearing it into pieces.
Selene drained the rest of her Chianti and allowed Brent to refill her glass before speaking. "I guess that's a pretty good reason. The husband doesn't mind having you along?"
"He minds," Brent admitted. "But I think he realizes we're more likely to find her by working together than at cross-purposes."
"What a noble guy."
The waiter reappeared at their table. "Are you ready to order?"
A guilty expression flitted across Brent's face and he reached for the menu. "Can you come back in five minutes?"
"How about an appetizer while you decide? Some baked mozzarella, perhaps? Calamari?"
"How about the portabella mushrooms?" Selene said.
The waiter hurried away to place the order.
"So." Selene glanced at the menu, then set it aside. "Tell me about this saint that your little friend is married to, and how you managed to steal her away from him."
"Joe's an artist," Brent explained. "You've probably heard of him. He does those religious statues you find in a lot of the churches around here and some of the other cities around the state. He does other things, too, but he's got a national reputation for angels and things like that."
Selene nodded. "Appropriate work for a saint. He sounds pretty different from the guy she was seeing when she used to come to some of your parties. Wasn't he in some two-bit thrash band?"
Brent waved a hand, as if trying to dismiss that particular memory. "Joe isn't much like your typical artist. To meet him, you'd think he was just an ordinary guy; a plumber or construction worker maybe. But then you see his woodwork and it's like a revelation. Hard to believe such beautiful things can come from the hands of someone so..."
"Common?"
"Maybe I would've called him that a few months ago, but now I'm not so sure."
Selene picked up a slice of bread and dunked it in the olive oil. "So how did Elise end up with you?"
Brent sighed. "She'd been working for me for nearly a year. During most of that time she was friendly, but professional. Then about six months ago she started working late when I worked late, came in early when I came in early, made up excuses to spend time alone with me. She even volunteered for a project she hated because she knew it was one I was personally involved in."
"Sounds like trouble."
"It was, but I never stopped wanting her just because I married someone else. We never seemed to catch each other between relationships. That's the only thing that stopped me then, you know."
"No, I didn't know. I always thought it was because she didn't care for you that way." Selene reached for her wine. "Not much seemed to stop you seeing any of the other girls at school, even while you were supposedly involved with me."
Brent's face reddened. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Selene shredded a piece of bread into crumbs. "I got over that long ago."
Brent opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter arrived with their appetizers, and set the plates in front of them. "Would you like to order your entrees now?"
Brent gestured for Selene to order first. Selene ordered a salmon dish, and Brent pointed to the first pasta entrée on the list without bothering to read the description. After the waiter went away, Brent turned back to her. "You know, of all the women I've known, you're the one I most regret having treated badly."
Selene rolled her eyes. "We've been doing just fine without your famous flattery." She brushed a few bread crumbs off her lap. "Let's stick to your story, okay? Why do you think this girl started coming on to you all of a sudden? Doesn't make any sense to me." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you sure you weren't hitting on her? That seems a more likely scenario."
Brent rubbed his forehead. "There have been so many times I deserved the shit people gave me for the way I collected other people's girlfriends, but for once I'm completely innocent, and everyone acts like it's just another falsehood."
Selene reached for the Chianti bottle. "Karma is a bitch."
Brent opened his eyes. "Do you believe me? Just this once?"
"I'm trying, but I can't imagine why this girl would go doing such a thing. You don't think maybe her husband fooled around on her and she was trying to get even?"
Brent shook his head. "If it was any other man, I'd say you were probably right. But Joe? No way."
"Any chance she could've been seeing someone else? Someone who dumped her, so she was looking for an easy conquest to gratify her ego?"
Brent started to shake his head, but stopped and considered. While he was thinking, the waiter stopped by again. He picked up the bottle of Ruffino to top off their glasses, but found it empty. Before he could ask the obvious question, Brent waved a hand for him to bring another. After he was gone, Brent frowned again. "Elise was always a bit of a runaround," he said, picking up where he left off. "That's one of the things I liked about her back in school. She was like me."
"Maybe she's more like you than you realize."
"I don't even want to consider that possibility." Brent cut his portabella into pieces and pushed them around his plate. "Besides, it's not like she needs another man. Joe is completely devoted to her. She's his whole world." He put down his fork and leaned across the table. "Do you know that even after Joe found out about us, he still forgave her? Elise didn't lack for love, and she knew it."
Selene was smiling now. "There's your answer. A woman doesn't want to feel like a goddess."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying love isn't about being put on a pedestal. It's about friendship, not worship." Selene waved a hand. "Look at me. My husband would do anything I asked; go anywhere, buy me anything, but that doesn't keep me faithful."
"I didn't know you were having an affair," Brent said.
Selene laughed. "Not one affair. Many." She took another sip of wine. "Not all at the same time, of course. One after the other."
"But why? I mean, if your husband is so good to you..."
"Come on, Brent, he's old. I want a man who knows how to have a good time and who can satisfy me in bed. I want--"
"I get the picture. Spare me the details."
Selene's lips curled down in a smirk. "For a man who got another man's wife pregnant, you sure are squeamish on the subject of affairs. Kind of hypocritical, don't you think? Do I detect some guilt?"
Brent pretended sudden interest in his food. "None of us is perfect, and besides, you're talking about a different scenario entirely."
Selene gave a skeptical smile. "Am I really?"
"Yes. Joe isn't some old guy. He's older than her, but not like that ancient consul you married. Elise always said the sex with Joe was fine, when she could tear him away from his work."
"Well, this is starting to fit together, don't you think? When a man is working all the time, a woman gets lonely."
"How could she get lonely? She was in the same studio with him. She was his model."
"She was his muse, but it sounds like she wasn't his companion. Being an object of worship can be fun for awhile, but in the long run, it's cold comfort to a woman who wants real love."
"Brent, so good to see you." The elegantly dressed woman reached out both hands to take his.
Brent pulled her close in a quick embrace then took a step back, taking in her sallow skin, unlined face and smooth blonde hair. She was dressed in black and pearls, and Brent nodded approvingly. "You look great Selene. Still the prettiest girl in the Little Sisters, and still the best dressed."
"And you're still the worst flatterer I ever met." Selene took Brent by the arm. "I'm sorry I'm late. I hate to keep people waiting, but I ran into some delays."
"Oh?"
Selene shrugged. "I'm a married woman, you know. But let's not talk about depressing things."
The hostess led them to a corner table by a window overlooking a garden of creeping vegetation and pale statuary. Selene barely glanced at her menu before craning her neck for a waiter. After a moment a young man in a white uniform approached. Selene started to order a glass of Chianti, but Brent stopped her and ordered a bottle instead. After the waiter left he said, "So how have you been? I wasn't kidding that you still look as pretty as our college days."
Selene ducked her head but appeared pleased. "I manage okay."
"You make it sound like things aren't what they could be."
"Are they for anyone?"
"Such cynicism." He took her hand and squeezed it, causing her rings to bite into her flesh. "I appreciate you meeting me like this on such short notice."
"It's my pleasure." Selene pulled her hand away. "I'm always looking for an excuse to get out of the house. Getting to see an old friend in the bargain is a treat, although knowing you, I'm sure you have other motives besides just wanting my company for a few hours."
"I hope I'm not just an excuse to get out of the house."
One of Selene's eyebrows went up. "You're not arguing with my assertion that you have ulterior motives. Why am I not surprised?"
Before Brent could answer, the waiter appeared at their table and set glasses in front of them both. He presented the wine and uncorked it with practiced ease. After he poured them each a glass, Brent turned back to Selene. "What have you been doing with yourself? I don't think we've corresponded more than once or twice since your wedding."
"I've been doing what all trophy wives do: shopping, charity balls, facials at the salon...don't tell me there's other things I could be doing with my college education."
"I can't think of any better way to use a psychology degree."
"Well, I can." Selene sighed. "Being an old man's doll pays the bills, though, and keeps me in designer labels."
"If that's what you want."
Selene reached for her wineglass. "Let's not talk about me. I'm always interested to hear what my ex-boyfriends are up to, especially when they call me out of the blue. You must have a favor to ask."
Brent looked up as a busboy set bread and herbed olive oil in front of them. "Why would you think that?"
"Because I know you so well? You're right, though. It's gauche for old friends to jump straight into shop talk. Why don't you tell me what brings you to St. Argent? I heard you moved."
Brent reached for a piece of bread. "You know my father had a few companies."
"Who could forget? You were always the guy with the fat wallet, thanks to Daddy."
"There were plenty of guys who had it better than me. My education wasn't for show; it was so I could work."
"And do you work?"
"Of course. It's not a daddy's boy job, either. I'm expected to pull my weight."
"I'm sure you are," Selene said with a disbelieving smile.
"In fact, I'm probably going to be out of a job as of tomorrow. I walked out."
Selene shook her head. "So typical. You had a lot of anger toward your father. It sounds like you still do."
Brent reached for his wine. "You've got it all wrong, but why shouldn't I be angry at him? He used to beat the crap out of me."
"A lot of us were treated like accessories, and when we didn't measure up..."
Brent shrugged. "The toys were good, at any rate."
"Guilty parents give the best presents," she agreed.
They both sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes. "So if you didn't walk away from your job to spite your father, what's this all about? And why are you in St. Argent?"
"Remember Elise Riddissee?"
Selene frowned. "Your little ballerina friend? Something of a charity case, as I recall."
"She had to earn her own money, but she never needed any handouts."
"Other than jobs." Selene played with the stem of her glass. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"She was working for me in Troy as a graphic illustrator."
"Still looking for handouts, I see."
Brent ignored Selene's cattiness. "She left her husband two days ago. He and I are here trying to find her."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "Why does this concern you? Don't tell me you want to become a detective now."
"I'm learning how to be a detective, but I'm not very good at it. Every time we get close, she slips away."
"That doesn't tell me why you're involved in the first place."
"I think she might be pregnant with my child." Brent picked up his bread and began tearing it into pieces.
Selene drained the rest of her Chianti and allowed Brent to refill her glass before speaking. "I guess that's a pretty good reason. The husband doesn't mind having you along?"
"He minds," Brent admitted. "But I think he realizes we're more likely to find her by working together than at cross-purposes."
"What a noble guy."
The waiter reappeared at their table. "Are you ready to order?"
A guilty expression flitted across Brent's face and he reached for the menu. "Can you come back in five minutes?"
"How about an appetizer while you decide? Some baked mozzarella, perhaps? Calamari?"
"How about the portabella mushrooms?" Selene said.
The waiter hurried away to place the order.
"So." Selene glanced at the menu, then set it aside. "Tell me about this saint that your little friend is married to, and how you managed to steal her away from him."
"Joe's an artist," Brent explained. "You've probably heard of him. He does those religious statues you find in a lot of the churches around here and some of the other cities around the state. He does other things, too, but he's got a national reputation for angels and things like that."
Selene nodded. "Appropriate work for a saint. He sounds pretty different from the guy she was seeing when she used to come to some of your parties. Wasn't he in some two-bit thrash band?"
Brent waved a hand, as if trying to dismiss that particular memory. "Joe isn't much like your typical artist. To meet him, you'd think he was just an ordinary guy; a plumber or construction worker maybe. But then you see his woodwork and it's like a revelation. Hard to believe such beautiful things can come from the hands of someone so..."
"Common?"
"Maybe I would've called him that a few months ago, but now I'm not so sure."
Selene picked up a slice of bread and dunked it in the olive oil. "So how did Elise end up with you?"
Brent sighed. "She'd been working for me for nearly a year. During most of that time she was friendly, but professional. Then about six months ago she started working late when I worked late, came in early when I came in early, made up excuses to spend time alone with me. She even volunteered for a project she hated because she knew it was one I was personally involved in."
"Sounds like trouble."
"It was, but I never stopped wanting her just because I married someone else. We never seemed to catch each other between relationships. That's the only thing that stopped me then, you know."
"No, I didn't know. I always thought it was because she didn't care for you that way." Selene reached for her wine. "Not much seemed to stop you seeing any of the other girls at school, even while you were supposedly involved with me."
Brent's face reddened. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Selene shredded a piece of bread into crumbs. "I got over that long ago."
Brent opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter arrived with their appetizers, and set the plates in front of them. "Would you like to order your entrees now?"
Brent gestured for Selene to order first. Selene ordered a salmon dish, and Brent pointed to the first pasta entrée on the list without bothering to read the description. After the waiter went away, Brent turned back to her. "You know, of all the women I've known, you're the one I most regret having treated badly."
Selene rolled her eyes. "We've been doing just fine without your famous flattery." She brushed a few bread crumbs off her lap. "Let's stick to your story, okay? Why do you think this girl started coming on to you all of a sudden? Doesn't make any sense to me." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you sure you weren't hitting on her? That seems a more likely scenario."
Brent rubbed his forehead. "There have been so many times I deserved the shit people gave me for the way I collected other people's girlfriends, but for once I'm completely innocent, and everyone acts like it's just another falsehood."
Selene reached for the Chianti bottle. "Karma is a bitch."
Brent opened his eyes. "Do you believe me? Just this once?"
"I'm trying, but I can't imagine why this girl would go doing such a thing. You don't think maybe her husband fooled around on her and she was trying to get even?"
Brent shook his head. "If it was any other man, I'd say you were probably right. But Joe? No way."
"Any chance she could've been seeing someone else? Someone who dumped her, so she was looking for an easy conquest to gratify her ego?"
Brent started to shake his head, but stopped and considered. While he was thinking, the waiter stopped by again. He picked up the bottle of Ruffino to top off their glasses, but found it empty. Before he could ask the obvious question, Brent waved a hand for him to bring another. After he was gone, Brent frowned again. "Elise was always a bit of a runaround," he said, picking up where he left off. "That's one of the things I liked about her back in school. She was like me."
"Maybe she's more like you than you realize."
"I don't even want to consider that possibility." Brent cut his portabella into pieces and pushed them around his plate. "Besides, it's not like she needs another man. Joe is completely devoted to her. She's his whole world." He put down his fork and leaned across the table. "Do you know that even after Joe found out about us, he still forgave her? Elise didn't lack for love, and she knew it."
Selene was smiling now. "There's your answer. A woman doesn't want to feel like a goddess."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying love isn't about being put on a pedestal. It's about friendship, not worship." Selene waved a hand. "Look at me. My husband would do anything I asked; go anywhere, buy me anything, but that doesn't keep me faithful."
"I didn't know you were having an affair," Brent said.
Selene laughed. "Not one affair. Many." She took another sip of wine. "Not all at the same time, of course. One after the other."
"But why? I mean, if your husband is so good to you..."
"Come on, Brent, he's old. I want a man who knows how to have a good time and who can satisfy me in bed. I want--"
"I get the picture. Spare me the details."
Selene's lips curled down in a smirk. "For a man who got another man's wife pregnant, you sure are squeamish on the subject of affairs. Kind of hypocritical, don't you think? Do I detect some guilt?"
Brent pretended sudden interest in his food. "None of us is perfect, and besides, you're talking about a different scenario entirely."
Selene gave a skeptical smile. "Am I really?"
"Yes. Joe isn't some old guy. He's older than her, but not like that ancient consul you married. Elise always said the sex with Joe was fine, when she could tear him away from his work."
"Well, this is starting to fit together, don't you think? When a man is working all the time, a woman gets lonely."
"How could she get lonely? She was in the same studio with him. She was his model."
"She was his muse, but it sounds like she wasn't his companion. Being an object of worship can be fun for awhile, but in the long run, it's cold comfort to a woman who wants real love."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
"That was a pretty slick move back there at the bar," Joe said, once they were in the truck and on their way again. "What have you got in mind for when we find Perry?"
"I don't know." Brent sighed. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
"Since it doesn't sound like he's a particular friend of Elise, he might be susceptible to a little persuasion."
"Violence?"
"No, a bribe."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "We could stop at an ATM, I guess."
"Actually, I wasn't thinking money. I've known a few people who work off the books like that, and they usually have enough cash."
"Well, if you don't think he'll want money, then what?"
Joe grinned. "Don't worry. I know how bartenders and people with shady business operations think. I've got it covered."
"But that's ridiculous. We're in this together, and I insist--"
"No, I insist." Joe cut over to the left lane and started looking for Jupiter Street. "I think I have something he'll want more than money; something I helped myself to back at Sylvia's place."
"Back at Sylvia's..." Brent turned and stared. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."
Joe shrugged. "That'll teach them to leave valuable stuff like that unattended."
"I can't believe this. I thought criminal activities were a thing of your past."
"Once a crook, always a crook, I guess," Joe said. "Don't worry, though. I was never into anything big-time. Petty larceny at best."
"Oh, hell, it's not the stealing I care about. What if we get pulled over and searched?"
Joe's face clouded into annoyance. "Why would anyone want to search us? Even if a cop did pull me over for something, as long as I say 'yes sir' and 'no sir,' he'll just write me a ticket and let us go." Seeing the Bona Dea apartments ahead, he slowed down. "I swear you prep school boys watch too many episodes of 'Cops.'"
He pulled into the small visitors' lot. "That might be him over there." He pointed to where a small black pickup sat reversed in a parking spot, its rear wheels against the curb, the tailgate lowered in front of an open door. A futon and a few boxes were in the back.
"Can't be too many people moving in or out of here today," Brent agreed.
"Well," Joe said, cutting the engine. "Let's give it a try."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Brent and Joe sat gloomily on the curb, watching the loaded black pickup until it was out of sight. "That was a fiasco," Brent muttered.
"You're telling me," Joe agreed. "And to think he took that gram of blow, too. Bastard."
"I told you that shit was trouble."
"That has nothing to do with it. He's just an asshole, is all. At least we're not out any money."
"Maybe not, but he threatened to call the cops on us."
"He won't do it."
"What makes you so sure?"
"If you were running a counterfeit ID operation and you had accepted a gram of cocaine from two people who knew all about it, would you go putting the cops on them?"
Brent considered. "I guess you're right. I noticed his computer is still in there. He sure wouldn't want anyone snooping around that."
"Yeah, I bet has all kinds of stuff on there. Probably keeps one of those databases or something."
Brent nodded. "A shame we couldn't have pissed him off enough to make him forget to lock the door."
Joe started, as if he hadn't considered this. "Are you suggesting that if you could get in there, you could get onto that computer and maybe find what we're looking for?"
"Depends on how easy a password he's got, but that's a moot point. I saw him lock the door."
Joe flexed his hands. "If it's only a door that's keeping us from finding her, that's a problem I can fix."
Brent said nothing as Joe walked to the heavy door and jiggled the knob. After scrutinizing the lock, he went to his truck and removed a long metal object from his toolbox. Brent jumped to his feet. "What do you think you're going to do?"
"I'm going to get you into that apartment."
"But--"
Joe stopped in front of the door and turned around. "You said this is what you needed, right?"
"Not like this."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Don't go getting weird on me. Keep a lookout, will you? This won't take long."
Reluctantly, Brent took up a post a few feet away where he had a clear view of the parking lot and street.
Joe set the end of the rod against the lock and slid the bolt forward. Then he released it and pulled back hard, ripping out the core. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and scrabbled inside the empty lock, releasing the bolt. In a matter of minutes, he swung the front door open. "The old boy still has it in him."
Brent hurried over. "I don't know if that's such a good thing."
"Neither do I."
"Good job, anyway."
Both men went inside. "You do whatever you have to do," Joe said. "I'll keep an eye out for Perry."
Brent headed toward the dining nook, which had been converted into a study. Finding no chair, he stood hunched over the computer as he booted it up and began earnestly tapping keys.
"You're going to want to wipe that keyboard off good when you're done," Joe pointed out. "And try not to touch anything else. Finger prints, you know."
"Yeah, I just thought of that."
Joe took up position by one of the front windows, peeking through a crack in the blinds. There was the sound of the occasional car passing, and more than once a car pulled into the lot and someone got out and headed toward one of the apartments. One man walked right past Perry's apartment, but was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the damaged door. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and Joe began pacing. "Haven't you found anything yet? He probably won't be gone much longer."
Brent was staring at the screen, his face ashen in the blue light. "In one way he made it easy for me. He didn't password protect anything, although I can't for the life of me figure out why not. But he's got so many files on here, and they've all got such illogical names, I'm having trouble finding the right one. I mean, come on. Mickeymouse.dat?"
"Well, just hurry it up, would you?"
"I'm doing the best I can."
A few more minutes followed, silent except for the sound of Brent tapping on the keyboard and the occasional obscure thump from the upstairs apartment. Another tenant walked past. She noticed the ripped out locks on the door and stopped. Joe waved to Brent and he turned off the computer monitor and ducked into the bedroom. Slowly the front door opened and Joe backed out of the way, temporarily out of sight. The door closed again and Joe heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
"She's gone, but she'll be back. How much more time do you think you need?"
"I don't know. A minute or two, maybe?"
"Go, then. But if the next file isn't it, wipe off that keyboard and give it up."
Brent turned on the monitor while Joe ran to the window and peeked outside. Seeing no signs of trouble for the moment, he found a rag and opened the bedroom window. There was a screen, but he gave it a shove and it fell neatly into the grass below. Then he returned to the front room and checked outside again.
"Bingo. Now I need something to write this down with."
"Can't you just memorize it?"
"Man, this is a complete history here. Social security number, driver's license, everything. We can use it all."
"Well find something, quick! But don't--"
"I know, I know." Brent was opening the desk drawer, using his coat to keep from leaving prints.
Joe looked around and saw what he was doing. "Oh hell, that's going to leave fibers. Don't you know anything?" He ran to the back room and found the rag he had used earlier. "Use this."
Brent opened the desk drawer and found a blunt pencil stub. He found an old gas bill, too, and began scribbling information.
"Shit, here they come," Joe said from the window. "Looks like she's got the apartment manager with her."
"I've almost got it."
Joe turned away from the window. "Almost is too late. Shut it down and get out that back window."
"Wait, there's just--"
"No waiting. Do it."
"Just one more second--" Brent was scrawling frantically now.
"Have you got the full name?"
"Yes."
"Social?"
"Yes."
"That's it, then." He hit the power switch with his knuckle and the screen went black. "Now get in that other room, and get out the window. Take the pencil with you, don't drop anything, and try not to leave any prints."
Brent stuffed the paper and pencil into a pocket and made a run for the other room, not noticing that Joe wasn't following him. He scrambled onto the windowsill, dangled his feet hesitantly over the ledge for a moment, then jumped out. When Joe didn't follow, he paced anxiously, trampling weeds and the window screen that Joe had pushed out. Suddenly he heard a sound and moved away as Joe propelled himself out the window, landing gracefully for a man his size.
"What are you waiting for?" Joe demanded.
"I'm waiting for you!"
"You wouldn't have lasted half an hour where I grew up," Joe muttered. He motioned toward an alleyway and they took off running.
* * *
Brent strolled around the corner in front of Bona Dea, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his face a study in unconcern. He noted a scurry of activity in front of Perry's apartment, but didn't stop. He glanced around the parking lot to make sure the black pickup was nowhere in sight, then let himself into Joe's truck. As he started the engine, a young woman turned from where she was staring at Perry's empty door. She gave Brent a long steady look, but he smiled and waved and she ducked her head with a shy smile.
After a few twists and turns through the narrow side streets Brent pulled the truck in front of a dilapidated laundromat. Joe emerged from inside, and jumped in. Brent hit the gas and they took off toward Delphi Grove.
"Anyone see you?" Joe asked.
"Just the girl," Brent said. "She didn't seem to think I was important."
"No one ever thinks a blond, well-dressed man is guilty of anything, unless it's insider trading."
"That's not true."
"Sure it's true. How would you know?" Joe didn't wait for an answer. "You didn't see Perry's truck, I guess?"
Brent shook his head. "If he caught our license plate number earlier, we're for sure going to be in deep shit. He's going to know who did this and why."
"That's okay. He's also going to know we've got enough dirt on him to do him a lot worse than anything he can do to us. Breaking and entering with no actual theft of goods will get us probation at worst, with our clean records."
"But you don't have a clean record."
"Sure I do. I may have been a thief, but I was also a juvenile. They wipe that stuff off your record. I've got a clean slate."
"So this is the first time you've done this kind of thing in, what, over twenty years?"
"Nearly thirty." Joe allowed himself a wry grin. "Makes me feel kind of old."
"I wouldn't have guessed you weren't a pro, the way you handled that door. What are you doing with tools like that, if you don't mind my asking."
Joe looked surprised. "What, my slide-daddy?" He had hidden the tool under his coat and now he took it out and studied it. "It's a legitimate tool. It's used for pulling dents. I'm a welder by trade, remember?"
"I'd just never seen one before."
"Of course not. When have you ever had to pull your own dents? Or do any kind of manual labor, for that matter?"
"Well, excuse me for living," Brent mumbled.
"Hey," Joe said, "I didn't mean that as a way of giving you shit. You were actually pretty good back there, for an amateur."
Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I only wish I could've done it faster. I got as much as I could, though." He handed over the paper.
Joe took a look. "Allison Alonia Grennaker?"
"The name she used at the hospital was just a front. I get the impression Perry pulls the legit records of dead people of approximately the same age and race as the ones needing fake ID and just reuses them. The real Allison probably died as a kid or something."
Joe made a face. "That's kind of sick. I don't know if I'd want to be running around with a dead person's name. Sounds like asking for trouble."
"As long as you don't run into any of the dead person's friends or family members, it's probably safe enough," Brent pointed out.
"It sounds like bad luck to me."
"I think it's pretty clever, actually."
"You would."
Brent pulled into Delphi Grove. "We're almost there," he said needlessly.
"A good thing, too. I could really go for one of Petra's roast beef sandwiches."
"You aren't going to say anything to Cece about this, are you?"
Joe frowned. "I got the impression we wouldn't be seeing her tonight, but even if we do, I'm not telling her anything. Much as I hate to admit it, I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about us getting closer to finding Elise."
"We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to make sure she calls this time?"
"I guess so."
"Well," Brent said, turning onto Cece's street. "After we eat, I'll do an internet search on Allison Grennaker and see if I turn up anything. I doubt I will. It'll mainly be useful for finding her later on at jobs, hospitals, airports and stuff."
"She better not be going near any airports."
"She got a passport. Didn't you notice?"
Joe looked at the paper again. "Damn," he muttered. "You don't think--"
"The only thing I think is that we may be running out of time."
"I don't know." Brent sighed. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
"Since it doesn't sound like he's a particular friend of Elise, he might be susceptible to a little persuasion."
"Violence?"
"No, a bribe."
Brent's eyebrows flickered. "We could stop at an ATM, I guess."
"Actually, I wasn't thinking money. I've known a few people who work off the books like that, and they usually have enough cash."
"Well, if you don't think he'll want money, then what?"
Joe grinned. "Don't worry. I know how bartenders and people with shady business operations think. I've got it covered."
"But that's ridiculous. We're in this together, and I insist--"
"No, I insist." Joe cut over to the left lane and started looking for Jupiter Street. "I think I have something he'll want more than money; something I helped myself to back at Sylvia's place."
"Back at Sylvia's..." Brent turned and stared. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."
Joe shrugged. "That'll teach them to leave valuable stuff like that unattended."
"I can't believe this. I thought criminal activities were a thing of your past."
"Once a crook, always a crook, I guess," Joe said. "Don't worry, though. I was never into anything big-time. Petty larceny at best."
"Oh, hell, it's not the stealing I care about. What if we get pulled over and searched?"
Joe's face clouded into annoyance. "Why would anyone want to search us? Even if a cop did pull me over for something, as long as I say 'yes sir' and 'no sir,' he'll just write me a ticket and let us go." Seeing the Bona Dea apartments ahead, he slowed down. "I swear you prep school boys watch too many episodes of 'Cops.'"
He pulled into the small visitors' lot. "That might be him over there." He pointed to where a small black pickup sat reversed in a parking spot, its rear wheels against the curb, the tailgate lowered in front of an open door. A futon and a few boxes were in the back.
"Can't be too many people moving in or out of here today," Brent agreed.
"Well," Joe said, cutting the engine. "Let's give it a try."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Brent and Joe sat gloomily on the curb, watching the loaded black pickup until it was out of sight. "That was a fiasco," Brent muttered.
"You're telling me," Joe agreed. "And to think he took that gram of blow, too. Bastard."
"I told you that shit was trouble."
"That has nothing to do with it. He's just an asshole, is all. At least we're not out any money."
"Maybe not, but he threatened to call the cops on us."
"He won't do it."
"What makes you so sure?"
"If you were running a counterfeit ID operation and you had accepted a gram of cocaine from two people who knew all about it, would you go putting the cops on them?"
Brent considered. "I guess you're right. I noticed his computer is still in there. He sure wouldn't want anyone snooping around that."
"Yeah, I bet has all kinds of stuff on there. Probably keeps one of those databases or something."
Brent nodded. "A shame we couldn't have pissed him off enough to make him forget to lock the door."
Joe started, as if he hadn't considered this. "Are you suggesting that if you could get in there, you could get onto that computer and maybe find what we're looking for?"
"Depends on how easy a password he's got, but that's a moot point. I saw him lock the door."
Joe flexed his hands. "If it's only a door that's keeping us from finding her, that's a problem I can fix."
Brent said nothing as Joe walked to the heavy door and jiggled the knob. After scrutinizing the lock, he went to his truck and removed a long metal object from his toolbox. Brent jumped to his feet. "What do you think you're going to do?"
"I'm going to get you into that apartment."
"But--"
Joe stopped in front of the door and turned around. "You said this is what you needed, right?"
"Not like this."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Don't go getting weird on me. Keep a lookout, will you? This won't take long."
Reluctantly, Brent took up a post a few feet away where he had a clear view of the parking lot and street.
Joe set the end of the rod against the lock and slid the bolt forward. Then he released it and pulled back hard, ripping out the core. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and scrabbled inside the empty lock, releasing the bolt. In a matter of minutes, he swung the front door open. "The old boy still has it in him."
Brent hurried over. "I don't know if that's such a good thing."
"Neither do I."
"Good job, anyway."
Both men went inside. "You do whatever you have to do," Joe said. "I'll keep an eye out for Perry."
Brent headed toward the dining nook, which had been converted into a study. Finding no chair, he stood hunched over the computer as he booted it up and began earnestly tapping keys.
"You're going to want to wipe that keyboard off good when you're done," Joe pointed out. "And try not to touch anything else. Finger prints, you know."
"Yeah, I just thought of that."
Joe took up position by one of the front windows, peeking through a crack in the blinds. There was the sound of the occasional car passing, and more than once a car pulled into the lot and someone got out and headed toward one of the apartments. One man walked right past Perry's apartment, but was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the damaged door. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and Joe began pacing. "Haven't you found anything yet? He probably won't be gone much longer."
Brent was staring at the screen, his face ashen in the blue light. "In one way he made it easy for me. He didn't password protect anything, although I can't for the life of me figure out why not. But he's got so many files on here, and they've all got such illogical names, I'm having trouble finding the right one. I mean, come on. Mickeymouse.dat?"
"Well, just hurry it up, would you?"
"I'm doing the best I can."
A few more minutes followed, silent except for the sound of Brent tapping on the keyboard and the occasional obscure thump from the upstairs apartment. Another tenant walked past. She noticed the ripped out locks on the door and stopped. Joe waved to Brent and he turned off the computer monitor and ducked into the bedroom. Slowly the front door opened and Joe backed out of the way, temporarily out of sight. The door closed again and Joe heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
"She's gone, but she'll be back. How much more time do you think you need?"
"I don't know. A minute or two, maybe?"
"Go, then. But if the next file isn't it, wipe off that keyboard and give it up."
Brent turned on the monitor while Joe ran to the window and peeked outside. Seeing no signs of trouble for the moment, he found a rag and opened the bedroom window. There was a screen, but he gave it a shove and it fell neatly into the grass below. Then he returned to the front room and checked outside again.
"Bingo. Now I need something to write this down with."
"Can't you just memorize it?"
"Man, this is a complete history here. Social security number, driver's license, everything. We can use it all."
"Well find something, quick! But don't--"
"I know, I know." Brent was opening the desk drawer, using his coat to keep from leaving prints.
Joe looked around and saw what he was doing. "Oh hell, that's going to leave fibers. Don't you know anything?" He ran to the back room and found the rag he had used earlier. "Use this."
Brent opened the desk drawer and found a blunt pencil stub. He found an old gas bill, too, and began scribbling information.
"Shit, here they come," Joe said from the window. "Looks like she's got the apartment manager with her."
"I've almost got it."
Joe turned away from the window. "Almost is too late. Shut it down and get out that back window."
"Wait, there's just--"
"No waiting. Do it."
"Just one more second--" Brent was scrawling frantically now.
"Have you got the full name?"
"Yes."
"Social?"
"Yes."
"That's it, then." He hit the power switch with his knuckle and the screen went black. "Now get in that other room, and get out the window. Take the pencil with you, don't drop anything, and try not to leave any prints."
Brent stuffed the paper and pencil into a pocket and made a run for the other room, not noticing that Joe wasn't following him. He scrambled onto the windowsill, dangled his feet hesitantly over the ledge for a moment, then jumped out. When Joe didn't follow, he paced anxiously, trampling weeds and the window screen that Joe had pushed out. Suddenly he heard a sound and moved away as Joe propelled himself out the window, landing gracefully for a man his size.
"What are you waiting for?" Joe demanded.
"I'm waiting for you!"
"You wouldn't have lasted half an hour where I grew up," Joe muttered. He motioned toward an alleyway and they took off running.
* * *
Brent strolled around the corner in front of Bona Dea, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his face a study in unconcern. He noted a scurry of activity in front of Perry's apartment, but didn't stop. He glanced around the parking lot to make sure the black pickup was nowhere in sight, then let himself into Joe's truck. As he started the engine, a young woman turned from where she was staring at Perry's empty door. She gave Brent a long steady look, but he smiled and waved and she ducked her head with a shy smile.
After a few twists and turns through the narrow side streets Brent pulled the truck in front of a dilapidated laundromat. Joe emerged from inside, and jumped in. Brent hit the gas and they took off toward Delphi Grove.
"Anyone see you?" Joe asked.
"Just the girl," Brent said. "She didn't seem to think I was important."
"No one ever thinks a blond, well-dressed man is guilty of anything, unless it's insider trading."
"That's not true."
"Sure it's true. How would you know?" Joe didn't wait for an answer. "You didn't see Perry's truck, I guess?"
Brent shook his head. "If he caught our license plate number earlier, we're for sure going to be in deep shit. He's going to know who did this and why."
"That's okay. He's also going to know we've got enough dirt on him to do him a lot worse than anything he can do to us. Breaking and entering with no actual theft of goods will get us probation at worst, with our clean records."
"But you don't have a clean record."
"Sure I do. I may have been a thief, but I was also a juvenile. They wipe that stuff off your record. I've got a clean slate."
"So this is the first time you've done this kind of thing in, what, over twenty years?"
"Nearly thirty." Joe allowed himself a wry grin. "Makes me feel kind of old."
"I wouldn't have guessed you weren't a pro, the way you handled that door. What are you doing with tools like that, if you don't mind my asking."
Joe looked surprised. "What, my slide-daddy?" He had hidden the tool under his coat and now he took it out and studied it. "It's a legitimate tool. It's used for pulling dents. I'm a welder by trade, remember?"
"I'd just never seen one before."
"Of course not. When have you ever had to pull your own dents? Or do any kind of manual labor, for that matter?"
"Well, excuse me for living," Brent mumbled.
"Hey," Joe said, "I didn't mean that as a way of giving you shit. You were actually pretty good back there, for an amateur."
Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I only wish I could've done it faster. I got as much as I could, though." He handed over the paper.
Joe took a look. "Allison Alonia Grennaker?"
"The name she used at the hospital was just a front. I get the impression Perry pulls the legit records of dead people of approximately the same age and race as the ones needing fake ID and just reuses them. The real Allison probably died as a kid or something."
Joe made a face. "That's kind of sick. I don't know if I'd want to be running around with a dead person's name. Sounds like asking for trouble."
"As long as you don't run into any of the dead person's friends or family members, it's probably safe enough," Brent pointed out.
"It sounds like bad luck to me."
"I think it's pretty clever, actually."
"You would."
Brent pulled into Delphi Grove. "We're almost there," he said needlessly.
"A good thing, too. I could really go for one of Petra's roast beef sandwiches."
"You aren't going to say anything to Cece about this, are you?"
Joe frowned. "I got the impression we wouldn't be seeing her tonight, but even if we do, I'm not telling her anything. Much as I hate to admit it, I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about us getting closer to finding Elise."
"We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to make sure she calls this time?"
"I guess so."
"Well," Brent said, turning onto Cece's street. "After we eat, I'll do an internet search on Allison Grennaker and see if I turn up anything. I doubt I will. It'll mainly be useful for finding her later on at jobs, hospitals, airports and stuff."
"She better not be going near any airports."
"She got a passport. Didn't you notice?"
Joe looked at the paper again. "Damn," he muttered. "You don't think--"
"The only thing I think is that we may be running out of time."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They pushed open the door of the Bellona Grill and were struck by the warm aroma of garlic, tomato sauce and fresh pesto. A nondescript girl in black reached inside her podium for a couple of menus. "Table for two?"
"No, thank you," Brent said. "We're just going to the bar."
Joe was already making his way toward the long mahogany bar, and Brent paused a moment to admire its baroque scrollwork. "I wonder where they got this antique," he murmured to Joe as they pulled up bar stools. "It's gorgeous."
Joe glanced around but was unimpressed. "Nice craftsmanship," he acknowledged, "But it would look a damn sight better if there was a bartender back there."
Before Brent could answer, a gnome-like man, hair and mustache defiantly red, pushed through the kitchen door, ducked under the service counter and hurried over. "Hello, gentlemen." He briskly slapped a cocktail napkin in front of each of them. "What can I get you?"
"Well, actually--" Joe started, but clamped his mouth shut when Brent kicked his stool.
"How about a Bombay on the rocks," Brent said.
"You got it." The bartender turned to Joe. "You, sir?"
Joe begrudgingly ordered a Budweiser. When the bartender went to get their drinks, Joe turned on Brent. "I thought we were going to ask about Perry and get the hell out of here."
"We've got to be social," Brent said patiently. "He might get suspicious."
Joe picked up his cocktail napkin and began shredding it. "We don't have all day."
"And what else are we going to do without knowing how to find this guy?"
Before Joe could answer, the bartender returned and set their drinks in front of them. "How about some menus?"
Brent started to accept, but Joe cut him off. "We already had lunch, thanks."
"So would you like to keep the tab open, or will this be all?"
While Joe reached for his wallet, Brent took a sip of his drink and pretended to look around the room. "I guess this will be all," he said, seeing that Joe had taken out a twenty and set it on the bar. "But actually we were hoping to see Perry. I guess he's not working today?"
"Nope," the bartender said. "He's on vacation for a few days. He should be back next week. Tuesday, I think."
Joe grabbed his beer and took a long desperate pull at it.
"That's too bad," Brent said. "I needed to talk to him."
"Friend of his?"
"Just an acquaintance. I'm actually a friend of John and Julie who were in town visiting not too long ago. But I wanted to see him because I have some good news for him."
"Why don't you just call him?"
"I hate to bother the guy, if you say he's on vacation."
"He's not going anywhere. Not out of town, at any rate. He's taking some time off so he can move."
Brent sat a little straighter. "How nice for him. Where to?"
"Oh, nearby." Just then a waitress called to him from the end of the bar. "Gotta go do some work, I guess. I'll be right back."
After a few minutes the bartender returned. By now the men's drinks were low. "Another round?"
Joe and Brent exchanged glances. "We really ought to go find Perry," Brent said cautiously. "Where did you say he was moving to?"
"Around here." The bartender picked up Joe's twenty. "But you can probably still catch him at his old place."
"And where is that?" Brent jiggled the ice in his glass tried to appear detached. "I mean, I went there once for a party, but that was awhile back and I don't remember exactly."
"Bona Dea." The man handed Joe his change.
"I'm sorry?"
"Bona Dea," he said again. "You know, that small complex on Jupiter Street near the freeway." His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. "You ought to remember it if you've been there before," he said. "Hard to forget that miserable rat-trap."
"Oh, right. I do remember now. I remember thinking that place was kind of... small for someone making such good money."
The bartender laughed. "I know that's right, but the place he's moving to is real nice. It's one of those townhouses over near the museum. You know, the new brick ones they just built. The three-story ones."
"Hey, those are nice," Brent said appreciatively. "Staying at Bona Dea and saving his money sure paid off."
"I'll say it did." Two more waitresses waved to him from the end of the bar. "What do they want now?"
Joe and Brent jumped to their feet. "Don't let us keep you from your work," Joe told him.
"Thanks a lot for your time, though." Brent added.
"Hey, no prob." The bartender started to head toward the service well, then stopped. "When I see Perry again, should I tell him you came by?"
"No need," Brent called over his shoulder as he and Joe headed toward the door. "I'm sure we'll see him before you do."
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"No, thank you," Brent said. "We're just going to the bar."
Joe was already making his way toward the long mahogany bar, and Brent paused a moment to admire its baroque scrollwork. "I wonder where they got this antique," he murmured to Joe as they pulled up bar stools. "It's gorgeous."
Joe glanced around but was unimpressed. "Nice craftsmanship," he acknowledged, "But it would look a damn sight better if there was a bartender back there."
Before Brent could answer, a gnome-like man, hair and mustache defiantly red, pushed through the kitchen door, ducked under the service counter and hurried over. "Hello, gentlemen." He briskly slapped a cocktail napkin in front of each of them. "What can I get you?"
"Well, actually--" Joe started, but clamped his mouth shut when Brent kicked his stool.
"How about a Bombay on the rocks," Brent said.
"You got it." The bartender turned to Joe. "You, sir?"
Joe begrudgingly ordered a Budweiser. When the bartender went to get their drinks, Joe turned on Brent. "I thought we were going to ask about Perry and get the hell out of here."
"We've got to be social," Brent said patiently. "He might get suspicious."
Joe picked up his cocktail napkin and began shredding it. "We don't have all day."
"And what else are we going to do without knowing how to find this guy?"
Before Joe could answer, the bartender returned and set their drinks in front of them. "How about some menus?"
Brent started to accept, but Joe cut him off. "We already had lunch, thanks."
"So would you like to keep the tab open, or will this be all?"
While Joe reached for his wallet, Brent took a sip of his drink and pretended to look around the room. "I guess this will be all," he said, seeing that Joe had taken out a twenty and set it on the bar. "But actually we were hoping to see Perry. I guess he's not working today?"
"Nope," the bartender said. "He's on vacation for a few days. He should be back next week. Tuesday, I think."
Joe grabbed his beer and took a long desperate pull at it.
"That's too bad," Brent said. "I needed to talk to him."
"Friend of his?"
"Just an acquaintance. I'm actually a friend of John and Julie who were in town visiting not too long ago. But I wanted to see him because I have some good news for him."
"Why don't you just call him?"
"I hate to bother the guy, if you say he's on vacation."
"He's not going anywhere. Not out of town, at any rate. He's taking some time off so he can move."
Brent sat a little straighter. "How nice for him. Where to?"
"Oh, nearby." Just then a waitress called to him from the end of the bar. "Gotta go do some work, I guess. I'll be right back."
After a few minutes the bartender returned. By now the men's drinks were low. "Another round?"
Joe and Brent exchanged glances. "We really ought to go find Perry," Brent said cautiously. "Where did you say he was moving to?"
"Around here." The bartender picked up Joe's twenty. "But you can probably still catch him at his old place."
"And where is that?" Brent jiggled the ice in his glass tried to appear detached. "I mean, I went there once for a party, but that was awhile back and I don't remember exactly."
"Bona Dea." The man handed Joe his change.
"I'm sorry?"
"Bona Dea," he said again. "You know, that small complex on Jupiter Street near the freeway." His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. "You ought to remember it if you've been there before," he said. "Hard to forget that miserable rat-trap."
"Oh, right. I do remember now. I remember thinking that place was kind of... small for someone making such good money."
The bartender laughed. "I know that's right, but the place he's moving to is real nice. It's one of those townhouses over near the museum. You know, the new brick ones they just built. The three-story ones."
"Hey, those are nice," Brent said appreciatively. "Staying at Bona Dea and saving his money sure paid off."
"I'll say it did." Two more waitresses waved to him from the end of the bar. "What do they want now?"
Joe and Brent jumped to their feet. "Don't let us keep you from your work," Joe told him.
"Thanks a lot for your time, though." Brent added.
"Hey, no prob." The bartender started to head toward the service well, then stopped. "When I see Perry again, should I tell him you came by?"
"No need," Brent called over his shoulder as he and Joe headed toward the door. "I'm sure we'll see him before you do."
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Chapter Twenty-Six
Joe walked into Brent's room and watched for a moment while he tapped on his laptop. "Did you find anything on Ellen James or on that guy Clyman, who gave her the fake ID?"
Brent didn't look up. "Not yet. Being stalled like this is driving me crazy. We haven't had a new lead in over twenty four hours."
"I know," Joe said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I wish I could think of something."
"Relying on Cece is starting to feel useless."
"She might still turn out to be playing straight with us."
"And if she's not?"
"We're screwed." Joe rested his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the carpet.
Brent turned back to the computer and began tapping again. Suddenly he cursed. "This is just what I don't need right now."
Joe craned his neck to see. "What?"
"My job. I was supposed to have a meeting with a major client yesterday and I forgot all about it. Now they're bitching to the CEO, who called my dad. He wants me back at the end of the week or else."
"End of the week is when? Tomorrow?"
"Yes." Brent composed a response to the email. "But what's worse is what isn't in my inbox."
"No word from the wife," Joe guessed.
"This isn't like her. I haven't written or called since I told her I had to go on an emergency business trip. If she's not trying to contact me, something's really wrong. She must've talked to my dad and found out this isn't a business trip."
"What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing I can do. I can't stop looking now."
"You just said we're stuck." Joe stood and began pacing the room. "Maybe you can do more from home than you can here. I suppose I could give you the key to my house and--"
Brent shook his head. "You aren't getting rid of me that easy. I promised I was going to find her and that's what I intend to do."
Joe stopped pacing. "Suit yourself, but I'm beginning to wonder what your real motives are."
"My real motives?" Brent stopped typing and turned around in his seat. "What are you talking about?'"
"You know, why you're tagging along, acting like you want to help. No other man would've done it."
"Don't be so sure. I told you I feel bad about what happened and this is the closest I can come to putting things right. If you want to read something into that, go ahead."
"What about your job, though? What about your wife? A guy doesn't walk away from all that unless there's something in it for him."
"As far as the job is concerned, it's only my dad. He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, screw the job. I have other means of income, and things were kind of ripe for a change, anyway."
"And your wife?"
Brent sighed. "It's not like we were getting along so great, you know."
"Well, either you're crazy, or you're lying about not being up to anything, because no one gives up a wife and a good job to chase after a woman he has no intention of keeping."
"I thought I already explained all that to you," Brent said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Last night I was told I'm a martyr and today I find out I'm crazy. Thanks a lot."
"What would you think if you were me?"
Brent looked away. "I guess I'd think what you're thinking. All I can tell you is it isn't true, and you'll have to take my word for it."
"Why should I do that?"
"For the same reason you're giving Cece a chance. What else are you going to do? You can send me away, but I think we've been pretty effective together so far. If we start working at cross purposes, what then?"
Joe turned away and feigned great interest in the cuffs of his flannel shirt. "Okay," he said. "I'll pretend to take your word for it, since I don't seem to have a choice. But we've got to do something soon about this situation with Cece. I'm feeling real uncomfortable with all the stuff she's doing for us. The rooms, the maids and having the run of the house were one thing, but now clothes? I'm thinking she doesn't want us to leave and she's just stringing us along."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Brent admitted. "Why don't we insist she call on the land line next time?"
Joe's eyebrows went up. "We should've thought of that before. I can say I want to listen on the other line, and we'll see what kind of reaction we get."
"If she refuses or gets weird about it, that means for sure she's lying to us," Brent added.
"That's a good plan, but what if it turns out she is lying to us? We have no other leads."
"We could try going back to Sylvia's."
Joe dropped his gaze. "I don't think so."
"Why not? It's a long shot, but at least it's a plan."
Joe shook his head adamantly. "Maybe you can go back there, but I can't." When Brent gave him a quizzical look, he added, "Just trust me on this, okay?"
* * *
Half an hour later Brent burst into Joe's room, waking him from a nap. "I found something."
Joe jumped to his feet, all drowsiness gone. "You found her?"
"No, of course not. I've got something almost as good, though."
Joe followed Brent into his room.
"Check it out." Brent waved Joe into the leather desk chair then leaned over and tapped a few keys. "What do you see?"
"It says John and Julie's St. Argent anniversary trip." He looked at Brent. "Who's John and Julie?"
"Doesn't matter. Scroll down and take a look at the pictures. Be sure to read the captions."
Joe did as he was told. "They stayed at a B&B somewhere around here, they rode bikes on the rail trail and John fell and had to be treated for road rash and a laceration on his arm.... dammit, will you just tell me what I'm looking for?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
With a frown of annoyance, Joe returned to the computer. "They went to a coffee shop, a few museums... they had a barbecue with some old high school buddies...."
"What are the names of the friends?"
Joe squinted at the screen, then sucked in his breath. "Well, I'll be god-damned."
"Scroll down two more frames." Brent reached to do it himself, but Joe shoved his hand away. "You'll want to click on the picture and get a bigger view."
Joe's eyes widened in surprise when he found the photo in question. It seemed an ordinary enough photo of a dark-haired young man in a starched white shirt and black tie, shaking martinis. He expanded it so he could take a closer look and read the caption out loud. "Our friend, Perry Clyman in his element as bartender at the Bellona Grill." His face lit up in a grin and he cuffed him playfully on the arm. "Good work. Now all we have to do is find this place and go over there." His face suddenly clouded over. "You think he still works there? How old is this information?"
Brent shrugged. "It was posted about two months ago, so that's good. Of course the pictures could've been taken years ago, but I have a feeling it's all pretty recent. It looks like these people were here over the summer, so I'd say there's an excellent chance Perry is still at Bellona's."
"Well, let's go." Joe jumped up and glanced at his watch. "It's 1:00, though. I wonder..."
Brent took a seat and began shutting down the computer. "Yeah, it's a long shot. I've never seen a restaurant have more than one bartender at lunch, and knowing our luck, it won't be him. But we can at least find out if he still works there and when his next shift is." The screen went dark and he snapped the case shut. "And who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. We know what he looks like now, so that will help."
"I'll say." Joe headed toward the door. "I'll go get my keys and jacket and meet you downstairs."
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Brent didn't look up. "Not yet. Being stalled like this is driving me crazy. We haven't had a new lead in over twenty four hours."
"I know," Joe said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I wish I could think of something."
"Relying on Cece is starting to feel useless."
"She might still turn out to be playing straight with us."
"And if she's not?"
"We're screwed." Joe rested his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the carpet.
Brent turned back to the computer and began tapping again. Suddenly he cursed. "This is just what I don't need right now."
Joe craned his neck to see. "What?"
"My job. I was supposed to have a meeting with a major client yesterday and I forgot all about it. Now they're bitching to the CEO, who called my dad. He wants me back at the end of the week or else."
"End of the week is when? Tomorrow?"
"Yes." Brent composed a response to the email. "But what's worse is what isn't in my inbox."
"No word from the wife," Joe guessed.
"This isn't like her. I haven't written or called since I told her I had to go on an emergency business trip. If she's not trying to contact me, something's really wrong. She must've talked to my dad and found out this isn't a business trip."
"What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing I can do. I can't stop looking now."
"You just said we're stuck." Joe stood and began pacing the room. "Maybe you can do more from home than you can here. I suppose I could give you the key to my house and--"
Brent shook his head. "You aren't getting rid of me that easy. I promised I was going to find her and that's what I intend to do."
Joe stopped pacing. "Suit yourself, but I'm beginning to wonder what your real motives are."
"My real motives?" Brent stopped typing and turned around in his seat. "What are you talking about?'"
"You know, why you're tagging along, acting like you want to help. No other man would've done it."
"Don't be so sure. I told you I feel bad about what happened and this is the closest I can come to putting things right. If you want to read something into that, go ahead."
"What about your job, though? What about your wife? A guy doesn't walk away from all that unless there's something in it for him."
"As far as the job is concerned, it's only my dad. He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, screw the job. I have other means of income, and things were kind of ripe for a change, anyway."
"And your wife?"
Brent sighed. "It's not like we were getting along so great, you know."
"Well, either you're crazy, or you're lying about not being up to anything, because no one gives up a wife and a good job to chase after a woman he has no intention of keeping."
"I thought I already explained all that to you," Brent said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Last night I was told I'm a martyr and today I find out I'm crazy. Thanks a lot."
"What would you think if you were me?"
Brent looked away. "I guess I'd think what you're thinking. All I can tell you is it isn't true, and you'll have to take my word for it."
"Why should I do that?"
"For the same reason you're giving Cece a chance. What else are you going to do? You can send me away, but I think we've been pretty effective together so far. If we start working at cross purposes, what then?"
Joe turned away and feigned great interest in the cuffs of his flannel shirt. "Okay," he said. "I'll pretend to take your word for it, since I don't seem to have a choice. But we've got to do something soon about this situation with Cece. I'm feeling real uncomfortable with all the stuff she's doing for us. The rooms, the maids and having the run of the house were one thing, but now clothes? I'm thinking she doesn't want us to leave and she's just stringing us along."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Brent admitted. "Why don't we insist she call on the land line next time?"
Joe's eyebrows went up. "We should've thought of that before. I can say I want to listen on the other line, and we'll see what kind of reaction we get."
"If she refuses or gets weird about it, that means for sure she's lying to us," Brent added.
"That's a good plan, but what if it turns out she is lying to us? We have no other leads."
"We could try going back to Sylvia's."
Joe dropped his gaze. "I don't think so."
"Why not? It's a long shot, but at least it's a plan."
Joe shook his head adamantly. "Maybe you can go back there, but I can't." When Brent gave him a quizzical look, he added, "Just trust me on this, okay?"
* * *
Half an hour later Brent burst into Joe's room, waking him from a nap. "I found something."
Joe jumped to his feet, all drowsiness gone. "You found her?"
"No, of course not. I've got something almost as good, though."
Joe followed Brent into his room.
"Check it out." Brent waved Joe into the leather desk chair then leaned over and tapped a few keys. "What do you see?"
"It says John and Julie's St. Argent anniversary trip." He looked at Brent. "Who's John and Julie?"
"Doesn't matter. Scroll down and take a look at the pictures. Be sure to read the captions."
Joe did as he was told. "They stayed at a B&B somewhere around here, they rode bikes on the rail trail and John fell and had to be treated for road rash and a laceration on his arm.... dammit, will you just tell me what I'm looking for?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
With a frown of annoyance, Joe returned to the computer. "They went to a coffee shop, a few museums... they had a barbecue with some old high school buddies...."
"What are the names of the friends?"
Joe squinted at the screen, then sucked in his breath. "Well, I'll be god-damned."
"Scroll down two more frames." Brent reached to do it himself, but Joe shoved his hand away. "You'll want to click on the picture and get a bigger view."
Joe's eyes widened in surprise when he found the photo in question. It seemed an ordinary enough photo of a dark-haired young man in a starched white shirt and black tie, shaking martinis. He expanded it so he could take a closer look and read the caption out loud. "Our friend, Perry Clyman in his element as bartender at the Bellona Grill." His face lit up in a grin and he cuffed him playfully on the arm. "Good work. Now all we have to do is find this place and go over there." His face suddenly clouded over. "You think he still works there? How old is this information?"
Brent shrugged. "It was posted about two months ago, so that's good. Of course the pictures could've been taken years ago, but I have a feeling it's all pretty recent. It looks like these people were here over the summer, so I'd say there's an excellent chance Perry is still at Bellona's."
"Well, let's go." Joe jumped up and glanced at his watch. "It's 1:00, though. I wonder..."
Brent took a seat and began shutting down the computer. "Yeah, it's a long shot. I've never seen a restaurant have more than one bartender at lunch, and knowing our luck, it won't be him. But we can at least find out if he still works there and when his next shift is." The screen went dark and he snapped the case shut. "And who knows, maybe we'll get lucky. We know what he looks like now, so that will help."
"I'll say." Joe headed toward the door. "I'll go get my keys and jacket and meet you downstairs."
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