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.
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