The Corpse Wore Stilettos

by MJ O'Neill

  “And when they’re done, I’ll take over.” DC stood next to a large curtain in the area of the mobile gurney and floor scale. “I’ll tell our guests about the latest mystery we’re trying to solve.”

  He ripped back the curtain to reveal a gurney bearing a life-sized model of Joy—in cake. A perfect replica of her face was airbrushed onto the peach icing. A gasp came from the crowd.

  Burns glanced at me as Dr. Jaffe knocked against the autopsy table.

  “While I applaud the detail, Mr. Claiborne, do you really think people are going to want to eat parts from a dead body?” Dr. Hawthorne asked. He smiled down at her. “Stunning detail, really.”

  “I think it’s totally cool. Plus, someone might recognize her. Right, Henry?” Meg asked.

  “And the cake is delicious,” DC said. “No one turns down cake.”

  As the buzz of conversation moved through the room, one voice was notably missing. Sam Allen Winston had completely vanished.

  Chapter 19

  Midwesterners had a long and strong love affair with bowling. We were the home of Brunswick, Dick Weber, and the Pro Bowlers Association. We loved for our pizza and beer to come with rental shoes and ten-pound balls. We wore with pride our weird-colored shirts with our names above the pocket and corny names on the back. That was, unless the shirt came from Marshall.

  “I’m not wearing that, Marshall.”

  He held up a pink V-neck shirt that plunged practically to the navel and was trimmed with dark-pink fake feathers coated with silver glitter. On the back was the team name “Uncle Marshall and the Pimpettes.”

  “Babe, you have to do this for me.”

  “You’re lucky I showed up.” I spied Henry sitting in the corner. I’d really come to support Meg, but Marshall didn’t need to know that.

  “You owed me.”

  “I don’t owe you that.”

  “Surprised you showed up, Dickwad.” A voice came from behind us.

  At the top of the stairs that led to the lanes stood a man who looked like a 1950s throwback. It was hard to believe he had gone to high school with Marshall. He wore tweed pants and a light-blue bowling shirt with the name Pete above the pocket. Diamond-shaped black patches ran down the sides of the shirt. His slicked-back hair contained so much oil that I feared I might get some on me if I got too close. His biscuit-toed black-and-white wing tips completed the outfit and made him look like he’d stepped off the set of Grease.

  “Hey, watch your mouth in front of the ladies. Didn’t your ma teach you any manners?” Marshall asked.

  Pete looked left then right.

  “What ladies? My girl’s not here yet, and you don’t have one, so... Oh, look”—he pointed at Henry—“I guess you did bring a date.” He let out a smarmy chorus of “He, he, he,” which I guessed was meant to be a laugh.

  “Of course Uncle Marshall has a babe,” he said, taking my hand and pleading with me with his eyes and mouth, begging.

  For the first time ever, I felt sorry for him. Someone on this planet was more of a creep than Marshall. “All right, but we’re square after this. And if I’m doing this all night, I want wine.” I took the shirt and headed to the bathroom to change.

  “Take your time in the bathroom, honey.” He turned to Pete and pointed at me. “My date. My babe, right there.”

  The only thing more of a trip than Pete was his partner, Carla, whose throwback look rivaled his. She had a bright-red bouffant hairdo sporting a thick neon-blue, polka-dotted Minnie Mouse bow. A baby-blue button-down cardigan overlaid her bowling shirt and perfectly matched her poodle skirt. Even her ankle socks screamed 1950. Pete and Carla had appropriately named their team the “Rock-and-Bowlers.” She obnoxiously popped her bubblegum.

  “What are those?” Marshall asked when I took out the lovely red, white, and blue wedge bowling boots that Meg had loaned me.

  “You don’t really think I’m putting my feet into rented shoes, do you?”

  “Who knew they actually made those?”

  “If this were going to become a regular thing, I’d have to figure out how to get my hands on a pair of bowling heels I saw online. But Meg’s knee-highs will do the job for tonight.” Between the low-cut shirt, the feathers, and the knee-high leather boots, I had a bowling hooker look going. At least it was all for a good cause. Meg would be here soon.

  Like most kids in my neighborhood, I’d grown up spending my Saturday mornings in a junior bowling league. While I wasn’t a horrible bowler, I wasn’t going to be hitting the pro tour either. At least I wouldn’t embarrass myself with my bowling. The outfit took care of that. I looked like a reject from a strip club, and when I threw the ball, I had to be careful that my boobs didn’t fall out.

  The neckline of Marshall’s shirt proved to be a plus. Every time Pete got up, I stood in his peripheral vision, shook my girls a little, and he’d blow the shot. We were up twenty-two pins. The bigger problem with the shirt was that the feathers made me sneeze.

  After two games, Meg finally appeared. That was what I had been waiting for. It was time to get to the bottom of things with Henry once and for all.

  “You’ll have to take over for me, Marshall. I have some business to take care of.”

  “Babe, you can’t abandon me now.”

  “Trust me, what is about to occur is bound to screw up Pete for at least another round.”

  Meg approached, seeming nervous despite how amazing she looked. Her dress was a sexy one-piece red-and-black corset that flared to a lace mini with a fluffy tulle petticoat. A big black bow accentuated her cleavage, and she wore matching bows at the top of her thigh-high stockings. She’d accessorized perfectly with a mini top hat that sported a half-sized black veil and fire-red spiked Mary Jane heels.

  “You look terrific. Are you ready?”

  “I think so. I practiced with Sasha and the other ladies from Roxy’s all day.” She pulled a black feather boa out of her bag.

  “If this doesn’t get you out of the friend zone, I don’t know what will.” I took her hand as both a gesture of support and to keep her from falling in her heels.

  “Henry Braxton?” she asked as we approached Henry.

  Thankfully, we had been given the end lane, and Henry had found the cornermost chair in back of the spectator seating. For a bowling alley, it had a surprising amount of privacy.

  “Yes?” His voice cracked. He eyed Meg with big puppy-dog eyes and bit down on the small stir straws that had come with his drink.

  Meg set a portable speaker on the table and clicked a button on her phone. “Timber” began to play. “Welcome to your night of confessions.” She wrapped the boa around Henry’s neck and put one heel up on his armrest.

  “You see, Henry,” I said as Meg began a sultry shimmy to the beat, “I know Meg would be perfect for you.”

  She pulled the boa across his neck. The beat thumped.

  “Perfect for me?” Henry swallowed hard.

  “Yes, as your girlfriend,” I said.

  “Would you like that, Henry?” She kicked her leg over his head and brought it down next to him with a stomp then reached down for her toes in a classic dip and swish. “Tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way.” She stopped dancing, her face inches from his, and looked Henry in the eyes.

  Henry sat quietly in his chair, his eyes downcast.

  “It’s time for some honesty, Henry,” I said. “By tomorrow at this time, our Meg will be a rich and famous lighting designer, the talk of the society page, with lots of romantic options. Now, Meg’s got it bad for you, so if you’re truly not interested, it’s best to let her know so she can find a man who deserves someone as great as her.”

  Henry looked up at Meg.

  “I think you do like Meg, but something’s holding you back.”

  “Wha... what?” was all Henry could manage.

  “The money, Henry. I know you’ve been taking money from Wiggins,” I said.

  Meg flipped the boa around his neck and straddled him i
n his chair. “Look me in the eye”—she lifted his chin from her chest—“and tell me where the money goes.”

  Henry sat frozen.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble? Because I can help you if you are.” She pulled back from him, standing up to give them some space, taking his hand in hers. “It’s true that I’m attracted to you, but first and foremost, you’re my best friend.”

  “I am?”

  “Of course you are. I would never want to jeopardize that, and whatever trouble you’re in, we can solve it, together.”

  “I saw you with that woman,” I said. “She put her scarf around your neck. You said you were taking care of things.”

  “It’s not what you think. I’m not involved with that woman.” Henry dropped his head into his hands, pulling away from Meg. “I’m marrying her sister,” he groaned as he looked at the floor.

  “What?” Meg and I exclaimed at the same time.

  She pushed his head up, forcing him to look at her.

  “But I don’t want to! I swear, Meg.”

  “Okay, start talking,” she said.

  Henry took a deep breath and looked at Meg then me, then back at Meg before he let it go and said, “It’s my mother. She’s in trouble. That woman Kat saw me with is Ariel Rodriguez, and she’s a horrible person. A few months ago, she caught my mother shoplifting in her store. But instead of calling the cops, she followed my mother to another store and watched her steal there too. Apparently my mother’s been shoplifting her way through half the city.”

  “Over ten million people have been busted for shoplifting in the last five years, most of them grown adults, not kids,” I said. Maybe if Henry knew his mother wasn’t alone, he wouldn’t feel so bad.

  “But she didn’t turn her in to the cops. Instead, she followed my mother home one night and met me, and that’s when it all went downhill.”

  “She’s blackmailing you,” Meg said.

  “Yes, but the money is only part of it. Her father won’t let her get married or take over the family business until her sister is settled here and they’re both financially secure. Her sister is in Spain, and Ariel said if I don’t agree to marry her sister and bring her to America, she’ll have my mother locked up.”

  “She can’t do that!” Meg said, a determined look coming over her face. “We’re going to fix this. I promise.”

  “You really think we can?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “Oh, Henry Bear, of course we can.” She ran her fingers through his hair, and he blushed.

  I took that as my cue to leave. I was glad to cross Henry off the suspect list. He and Meg really were a perfect couple. I headed to the concession counter. All that heat and suspense had left me thirsty. Plus, DC had been buzzing my phone with texts for the last five minutes.

  “Nice shirt. Love the boots.” Detective Lambert sidled up next to me at the counter. Her steel-gray bowling shirt had a picture of crossed pistols over the pocket and “10 Pin Enforcers” in sharp black letters on the back. The color matched her dark bob perfectly.

  “Detective. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “We’re in the league semis against the DA’s Convicted Strikers. But I’ve been hoping I’d run into you.”

  “You were? How’d you know I’d even be here?”

  “Your bowling partner isn’t exactly discreet. Do you have a minute? I have something to show you.”

  I followed her to a small set of lockers away from the lanes. She took out a file folder and led me to a set of chairs where eager bowlers busily swapped out their street shoes. From the file folder, the detective produced a picture of a beautiful woman.

  “Meet Stephanie Jackson.”

  I recognized her instantly. “My missing Jane Doe.”

  “You were right. Her father is an oil baron from Scarsdale. Apparently she’s had some rebellion issues of late. She was last seen in Las Vegas about two weeks ago. Anything you want to share about why a debutante from Scarsdale might have ended up dead and her body stolen from a St. Louis morgue?”

  DC buzzed again.

  “Excuse me a moment, Detective.” Replying to DC would buy me some time to figure out what to say to her. I pulled out my phone.

  I froze at the message.

  “GET HELP, they’re going to kill me!”

  Chapter 20

  I made a graceful exit from Detective Lambert, promising I’d call her if I stumbled over anything else. I wasn’t sure she believed me or even how graceful I had been. DC’s text spun me into full panic.

  “You’re okay to talk?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m in a storage compartment on a Russian boat.”

  “How on earth did you get there?”

  “I followed Sam. I found him in the parking lot after the cake reveal, arguing on his phone about getting the package delivered and how they’d all be dead.”

  “The girl. Or maybe the laptop?”

  “Right, that’s what I thought. I still had my superhero costume in the car, so I figured I’d follow him. He stopped and picked up a set of knives.”

  “Maybe they’re going to chop her up?”

  “That’s what I thought. So I kept following him.”

  “Did you find the laptop or the girl?”

  “What I found was a Russian Mafia poker game. Winston has totally disappeared. He must be driving the boat or something. Although, I could swear I hear his voice every so often.”

  “Boat? Where are you?”

  “In Lake St. Louis. The Murmansk. It’s in the far boat slip at Lake Center. I don’t hear the engine yet. I think we’re still in dock.”

  “How did you even get into the marina?” The Lake St. Louis Marina required membership and a key card.

  “I convinced some dude I was Nelly. He has a boat here. It’s been in all the papers. I told him I had lost my key card on stage at my last concert.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Now you need to do some good thinking. How the hell am I going to get out of here? What if we take off? I’m going to be shark bait.”

  “Why’d you follow him on board to start with?”

  “I wasn’t going to, but I tripped on my cape, and he almost saw me. I had to duck into the boat to keep him from discovering me. Then all these other Russians showed up. So I found a place to hide.”

  “You said they’re playing poker?”

  “Yeah, about six of them, maybe more.”

  “I have an idea. Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

  “Where do you think I’m going?”

  I clicked off with DC and made two calls, one to Burns and another to Sasha. I drove to the marina and waited for everyone to arrive.

  The McPhee Security SUV pulled in first. Flynn, Neutron, and Burns filed out.

  “Start unloading,” Burns said. He eyed me. “Nice outfit.” He flipped a finger at one of my feathers. I had been so worried about DC, I hadn’t taken time to change. Plus, with my plan, the getup might come in handy.

  Flynn dropped a trunk onto the ground. When he opened the lid, I could see that it was full of weapons.

  “What are those for?” I asked.

  “Not too bright for Harvard,” Flynn said.

  “You can’t go shooting up a place with a bunch of Russians. For one, it will be a bloodbath. Not to mention, I don’t plan on spending any more time in a police station.”

  “We weren’t planning on sticking around to answer questions,” Burns said.

  Even though I knew I was right, I found it difficult to resist Burns’s command-and-control mode. Lean muscle bulged out of his olive T-shirt, which blended perfectly with his dark olive skin. He had on camo cargo pants and black Army boots. The only thing missing were the dog tags, but he didn’t need them for anyone to know he was standard issue Special Forces.

  “Even if you don’t get DC killed, you’ll blow any chance we have of getting to the bottom of things with Sam Winston. Do you want to figure this out or not? You ca
n’t always go all storm trooper. Sometimes things require a little finesse.”

  “What do you think we should do, then? It’s not like we can just march in there and get him, Miss Priss,” Flynn said.

  “Oh yes, we can. I have a plan.”

  As if on cue, Sasha pulled in next to us, and another car pulled in behind her. The Roxy’s girls filed out, all looking the part I needed them to play. Sheila emerged, outfitted in full Tina Turner. A pistol holster peeked out from under her sequins.

  “If I’d known we’d be working with military hunks, I’d have worn my red, white, and blue tassels,” Jen said. She squeezed Flynn’s bicep. His face turned beet red.

  “All I need you to do is get us through the gate,” I said to Burns. “And provide backup, of course, in case something goes wrong.”

  “The gate’s no problem, Boss.” Neutron carried several electronic devices over to the gate’s keypad.

  “Only you could come up with a plan like this,” Burns said. “These guys aren’t going to be terribly welcoming to party crashers, ya know.”

  “You leave that to us, sugar.” A tall brunette named Carmen, who had on nothing but an emerald-green bikini and white leather stiletto-heeled boots, ran a finger under Burns’s chin. “Play’s our specialty.”

  “When was the last time you heard from DC?” Burns asked.

  “He texted me a few minutes ago. Thankfully, they haven’t left dock. The game’s going strong, and he’s still safe in the closet.”

  “What if Winston recognizes you?” Neutron asked.

  “Oh, we’re going to take care of that, sweetie. Won’t no one recognize her when we’re finished,” said a short blonde in a poofy Alice In Wonderland outfit.

  “How are you going to get him out?” Flynn asked.

  “That’s where I come in,” Sheila said. She pulled out a short evening gown.

  “DC has great facial features. They won’t even realize he’s a guy,” I said.