Deadly Shuffle

by Norma Lehr

  Abby didn’t want to appear rude so she laughed along with her. “I think it’s great, Margie. Sure. Invite him to Palm Springs.” Abby paused. “Is he single?”

  “Yes. I checked him out. His wife passed two years ago and he says dancing helps with the loneliness.”

  “Then by all means offer him the trip.”

  Margie’s chin dropped. “What if he says no?”

  Abby detected a quiver in Margie’s voice. “I’ll bet you an extra day off with pay he won’t. He picked you for his partner over ten other dancers.”

  Margie’s chin lifted and she shook her champagne-colored hair. “Right. Plus, if he turns me down, I know plenty of women who’ll beg for the chance to see the Follies.”

  They approached Southwest terminal.

  “Here we are. Just let me out in front and I’ll grab my bag.”

  Margie reached over and held Abby in a tight hug. “Don’t worry about Starduds. My daughter’s coming in to help out during the afternoons. Please don’t feel that you have to check in. If I need you for anything, I’ll call you at your aunt’s.” She released her. “Now go. Relax and enjoy.”

  At 10:45, an hour and a half later, Abby stepped out from the Southwest Airlines jetway at the LA/Ontario Airport wearing a JCrew pinstripe pencil skirt and matching jacket. She scanned the crowd in the waiting area, searching for a trench coat and black fedora, Blade’s signature outfit. No sign of him. She tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes. Great. Now what? Did he expect her to wait for him here? Be patient. Maybe he’s downstairs at baggage claim. Why hadn’t he given her more info on where to meet? No message on her phone.

  Why’d I even think this weekend would work? The two of them were so different. Her days were structured. Her work progressed on a tight schedule while Blade seemed to mosey around, sniffing out new clients. He was a good private investigator, she had no doubt. From what she’d observed, if he pulled things together more, he could be a great PI. She let out a huge sigh. Good investigator or great really didn’t count for much when it came to chemistry. Face it. If she wasn’t attracted to him, she couldn’t have been talked into spending part of this weekend with him. Margie, bless her heart, made it all sound so simple. She encouraged her. Convinced her that this trip would come together “smooth as honey on a licorice stick.”

  She made a quick left turn and headed for the escalator, pulling a blue flowered bag. Her left foot suddenly cramped in her new blue suede platform Jimmy Choo’s. Her big spend for this trip. She winced and limped toward the ladies’ restroom, where she waited out a long line of travel-weary women. Once inside a stall, she changed into her ballet flats and headed back out.

  “I liked the stilettos better. Classy. Grrr.”

  Abby whirled around, causing her bag on wheels to tip over. Blade smiled wickedly while he set it right. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He raised an approving eyebrow. “My, my, don’t you look great. However, you might rethink wearing those black tights at the Springs. It’s eighty degrees there today.”

  “I wasn’t planning to keep them on. There just happened to be a freezing fog when I left Sacramento this morning.” She frowned. Why did she feel she had to explain her wardrobe picks to him? How about his outfit? Talk about trendy. She took hold of her bag’s handle. “Were you waiting at the desk?”

  “Yeah. I held up a hand. I suppose you didn’t recognize me in these threads.” He flicked invisible dust from the shoulder of his green striped Polo. “How about these Dockers. You dig the pleats?”

  Abby gave him a once-over. “Nice. Not only the threads, but also the golf cap and shades. I’m guessing you’re working undercover.”

  Blade lowered his dark glasses and gave a surreptitious glance at the passing crowd. “Keep it down, bright eyes,” he growled in his Bogie voice. “You never know who’s listening.” He carefully released Abby’s fingers from the handle of her travel bag and motioned for her to follow. “I’ll fill you in on the ride to Palm Springs.”

  She made her way alongside him.

  “We can have a nice chat and be there in an hour if we miss the early traffic.”

  The rental car, a black VW Convertible, flew out of the parking lot with Blade’s golf case perched up on a slant in the backseat. When they hit the Harbor Freeway, Abby sucked in her breath and fought to tie a scarf around her blonde hair. “Do you have to drive so fast? You’re blowing me away.”

  “Gotta keep up with this traffic or I’ll get a ticket.” He turned to face her. “You don’t want us to get pulled over, do you?”

  Abby slumped in the leather seat. “No. Keep your eyes on the road. I don’t think you’re used to driving these new cars.”

  “True. My ’41 Chevy isn’t built for these roads, but it rides just as smooth. Right?”

  “I guess.” Abby recalled their ride over the Sierra on their way to Lake Tahoe last fall. Back then she didn’t think his old car would make it up over Donner Pass. Unbelievably, it did. During the drive from Sacramento to the Cal Neva Resort in North Shore, she’d enjoyed Blade’s company along with his retro clothes and swinging tapes. Oldies from the ’40s. All the good stuff happened a couple of days before two of her dance mates were murdered.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Blade leaned his arm across her to open the glove box. “Grab the big envelope, will you?”

  Abby rummaged around inside until she located an orange and white envelope peeking out from under a black leather case. The case looked too small for a gun and the wrong size for glasses. She wanted to ask him about it but decided against it. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.

  She brought out the envelope and removed two tickets.

  He flashed her a sly smile. “It’s a surprise.” Blade pointed. “Invitations. Tickets to the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Ball. The Granddaddy of all black tie social events.”

  Abby’s jaw dropped. “You paid seven hundred and fifty dollars apiece for these?”

  “No, no. They’re complimentary. One of the perks for taking this case. I’m tailing someone for a client. If my info’s correct, that someone will be at the ball doing a slow rumba.” He looked sideways at Abby. “And not with the right person. So, my lovely dancing friend, allow me to escort you to the ball. What do you say? Be my partner?”

  Abby had read articles in the top sports and fashion magazines about the Classic Ball. “Sounds wonderful, but the dance is tonight. Five thirty cocktails, seven o’clock dinner in the Imperial Ballroom at the Renaissance Esmeralda Resort then dancing to the Les Brown Band of Renown. I’d love to attend an event like this, but I don’t have a gown.”

  Blade shook his head. “Don’t fret. We’ll have time to pick one up at the Village. The Springs has upscale stores. If you can’t find what you like there, we’ll drive outside of town to the outlets.”

  Sounded like he’d done a bit of planning.

  “If you’d let me know, I could have brought one.”

  “Could have worked, but I didn’t get those tickets ’til I left Santa Barbara this morning. By then you’d already left for the airport.”

  “Do you have a tux?”

  “My client rented one for me.” He motioned toward the backseat. “Handed me the garment bag before I took off.”

  “Well, that takes care of you.” Should she risk it and go along with his scheme to get her together by 5:30? That only gave her about four hours. “Okay.” She was giddy at the thought of ballroom dancing with celebrities. “Let’s dance.” She glanced over at him while she slipped the tickets back into the envelope. “You do dance, don’t you?”

  “Babe, you haven’t seen nothin’ yet. You’re not the only quick-stepper on this trip. I’ll whirl you around the slick floor like … well, you’ll just have to wait and see.” He jutted his chin and squinted. “I do a mean salsa.”

  He sped along, keeping up with the traffic, until the car ahead suddenly stopped. Cars were now lined up bumper to bumper. He checked the time on the dash. “If we were doing
the speed limit, we’d still be a half hour from Palm Springs.” Leaning back, he scratched the light stubble on his chin. “One thing you need to know about tonight. I’ll be tailing someone at the ball, and after, or whenever they decide to leave. Can’t tell you any more right now. If I have to bail, I’ll call you a cab and see you tomorrow. You’re staying at your aunt’s place, right?”

  Abby shook her head. “Yes. I need to spend some time with family. Check on Trish and my aunt Ginny. But we’ll have our nights. Don’t worry about me. Do your job. If you have to leave me on the dance floor, just go. I can find my way back.” Abby searched her purse for her phone. “I’ll call my aunt. She’ll have a gown I can borrow.”

  Blade looked doubtful. “You want to wear an old lady’s dress?”

  Abby laughed. “Old lady? You’re in for a shock. My aunt’s a performer in the Follies. She’s got a figure to die for.”

  An hour later they entered the desert splendor of Palm Springs, with panoramic mountain views, clear blue skies and endless sun. They drove through the commercial district with all its fancy boutiques and antique stores before heading for the residential areas. Blade impatiently pulled up in front of Abby’s Aunt Ginny’s, a bungalow with a bright stucco exterior enveloped in pink and white oleander bushes. “Damn traffic. We should have been here sooner. I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely concerned. “Doesn’t give you much time to get ready. You sure your aunt has a dress?”

  She patted his hand. “Don’t worry. Get settled and pick me up at five.” Abby started to get out of the car. “Wait. Where are you staying?”

  Blade reached in his wallet and pulled out a card. “Caliente Tropics Resort on East Palm Canyon Drive. Built in the sixties, the place was a mecca for movie stars and mobsters. I heard Elvis swam in their pool and Marilyn was a regular at their old bar and restaurant.” He handed her the card.

  “Sounds like fun. Celebrity history. Your kind of place.”

  He slid across the seat. “Could be yours too. Want to stay there with me? Not too late to change your mind.”

  Abby reached in the back for her bag. “On your way, big guy. I have family business to attend to.” She waved as he drove off then turned and walked up to the front door, wheeling her bag behind. An envelope was stuffed in the grate of the screen door with her name in black print.

  Hey honey,

  Go on in and make yourself at home. I’m at physical therapy and won’t be back until 4. (Hip replaced.) There are drinks and goodies in the fridge. Help yourself. Can’t wait to see you and catch up with family doings.

  Have you heard from your mom? She left a strange message.

  Luv,

  Ginny

  The door to the bungalow was unlocked. Abby had moved her bag halfway in when a sheriff’s car pulled up in front.

  Ten minutes later, the sheriff’s car left as Ginny Monroe drove up and parked next to the curb. She carefully slid from the seat of her red, open-air, black-trimmed electric car. Clad in a light blue track-suit and looking like a three-inches-shorter version of her sister Trish, she placed a foot firmly on the driveway and used a cane for support.

  Abby hurried to greet her aunt. The two women hugged in a warm family embrace.

  “It’s been way too long.” Abby took her aunt’s arm.

  Ginny used the tip of her cane to brush aside a leaf from the front step as the patrol car turned a corner. “What did Ted Dawson want?”

  “The cop?” Abby raised her brow. “You know him?”

  “Know him? Dated him, danced with him, and whatever else a couple does in this desert town.” She shook her head and laughed. “We were an item once.”

  “He came looking for Trish.”

  “Oh, figures. Now she’s back on the scene, he’s lost interest in me.”

  Abby followed her aunt into the light and airy front room. “He said they had a report last night of a man’s death. A woman named Trish called the station shortly after and asked for the sheriff. Said she had important information regarding his death. Didn’t leave a number but told them she could be reached at this address.”

  “Good Lord.” Ginny supported her right leg as she slipped onto a high, straight-backed chair. Rubbing her hip, she winced. “Nuisance, these replacements. Don’t ever grow old, honey.” She motioned to the phone on a table against the wall. “Trish made a call from here yesterday. That’s the last I’ve seen of her.”

  Friday. The day after the auditions. “How did she do at the Follies?”

  Ginny’s face lit up. “Good. She’s got my spot on stage until I recoup. She appreciates the dance steps you taught her. Says that’s what clinched it for her.” Ginny smiled knowingly. “Your mom’s still got the pipes, belting out those three songs they gave her. One time through and she had them down. Never missed a note or a lyric. Right on key. Got talent, that one.” Ginny smirked. “We don’t see eye to eye on much of anything. Never did. But when it comes to performing, your mom and Aunt Dorie and me have always been in sync.” She motioned to the phone. “Now, hon, I want you to hear the message she left.”

  Abby crossed the ceramic tile floor to a tiered cherry wood table and pressed the recorder’s Play button. Trish’s voice came on loud and clear.

  “Gin, I’m not coming back to your place tonight. Don’t know when I’ll see you. Something’s come up and I need to leave for a while. I plan to make it back for the performance next weekend. Don’t try to find me. I’ll get in touch when I …. Tell Abby I love her.”

  Abby couldn’t be sure, but she thought when Trish paused and said, “Tell Abby I love her,” there was a quiver in her voice. Abby turned to face her aunt. “She sounds upset.”

  Ginny shrugged. “Got me. She sounds strange. Not like herself. She better make it back for the first performance or I’m in deep trouble. I recommended her to the director and had him set up the audition.”

  “Who is this dead guy?” Abby said. “Apparently someone she knew. Or met Friday night. What’s your take on it?”

  “Oh, Trish probably knew him, all right. Four of her old buddies, or should I say ‘admirers’ from the past, are in town. Some for the golf tourney and others for the plastic surgeon convention.”

  Plastic Surgeon Convention. Thomas Levine. Dear Lord! Pray it isn’t him. She’d planned to meet up with him again. Invite him to lunch. Carefully question him about his past with her mother. “Did Trish tell you their names?”

  “No. Probably figured I knew some of them and she didn’t want any competition.” Ginny raised her chin and fluffed her thinning red hair. “Never could figure why she was jealous of me.” She dramatically pressed her fingers against her chest. “Trish was the lead singer of The Malones. I don’t know why, but wherever we performed, she got all the attention.”

  “Ginny, getting back to Friday, did you hear her say where they were meeting? A bar? A club? The Casino?”

  “I heard her talking to one of them on her cellphone, making plans to meet for old time’s sake. A poker party at a dentist’s villa.”

  The poker game Thomas Levine called Trish about? Abby folded her arms. “Did she mention an address?”

  “If she did, I didn’t pay attention.”

  “If she hasn’t come home for two days after a night of playing cards with those guys then …. Did you try her cell?’

  “I called four times yesterday and twice this morning. Her phone’s turned off.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the room before they both said in unison, “Call the clinic.”

  “If Betty Ford doesn’t have her,” Ginny added, “and if she’s not back by tomorrow morning, maybe we better start looking.”

  “That’s the way the gown should be worn.” Ginny admired her niece from the bedroom door. “It never really looked good on me.”

  “Sure it did. Trish showed me a poster from the Follies and you wore this gown in a photo shoot.” Abby turned and looked over her shoulder at her back in the full-length mirror. “You looked fantastic. You pos
ed like this.”

  Ginny took the compliment with a shy smile. “Really?” She came up behind Abby and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got the height to give the back drape class.”

  “I love the color,” Abby slipped the ivory chiffon from her shoulder, “but do you think I should be going out tonight when we don’t know where Trish is? Truthfully, I’d feel better if she had been drinking with those old buddies of hers then had the sense to turn herself in to Betty Ford for a couple of days. Before it got out of control. At least we’d know she was someplace safe.” Abby turned around. “Maybe she told them at the clinic not to give out information. We could run over there and check.”

  Ginny nodded. “She signed a release of info for family the last time. Your mother is a tough old bird. If there’s one Malone in this family who knows how to take care of herself, it’s Trish. Besides, I know her, and she’d be upset if she thought we just assumed she’d gone off the wagon. She’d never forgive herself if she found out you missed this celebrity ball because of her. Each of us Malones has danced away a whole evening there.” She gave a sly wink and raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been around that dance floor more than once.” She turned and leaned on her cane, preparing to leave, but then hesitated at the door. “This is your time, hon. Anyway, I want to meet this detective guy friend of yours. Trish says he looks like Dana Andrews in the movie Laura.”

  Abby laughed. “Oh no, not you too.”

  “Listen, girl.” Ginny pointed a finger. “Back in the day, those actors were real men. They talked tough, but they protected their girlfriends.” She waved a manicured hand. “Not like some of these namby-pambies nowadays who have their eyebrows waxed.”

  Twenty minutes before Blade was due to pick her up, Abby was dressed and waiting. Ginny had done a professional job blow-drying her hair, but only after Abby refused to wear her aunt’s hair fall. Ginny finally gave in, but insisted Abby wear her diamond and pearl drop earrings—a gift from an admirer.