The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1)

by Meghan Scott Molin

  “What now, Dexter?” Rideout’s dry drawl comes from over my left shoulder. I hate that he’s using nicknames like I do. Just because I use my knowledge of comics to catch a comic book criminal doesn’t make me Dexter.

  I ignore him and turn my face to Matteo’s. “We need to find those journals.” I beg him with my eyes to believe me. To believe in me. These journals are the key.

  Rideout crosses his arms again. “If our vigilante is after the journals, we need to figure out how the Golden Arrow even knows about them. I suspect help from the inside.” He looks pointedly at me, and Matteo grunts.

  “Funny, I think the same thing,” I shoot back, not bothering to hide my glare from Matteo. Rideout is the one breaking the rules of professionalism here.

  “Rideout, drop it. MG, he has a point. Who knows about these journals?”

  “Lawrence showed one to me. I showed it to you and Detective Rideout, and you showed it to Casey Junior.” A very short list. My stomach turns over again. All jokes aside, Rideout is a jerk, but possibly right too. How would the Golden Arrow have known to even look in this office if he didn’t know the journal existed? Was he just going off the comic books? I press my lips together. It seems unlikely. It’s like the Golden Arrow sees everything I do, and that idea gives me the willies. Am I under surveillance? Does the dirty cop on Matteo’s team also feed information to the Golden Arrow? That idea seems more unlikely than the last. The Golden Arrow knows the case, that the journals exist, and has reason to want to find them. If it isn’t Casey Junior, there’s only one other common denominator.

  Matteo nods slowly, his mind obviously chasing the same path as mine. “We’ll need to inform Edward Casey Junior about what allegedly happened here today and see if he wants to make a report. It’s possible that he left the room like this going through his father’s office for the auction. But maybe not. And we need to talk to the only other person who seems mixed up in this.”

  I swallow hard. Lawrence.

  CHAPTER 17

  Cars clog the Hamburger Mary’s parking lot by the time I pull the Hurtling Turd into a spot. A good sign. Everyone loves a full crowd, and an early-summer Friday night is prime drag show time for the locals. I reach in my back seat, gather the pile of fabric into my arms, and hurry across the lot. Usually I’m giddy about coming to a drag show, but tonight my stomach is a ball of nerves. I’ll let L perform; then I’ll have to spill the beans. So many beans. And hope he has beans to spill right back that will solve my case. And keep L out of jail.

  I wind my way through the crowd as quickly as possible. I hope I can get back in enough time to snag a great table. I’m almost to the back of the house when I see a familiar face. Kyle’s fiancée, Nina.

  “MG!” She yells my name like we’re old friends, and my heart instantly warms a little, easing my anxiety. Her enthusiasm is literally contagious. She waves me over.

  “Hey, Nina. What brings you guys here?”

  She takes a sip of the large drink in front of her. “Bachelorette party!” The girls all whoop. It wouldn’t have been hard to guess, given the large tiara on Nina’s head and the sash that says “BRIDE” slung across her middle. I’m a terrible human, I’d already forgotten that she and Kyle were getting married soon.

  “Congratulations,” I say, smiling. The group is already tipsy. They’re in for a good time once the queens start performing.

  “Kyle said no strippers. He didn’t say anything about drag queens.”

  A girl after my own heart.

  “What are you doing here?” Nina eyes the pile of gold lamé.

  “I’m dropping off a costume I made for my friend. In fact, I’d probably better get back there so I can still get a table after.”

  “Nonsense, you’ll come sit with us.”

  “Really?”

  Nina grins. “I insist! We nerd girls need to stick together!” She leans over to me and whispers dramatically, “These are theater friends. They get it. They’ll be happy to have you too!”

  My heart warms just a bit more. Nina does seem cool, and Kyle never outright backstabbed me the way Andy did. Maybe a friend of the female variety would do me good. Again this case has pointed out to me that I’ve been alone on my own isolated island. I can’t even remember the last time I reached out to my friends from college or my cosplay group. I suddenly miss them. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

  Backstage sounds glamorous, but at a drag show, it’s pretty much one tiny room stuffed full of panty hose, cosmetics, and men in wig caps. I stand at the door and try to locate Lawrence among the group of men. Someone is yelling about lipstick on the mirror, and someone else snips back, “At least it’s not on your teeth like last time,” but I don’t hear or see Latifah Nile anywhere.

  “L!” I wait, no answer. I snag one of the queens right by the door, a plump Filipino who I’ve seen several times do a great postwar-era pinup routine.

  “Can you find Latifah Nile for me?” I hold up the pile of costumes.

  He turns and shouts into the room, “Hey, queens! Has anyone seen La-tee-tee? You bitches just need to shut it for one second so that—”

  Lawrence emerges from behind a dressing rack in the back corner of the room, one eye already done up in gold glitter, Cleopatra cat-eye style.

  “Girl, you look fine tonight,” he says, taking in my own penciled purple eyebrows, glittery purple lipstick, and chunky skull-and-crossbones necklace. “You’re going to make these queens jealous. Is Atlanta here with you?” The mention of Matteo both gives me butterflies and kills them with a ball of anxiety. L is a suspect, and it’s all due to my meddling.

  I flush. “No, just me. And a friend here for a bachelorette party. I needed to refabulous myself. I wilted a little this week.” I lean in like I’m telling him a secret. “I learned from the best.”

  And it’s true. I learned the art of super-dramatic makeup from Lawrence. Shockingly, there aren’t many places I get compliments on my Violet Femme purple lipstick. Yet another reason I love drag shows. No one appreciates drama or makeup quite like queens.

  “Well, my drag mama would be proud. And, girl, you’re never anything less than fabulous. You just wear it different sometimes.” Lawrence gives me a squeeze, then pounces on the fabric I have in my hands. He’s already wearing the foam padding around his rear, reined in by layers of panty hose to make the look complete.

  Outwardly Lawrence is completely normal, seemingly unfazed by his recent apartment scare. I’m trying to follow his lead, but inwardly I’m at war with myself. I want to talk to Lawrence, but there are so many queens around, I don’t dare do it here. “Do you want to try it on in case I need to adjust it? Maybe the bathroom could give us enough room if we need to pin it.” At the very least sans eight queens.

  Lawrence beams at me, then makes a shooing gesture. “Nonsense. You just go get yourself a table before one of these queens steals you from me. One of these bitches can help me if I need to pin something.”

  I nod, swallowing my panic in an awkward gulp.

  “Girl, what’s wrong? You feeling okay?”

  I open and close my mouth, unsure of how to approach this. No big deal. The police are going to show up and question you, and I’m worried you might be playing superhero. “Just something I wanted to talk with you about. It’s nothing . . .” I turn to leave but think better of it. I need to know. Rip off the Band-Aid. “Actually, where were you today? Around five o’clock?”

  Please have an alibi. Please have an alibi.

  Lawrence pulls back, looking surprised. “Did something happen?” He taps his chin. “I think around three I was out getting lashes for tonight, but I’d have to check.”

  So . . . nothing solid, but my shoulders relax. There’s nothing in Lawrence’s face that suggests he’s lying. Maybe I’m all bent out of shape with my suspicions for nothing. Yet there’s still the police stuff to tell Lawrence.

  L reaches out and rubs my shoulder. “Seriously, girl, are you okay?”

  I almost
divulge the whole story right there in the backstage area. I want so badly to come clean to L, but the plump Filipino queen sidles up to us and leans over the gold lamé.

  “So this is your secret weapon, La-tee-tee!” The queen flicks a nonexistent wig and gives me the once-over. “Girl, your costumes are on fleek. I need a new one next show. Any chance you take food stamps?”

  The nearby queens laugh at the joke, and I crack a smile.

  “Sorry, I only deal in lifelong indebtedness and firstborns, but I’ll let you know when I start accepting Visa.”

  “You will not,” L says firmly.

  This isn’t the time or place to discuss matters with the show about to start. I highly doubt Matteo is going to show up and pull L offstage mid-act, so I decide to let L perform without worrying. I pat Latifah on the padded rear before I leave. “Maybe we can chat after you’re finished. We’ll go to IHOP and have pancakes. Right now, you go show them how it’s done.”

  I make my way back out to the table, where the girls are already enjoying another round of drinks. I slide in next to Nina and sigh, leaning my head against the booth back. The end of the night looms over me, and I hope I’ll be able to enjoy the show. But I keep reliving opening that study door, catching a glimpse of the person in black. Ruminating about what the Golden Arrow knows and what he or she is looking for, trying to figure out just how I can help solve this case, especially now that Rideout seems to be gunning for me as a suspect. I need to start at the beginning. If this is all about Casey Senior, I need to start there.

  Which is where Lawrence comes in.

  Just as I finish this thought, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Matteo. We need to talk about the case. New development.

  With an apologetic look at Nina, I type back, Not a good time. With some friends at Hamburger Mary’s. Can I call you later? I have got to explain to my best friend why the police are after him first.

  We’re plunged into darkness as a voice booms over the loudspeaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hamburger Mary’s famous Drag Review.”

  A spotlight pops on, and there’s Latifah Nile standing center stage, hip thrown back, gold sparkly heels perfectly apart in a dramatic stance, and one ridiculously fantastic sequined top hat pulled down over her eyes. The sequined tailcoat I designed fits L perfectly.

  “I am your host for the evening, Latifah Nile.” L repositions the hat dramatically atop the afro wig, and the crowd cheers and catcalls like crazy. “And we have quite the show for you tonight. You can see we’re doing some updating.” L sweeps a hand in suggestive curves over her gold lamé and sequined bodysuit down to the gold sequined skirt and panty hose–clad legs. She looks like a mix of vintage twenties, sexy temptress, and a nod to Egyptian style with her signature eyes. “And tonight I’ll be”—L produces an old-fashioned cane from somewhere behind her, cracks it on the floor, leans over it to better show her taped cleavage over the top of the bustier, and pouts—“putting on the Ritz.”

  The girls at my table yell and wave money in the air even as the music comes out over the loudspeaker for L’s number. She’s slow stepping, sashaying, and generally shaking what God—and foam padding—gave her to a cabaret-paced “Puttin’ on the Ritz.”

  The crowd cheers as she makes her way slowly down the stage, mimicking bawdy versions of most of the lyrics. She pantomimes money, bends over a little, and snaps up like someone spanked her, much to the delight of the front row. L actually sings, which is unusual at a drag show, her voice smoky and seductive.

  I holler with the rest of the girls as L stops with a drumbeat, waggles her hips, and pouts. It’s a genius routine. At one point Latifah wanders over to us and puts her sequined top hat on my head while she leans on the cane and addresses Nina.

  “Are you sure you want to get married, honey? There are so many men and so little time!” Shimmying her shoulders to the heavy drumbeat, she does a Ginger Rogers slide and makes her way back up to the stage.

  “We have so many good acts tonight, and I can tell you are the perfect audience.” She winks, and someone calls something from the audience. “You all behave now.” She waves her hands and does a grapevine with the cane out in front to exit the stage.

  I’m beaming, and I can’t wait to give L a huge hug and a high five. No matter the case and all the shade going down, Latifah is damn good at her job. I turn to Nina, unable to contain myself. “What do you think?”

  “The glitz, the glam, the costumes, the eyelashes. This is so much fun!” Nina laughs and fans her face. “This is the best bachelorette party ever!”

  I laugh. “Yeah, not too many straight men come to these events, but when they do, it can get really hilarious.”

  Nina cracks up like she’s about to fall off her seat. Boy, she must be really in her cups; she can barely catch her breath. “MG, isn’t that your boyfriend over there? He might need saving. It looks like there are four or five gay men fighting over him.”

  “What?” I whip around, and like my eyes are powered by magnets, my gaze meets Matteo’s. I feel it like a physical jolt all the way down to my feet. Then waves of nerves come crashing down on me. Is he here for L? Maybe he’s come to pull L offstage midperformance and drag her down to the station. My heart hammers in my chest.

  “Um, I’ll be right back. I thought he was . . . working.”

  I make my way across the room to where Matteo is politely telling a tall gentleman in a crop top and a pink wig that he doesn’t drink. I offer the tall man a smile, then turn narrowed eyes on Matteo. “What are you doing here?”

  “You told me where you were, so I thought I’d just come . . .” He looks around, bewildered. “Where are we?”

  “Hamburger Mary’s.”

  The next act starts, and I pull Matteo back toward the table with me. “I can see why you’re good at your job.”

  “I need to ask you about a suspect. The guy in the hoodie.”

  “So ask.”

  “Can we sit? It won’t take very long, and then I’ll be going back to the office tonight to follow up.”

  My shoulders relax. So this isn’t about Lawrence. I sigh. “All right, come on.” I drag him the rest of the way to Nina’s table. If the show follows its usual pattern, we won’t see L for at least three or four numbers.

  The girls at the booth go gaga over Matteo and giggle to themselves while making room for him. Nina won’t even let me apologize for crashing her bachelorette party and goes back to attacking her hamburger with glee.

  Once Matteo and I are as alone as we can get, I turn to him. The faster we get this over with, the faster Matteo can leave. “Okay, Scotty, give her all she’s got. Let’s hear it.”

  I try desperately not to think about how I’m squished up against him, the thigh of my tight black pants against his slacks. Bigger fish to fry, MG.

  “Scotty?”

  “Never mind.”

  The next performer’s music starts, and Matteo tries not to seem like he’s staring, but who wouldn’t stare at a five-foot-five Filipino hottie who literally just burst out of a clamshell? A campy mash-up of The Little Mermaid’s “Kiss the Girl” with Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” booms over the speakers. The performer’s forties, victory-rolled hair and sexy pink kimono-style maxi dress are perfection.

  Matteo blinks. “I just expected hamburgers.” His genuine confusion undoes some of the tension I’ve been feeling. Matteo is just here to talk. No ulterior motive. He didn’t know this was going to be a drag show. Or that L is a performer.

  “You do seem to have a habit of arriving at interesting moments. Is it something you come by naturally, or do you have to practice?” I take a sip of my beer.

  He rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly, it just seems to happen around you. I can’t find my feet sometimes.”

  He gives me a look far more searching than could be labeled “professional interest.” My heart stutters in my chest. His gaze drops to my lips, and mine to his. It amazes me how fast we can go from my paranoia to
banter to crazy sexual tension. His admission that he can’t find his feet around me does impressive things to the dragons in my stomach.

  The urge to kiss him overwhelms me. We can’t, we can’t, my brain chants. Do it, do it, my hormones insist. He’s fighting the same battle. I see it in his face. It’s a bad idea. We work together. Another part of my brain points out that it’s dark, and no one would see one tiny little kiss . . .

  Then Nina screeches inches from my ears. The finale of the song washes back into my reality, and Matteo and I lean apart. I study Matteo, not for the first time feeling like I’m on a roller coaster where he’s concerned. Striking a balance between the case and my personal feelings gets harder and harder to manage. If he were a normal guy, I’d definitely invite him as my date to the work thing later this month. Matteo in a cape? Oooh, yes, please.

  “You’re a million miles away. What are you thinking about?” Matteo’s face is still far too close for professional conversation.

  “The gala at my job.” I take myself by surprise by admitting this. I need to get him out the door, not talk about this right now. It’s as if Matteo’s presence continually inspires my candor, whether I want it to or not. I am far more truthful with him than practically anyone else in my life, save Lawrence and Ryan, at least until this case fell in my lap.

  “Okay . . .” He frowns, not following.

  “I think it would make more sense if you came to my work party.”

  Matteo’s eyebrows rise—I’ve taken him by surprise with the change in direction too.

  The can of worms is open, so I decide to roll with it. “It will be fun, I promise.” Okay, maybe I’m trying to convince myself as well as him. “Costumes, capes, contests, all the free booze you can imagine. I mean, of course it’s so you can check out more Genius folks, now that we don’t think it’s Kyle or Simon.”

  Matteo taps the table with his fingers before replying, his face looking strangely torn. “Are you asking me to come with you to your work party?”

  “Yes, Captain Obvious. I just said that.”