“Sure,” I said. “It sounds good. I’ll even buy you some lunch. You want to meet me here and we’ll go in the Caddy?”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t mind riding in style once in a while. I’ll be there in about a half an hour.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Miles . . .”
“What?”
She hesitated, then said, “Oh, nothing. I’ll see you soon.”
I hung up, wondering what she had been going to say. Something about the case? Or something about the fact that we had slept together last night? Come to think of it, what was I going to say? Why was the day after always so awkward? You’d have to assume that two people would have sex because they wanted to, and yet the next day they never know what to say to each other.
Well, I had a half an hour to figure it out.
43
I was waiting outside when Cathy pulled up. I waited while she parked and walked over to me, smiling broadly.
“You look so solemn,” she said when she reached me.
“Do I?”
“Yes.” She kissed me on the cheek and asked, “Did you think I was going to expect you to marry me?”
“Uh, no, of course not . . .” I said, a little off balance. I had been wondering how I was going to bring up the subject of what had happened last night, and here she just came right out with it.
“It was nice last night,” she said, taking my arm, “very nice . . . wasn’t it?”
“It was more than nice. . . .”
“Okay,” she said, “there, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Why do men make things so hard?”
“I don’t know,” I said, relaxing a bit, “I guess it’s just a man thing.”
“You’re funny,” she said, touching my face. “That’s one of the reasons I like you. Where’s your car?”
“Over here,” I said, pointing to the opposite end of the parking lot from where she had parked.
“You want to tell me why we’re going to Sarasota?” she asked as we walked over to it.
I told her I had heard from the Jersey hoods and they’d given me the name of the person who hired them . . . indirectly.
“And you know her?”
“I met her once,” I said, “earlier this week. She’s the one who gave me the Longwood connection.”
“Why didn’t she send them after you sooner?” she asked as I opened the car door for her.
“Any number of reasons.” I closed the door, trotted around to the other side, and got in. “For one thing she imported them from Jersey. That probably took her a while.”
“And?”
I put on my seat belt. Seeing that, she fastened hers as well.
“She probably wanted me to follow my trail as far as I could.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew I’d come up empty.”
“And then she sent those goons after you?”
“Right,” I said, “and at that point it could have been anybody I spoke to over the past few days.”
“So she was hiding herself.”
“Right. And since she was the first person I spoke to, it worked pretty well. I didn’t suspect her of anything at all.”
“I thought you New Yorkers suspected everyone . . . of one thing or another,” she said, eyeing me speculatively.
I grinned and said, “I’m trying to break the habit. It’s sort of like smoking, but I think I’m getting to it.”
“Is that why you asked me about the gun?” she asked as I backed up and pulled out of the parking lot onto Dale Mabry. “Because you didn’t suspect me of anything?”
“You’re a cop,” I said. “Why would I suspect you of anything?”
“Is that the only reason?” she asked. “Because I’m a cop?”
“No,” I said, “you know that’s not the only reason.”
She turned in her seat to face me as I drove down to the highway.
“Why are you so uneasy with me?” she asked.
“I’m not,” I lied.
“Yes, you are,” she said. “Look at you, your shoulders are up.” She put her hand on my shoulders, as if to illustrate her point.
I moved my shoulders, and she removed her hand.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Was it easier to deal with me when I was just a cop?”
I looked at her and said, “You were never just a cop, Cathy.”
“Ooh,” she said, smiling, “I like the sound of that.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“What did you think when you first saw me?” she asked.
“In your uniform, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you looked cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah, cute,” I said. “With your Sam Browne belt and your big gun—tell me something.”
“What?”
“How tough is it being a lady deputy? Is the sheriff’s department like the police department?”
“Just about,” she said. “I have to keep proving myself.”
“Do you have a partner?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “I don’t have a regular partner yet. They just sort of send me where they need me right now.”
“How did you get your training?”
“When you apply they make you work a day a week in uniform, to get the feel of it.”
“You get paid?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not a member of the department yet.”
“So you do it on your own time?”
“Yup.”
“Is it worth it?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, “without a doubt. For one thing, you’re used to the uniform and the way people look at you when you’re wearing it. Yeah, it’s a big help.”
I thought a moment, then shook my head.
“What?” she asked.
“I was just thinking,” I said. “That would never work in New York. Oh, no.” I shuddered as I thought about people volunteering to go out on the street in a police uniform without pay. “No, no, no, no, never, never work!”
44
Because I had driven the route once before, the place was easier to find this time, even though I was talking the whole time. We stopped fencing with each other about last night, and I started talking to Cathy Merrill as the cop she was.
I found myself running the entire thing down for her, step by step, and she nodded the whole time and asked good and pertinent questions.
When I finished talking she looked at me and said, “I’m confused.”
“Join the club.”
“What does this stuff about the World Trade Center mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“How will you find out?”
I took a deep breath and thought a moment.
“I’m not Sherlock Holmes, Cathy,” I said. “All I can do is keep going the way I’m going, pursuing leads, asking questions, and hope that the whole thing will sort itself out.”
“Sounds like a pretty haphazard approach to police work.”
“It is,” I said, parking in roughly the same place I had parked last time, “but then, I was never a cop.”
She stared at me and said, “Oh, I assumed you were. I mean, I thought, most P.I.s were ex-cops.”
“Most are,” I said as we got out of the car.
“But then how—”
I slammed my door and said, “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and closed her door.
I led the way down the street to the offices of C & C Novelty, and she followed me up the stairs. Inside, it was as busy as it had been the first time I was there.
“Hey,” I said, snagging a man who was going by.
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking for Angie Worth.”
“Check the office.”
“You mean back there?” I said.
“Yeah,” the man said impatiently, “th
e office.”
By “office” he obviously meant that area with the desk where I had first spoken with Angie Worth.
“Come on,” I said to Cathy, “I know the way.”
We worked our way back to the office area, but the desk where I had first seen Angie Worth was now empty.
“That’s her,” I said, pointing to the picture on the old calendar.
Cathy went closer to get a better look, then turned to me and said, “A little overblown, don’t you think?”
I was trying to think of an answer when Angie’s husband appeared. I remembered that she had never referred to him by name.
“Can I help you?” he asked. He was a big, burly guy who looked to be a few years younger than his wife, maybe in his late thirties. From his physique I figured him as an ex-bodybuilder who eventually got more interested in pumping beer bottles than pumping iron.
“Mr. Worth, I was looking for your wife.”
“Oh yeah? What for?”
“I need to ask her some questions.”
“Oh yeah?” he said again. “About what?”
“I’m afraid that’s between her and me, Mr. Worth,” I said. “Will she be in soon?”
“Why should I tell you?” he demanded, moving closer to me. “Hey, wait a minute. You were here the other day, right?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s goin’ on between you and my wife?”
“Nothing, Mr. Worth,” I said. “I’m here on business.”
“Oh, yeah?” he said, using his favorite phrase. “What kind of business?” He was getting himself all pumped up.
Before he could say “monkey business,” I said, “Police business,” and looked pointedly at Cathy.
“Oh,” she said, and hauled out her badge to show him.
“Jeez,” he said, relaxing, “why didn’t you tell me you were the cops?”
“You didn’t ask, Mr. Worth,” I said. “Where can I find your wife?”
“She’s usually working out this time of day,” he said. “She likes to stay in shape.”
“You look like you’re in pretty good shape,” Cathy said, playing him well.
“Aw,” he said, looking a little sheepish, “I used to be, but I got away from it some.”
“You still look in pretty good shape to me,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Where would she be working out, Mr. Worth?” I asked.
“There’s a place three blocks down the street. Go out the front door and turn left. You can’t miss it. It’s got a big picture window. Ain’t exactly the kind of place I used to work out in, though. Lots of neon and fancy machines.”
“You worked out with free weights, right?” Cathy asked.
“That’s right, little lady,” he said. “Only way to work out, if you ask me.”
“Let’s go,” I said to Cathy. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Worth.”
“Yes,” Cathy said, “thank you.”
She took one more look at Angie Worth’s calendar picture before we left.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Worth asked.
“Very lovely,” Cathy said, and as we walked to the door, she said to me, “But a little overblown, don’t you think?”
45
The gym was called Pinnacle, and it was glitzier than most nightclubs I’d been to in New York. Worth had been right about the neon. There was enough to make me wish I’d worn sunglasses.
“I’m surprised there’s no doorman outside to keep you out,” I said.
“Doorman?” Cathy asked. “Doormen keep you out?”
“In the big clubs in Manhattan doormen keep you out.”
“How do they do business?” she asked, looking a little confused.
“You have to be somebody to get in.”
“Aren’t there more nobodies in the world than somebodies?” she asked. “I mean, if I wanted a successful business, I’d let the nobodies in and keep the somebodies out.”
I looked at her and said, “That sounds like something you should write up and send to Esquire or someplace.”
“I have enough problems writing reports.”
We went inside and were greeted by a tall woman in leotards who had obviously never worked out with weights in her life. She was probably the aerobics instructor, except she looked like someone who took more care of her hair and nails than any other part of her body. The hair was auburn, and the nails a shiny coat of burnt orange.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She looked at Cathy and said, “Can I interest you in a membership?”
“No, thanks.”
“It would do wonders for your problem, miss,” the girl said.
Cathy frowned. “What problem?”
“I’m looking for one of your members,” I said, butting in. “Angela Worth?”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Worth,” the girl said. “She’s been a member for as long as we’ve been open.”
“Is she here now?”
“Yes, she’s working out.”
“Where, please?”
“Uh, in the back—”
“That way? Down that hall?”
“Yes, but—”
“Show her your badge,” I said to Cathy, and started down the hall.
Behind me I heard Cathy say, “Here’s my badge. Now what about my problem?”
“Cathy!”
“I’m coming!”
We followed the hall, passing some racquetball courts along the way. The place was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. I peeked into one room and actually saw some free weights.
We got to the end of the hall and entered a room where I saw several women working out on a variety of machines. Farthest from us was Angie Worth, and while most of the other women were wearing leotards or sweats, she was wearing a skimpy posing suit.
Angie must have thought she had something to prove because she was over forty. She was working hard, the sweat making her body glisten, and her body was quite different from the way she looked on the calendar in her office. She was working on a weight machine, the kind I had seen advertised on TV. They’re supposed to be all-in-one exercise machines. She was sitting on a black leather seat, working out with a bar that was connected by a cable to some weights behind her. Her elbows were pointed at us, and her hands were behind her head as she worked the weight.
“Overblown, huh?” I said to Cathy.
For one thing, her big breasts seemed to have all but disappeared. Instead she was exhibiting what could probably be considered “killer pecs.”
“What happened to her tits?” Cathy asked, almost in awe.
“They’re still there,” I said, “they’re just . . . pumped.”
Dressed, you might think Angie Worth was a well-built woman. When you saw her in her posing suit, you realized that this woman was built. As she worked, I watched her biceps swell and her abs tighten. She wasn’t working her legs at the moment, but she probably had been shortly before we got there because her calves were still very much in evidence, and I mean taut.
“Well,” I said, “let’s interrupt her.”
As we started across the room past the other women, I saw Angie spot us. She made no effort to run, probably figuring it was either not worth it or that she had no reason to. In fact, unless my Jersey hoods had told her, she had no way of knowing that I knew she’d hired them to come after me.
“Mrs. Worth,” I said, fronting her.
“Lat machine,” she said, releasing the bar. “Working the lower triceps.” She showed me. They didn’t look like they needed work.
“Mrs. Worth, we have to talk.”
“I thought we were past that ‘Mrs.’ stuff, sweetheart,” she said. She looked at Cathy and said, “This machine would do wonders for your problem, honey.”
“What problem?” Cathy said.
“Shh,” I said. “Mrs. Worth, I met your two friends from Jersey.”
She stood up, reached for a towel, and wiped her face on it, then her arms. Then she slung it aro
und the back of her neck and held onto the two ends.
“You didn’t hurt them, did you?” she asked.
“No, we didn’t hurt them.”
“We?”
“This is Deputy Sheriff Cathy Merrill,” I said. “She was with me.”
She blew a drop of sweat off her nose and asked, “Did you arrest them?”
“No,” I said, “I let them go in return for your name.”
“Ooh,” she said, making a face, “somebody’s gonna pay for that.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “See, you didn’t tell them they’d be going after a cop.” I indicated Cathy.
“I didn’t know you were dating a cop,” she said.
“Tell them that,” I said. “Tell it to your contact in Newark.”
She thought about that for a moment and then frowned.
“You might be in trouble, Angie, and being a Mafia widow might not keep you out of it.”
“I can keep myself out of trouble, sweetie,” she said. She sounded confident, but she was holding onto the towel around her neck a little tighter than before.
“I can help you stay out of trouble, Angie,” I said.
“How?”
“Tell me what you know about Sandy Meyer.”
“I told you what I know.”
“Then why did you send two hoods after me?”
“You can’t prove that I did.”
“You just said—”
“I never admitted anything.”
I looked at Cathy, who gave me a helpless look and a nod.
“Now if you don’t mind,” Angie Worth said, “I have a workout to finish.”
I did mind, but it suddenly occurred to me that I might find out more without pushing.
“Okay,” I said, “have it your way.”
“We could have had it my way the other day, darlin’,” she said, giving me a lascivious smile, “but now you’ve got your girlfriend with you.”
Cathy started to reply but I turned and took her by the arm.
“Come on,” I said, “we’re finished here.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help you, lover,” Angie Worth said from behind me.
I guided Cathy back to the door and along the hallway to the front foyer again. The same tall, slender girl was there, looking worried.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
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