"How do they feel?"
"Okay, I guess. I don't usually wear heels." She took a few awkward steps. "Why do they have to be five-inch?"
"Because it's kinda dark in the restaurant, so people can barely see our black shoes. It almost looks like we're barefoot—tiptoeing."
"Which is suppose to make your calves look sexier."
"Yeah. And they can't see the mini-thongs very well either."
"So, they think you're completely naked?"
"They know you're not. But it lets them imagine you are."
"I just don't want anybody grabbing me."
"Well...that kinda comes with the job."
"Y'all let guys touch you?"
"You don't let them. But once or twice a night some guy will grab your butt. Or lean his head into a boob while you're refilling his glass. You get used to it."
Rebecca cringed.
CHAPTER 21 - Tuesday, 4:27 p.m.
Megan Cinaway turned on her cell phone. Passengers were beginning to stand up and get their carry-on bags out of the overhead compartment. The non-stop flight from DFW to JFK had been boring and long for most passengers. But not for Megan. Her mind had been titillated with visions of money and airbrushed, magazine-cover fame. She couldn't wait to start her modeling career.
She had one voice mail: Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn. Please call me when you get this message. It's extremely important. Your life is in danger.
Megan deleted the message. That detective would do anything to stop her from living her dream. She was sure her mother had put the woman up to it. But it would not work. Megan was old enough to make her own decisions.
She saw a young man retrieving his bags from the compartment over her seat. He was hot. Maybe he was a model too, she thought. "Would you mind getting mine down?" She offered a sexy smile.
He stopped what he was doing and turned around. When he saw her, he returned her smile. Perfect teeth.
"Would you mind? It's a pink bag." Blonde hair, perfect body, beautiful smile, and pink bag in the big city. She was Elle Woods, from the movie, Legally Blonde.
"No problem." He took hold of her virginal bag and gently lowered it to the floor. "There you go."
"Thank you so much," said Megan, with all the gratitude of someone who had just been given a new car.
His girlfriend stood up, and shot Megan a look that said: Keep your slutty little paws off my man, Bitch.
Whatever. Nothing was going to spoil Megan's day. She extended the handle of her bag and rolled it along behind her as she made her way off the plane.
But as she walked through the terminal, she began to have second thoughts about Rebecca Ranghorn's message. What if her life really was in danger? She began to see evil in every passing face, imagining herself a little stuffed teddy bear among giant grizzlies. At any moment, one of them could rip her head off. She was helpless to defend herself. Megan took out her phone and located Rebecca's number from her earlier call.
Gabby answered. "Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn's phone, but she's not here right now. I'm her friend, Gabby."
"Are you the guy who was with her at the airport?"
"Yeah, that was me. I'm afraid I have bad news for you."
"What?"
"It's your mother."
Megan stopped walking. "What happened?"
"She's been murdered."
"No!" She hurried over to a bench by the wall. "Are you sure it was my mother? Carly Cinaway?" She sat down.
"Yes, I'm sure. Rebecca and I found her."
"Where? At the hotel?"
"Yes."
Megan began to cry.
"I'm sorry, Megan." He waited a few moments until her sobbing began to subside. "And there's something else. We believe somebody's going to try to kill you too."
"Here in New York? Why?"
"It all has to do with Big Bill Smotherburn. Did you know he's dead? He was murdered too."
"When did all this happen?"
"Last night. We think that whoever killed him might have also killed your mother."
"And now he's coming after me?"
"Yeah. Or maybe he's hired somebody up there to do it. It seems like he's trying to eliminate everybody who was involved in—"
"—the so-called rape. If Mother would have just left it alone, everything would have been fine."
"Is somebody supposed to pick you up?"
"Yeah. He'll be holding up a sign with my name on it."
"He may be the killer. Don't go with him."
"Well, what am I supposed to do? I don't know anybody up here."
"I called my uncle. He should be there in thirty minutes. You can stay at his apartment for a few days, until this thing blows over. His name is Melvin. He'll be wearing a Dallas Mavericks cap. I gave it to him, and he's never worn it before. So it will look brand new."
"How old is he?"
"Seventy-something. He's retired. And don't worry—he's a very nice man."
"Okay. Thanks. I'll be watching for him."
"Just be careful. Don't trust anybody but Melvin."
Megan ended the call and put her phone away. Some people were glancing at her as they walked by. She knew she must looked hideous. Red eyes. Runny mascara. But right now she didn't care how she looked. She leaned over and buried her face in her hands.
A hand touched her arm. "Are you okay, Miss?"
When she saw him, she recoiled. An old man was sitting next to her on the bench. His suit looked like it had been pulled out of somebody's garbage can. Smelled like it too.
"I know how you feel, Young Lady. It's a tough world out there. But this will help." He held out a Gideon New Testament. The cover was dirty and worn. But it looked as though it had never been opened.
"Thanks, but I'm okay."
He put the little book in his coat pocket. "You could starve out there."
She ignored him.
"But a five dollar bill would keep a man from going hungry."
"I don't have any money."
"Well, then...you're in as bad a shape as me."
Megan stood up and began to walk away.
The old man followed her. "It's dangerous for a young woman to be walking around by herself."
"I'll be fine."
"Well, I'll tag along to make sure."
Megan saw a security guard across the way, and considered flagging him down to get the old man off her ass. But that would draw attention. And right now, she needed to blend in. She reached into her purse and took out her cash, holding it close to her side, away from the man. She had about $300 left from the cash Joey had given her. She quickly found a five-dollar bill and put the rest back in her pocket.
She handed him the bill. "Good luck and goodbye."
"Oh, thank you, Miss. God bless you." He walked away smiling.
After Megan stopped by the restroom, she walked over to a coffee shop and bought a large cup of coffee. She sat down at a table and began to sip. What was she going to do now, if this supermodel thing had just been a trick to get her there?
Joey Ketrousie was the one who had sent her to New York. Did that mean he was the killer? Her mind raced with questions. And she didn't have good answers to any of them.
After a few minutes, a young man in a leather jacket walked in. She listened as he ordered coffee. Megan loved his New York accent, and his jet black, wavy hair. He sat down at a table across the room from her, and almost immediately began to stare at her.
She was flattered at first. But what if he was there to kill her?
Megan pretended her cell phone was vibrating. "Hey, Baby...okay, I'll be right out." She put her phone away, and rushed out of the coffee shop, leaving her half-full coffee cup sitting on the table.
As she walked down the corridor, she thought she heard somebody calling out from behind her.
"Hey, Lady."
Megan walked faster. It sounded like the guy from the coffee shop. But maybe all New York men sounded that way.
"Lady." He caught up with
her.
She stopped walking and turned around. It was him. "What?" Her first thought was to kick him in the balls and run. But she froze.
"Back at the coffee shop—you left this on the table." He handed her some dollar bills and coins.
"Oh. My change from the coffee. Thank you so much." She wished she could get to know him and his deep blue eyes. Then she saw his wedding ring.
"No problem." He smiled. "Have a nice day."
She resumed her trek to the passenger pickup area. Megan hoped Gabby's uncle was going to be there. She tried to remember everything Gabby had told her. His name was Melvin. He was in his seventies. He'd be wearing a Dallas Mavericks cap—a brand new one.
And there he was, plain as day—standing right next to a man holding up a sign with her name on it. "Shit."
Megan approached from the side, and spoke softly. "Are you Melvin?"
"That's me," he said loud enough for fifty people to hear him. "Are you Megan?"
She shushed him, and nodded.
"Okay. Let's go."
The man with the sign stayed put. But she saw him glance at her as they were leaving.
She tried to hurry Melvin, but he explained that his arthritis wouldn't let him move any faster. Megan wished she could put him on a luggage cart and roll him out.
They got into Melvin's old car and left the airport. Megan kept looking back. But there were too many cars for her to judge whether anybody was following them.
CHAPTER 22 - Tuesday, 5:55 p.m.
"Reservation for G.G."
The maître d' studied the man before him in the navy business suit, long-sleeved white shirt, and maroon and navy silk tie. He checked his reservation book. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't see..."
He leaned in and whispered, "It's me. Gabby."
A smile of delight spread across his face. "What are you doing?"
"Just play along, Arnie. Please."
"Oh. Here it is. Enjoy your evening, Sir."
"Thank you." Gabby winked at him.
If Gabby's friend, Arnie, had not been working tonight, he might have been turned away. Or worse yet—exposed. The guy who was filling in for Arnie the night before had gushed over Gabby. He surely would have given away his identity tonight.
Those years in the high school drama department had given Gabby no experience in acting. All he ever did was create costumes. But tonight he would prove he had acting talent. Suppressing his natural effeminate demeanor, he would become the most macho guy in the room.
Gabby had a wad of cash in his pocket, and he was ready to get up close and personal with a hot, young waitress. If she'd rub up against his arm with her bare ass, he'd stuff her string with fifties.
His own thoughts made him cringe. Sure, he was only playing a character, but...he could never treat women that way. Dammit! He had to stop thinking it to death. Tonight he was an actor.
As the hostess led him to his table, he pointed to a particularly busty waitress. "I'd like one of those...with cherries on top. And some whipped cream—so I can lick it off."
The hostess stopped in front of an empty table. "Sir, we don't allow that type of behavior here at the Café Nue."
Gabby laughed. "Oh, I know that. I was just screwing with you."
"Here's your table, Sir. Your waitress will be right with you."
His eyes followed her as she walked away. Such a cute bouncy butt—dancing cheek to cheek.
Gabby hoped he didn't get the same waitress as last night. But there she was—walking toward his table.
"Good evening, Sir. My name is Cotton Candy, and I will be your waitress." She handed him a menu. "Would you like to start with a glass of wine?"
He didn't bother to open the menu. "No. I'll have a Bud Light and a cheeseburger. No fries."
"Very good, Sir. Thank you." She took his menu and walked away. She did not appear to have recognized him.
Gabby spotted Rebecca on the far side of the room, carrying a large tray of food. He hoped she would see him and come by his table.
After she delivered the food to her table, she walked around to see Gabby. "Don't look at my body."
He checked her out, head to toe, and grinned. "You are smoking, Babe."
"Quit looking. They named me Boobsicles."
Gabby laughed.
"I could slice your head clean off with this tray."
"Sorry." He looked directly into her eyes. "I heard from Megan. My uncle picked her up at JFK. She'll stay at his apartment for a few days."
"Good."
"Did you find out anything?"
Rebecca was about to speak when a large hand grabbed her left butt cheek. Before she could turn around and clock the guy, she realized it was Bobby.
"This is not your table, Boobsicles. What are you doing over here?"
"I'm sorry," said Gabby. "It's my fault. I motioned for her to come over. She's just so damn hot. I wanted to give her this." Gabby took out a fifty-dollar bill and stuffed it under Rebecca's thong strap.
"Thank you." She offered a forced smile.
"Well, I agree. She is a very sexy woman. But you must observe the house rules. You can only interact with your assigned waitress."
"That's fine. Cotton Candy's smoking hot too." He grinned. "I just got a little greedy."
"It's understandable, Sir, but—"
"—I know. No problem."
"We appreciate your cooperation," said Bobby. He finally released Rebecca's butt.
She walked away.
"Have a nice evening, Sir," said Bobby.
Bobby should have recognized Gabby from the night before. Not from the way he was dressed, of course, but from the sound of his voice, or his mannerism. Something. But he didn't. Gabby was feeling very proud of his newfound acting skills.
Cotton Candy delivered his beer.
"Thanks, Babe."
"You're welcome, Sir. Your dinner will be ready soon."
A familiar voice caught Gabby's attention. He diverted his eyes to the middle of the restaurant. It was Wiley. And he was sober.
Gabby watched Bobby walk over to Wiley's table. The conversation looked serious. Bobby put his big, fat hand on Wiley's shoulder, and appeared to be lecturing him. Wiley pushed Bobby's hand away and jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair. He stormed out of the restaurant.
Gabby wished he could have heard what they were saying. Last night, Wiley had told Rebecca that he would soon be the owner of Café Nue.
Yet Joey Ketrousie had told them that he was now the owner. Was that the cause of the conflict between Wiley and Bobby? Or did it have to do with one or both of the murders? He couldn't wait to tell Rebecca what he'd seen.
CHAPTER 23 - Tuesday, 7:00 p.m.
As Rebecca walked into the dressing room to take her break, two large-breasted women walked past her without saying a word. Darcy was sitting at her dressing table, finishing up a sandwich. "Hey, Darcy. How's it going?"
"Fine. How about you? How are your tips?"
"Not bad." Rebecca sat down at her dresser. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and quickly looked away.
"Did you bring something to eat?"
"No. I didn't even think about it."
"I did the same thing my first night. I was so nervous that I forgot to bring food." Darcy reached into her cooler and took out another sandwich. "Here, you can have this one. It's tuna."
"Oh, no, Darcy. I'm not going to eat your dinner. I'll get a bag of chips out of the machine."
"Look. I'm full. So, you might as well eat it, or it's just gonna go to waste."
"But you might get hungry later. It's a long night."
"No, I never do. Got to stay thin if I want good tips."
Rebecca eyed her body. "Well, whatever you're doing—it's working."
Darcy giggled. "Thanks."
"You've been so helpful to me on my first night. I really appreciate it, Darcy."
"You're welcome." She smiled warmly. "Well, it's time for me to get back in there and make some more money
. I'm saving up to buy a house." She stood up.
"Wow. Okay. See you later."
Rebecca tore into the sandwich like a wild animal. Either it was the best tuna sandwich ever made or she was starving to death.
As she gobbled down the last of it, she stood up, hurried to the doorway, and peeped out into the hall. It was clear. She casually but quietly slipped down to Joey's office. The door was closed. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing.
After knocking lightly and hearing no response, she peeked inside. The office was empty.
Checking the hallway again, she rushed into the office and closed the door. She knew Joey could come at any second. What reason would she give for being in his office?
She sat down at his desk, quickly surveying it for anything of interest. Near the phone was a notepad with the message: CC 214-209-5555. She knew it wasn't Carly Cinaway's phone number.
Rebecca unzipped her tip bag and took out a twenty-dollar bill. In tiny numbers, she wrote 2142095555 on the edge of the bill and put it back in the little bag.
To her surprise, Joey's desk was unlocked. In the top left drawer she found a contract for the sale of Café Nue to Joey. It was signed by Kimberly Smotherburn, and notarized. But the document was postdated for the fifteenth of next month. So, the notary had committed fraud, risking revocation of his commission or even prison. There must have been some serious payoff money, thought Rebecca.
Kimberly was selling Café Nue for a measly ten grand. It had to be worth a lot more than that. And what gave her the right to sell it?
Rebecca heard someone walking down the hallway. She quickly put the contract back in the drawer and closed it.
Joey opened the door. "What the hell are you doing in my office?"
Rebecca got up from the chair and sauntered over to him. "I've been waiting for you." She stepped in very close. With the heels, she was 6-foot-5. Her bare breasts were just below his chin.
"Well, you have no business being in here."
"Aw, come on, Baby. Don't be mad." She put her hands on the sides of his head and gently pulled it toward her breasts. If Rebecca could keep herself from barfing on his head, she figured she just might come out of this alive.
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