Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 02 - Murder, Lies & Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

  “No.”

  I reached to pick it up. After all, I was pretty sure it wasn’t loaded.

  “I wouldn’t do that. You’ll get your fingerprints on it and then, if I do have occasion to shoot Rick, you’ll be blamed.”

  I jerked my hand away from the gun. “You have a way of putting things in perspective.” I returned to my chair and sat down. “I have news. I know some things you don’t know.”

  “I’ll know soon because you can’t keep secrets.”

  He was absolutely right, so I didn’t bother to waste time protesting. I told him everything Rick had revealed about Lisa’s involvement in the theft and her scheme to get her hands on the money. “I feel kind of sorry for her,” I admitted. “She lost her boyfriend and her share of the loot, she got involved with Rick, and now she’s dead.”

  Fred sat quietly sipping his Coke. I could almost hear the hard drive in his brain spinning and whirring.

  “It’s got to be the new girlfriend,” I said. “Murray told her where the money is.”

  Fred nodded but still said nothing.

  “She broke in here and found the money.”

  Fred shook his head and finally spoke. “If she found the money, why did she come back again and why did she go to Paula’s and ask about your financial state?”

  “You think there’s another person involved, somebody who got into my basement and dug up the money?”

  “That’s the logical conclusion.”

  I thought about the ramifications. “So that person wouldn’t be trying to get back into my house, but the new girlfriend, the one who lost the earring, may not know somebody else has the money, so she’s been returning, trying to find it.”

  I looked at Henry snoozing happily on the sofa after his run around the neighborhood. Damn! I didn’t want to have to worry about him again, drug him and keep him inside all the time. In fact, I wasn’t crazy about locking myself inside the house again and worrying about an intruder.

  For a few minutes, neither of us said anything. Henry didn’t snore. Even the sounds of the night were hushed. We were all thinking. I needed to put the pieces together, figure out who got the money and somehow let the new girlfriend know so she’d leave us alone.

  “This other player, the one who found the money, it would have to be someone involved with Murray,” I said, “someone he trusted enough to confide about the money. Another inmate? Maybe somebody who’s killed before, somebody who’d be willing to murder Bradford and Lisa to keep them from getting to the cash first.”

  Fred drained his soda and set the can on the coffee table. His gaze behind his wire-rimmed glasses was distant as if his thoughts were far away. “Poison is an impersonal way to kill,” he finally said. “However, Lisa’s murder was personal.”

  “It was? What do you mean? How do you know that?” He was either being psychic or he’d hacked into the police files.

  His gaze returned from outer space or wherever his thoughts had been. “The fire didn’t kill her. Someone bashed in her head then stabbed her seventeen times. That’s personal, an act of rage.”

  Yep, hacked into the police files. Again.

  “You think it was the new girlfriend? Seems to me it would be more likely Lisa would want to hack up her replacement than the other way around.”

  “It’s possible Lisa’s trailer was searched before her murderer set fire to it, though it’s impossible to be certain considering how messy her place already was and how much destruction the fire caused. Somebody could have thought she had the stolen money, then when she couldn’t tell that person where it was, that person killed her and searched her trailer.”

  “Is there any way Lisa could have had the money and this woman found it during her search?” I wanted that to be true since it would mean an end to the danger for Henry, my house and me.

  Fred looked at me. He didn’t have to say anything. We both knew I was reaching.

  “Not likely, is it? Couldn’t have been Lisa or she wouldn’t have been scrambling so desperately to get my house.” I shuddered though the night air was quite warm. Hot, actually. “That means Murray’s new girlfriend is a murderer who’s looking for the money and killing anybody who gets in her way. She doesn’t know about the first intruder, the guy who actually got the money. Now she probably thinks that Henry and I have the money and we’re in her way.”

  He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “So we just need to find a tall, blonde stripper with big boobs and cat scratches, and all my problems will be over.”

  He nodded again.

  I leaned forward, spreading my hands in disbelief. “I was being sarcastic! How do you propose we do that? Do you have any idea how many strip joints there are in this town? By the time we visit all of them, you’re going to be too old to enjoy them.”

  “It won’t be that difficult. We should start with the club where Lisa worked. Talk to her co-workers. Women talk about their heartaches. It’s possible she told someone about Murray’s treachery and whom he was cheating with.”

  “Possible,” I admitted.

  “I need to check the prison logs and see who’s been to visit Murray besides his grandparents and us.”

  Check the prison logs? I wasn’t even going to ask. “Good idea. Go do that right now, and we won’t have to go to a strip club to find out this other woman’s name.”

  He nodded. “I hope to find her name on the list, but it may be that she’s now an ex-girlfriend. Let’s assume Murray found out about Lisa and Bradford, so he knew they’d be going after his money. This second girlfriend, KD, also knew. He didn’t want her to get it, so he confided in someone else, and that person got to the money first. That’s another name I’d like to find.”

  “Yeah, well, that person has the money and he or she is perfectly happy and not causing any problems. I want to find the crazy woman who keeps trying to break into my house.”

  Fred rose from the sofa. “I’ll go home and start searching. Tomorrow night you and I will visit Babes and More.”

  “Paula should go with us since she’s the only one who’s actually seen this woman.”

  Fred stopped at the door and turned back. “Zach can’t go. You have to be twenty-one.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course Zach can’t go. Why would you even think that?”

  “Paula won’t leave him alone.”

  “Oh. That’s true. So I guess Paula and I will go, and you’ll stay at home and babysit Zach.”

  That was fun. I got to see Fred look panic-stricken. He can easily take down a grown man wielding a gun, but kids and cats terrify him.

  “You and I will go,” he said firmly, “and if we get a lead on someone who may be the new girlfriend, we’ll let Paula identify her later.”

  “Okay,” I said. I often use that word as an abbreviation for the longer sentence, It’s okay if that’s what you want to think, and I’m not going to argue with you, but I’m going to do as I please.

  As soon as Fred left, taking his machine gun with him, I went over to Paula’s.

  She opened the door wearing a robe. “Get dressed,” I said. “We’re going to a strip club.”

  “You’ve been drinking,” she accused.

  “A little. So you can drive.” We went inside, and I explained the situation to her, told her what I’d learned from Rick and Fred. “We need to do this tonight. If that woman killed Lisa, she’s liable to try the same thing with me, and Henry could get hurt defending me.”

  Paula bit her lip. I could see she was struggling. She tries to be a good friend and go along with whatever I ask of her even though she’s basically a sane person. “I can’t leave Zach.”

  “Fred will take care of him.”

  “Really? Fred agreed to babysit Zach?”

  I headed toward the stairs. “I’ll take him over while you change.” Probably better she didn’t see Fred’s reaction.

  I went up to Zach’s room. He was lying in bed wide awake playing with his toes and talkin
g to me on his toy phone. “Hi, Hot Shot. Uncle Fred wants you to spend a couple of hours with him, okay?”

  Zach giggled and called Fred on his toy phone. Fred’s communication channels are always a mystery. I was a little concerned Zach might actually connect to him.

  Apparently that didn’t happen because Fred was totally shocked when I arrived at his door with Zach in my arms. “I thought we agreed you and I would perform that activity tomorrow.”

  “You and I tomorrow, Paula and I tonight.” I handed Zach to him and left. No point wasting time having a pointless argument.

  “This discussion is not over!” he shouted at my back.

  ***

  I had anticipated that two women entering a strip club would be considered strange but no one gave us a second glance. Paula looked fairly normal. She had changed into slacks and a white shirt, but I still wore my cut-offs and a tee-shirt that said “Life is short, eat chocolate first.” Nevertheless, no one seemed interested in us.

  Loud music pounded through the dimly-lit room, and clouds of cigarette smoke created a haze that further obscured the tables and people. There were a couple of other female customers, both seated with men. A tall blonde woman slithered around a pole on a stage illuminated by a bright spotlight. The club wasn’t crowded, and most of the men were seated as close to that stage as possible.

  Paula and I took a seat at a chipped plastic table a few feet away.

  “Is that her?” I asked, indicating the dancer as I leaned close to Paula’s ear so she could hear me over the music.

  Paula studied the woman then shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell. The woman who came to my house was wearing clothes.”

  A waitress appeared and put down two small paper napkins. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Coke,” I said.

  “Beer,” Paula said. “In a bottle.”

  The waitress left.

  “You don’t like beer,” I said.

  “It comes in a bottle. I’m not sure they clean their glasses as thoroughly as we do.”

  My Coke came in a glass. I sat there pondering Paula’s concern and not taking a sip.

  “We need to talk to that dancer,” Paula said. “If I can hear her voice, I’ll know if she was the same one who pretended to be an insurance agent.”

  “That’s not going to be easy with all this noise.”

  We took our drinks and moved up to the bar.

  The dancer strutted closer to the customers, and men reached up to stuff money into her bra and G-string. She leaned over toward a couple of them, said something and laughed.

  Fred had been right. I did need him. He’d know what to do.

  But we’d left him home babysitting, so I’d have to figure it out. I reached into my purse and pulled out a five dollar bill.

  Paula grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving her money so she’ll talk to us. That seems to be the way it works.”

  “You can’t do that! You can’t put it in her—” She fluttered a hand. “Don’t do that.”

  “I don’t intend to.” I waved the money in the air. “I’ll just hand it to her. Chill. Have another beer.”

  “I don’t like beer.” She held up the still-full bottle.

  The dancer, smiling voluptuously, came to our side of the stage and leaned over so I could stuff the money. I drew back. “No, no. Here. Take it. With your fingers. We need to talk to you.”

  She took the bill, mouthed “Thank you,” and glided on to the next person with money.

  “That went well,” Paula said.

  “Hey, sarcasm is my area. Stop encroaching.”

  We went back to the table and sat down.

  Paula took a sip of her beer, made a face and set it on the table. “We might as well go home. Neither one of us has a clue how to do this.”

  I took a drink of my Coke, dirty glass be damned. It was flat. I could deal with a dirty glass but not a flat Coke. “We’re not going home until we’ve talked to every girl in this place. We just have to figure out what Fred would do.”

  “He’d make up some outrageous story and get us in the dressing room so we could talk to the dancers in a quieter, more private atmosphere.” The voice of reason.

  “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” I stood. “Come on. Follow my lead.” I walked through the restaurant and out the front door then stopped on the sidewalk and drew in a deep breath. “Wow. You don’t realize how great hot, muggy air feels and how wonderful quiet sounds until you spend some time surrounded by stale cigarette smoke and loud music.”

  Paula moved up to stand beside me. “I agree. Those poor girls are going to get lung cancer and hearing damage from dancing in there.” She checked her watch. “It’s nearly eleven. Maybe we should postpone this until another night.”

  I shook my head. “I refuse to hide in my own home any longer. We’re going to find that woman and set her straight.”

  Two men walked down the sidewalk toward us, gave us appreciative glances, then went into the club.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re going in the back door like the other dancers.”

  Paula followed, grumbling. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  “I’m not sure either, but we’ll soon find out.”

  We walked around the building to the alley and located the back door. I yanked on the handle and, to my surprise, it opened. “See? This is going to be easy. We should have tried this first. We could have saved five dollars and the price of two bad drinks.”

  We walked into a dimly lit corridor. The music was audible but not as loud as out front. I could hear women talking and laughing from a couple of lighted rooms that opened off the corridor.

  No problem. Who needed Fred?

  “Let’s try that room over there,” I said, pointing to the nearest doorway.

  A huge man appeared out of nowhere, blocking our way. “Where do you think you’re going?” He stood at least seven feet tall—okay, maybe not quite seven feet, but close. His massive head was completely bald, his eyebrows stood out a couple of inches as he glowered down at us, and his arms that were folded across his two-foot wide chest were the size of tree trunks.

  I admit, I was a little intimidated at first. But again I asked myself, What would Fred do?

  I folded my arms in imitation of his stance and tried to return his fierce expression. Somehow I don’t think it had the same effect when I had to look up to do it. “Going to work,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m going to work. I’m the new stripper, Fire Dancer.” I shook my red curls in what I hoped—but doubted—was an alluring movement.

  His expression didn’t change. “Nobody told me nothing about no new stripper.”

  “They always tell you everything that’s going on?”

  He thought about that for a minute. “No.”

  “Obviously this is one of those times. I’ve got my first show in half an hour. I need to get changed.” I edged to one side, moving to go around him.

  “Who’s she?” He looked at Paula who’d been standing behind me.

  Good question. My friend? My accomplice?

  “My costume manager.”

  “Oh.” He looked at me again, and his eyes dropped to my tee-shirt. I didn’t think he was reading the words. “Are you sure—?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Hey! Eyes front and center! You want me to report you?”

  His expression changed to fear. “No.”

  We went around the man-mountain and headed for the first lighted door.

  Fred would be so proud of me. If he ever spoke to me again after the way I’d dumped Zach on him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A brunette and a blonde, both clad in flashy, scanty clothing, sat in front of lighted mirrors, talking while one dabbed her cheeks with a brush and the other spread glue from a tube onto a strip of long, black, glittery eyelashes. They both turned when Paula and I entered the room.
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  “I’m investigating the death of your former co-worker, Lisa Bradford,” I said, trying to sound official. Probably should have worn something other than cut-offs and that tee-shirt if I wanted to look official.

  The women went back to their business of enhancing their cheeks and eyes but not to the talking business.

  “She was murdered this morning.” I lowered my voice a couple of octaves in my effort to overcome the tee-shirt and cut-offs.

  “We heard.” The blonde pursed her lips and added bright red color.

  I looked at Paula to see if she recognized the woman’s voice. She shrugged.

  “How well did you know the deceased?”

  “We worked with her,” the blonde said.

  The brunette settled the glittering eyelash onto her right eye and turned her stool to face us. She looked a little lopsided with one normal eye and one glittering eye. “We knew Lisa as well as you can know someone under these circumstances. We have private lives, but in this job, we all form a bond with each other. It’s us against them.”

  “Them being the customers?” I asked.

  The blonde looked at me in the mirror but didn’t turn around. “The customers, the bosses, everybody but us dancers.”

  I looked at Paula to see if the woman had spoken enough words for her to recognize or reject identification. Paula shrugged again.

  “What’s the matter with your little friend?” the blonde asked. “Can’t she talk?”

  “She’s a trainee,” I said. “They don’t talk for the first year. Did all of you get along with Lisa?”

  “Well enough.” The brunette stood. She was tall, and her four-inch heels put her over six feet. She offered her hand. “I’m Deidre Madsen, and this is Gwen Copeland.”

  “Candy Cane,” the blonde corrected.

  I shook Deidre’s hand. She had a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Deidre, and, uh, Candy. I’m Lindsay Powell, and this is Paula Roberts.”

  Paula stepped forward to shake hands with Deidre too. She still didn’t speak. Apparently she liked her identity as a mute trainee. Probably figured silence would equate to fewer charges of misconduct if we got caught.