The Temporary Detective

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “It does seem to me,” Isobel said carefully, “that with so many people trying to break into show business, the more specific your goals are, the better chance you have of getting work.”

  Delphi shrugged. “I always heard you should just try out for everything, and the work will find you.”

  “It’s such an unpredictable business. Hard to know what’s best,” said Isobel lightly, aware that they were skirting dangerous waters.

  “You might like doing Shakespeare,” Delphi said. “The language is so musical.”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you try your class first and tell me how you like it?”

  “Why don’t you try that emotional reality class first and tell me how you like it?”

  Isobel laughed. “Oh, no, you’re coming with me. As my bodyguard. And I promise, if it’s truly horrible, I’ll try Shakespeare with you.”

  “Deal,” said Delphi. They spread the paper on the floor, settled in with the pretzels, and continued to scout the audition listings until well past midnight.

  James emerged from the shower to find Jayla dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, her arms and legs crossed in full defensive girlfriend position.

  “Are you drinking again?” she asked.

  “Do you smell it on me?”

  “No.”

  “Then what makes you think I’m drinking again?”

  He pulled a pair of jeans from his closet. He had promised her they’d run out for a bite to eat, although he wasn’t particularly hungry. He would rather have just gone to sleep.

  “You’re acting funny.”

  “Funny weird or funny ha-ha?”

  Jayla uncrossed her legs in order to stamp her foot on the floor. “Don’t mess with me, James. It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

  “What girl?” James asked, taking a moment to straighten the hangers. He knew damn well what girl, but he couldn’t begin to explain why he felt guilty about Isobel.

  “That white bitch,” Jayla said.

  He sighed. It was time to level with her. Partly. “I admit, I’m a little preoccupied, because I found out something about one of the people she’s working with.”

  “So pull her out of there and be done with it,” Jayla said. “I want her out of this bedroom!”

  “She is not in this bedroom!”

  “Mm hmmm,” said Jayla knowingly. “Your head was somewhere else just now. Your bigger head, that is.”

  James shrugged on a T-shirt. “You’re creating a problem where there isn’t one.”

  “I’m not a fool, James. I know when somebody isn’t telling me the truth.”

  James whirled on her. “Maybe I’m just not into you anymore, Jayla. And that has nothing to do with Isobel!”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. It wasn’t a new thought, but it hadn’t crystallized as truth until that moment. Now there was no going back.

  Clearly, that possibility hadn’t occurred to Jayla. James could tell from her shocked expression that she couldn’t fathom how he could give her up unless there was somebody else.

  She softened a bit. “James…James,” she purred. “I thought we wanted the same thing.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Marriage. Children. A strong black family.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and took Jayla’s hand.

  “Listen, it’s not that I don’t want that, and it’s not that I don’t want that with you.” He allowed himself that white lie. “But I’m not ready. I haven’t even been sober for a month. This is new ground. It’s like a new me. I need to feel what the world is really like.”

  Jayla pulled her hand away. “You mean you need to see who else is out there,” she said in a brittle voice. “And after I stood by you and everything. Who got you into AA, huh?”

  He stared at his hands. “I know, and I’m grateful. But I need to spread my wings a little. I need,” he paused, realizing he hadn’t quite admitted this to himself, “I need some time alone to figure out who I am without the booze.”

  Jayla stood up and looked down at him, which made him feel like a child about to be scolded.

  “You expect me to believe that you, who are afraid to be alone—and don’t tell me otherwise, you know it’s true—are leaving me…for nobody?”

  He sighed. He was telling the truth, but it was so far removed from Jayla’s image of him that he knew no amount of protesting would convince her. There was only one way to make this stick.

  “All right. There is somebody else.”

  “I knew it!” Jayla’s eyes blazed triumphantly, but her voice settled lower as she realized what this meant. “Who is it?”

  James paused. “Her name is Felice Edwards. She works in HR at InterBank Switzerland.”

  Jayla looked for a moment like she didn’t believe him. Then she slapped him hard across the face and walked out.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Isobel had hoped to get to Stan before Conchita set up her guard post, but the Diet Coke had kept her awake, and, as a result, she didn’t arrive at her desk until nine thirty. She’d have to wait until Conchita’s lunch break and hope that she could snare Stan then. She set aside Doreen’s flash drives to return to Frank, took phone messages, placed a few equipment orders, and researched non-Equity performing opportunities.

  “InterBank Switzerland, this is Isobel,” she said, picking up the phone absent-mindedly as she clicked on the Blue Hill Troupe, the oldest Gilbert and Sullivan company in the city.

  “It’s James. I have to talk to you.”

  Isobel turned her back on Nikki’s desk, even though Nikki wasn’t in yet. “More suspicions to fling around? Shall I put you on speaker phone?”

  “It’s important,” he said. “Meet me for lunch.”

  “I’m not taking lunch today. There’s an audition tomorrow—”

  “There’s a diner at Twenty-third and Park Avenue South, northeast corner. Twelve thirty.” Before she could argue, he hung up.

  She stared at the phone, vaguely irritated. He hadn’t given her much choice. On the other hand, maybe he planned to apologize for putting her on the spot with Nikki. She hoped he’d gotten more from Felice Edwards or knew where the police investigation was heading. She had certainly picked up a few interesting tidbits since they’d last spoken, although she hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to share them.

  The morning dragged on, leaving her plenty of time to speculate about the urgency of James’s phone call. At twelve twenty, Isobel walked around the bend to Frank’s office to let him know she was taking a quick lunch. He nodded his assent, but when she turned to leave, she saw that Conchita was nowhere in sight and Stan’s door was open.

  Damn, she thought, glancing at her watch. I don’t have time for this now.

  But she knew this might be her only chance to avoid the self-appointed Cerberus. She banished James from her mind and darted into Stan’s office.

  “Hello!” she said, rather too energetically.

  Stan squinted at her through his doughy cheeks.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his speech high and adenoidal, probably a result of his cold.

  “Isobel Spice. We met last week? I’m temping. I mean, I was temping, but now I’m filling in for Doreen. Not filling in exactly…replacing her. But not permanently! Remember, I took a message for you last week?”

  Thank God this isn’t an audition, thought Isobel.

  “Oh, right. Is there something you need from me?”

  “Actually, I wanted to see if you needed anything from me. Any, um, filing or anything?”

  “No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry about Doreen. I know you and she were—”

  “What?” His features altered, for the first time, into a slightly less squishy demeanor. She noticed for the first time that he had remarkably long eyelashes.

  “You were…” she paused. How much should she know? “You knew her outside of work.”

  Stan regarded her warily. “We wen
t way back,” he said. “I’m sorry, I have work to do.” He picked up a yellow legal pad and flipped through the pages.

  “I mean,” Isobel stuttered on, “I’m sure it was a great loss. And, um, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what had led her to say that, considering that Stan was still fairly high on her list of suspects. A pained expression crossed his face, and he ran his fingers through his thick hair.

  “Thank you. It was a loss. Nobody else here gets that. Even Conchita doesn’t appreciate—” he stopped. “Doreen was not an easy person. But nobody will ever understand the things she did for me. The sacrifices she made. I’m not sure why she made them.” He shook his head sadly. “And now I’m on my own.”

  “So you didn’t kill her?” Isobel blurted out, startled by this odd confession.

  “Jesus wept! Of course he didn’t kill her!” Conchita cried from behind her. “I told you to leave the poor man in peace. I can take care of everything he needs.”

  “Not everything,” Stan said, locking eyes with Conchita over Isobel’s shoulder.

  Conchita set her mouth in a thin line and nodded her head sharply, like a genie granting a wish.

  “Everything,” she said firmly.

  Isobel was panting when she slid into the booth across from James at the Moonstone Diner.

  “Sorry I’m late! I finally got to talk to Stan Henderson, and it wasn’t what I expected. I thought since he was married briefly to Doreen years ago, he might have killed her. But he seems genuinely distraught. I can’t understand why—I mean, I can’t imagine anyone really liking that woman, but he said something intriguing about her making all kinds of sacrifices for his sake, stuff nobody else would do. Anyway, now I’m thinking he probably didn’t do it, unless he’s a really good liar, but he doesn’t strike me as that bright. Now Conchita, his secretary, she’s another case altogether, and I’m pretty sure she has a thing for Stan. She doesn’t seem the type—she must be pushing sixty—but even though she’s kind of grandmotherly and all, there’s real metal underneath her. You know what I mean?”

  James blinked. “I’m fine, Isobel, thanks. And you?”

  She blushed and sat back against the banquette. “I was blathering, wasn’t I?”

  “No problem. I like a good monologue with my lunch.”

  “I’m sorry.” She seemed genuinely dismayed, which James found inexplicably endearing.

  The waitress appeared, pen and pad in hand. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a grilled cheese sandwich,” Isobel said, without glancing at the menu.

  “Turkey on rye, mustard, lettuce, tomato,” James said. “And a Coke.”

  “Oh! Me, too,” said Isobel.

  James couldn’t resist. “All that caffeine. Do you think it’s wise?”

  “It’s okay, I’m not driving,” Isobel said.

  James found himself resisting the urge to say, “Not funny. I’m an alcoholic.” Instead, he said, “You look very nice today,” and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Isobel’s hand flew to her hair, smoothing it behind her ears. “Thank you. What’s so urgent?”

  James shook his head. He wasn’t quite ready to burst her bubble yet. “No, you go on about Stan Henderson.” He cast his mind back to his lunch with Felice. “Didn’t Doreen get him the job?”

  Isobel looked surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Felice told me at lunch the other day.”

  “Ah, yes. You seem to be making a habit of this sort of thing,” said Isobel, indicating their surroundings. “Tell me, was that lunch with Felice purely business?”

  “I have a girlfriend.” Although as soon as he said it, he realized it wasn’t true anymore.

  Isobel’s lip curled in amusement. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

  Damn, he thought. What is wrong with me?

  “Yes, it was business,” he said. “Mainly to find out what kind of people you’re in with.”

  “I wonder why Stan and Doreen’s marriage was annulled,” Isobel went on. “Annulment—the ‘oops, I made a mistake’ divorce.”

  James shrugged. “Probably one of them discovered something about the other they didn’t know before. Like inability to perform in bed. Isn’t that the big reason marriages are annulled? Failure to consummate?”

  “But they were high school sweethearts. Wouldn’t they have known that?”

  “Maybe they chose to abstain.”

  Isobel feigned shock. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

  “Seriously, though, nothing you’ve said makes a good case for him killing her. Prior failed marriage? Not enough.” He sucked a cold mouthful of Coke through his straw.

  “I guess not. But the way Nikki presented it to me, it sounded logical. I thought maybe Stan resented Doreen for helping him.”

  “Nikki?”

  “She’s the one who pointed me toward Stan.”

  I’ll bet she did, thought James. He knew he should tell Isobel what he’d learned about Nikki, but he wasn’t quite ready.

  “Tell me about Conchita,” he said instead, when their sandwiches arrived. “According to Felice, she’s very religious.”

  “Maybe. I’m not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a great cover, isn’t it?” Isobel said. “Crying and praying all the time. No one would ever think she was capable of killing someone. This is a woman who claims she’s worn the same silver and emerald cross since her first communion! But she’s fiercely protective of Stan. She’s going out of her way to make sure I don’t talk to him.”

  “Felice said Conchita thought Doreen made good people do bad things,” he said.

  Isobel’s eyes grew appealingly wide. “What do you think that means?”

  James shrugged. “Something. But who knows what? What about the boss, Lusardi?”

  Isobel frowned and shook her head. “Can’t quite get a handle on him. He liked Doreen.” She paused. “No, liked isn’t the right word. Appreciated her. But even so, he doesn’t seem all that broken up. He and Paula Toule-Withers don’t get along at all. Then again, she’s a bitch. I hope she gets offed next.”

  “Isobel!”

  “But she did tell me something interesting.” Isobel waved her pickle for emphasis. “Apparently, Doreen was in the habit of leaving for lunch every day at one p.m., and she always stopped in the ladies’ room first. I was the only person who didn’t know where to find her. And, of course, I’m the one who found her.”

  There was a pause, and James knew the time had come.

  “I know you’re not going to like this, but you have to listen. The thing I have to tell you—it’s about Nikki.”

  Isobel set her Coke glass down on the table with a thud. “Are you going to tell me to be careful of her again?”

  “No, I’m going to tell you why.”

  He proceeded to tell her everything he’d learned from Gretchen Bryars at Credit Exchange Bank and what he had read in the Temp Zone files.

  “Your monologue wasn’t as good as mine,” Isobel said when he finished.

  “This isn’t a competition.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” Isobel said haughtily. “I happen to know that the reason Nikki is freelance now at InterBank is that she left for three months for an acting job, and her statute of limitations was up.”

  “How do you know it was an acting job? How do you know she didn’t switch over to Credit Exchange, get caught, get fired, then contact Felice’s predecessor about freelancing directly?”

  Isobel gave an exasperated sigh. “Because she’s an actor! Actors don’t leave temp jobs for other temp jobs, they leave for acting jobs. Why don’t you people take us seriously?”

  “What do you mean ‘you people’?” James asked, feeling his neck grow hot.

  “All you buttoned-up corporate types. You, Frank Lusardi. My father’s just as bad. You all think it’s a big joke. ‘Oh, look! Isobel and Nikki are going to be actresses. I mea
n they’re going to try to be actresses. They won’t succeed, of course. There are too many people out there who are really talented, but isn’t it cute that they’re giving it a shot?’”

  He’d obviously struck a nerve, but she wasn’t assimilating the facts. He reached across to touch her hand, but she snatched it away from him.

  “I’m sure you’re a good actress,” he said. “And believe me, I’m sure Nikki is, too. I imagine she can fool people very well. I think she’s got you fooled.”

  “Well, you’re wrong about her,” Isobel snapped. “And haven’t you overlooked one tiny detail?”

  “What’s that?”

  “They have different names!”

  “I know, but look how similar they are! Isobel, don’t be stupid—you’re the college graduate, I’m the dropout. Gretchen even said Annika went by Nikki.”

  Isobel stood up. “You’re just trying to cover your ass for making a fool of yourself the other day.”

  “Okay, I admit it—I started snooping because I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t overreacting. But where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Isobel turned away, but he pressed on. “Do you trust Nikki?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t think there’s anything a little off about her?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t like what I’ve heard about her, and I didn’t get a good vibe from her the other day—”

  “Of course you didn’t! You were casting aspersions about her behind her back in front of her face!”

  “And what I learned this morning confirmed them! Come on, Isobel, can you honestly say you like this woman?”

  “Better than I like you!”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then Isobel said coldly, “And besides, Nikki’s leather pants are lemon yellow, not buttercup.” She turned and marched out of the diner.

  James watched her leave, stunned. Isobel’s words had hurt just as much as Jayla’s slap.

  No, not just as much. More.

  He was too angry to go back to his office. Angry at Isobel for being childish and stubborn, and angry at Jayla for being right about Isobel. He should have either made the executive decision to pull Isobel off the job or left her to fend for herself. Trying to arm her with information was obviously a mistake.