“What are you doing here?” My tone was possibly a tad too motherly.
“It was his idea.” Clarence pointed to Guy whose complexion had gone from red to green.
“Thought it would make a great story,” stammered Guy whose eyes darted around. “But I’m starting to have second thoughts.”
Clarence was beaming. “We’re their first gay couple.”
“Except you’re not gay,” I reminded him.
He shrugged. “It’s still nice that they don’t discriminate.”
Pointing toward the far corner, I barked an order. “This way.”
Across from the baby grand piano were two chairs. I motioned for them to sit and handed my phone to Clarence. “Here—look at your dad’s last text and try to decipher. I’m getting Guy a glass of water.” I snapped my fingers in front of Guy’s face. “Stay with us. I’m getting you something cool to drink.” He smiled weakly, taking the hat off his head and nervously fiddling with its brim.
Half way to the kitchen I bumped into Dandi Booker. I bumped into her hard, and I’ll admit, I did it on purpose.
“Hey there, girl!” she chirped all Southern-like. She wrapped her hand around my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Imagine finding a nice girl like you in a place like this.”
“Why are you using my name?”
“What?”
“They called you, Barb. Your name isn’t Barb. My name is Barb.”
“Shh, girl, shh. Didn’t anyone tell you the rules?”
When my face didn’t register understanding, she sighed a deep Scarlett O’Hara sigh. “We don’t use our real names here, for cripes sake. Everyone picks a name—you know a plainish name like Mary, or Sue, or Jane. Only those were already taken, so I took Barbara. Around here, I’m Barbara Haynes. Like the undies, but with a ‘y’ for spice.” She put on a conspiratorial face. “I have to shake it up a teensy bit. It’s just not in me to be all the way plain, you know? You should pick one quick-like. How about...Linda?”
“Barbara isn’t a plainish name,” I countered.
She patted me on the hand. “Oh, Sweetie, it works on you. Don’t worry. How about Linda Miller?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’ll do. Listen, I’m looking for the woman who I think lives here—Shin Lee?”
“You just don’t catch on, do you? Club names, Linda, club names.”
“Let’s put it this way, anyone around that looks like her name could be Shin Lee? Who lives here?”
“That’s Cathy Black, only I haven’t seen her pretty little head yet tonight. She might be downstairs.” She passed me a wink. “Some like to get started early, you know.”
I winced as my mind darted toward images her comment conjured. Downstairs was probably where the “dancing” occurred. I couldn’t even watch movies on Cinemax, aka, Skin-amax, so I sure as heck didn’t want to catch the live show. But the fact of the matter was, Colt was in trouble and Shin Lee could be the answer. I asked Dandi-Barb where the stairs were. She pointed to a door off the hallway just past the far end of the kitchen.
More people had arrived, and even the mini-palace was starting to feel crowded. I scooched around and squeezed through small groups of chatty members until I reached the door. Above it was a lit blue and white neon sign that read, Saturday Night Fever. Beneath the words hung a pair of kissing lips, just like the business card logo. Man, these people were organized.
Pulling the door open revealed a nice surprise. Shin Lee the crazy Asian lady stood barefoot on the plushy carpeted stairs that did not go straight down, but rather made a bend half-way. She seemed to be talking to someone around the corner, obscured by the wall. Her silky blue and white dress fell just above the knee, but the neckline plunged nearly to her navel.
“You can do it, I know you can,” she cooed in a gentle, very American-sounding voice. “You’re the Master, baby, you’re the Master.”
So, she spoke English after all, that little faker.
Chapter Ten
My first impulse was to run for the hills, fearful I was about to witness a raunchy moment between two thrill-seeking suburbanites. However, my second impulse, which was to open my big fat mouth, overpowered the first, as it often does. “Hey, Miss No-Speak-English! What’s the deal?”
That got her to notice me.
“You’re the lady from this morning,” she said, again, speaking better English than Colin Firth and Lawrence Olivier combined. “What are you doing here?”
With a great deal of courage that surprised the heck out of me, I stomped down the five or six stairs between us, peeked around the corner and said to the man in baggy jeans standing there, “Excuse me, I have some important business to discuss with your...uh... partner.” I grabbed Shin Lee Cathy Black and pulled her up the stairs. “You have some ‘splainin’ to do,” I told her.
“Get your hands off me. I’m not done with him yet.”
“Really do not want to know the details, thank you.” I gripped her arm tighter and kept pulling. “What’s with the pretense that you don’t speak English?”
She pulled back, but not hard enough to escape my grasp. “It’s a time saver. I had somewhere to be. And you had a crazy look in your eyes.”
I didn’t know how she could have perceived my look as crazy, but I wasn’t going to go there. “Cheap trick,” I huffed.
“Who are you?” She seemed very angry with me for interrupting her debauched merger.
“Barbara Marr, Colt Baron’s friend. You’d know that if you’d have given me half a second.” I dragged her through the kitchen, into the living room and right up to Clarence and Guy, who were huddled together. Clarence was still holding my cell phone and Guy was scribbling notes on a ninety-nine-cent pocket note pad.
I presented them with a task. “This is Shin Lee, code name, Cathy Black. Don’t let her fool you, she speaks English just fine. We saw her knocking on Colt’s door this morning and we found a business card in his condo with this address on it. We suspect he was working for her since we found pictures of an Asian man on his camera from yesterday morning.” I threw an apologetic glance to Shin Cathy. “Sorry if that sounds like racial profiling.” I pointed to my “gay” friends. “This is Clarence, he’s Colt’s son, and just as worried about him as I am. And this is Guy Mertz. If you watch Channel 10, you’ve probably switched to another station when he came on. Put your hat back on, Guy, so she knows it’s you.”
The three of them were speechless, but Guy slipped his hat on anyway.
“Guy, get as much information from her as you can. I’m going to find Howard. I want to get out of this place before things get too weird.” I was about to leave when I remembered something. “There were also pictures of a blonde in black sweatpants who we think is a woman named Rita Ash.”
Clarence held up the phone for me to see. “Your friend Peggy called.”
I turned on my heels to make an organized sweep for Howard.
“Barb, can you get me that water?” called Guy.
Right, the water.
As I passed by a man in a gray striped shirt, he asked, “You’re Barb? Did you bring the tequila?”
I frowned. “That’s Barbara Haynes. With a ‘y’ for spice.” I made the sign of a ‘y’ with my arms raised. “Look for a midget that can do the splits.” I shook my head, feeling bad for using that word. “I mean a vertically-challenged Southern drunk that can do the splits.”
In the kitchen, I interrupted two women talking enthusiastically about some guy named John. “Excuse me, where could I find a glass?” I asked them.
The two women shared she’s-so-dense sneers while pointing to the towel lined counter smack-dab in front of me loaded with clean hi-balls and wine glasses. The urge to stick out my tongue at them faded as my attention drew to a woman standing near a slightly opened pair of French doors t
hat led outside. She was having a conversation with someone on the other side of the doors, but looking at me.
“That’s not Barb,” said the woman. “Barb’s in the other room.” She saw me zone-in on her conversation with the mystery person outside. “Hey!” she motioned me closer. “What’s your name?”
“Uh...” What was it again? Oh, that’s right. “Linda,” I said with less confidence than a politician claiming he won’t raise taxes.
“See, that’s Linda. I told you, Barb is in-”
The double French doors flew open and Peggy appeared between them, angrier than I’d ever seen her. I actually think the red hair on her head was flaming. Literally, not figuratively.
Peggy wasn’t the kind to get angry. When people flipped her off for driving too slow on the freeway, she felt bad for them because they weren’t stopping to smell the roses. When people cut in line at the movie theater, she smiled and offered them her extra coupon for half-off a bucket of popcorn, simultaneously advising them to forgo the fake butter—it was rancid last time she was there.
“Barb, can I speak to you out here,” she managed to spit through gritted teeth. “Please?”
I nodded, guilt-stricken, and followed her out as the irritated woman mumbled under her breath, “I wish people would either stick to the code names or drop the stupid game altogether.”
When I stepped out, the cold air bit me good. It had dropped a few degrees since Howard and I arrived. I hugged myself for warmth. “What are you doing here?”
“I was running an errand and saw your van parked on the street. Have you listened to any of my messages? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
If it had been anyone else, I would have been suspicious of the “running an errand” line, but late night jaunts were par for the Peggy’s course. And as for dropping in on a party uninvited—when Peggy had a mind to do something, nothing stopped her.
“Yeah, I know.” My gaze fell to the deck below our feet. “I’ve been busy—Colt’s missing and I’ve been worried sick about him. Howard and I are here trying to get some information from a woman we think hired him for his last job.”
Her face dropped. “That’s terrible!” She hugged me tight. “I’m so sorry! I’m a terrible friend for yelling at you just now. Can I do anything? I can-”
There she went, offering me that half-off coupon, when deep down I knew that I was the bad friend here and if I let her continue apologizing, I’d be the worst friend ever. Worse than Patrick Swayze’s embezzling bank buddy in Ghost. Although, I was really pretty sure I’d never hire a guy to kill Peggy and even if I did, I’d bet dollars to donuts that her ghost couldn’t get mad enough to kill me back.
“No,” I said, signaling her to stop. “I have a confession to make.” I took a deep, cold breath. “I’ve been avoiding your calls, and I haven’t listened to your messages, and it hasn’t been because of Colt.”
She looked as hurt as I thought she would. “He’s not missing?”
“No, he’s missing,” I said. “But I was mad at you before I knew anything was wrong.”
“The wine?”
I nodded. “And not just the wine. I’ve been jealous of Dandi Booker because...” I had a hard time saying the rest because it sounded so high-school petty.
Interestingly, Peggy finished the sentence for me. “Because she’s an itch with a B up front, that’s why. You were right about her. Not nice. Not nice at all.”
Peggy had just given me the ammunition I needed to launch into my Dandi Booker tirade. “She’s here and she’s using my name!”
“I thought I saw her car. You have to be kidding me.” She peeked back in through the doors. “Whose party is this anyway?”
It was getting far too cold to continue this gab fest outside. I pulled her into the house, closed the doors behind us and whispered, “This isn’t a party like most parties,” I said, thrilled to be sharing the darkly fun and dirty side of my evening. I grabbed two highballs from the counter, threw a few cubes from the ice bucket into them and handed her one. “Here, pretend like you’re drinking while we talk. This is gonna get good.”
“What kind of party is it?” she whispered back.
“It’s a sex party.”
Her eyes widened and she lowered the glass unconsciously.
“Glass back up. You’re drinking, remember,” I said, whispering over my own highball disguise, which, when I really thought about it, was a bad disguise since it was just a glass of ice.
She raised the fake drink back to her lips. “I don’t see anyone having sex,” she whispered.
“It happens downstairs. That’s where people get freaky, if you know what I mean. This is a meeting place for swingers.”
“No!” She was appropriately shocked. Her eyes scanned the room. “But why is Dandi here? She’s divorced. I thought swinging was for married couples.”
Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. She was right.
“And look,” her eyes pointed behind me. “That’s Rick, our soccer coach from last year. He’s a widower.” Her eyes landed on someone else. “And that’s Nancy Whittier, I know she’s single. Her husband left her two years ago for a hermaphrodite.”
Suddenly, music was blaring in our ears and the room broke into cheers. Someone yelled, “The sound system is finally operational folks, and the dance floor is open!”
Peggy looked up at one of the speakers just above our heads. “That music is familiar,” she said.
I nodded. “’Disco Inferno’ from Saturday Night Fever.” A shiver ran down my spine. “Are they going to orgy to Disco music? This is worse than I thought.”
Peggy was doubtful. “I think they’re just going to dance, Barb.”
The house lights dimmed and little lights began to flicker on the walls and ceiling all around us.
“Oh look!” she pointed at the ceiling. “Little disco balls! How fun.”
“Dancing is just a code word, Peggy. They have code names too. Dandi’s code name is Barbara Haynes.”
She wrinkled her nose and imitated a brilliant southern drawl. “Like the undies but with a “y” for spice?” She poked her finger mouth like was inducing a vomit.
“How did you know?”
“It’s her maiden name.” Her hand curled into a fist. “She screwed me good, that one.” She pointed behind me again. “There’s Howard.”
He’d spotted us and was trying to make his way through the flow of depraved sex addicts dashing for the basement. Just behind him were Clarence, Guy, and Shin-Cathy, who looked very annoyed.
Howard gave Peggy a nod of acknowledgement along with a raised eyebrow. I’m sure he wondered how she found me. He didn’t vocalize his curiosity though. “I caught up with Martin and Lewis questioning Shin Lee. This isn’t a swingers’ club,” he said. “It’s a dance club.”
“Told you,” said Peggy.
“Then why all the code names and invites and secrecy?”
Guy spoke up, “She can tell you that.” He gave Shin a little push and she threw him a dirty look.
“It’s just part of the fun. We like to pretend it’s something a little racy. You know, for the thrill of it. Plus, it’s Disco. Some of us have reputations to uphold, you know?”
I set my chilled glass on the counter beside me. “But what about the discussion boards?”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen those, but they’re getting us confused with a group out in Ashburn Heights. Now from what I hear, they are swingers.”
Clarence laughed. “You guys should switch to Eighties music. Everyone thinks New Wave and Punk is cool.”
Shin smirked. “That’s Burning Down the House. They meet on Fridays in Oakton Park.”
“Anyway,” said Howard, slightly annoyed. “Shin did hire Colt to spy on her husband, who isn’t here tonight.�
��
She nodded, looking pained. “He said he’d be late. Again. You know, this is very personal. Do we need to be sharing it with the world?”
He continued, “Because she thinks he’s having an affair with a club member named Rita Ash.”
“Wait,” said Peggy. “How long has Colt been missing?”
“The last time anyone saw him was yesterday afternoon,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “That’s weird. Really weird.”
“Why?” I asked, starting tire of the flickering lights from the disco balls.
“I just remembered that I talked to him yesterday afternoon. I saw him walking on the sidewalk when I was dropping one of the boys at a friend’s house on Nectarine Drive. You know the kid, Barb. He’s in Bethany’s class. Nathan John or John Nathan and I have no idea which because my Daniel just calls him “Buddy,” so I’m never sure if the mother’s name is Jennifer John or Jennifer Nathan. Do you know which it is?”
“No.” I gritted my teeth. “Anything else about Colt?”
“Oh. Right. He asked if I knew Rita Ash.”
Chapter Eleven
Howard’s face tightened with that bit of news and then his cell phone rang. He excused himself to take the call outside on the deck.
Shin Lee narrowed her eyes at the mention of Rita Ash. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t help you earlier. Been in a mood lately. But I’m the hostess here. I need to get downstairs and make sure everyone is having a good time.”
I looked to Clarence and Guy. “Did she give us what we need?”
Guy held up his note pad. “It’s all here. She doesn’t seem to know much. Howard could tell you better, but my hunch is we really need to talk to the husband.”
I shrugged my shoulders at her and she scooted away. At the basement door, she turned back briefly. “I hope Colt is okay,” she shouted above the music. “He’s a good guy.”
Saturday Night Cleaver (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #4) Page 9