Love on the Boardwalk

by Christi Barth

  As Trina resettled the ruffled top of her strapless jumper—it felt a lot like an infant’s onesie with the legs cropped short, except sexier and hot pink—she felt a hat land on her head. Just as fast, she tugged it off. Looked at the logo of a cresting wave behind the words Atlantic Dunes Resort Casino on it. The cap was tacky, but not in the fun way she’d hoped. Women wore caps to cover up bad hair days. And she was having a perfectly fine hair day. The ocean hair gave her bob a little extra oomph.

  “Nope.” Darcy whipped it from her and jammed it back on Trina’s head. “Your red hair means you burn in the amount of time it takes me to sneeze. Wear the hat.”

  “Geez, I’m so glad you’re here to look after me,” Trina said with a heaping helping of sarcasm.

  “And geez, I’m so not glad you’re here working in a strip club!”

  “Oh.” In a perfect world, Darcy wouldn’t have found out. Trina had planned to skate over the details of her undercover job by claiming client confidentiality. She kicked at loose gravel on the edge of the parking lot. “Brad told you?”

  “Of course. He’s worried about you.” Darcy slid her arm through Trina’s. “And now Coop and I are, too. Strip clubs are breeding grounds for all sorts of dangerous activities. Drugs, prostitution, and here in AC, I feel safe in adding the Mafia to that list.”

  “That kind of lecture is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Talk about seeing the glass as half-empty.” Darcy looked suitably chastened. So much so that it took her until they made it onto the path that curved through the artists’ colony to respond.

  “You’re right. I promised I’d support you in this career just as enthusiastically as I did when you tried cake decorating. And dog walking. And when you managed that tanning parlor.”

  Trina’s temper, which fizzled as fast as it flared, dissipated at the reminder that Darcy did support her. Or at least, she whole-heartedly supported the idea of Trina’s joy in the attempt to be happy. Darcy could be very evasive when it came to actually supporting her friend’s endeavors. Sure, she’d eaten all of the cakes, decorated and frosting failures alike. But she’d never booked a session at the tanning salon. Refused to accompany Trina on any of her walks with eight dogs straining at their leashes at once.

  She tugged at the white skirt covered with big navy flowers of Darcy’s halter-style dress. “I can handle myself. I’ve been taking karate, you know. I already have a yellow belt. Plus I took that self-defense course. I never walk out of there alone, and I text Joe before and after every shift at the club. It was just supposed to be for a couple of days.”

  Darcy paused in front of the first of the low-slung tan buildings with weathered, shingled walls and roofs perched on the edge of the marina. Each door was propped open, with a fold-down shelf holding photographs or paintings. A few doors were works of art in their own right, covered with detailed recreations of local landmarks. Even though it was a weekday, other shoppers already mingled in and out of the shops along the promenade.

  “Supposed to be?” she said with a quizzical look.

  Oops. That had slipped out. Although...Darcy had helped her solve the case in Ocean City. The one that led her to jump into the world of private investigation. Maybe Darcy was her good-luck charm. So what if Brad had pooh-poohed Trina’s hunch? This would be her do-over. Her chance to reel in a partner.

  “I’m staying a little while longer. I think I found my own case to crack,” Trina declared.

  Darcy’s eyes flared wide. “Are you allowed to do that? By yourself, I mean? I thought you said Joe had you on a pretty short leash.”

  Too short. More like a choke chain. She sucked in a deep breath of the briny air. “He’s cautious. I told him that I might be on the trail of something hot. He lectured me about not working for free. But he did applaud listening to my instincts. Once I told him I’d take unpaid vacation for the rest of the week to dig into it, he got behind me. Or at least, he didn’t complain. If I solve it, that’ll prove to him I’m ready for anything.”

  More importantly, it would prove it to Trina. Prove that this might finally, after years of trying on dozens of jobs for size, be the one that fit. Without that proof, it’d be easy to walk away, like she did every time. Sure, she loved trying new things. But it was starting to feel like sticking someplace would be a good thing to try, too. As long as it was the right place. And figuring that out was trickier than pairing plaid with stripes.

  With a half-skip and a twirl that spun out her wide skirt, Darcy said, “Then you’ll get promoted. Stop being a trainee. Maybe even get your name on the company website.”

  Didn’t that just sound official as all get-out. Serious. Although in her experience, serious often became boring. “It’s an option. You know I’m wild about options.”

  The twirling abruptly stopped. Darcy put a hand out to steady herself on a sandwich board promising a genuine speck of lucky Atlantic City sand embedded in every necklace. “Uh oh. I’ve heard that tone in your voice before. What’s this option that’s caught your fancy?”

  Okay, it was a relief to let it out. “Do you remember my friend Khristiana Valentine? The one who went to New York to sell her line of high fashion dog clothes?”

  “How could I possibly forget? Those rain boots she made cost more than my knee high suede boots that I spent two months saving up for.”

  They were super cute. Especially the ones with individual painted toenails on them. People didn’t appreciate the craftsmanship it took to work on items so small. “Khristiana got on one of those fashion reality shows. She didn’t win, but she did survive long enough to catch the eye of some investors.”

  “Because there’s such a market for couture dog clothes?”

  “Yes, actually,” Trina snapped back. “But no, not for those. She came back home to Annapolis to work on her own line. For humans,” she added before Darcy could make another sarcastic snipe. “It could be big. Or it could fail miserably. But she’s got her shot. And she’s looking for help.”

  “You?” Darcy flapped her hands. “God, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I know you’ve always been into designing clothes as a hobby. The dress you made me for my birthday is just beautiful. I get compliments every time I wear it. Making a whole clothing line, though, that’s a significant leap up from a hobby.”

  Yep. It sure was. Trina knew she’d bring a good eye. Boundless enthusiasm. But was that enough? She adored dabbling in fashion. Had dreamt of putting out her own line, as a matter of fact. But that was just a fun dream, no more possible than hair that grew in a different color every month. Trina was pragmatic enough, and aware enough of how much her rent cost every month, to not fly out on a limb solo.

  “I know this is a big deal. Khristiana’s feeling pressured. Worried she can’t come up with enough ideas to keep the investors happy. She definitely can’t sew it all by herself. Ideally, she wants a team of four people. She’s holding one slot for me.”

  Darcy grabbed Trina’s hands and squeezed. “Do you want to do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Which really meant yes, of course she did. It sounded like a ton of fun. Trina generally found it difficult to resist the lure of a fun new job. As long as she brought in enough money to support herself, why not follow the fun? At least, that had been her viewpoint through all seventeen different jobs on her resume. Life was to be enjoyed. Lately, though, she’d started to think about the different sort of fun that could be had by really digging in and committing. To not let months of experience go to waste by switching to a new career on the turn of a dime.

  “What about all this training you’ve been doing with Joe? You’re really ready to just walk away from it? Start all over again?”

  Trina gave in to the impulse to roll her eyes. If she knew the answer, or if the choice was easy, she wouldn’t be asking Darcy’s opinion. “I don’t know.”

  “Can I say something th
at may sound kind of harsh? I’ll spit it out and then drop it entirely. This is just something for you to mull. But I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Darcy, you can say anything to me. I won’t be upset. And if you’re worried it’ll upset me, you can buy lunch to even the score.”

  “You know, you’ve spent years looking for a man who believes in you one hundred percent. Who doesn’t judge you by what you do. Someone who supports who you are inside, no matter what you do. Maybe what you need is to start by believing in yourself enough to stick with something long-term.”

  Yikes. That certainly fit the description of harsh. It had never occurred to Trina that she didn’t believe in herself. That maybe she didn’t leave jobs because she’d found something better, but because she wasn’t sure she had what it took to stay with them. Double yikes. And she’d definitely need time to think about it. Trina didn’t want to stare at Darcy’s solemn green eyes while she pondered. She squinted to look down the row of shops for any distraction. Boy, did she ever hit the jackpot when her eyes fell on a stripper from Club Eden.

  “Leilani,” she cried out with a wave. Then she let go of one of Darcy’s hands and took off at a run, pulling her friend along. “Come on.”

  Their sandals slapped against the cement. A trio of gulls flapped into the air, squawking their displeasure. The woman with jet black hair almost to the frayed edge of her denim cutoffs just gaped at them.

  “Leilani, hi,” Trina gasped. Whew. The karate training was a workout, but clearly not enough of an aerobic workout. Running toward a clue—or away from danger—was as important as being able to defend yourself when running wasn’t an option.

  “Hey.” The quick twitch of Leilani’s head brought the curtain of hair down to shield one side of her face. Not fast enough, however, to prevent them from seeing the black eye that showed even through heavy makeup.

  The black eye—and the bruises in the shape of a hand print on her upper arm—hadn’t been there when Trina last worked with her two nights ago. The very night she’d seen Leilani stuffing something into Shorty’s pockets at the end of her shift. Was Leilani who he’d planned to meet at the arcade? And who had Leilani met that had roughed her up? The thought of it knotted her stomach. Whatever was going on, she’d find a way to help the dancer, who’d been nice enough to show her the ropes on Trina’s first night.

  “This is my best friend, Darcy. She’s visiting, um, another friend of ours.” How to describe Brad? Calling him the sad guy on his non-honeymoon painted the wrong picture. Saying he was the guy who Trina really liked and wanted to lick all over, while true, made it hard to explain Darcy’s presence. “It’s kind of complicated.”

  “So’s life,” muttered the Hawaiian girl, shifting her gaze back and forth between the two friends.

  Darcy shot out a hand to give Leilani’s a vigorous shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  With every minute that ticked by, more shoppers filled the waterfront. Trina edged them over to a wooden piling, out of the flow of traffic.

  “Are you okay?” She looked pointedly at the purplish circle around Leilani’s bloodshot left eye. “I can’t offer you an icepack or a raw steak to put on it. Not that I would, out here. Seagulls would dive bomb you if you put a slab of beef on your face. But I’ll bet Darcy’s got some ibuprofen in her purse. Even though she looks all young and hip, she totally packs a mom purse, full of all sorts of weird stuff. A Swiss Army knife. Hand sanitizer. Granola bars. Condoms. A flashlight.”

  A shake of the head cut off her rambling. Great timing, since Trina was running out of things to list. Although she did remember one time Darcy pulled an entire package of balloons out of her purse. Kind of like Hermione’s magic sack in the last Harry Potter book. Just not as comprehensive.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll need to buy some better concealer, I guess, but I’ll be fine. Thanks.” With a polite nod at Darcy, she started to walk away.

  Crap. She wasn’t in the mood to chat. Which meant Trina didn’t have the luxury of slowly working around to the point. Of course, it also meant she had nothing to lose by diving straight to it. She reached out a hand to snag the side of Leilani’s white tank to stop her.

  “I, uh, expected to see you yesterday. At the arcade.” Trina tried to wink knowingly. Except she couldn’t wink. Never had been able to. Damn. A knowing wink seemed like a really useful P.I. tool. “I heard you’d be there.”

  “From who?” Leilani shot back with a frown.

  It wasn’t a denial. Which was practically the same as admitting it, according to Joe’s rules on how to interpret hinky situations. So Trina waved her hand in the air, trying to look breezy and in the know. “The short guy. He told me.”

  “You were going to meet Ralph, too? Man, I can’t believe he pulled you in so fast.” She shook her head. “Ralph DiNunzio might not look like much, but he can sure sucker a desperate girl.”

  “Sucker? You think I’m being scammed?”

  “I think we’re the ones taking all the risk. You don’t see Ralph sporting a black eye, do you? Nobody works him over when things go south. I was just a little late. And now I lose at least three shifts because nobody wants to watch a stripper whose face takes all the attention away from her boobs. How is that fair?”

  Trina wasn’t rolling in dough. She never had any trouble paying her rent, but changing jobs so often didn’t give her the chance to build up much of a safety net. Listening to Leilani, though, made her want to rush to the nearest ATM and give the battered girl every cent in her checking account.

  Darcy pulled out a chocolate bar and offered it to Leilani, who ripped it open and immediately bit into it with a moan of delight. After giving her a chance to swallow, Darcy asked, “Did Ralph do that to you?”

  A roll of the eyes accompanied her next bite. “Of course not. He’d need a stepladder to belt me in the eye.”

  “Who then?” Trina put a hand on the dancer’s shoulder. Not just to establish contact, but because she really thought Leilani needed some comfort. “Maybe we can do something. Say something to stop it from happening again. Stand up to him. Get some help.”

  “I don’t need help. Are you trying to make even more trouble for me?”

  “No, of course not.” But she could tell she’d lost her.

  “Thanks for the candy. Keep your head down, Trina.” Leilani hurried away.

  “That was heart-wrenching,” said Darcy.

  “Yeah.” This wasn’t just a potential case anymore. It wasn’t limited to money changing hands under the sticky tables at Club Eden for God knows what. Now it was personal. Somebody who was willing to hit a woman generally didn’t stop at a black eye. Trina volunteered at a battered women’s shelter back in Baltimore, and knew how quickly violence could escalate. It didn’t matter how many days she’d have to keep working at the club. Trina wasn’t leaving until she found out who beat up her friend, and why, and put an end to it.

  Darcy pulled out her phone and held it out. “Well, do you want to call Brad, or should I call Coop?”

  “What for?”

  The look on Darcy’s face was the same one she’d worn in high school, when Trina had zoned out during history class and told the teacher that Christopher Columbus landed at Plymouth Rock. “To arrest that guy.”

  “For what? Leilani said that Ralph’s not the one who hit her.”

  “Yes, but clearly he’s involved in something illegal.”

  Ha! Now Trina could return the same huffy look of did you really just say that really stupid thing. It was the first time she’d ever been able to do it to Darcy, and it felt great. “That’s not a specific enough charge for an arrest warrant. We don’t have anything concrete. Nothing the police could act on. But the situation’s off. Off enough that I have to keep digging.”

  “Of course you do. We can’t let that poor girl just keep getting pummeled. B
ut—with all due respect to your yellow belt in karate—this seems dangerous. Do you have to do it alone?”

  Whew. Better for Darcy to volunteer than to have to ask her. “I hope not. My favorite partner is here, ready to work out a plan with me over lunch.”

  “We chased bad guys on our last vacation. I was hoping to mix things up this time.” Darcy widened her eyes hopefully. “Maybe not end my road trip with a gun pointed at me.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brad lowered his voice and pulled Coop down a couple of steps on the escalator ahead of the girls. “Are you sure you’re going to have any money left to gamble? That prime rib dinner was over-the-top amazing—and expensive. You didn’t have to cover all of us.”

  “How often do we get to do a double date at the swankiest joint in town?” Coop shot his cuffs with the smoothness of a wise guy. Damn. Since when did his cousin even own cuff links? Or a shirt that required them? “No point in half-assing it.”

  “I appreciate your whole-ass-ed-ness, believe me.” Brad patted his belly. He could cook well enough for a single man. Not just burgers or dorm room food like grilled cheese, either. There were a couple of chicken recipes he used to impress dates, and a handful of pasta recipes that kept him going. But he never went to the trouble to make himself a feast of shrimp cocktail, lobster bisque, Caesar salad, prime rib and au gratin potatoes.

  “Do you think Darcy and Trina are having a good time?”

  What kind of a question was that? It gave Brad déjà vu to the first time he and Coop had double dated, back in eighth grade. “Of course they are. We all are. The four of us just laughed for two hours straight through dinner. This is a night we’ll be talking about for years—and we haven’t even hit the tables yet. Why the hell are you asking?”

  “No reason. Nothing.” Coop charged off the escalator onto the mobbed casino floor.

  Now that it was Friday, the place was wall-to-wall people. Guys their age who seemed to run in packs of seven, all in a uniform of jeans and untucked button-down shirts. Bachelorette parties full of women in too tight, too short skirts they tugged down every two steps, pink sashes and pink boas. Obvious hand-holding dates that matched their own foursome with suits and slinky dresses. There was a constant din of slot machines at different pitches. Groups of shouts came from the direction of the craps tables. Loud music drifted over from the bars. Brad did a double take. The nearest bar sported three women gyrating on top of it dressed only in knee-high boots, sequined bras and shorts that turned into thongs in the back. He reached back and grabbed for Trina’s hand.