Kiss of Death

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Is something bothering you?” he asked when he realized she seemed to be staring out the window into the dark.

  “I’m just thinking. I was offered a new job today. I’d like to take it, but I can’t just give up Miranda’s business. Clients are counting on me.”

  A warning bell sounded. “What job?”

  He listened while she told him about the vet tech position. “Will you make more money than you do now?”

  “No, and I’ll have to work longer hours.”

  He was missing something here. “Then why would you be interested?”

  Whitney angled herself sideways so she was facing him. An intense expression charged with excitement lit up her face. “I’d planned to attend veterinary school before I met Ryan. I’d been accepted at UC Davis.”

  Adam knew the University of California at Davis had a topnotch veterinary school. Being accepted to such a prestigious program was quite an honor.

  “Instead of going, I married Ryan and helped put him through medical school. I’d like to give it another shot. If I take night classes I can reapply and I may have a chance of being accepted. Working with a veterinarian will give me practical experience.”

  “If they give you a good recommendation, that would help.”

  “It won’t hurt. I have to give it a try. I don’t want to wake up one day and find myself saying I wish…I want to know I gave it my best.”

  He had to admire her courage and sense of purpose. His life had once had direction and purpose, too, but that was before his stint in Iraq. He’d wanted to go into corporate security. Now he’d lost his moorings. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. But sure as hell, sitting on his ass, guarding rich people’s homes wasn’t what he had in mind.

  “What was being a detective like?” Whitney asked.

  “Nothing like what I imagined. Nothing.” He turned onto the highway. “You’re probably smart to work at a vet’s. I wish I’d had the opportunity to get a close-up view of detective work before I committed myself.”

  “You didn’t like it.”

  “I enjoyed helping people, but too much time goes into paperwork and homicides linked to drug deals.”

  She didn’t comment, but then, what could she say? The average person had no idea what went on behind the scenes at the police station.

  Whitney finally spoke. “My mother used to say that as long as there was a demand, drugs would be a problem.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, but drug use is rampant in our society. It brings in big money and that corrupts even the most well-meaning people.”

  “Didn’t you work on any interesting murder cases?”

  “Not really. Most homicides are easy to solve. The perp is usually someone the victim knows. Killers rarely strike victims at random.”

  “There’s a reason behind every crime, I guess,” Whitney said. “Like the firebomb. Someone didn’t just drive down the street and pick out the cottage because it was cute. Someone deliberately went there to kill Miranda.”

  “True, and this case is more challenging than most of those I worked while I was still on the force.”

  What also made this more interesting was Whitney. He’d never been personally involved before. In one way it bothered him, because being too close meant you might miss an important clue. But in another way, it gave him a sense of control. He doubted Dudley “The Dud” Romberg had interviewed Jared Cabral yet. Hell, for all he knew, Romberg hadn’t discovered Miranda had worked at Saffron Blue.

  He realized Whitey had stopped talking and was gazing out the window again. “What do you plan to do with your business?”

  She slowly turned to face him. “I know there are other pet concierges in the area. I’m going to ask at Dog Diva tomorrow. That’s the groomer. Dan’s the best in the area, and he really cares about his dogs. If he recommends someone, I’ll interview them and see.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. What about Lexi?”

  “They said I could bring her to work. She’ll be a calming influence on the dogs, the way she is on walks. Many animals are terrified of the vet. Dr. Robinson brings in her Lab and there’s a parrot in the waiting room to help the pets chill. I think Lexi will like it.”

  Adam had no doubt the dog would be fine, but he didn’t care for this new turn of events. Long hours. Living far away from him. He wondered how much he would see of Whitney. Not nearly enough.

  He knew he was falling for her. Hell, he might even be in love with her. It had all happened so quickly that he hadn’t had time to evaluate the situation. Maybe he didn’t need time. Hadn’t his brush with death taught him anything? Life could end in a heartbeat. Couldn’t you fall in love just as fast?

  Still, it was best not to plunge headlong into anything. There was stress and pressure and even danger all around. Give this relationship time and space, he told himself.

  They pulled into Saffron Blue’s half-full parking lot. A hulking guy in a neon-yellow shirt guarded the entrance. Later there would be a line and the bouncer would keep order until there was space inside the club for the men waiting.

  “Does the club really need a bouncer that mean-looking?” Whitney asked.

  “If guys are thinking about fighting, the bouncer intimidates them. Staff wear bright yellow because it’s easy to spot in the dark. But that’s not why he’s at the door.” He parked at the far end of the lot to be near the back of the building. “When strip joints first opened, law enforcement was under big-time pressure to shut them down. An easy way is to enforce fire regulations that limit the number of people in the club. The bouncer keeps count—on a clicker or, if he’s good like Cabral’s bouncers, in his head.”

  “Clever idea. The bouncer serves a dual purpose.”

  “Right. Give the credit to Jared Cabral’s father. He was the first club owner in SoCal to use a bouncer to regulate the count.” He put the car in Park and swiveled in his seat to face Whitney. “We’re going around to the backstage entrance. With luck, Crystal Burkhart isn’t performing yet. If she is, we’ll have to wait until she takes a break.”

  They went around back where there were several doors. Adam led her up to the center one with a card-key slot above the knob. He rapped on the door.

  “Yeah?” A burly guy in a bright yellow T-shirt stuck his head out the door.

  “We need to see Crystal Burkhart,” Adam told him.

  “Go in the front and pay.” He started to slam the door, but Adam held on to the knob.

  “I’m her cousin,” Whitney piped up, surprising Adam. “There’s been a death in the family.” The guy hesitated. “I really need to speak to her. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  He glared at Whitney but his stare crumpled when tears jumped into her eyes. Damn, she was good.

  “Aah, okay. But make it quick. The rapper’s bangin’ the shoe—” he checked his watch “—in fifteen.”

  He led them down a brightly lit hall that smelled of burgers on the grill. Adam figured the vents from the kitchen leaked a bit. To his right were a series of doors. Each had a name slot on it. By simply writing a name on a piece of paper and sliding it into the holder, the name could be changed by each dancer.

  “Bangin’ the shoe?” Whitney whispered.

  “The bar is horseshoe-shaped. They bang—dance—on it.”

  The guy halted in front of a door and knocked, calling, “Yo, Candy, your cousin’s here.”

  Adam read the plate on the door: Candy Rapper. Instead of being hand-written, this one had been engraved on a brass nameplate. Evidently, she’d worked here long enough to have a permanent nameplate inscribed for herself. Someone down the long hall yelled at the guy who’d let them in, and he hustled away from them.

  The door swung open. “Cousin? What—” The woman’s bright pink mouth gaped open when she spotted them. “Who in hell—”

  “Please, we need to talk to you,” Whitney said. “Are you Crystal Burkhart?”

  The woman nodded and her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in bag
gy jeans big enough to house five women at once and a huge shirt underneath a XXXL denim vest. Obviously, her shtick was to pretend to be a street rapper. Layers of oversize, ugly gangsta clothing concealed a stripper’s hot bod.

  “I’m Miranda Marshall’s cousin.”

  “So? That supposed to mean something?”

  Crystal sounded tough but Adam decided it was just an act.

  “You’re her friend, aren’t you?” Whitney asked.

  The woman’s lips curved into a smart-ass smirk. “No.”

  “This is important,” Adam told her. “May we come in and speak with you for a moment?” He thought she was about to refuse, so he pushed on the door and stepped into the brightly lit dressing room.

  The room wasn’t much bigger than a phone booth. In the center was a dressing table with a mirror illuminated by dozens of small bulbs. Makeup was scattered across the small table and Crystal’s street clothes were slung over the back of a small folding chair in front of the mirror.

  Crystal put a finger up to her lips to silence them. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes then headed out the door. Adam and Whitney followed the stripper as she rushed down the hall. He expected her to stop outside the stage door, but she streaked to the back wall behind three blue Dumpsters.

  “You’re a cop,” Crystal declared emphatically.

  “Not for over two years,” Adam responded. “This is a personal matter. I won’t bring in the police unless I have no other choice.”

  Crystal cupped her hand to shield the match while she lit her cigarette. “I can always spot a cop.”

  “He’s a friend who’s helping me,” Whitney said. “Something’s happened to my cousin. Miranda’s vanished.”

  “Really? Do tell.”

  Adam asked, “When was the last time you saw Miranda?”

  Crystal sucked in a puff of smoke, then slowly blew it out in a thin ribbon that drifted away in the soft breeze. It was dark behind the Dumpsters, the only illumination coming from the security lights at the back of the building. The stripper was overly made up, with stage makeup, and in the dim light she appeared clownish.

  “I haven’t seen Miranda in—” she hitched one shoulder “—at least a year and a half.”

  “Do you know if she had other friends or a boyfriend?” asked Whitney.

  “What’s it to you?”

  Adam almost interrupted but decided to let Whitney handle this. People responded to her more easily than they did to him. “Last night someone threw a pipe bomb into Miranda’s house. She isn’t living there any longer. I’m staying there with the dogs. Luckily, I was out—”

  “I saw it on TV. Were the dogs killed?”

  “No,” Whitney assured her. “They were with us or they would have been burned alive.”

  Crystal considered this information and a cold smile played across her pink-pink lips. “Miranda started dogsitting because of me. I earned money for college by walking dogs. It’s cash, it’s easy, it leaves no paper trail for the IRS.”

  “When did you two turn to stripping?” Adam asked.

  “Back when we were in college, a girl in my econ class told me about Saffron Blue.” She waved her arm in an arc and the tip of the cigarette in her hand glowed brighter. “The rest—as they say—is history.”

  “You told Miranda about it?” Whitney asked.

  Crystal inhaled another stream of smoke. “We came out here together for the first interview. Neither of us knew what to expect.”

  The feistiness seemed to have gone out of her, replaced by a tone that was almost melancholy. Adam wondered about her life. What would keep someone stripping in front of lecherous men night after night? The money, sure, but this woman had a lot going for her. She must have other options.

  “They looked us over and gave us an opportunity to ‘try out.’ Little did we know that ‘trying out’ was the same as dancing. You get tips and you fork over a ‘tryout’ fee to the house each night.”

  “Why did Miranda quit?” Whitney asked.

  “Damned if I know.” Crystal threw down her cigarette and ground it out with the heel of her hightop sneaker. “We used to be best buds—then…she went jiggy on me.”

  Jiggy was a doper’s term, but he doubted Whitney knew it. He asked, “Was Miranda using?”

  “No, but she was edgy, like she was on ice.”

  Ice. Methamphetamine. Use of the drug had exploded during the last few years. “How did you know for sure Miranda wasn’t using?”

  “I was around her too much. I would have known.” She shrugged dismissively as if to say: Who cares? “She up and quit. I haven’t seen her since. It’s been sixteen, eighteen months. Something like that.”

  “What about boyfriends?” asked Whitney.

  “When we were first at college, she went out with a guy. Lasted a year, then he transferred to some school in Texas. She dated but nothing serious. Then we started stripping.” Crystal squared her shoulders and looked directly at Adam. “Would you want your girl working here?”

  An image of Whitney strutting across the stage flitted through his mind. Before he could stop himself, he said, “Hell, no.”

  “Men are like that,” she told Whitney. “Work here, make money and get out—if you want to have a boyfriend and a real life.”

  Crystal wasn’t nearly as tough as she’d initially tried to make them think. She’d been friends with Miranda, and Whitney’s cousin had hurt her feelings. If they handled her right, the stripper would tell them what she knew.

  “Please, help us,” pleaded Whitney in a soft voice. “Someone tried to kill Miranda and nearly killed innocent people and animals. Have you any idea if Miranda was in any sort of trouble or anything?”

  Crystal shook her head. “No, but like I said, I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  Adam asked, “Could she have met someone here that might have gotten her into trouble? Who were her friends here?”

  “This isn’t the kind of place you come to make friends. We knew each other before working here or we might not have done more than say hello.”

  “What about the men who come here?”

  “Jared follows standard strip club rules. Men can’t touch you. There’s no going into back rooms or anything like what you see on TV.”

  “Can’t they buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. But no one wants to take the time. You earn more in tips by stripping than by sitting around with one guy.”

  Adam tried another tack. “Were you surprised when Miranda quit?”

  “Everyone was, especially Jared. You see, Miranda was good on the computer and she put Saffron Blue online. She was more than just another exotic dancer.” Crystal lowered her voice and leaned toward them as if someone might be eavesdropping from inside the Dumpster. “She worked the back room. Megatips. Trust me. Megatips.”

  “I take it Jared runs a high stakes poker game back there.”

  Crystal jumped around hip-hop style as if the ground was in flames. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Why?” Whitney wanted to know. “There are a lot of casinos around here.”

  “True, but high rollers who know each other like to play together,” Adam responded. “They don’t want to be forced to mix with strangers. Between hands they talk business, as if they were on the golf course.”

  “You got it. Games go on weeknights,” Crystal added. “Nothing on the weekend. The guys who play here are out socializing on Saturday and Sunday.”

  “Did Miranda mention meeting any of those men?” Whitney asked before he could.

  Crystal hesitated, shook her head, then admitted, “I’m not supposed to know anything about it. You have no idea how bonkers Jared is about security. Why do you think I brought you back here?”

  Adam had been wondering. Most smokers would have stood just outside the stage door.

  “The dressing rooms are bugged. There are security cameras everywhere. They can’t see us back here. We’re out of range of the cameras at the back exit.”
<
br />   Adam wondered why Crystal had taken the trouble to find out the security cameras’ range but didn’t ask. He figured he might be pushing their luck.

  “We won’t mention a thing about this to Cabral,” Adam assured her. “Do you know the names of any of the men who gambled here when Miranda was still working?”

  Crystal rattled off a list of names, and it included many of the heavyweight leaders in town. A thought struck him. “Did Broderick Babcock gamble here?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s here a lot.”

  “What about Ryan Fordham, a doctor,” Whitney surprised him by asking.

  “I don’t recognize the name. What did he look like?”

  Whitney described her ex and Adam waited, watching her. Why would Ryan be out here? Sure, doctors made money, but he wasn’t in the same league as the other high rollers.

  “I’m not certain, but he sounds like one of the regulars. But I haven’t seen him around in months. Come to think of it, Broderick Babcock hasn’t been here either.”

  With those words Crystal Burkhart stomped off toward the stage door. They watched her go in silence.

  “Your ex is a gambler?” Adam asked when Crystal disappeared inside the building.

  “Yes. I just found out. Rod Babcock told me at lunch.” She sounded despondent. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Funny, my attorney didn’t mention that he’s also a big-time gambler.”

  Adam’s brain scrambled to connect the dots. Gambling. Ryan Fordham. Rod Babcock. Saffron Blue. Somehow they were all connected.

  “Miranda quit just about a year and a half ago,” Whitney said. “Right around the time Crystal says Broderick stopped coming here. He claims not to know my cousin, but I think there might be a connection.”

  “You’re right. We need to ask him what he knows.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  WHITNEY WAITED UNTIL they had driven away from Saffron Blue before adding, “In retrospect, I should have had some idea, but I didn’t. When Ryan went out in the evening, I believed he’d gone to the hospital.”