by Sandi Scott
In the morning, as she adjusted her leather biker jacket and Elvis t-shirt, she held the door to the Sun-Times Building open for Aleta.
“You can tell a lot about a person by the music they like. Anyone who doesn’t like Elvis, well, they are probably some level of sinister. Not necessarily a killer but certainly someone who parks on the line taking up two parking spaces or always returns library books late.”
“Okay, well, you might be right about that,” Aleta concurred. “But that still doesn’t explain how we are going to get in to see Laney. They aren’t just going to let us past security. Not with the female Bowzer from Sha Na Na asking for a pass.”
“Sure they will.” Georgie tugged at her baggy blue jeans, which had three-inch wide cuffs at the bottom so they’d reveal her pink Converse High-tops.
As they both slipped through the revolving door, there was a huge alcove next to two banks of elevators. Inside stood a broad-shouldered man without a smile or grin or even a smirk wearing a gray uniform with a shiny gold bar across his breast pocket that read SECURITY. He looked at the Kaye twins and asked to be of service.
“We would like to see Laney Chung.” Georgie put one hand on the high counter and the other on her hip.
“Do you have an appointment?” the man asked. His skin was as dark as black coffee and his eyes were small but gave the impression they saw everything in great detail.
“No. But something has just come up, so we need to talk to her.”
“If you don’t have an appointment, you aren’t on the visitors list,” the security guard said.
“Look, I don’t know how much you know about the art world but she’s the art critic here and…”
“I know who she is. And I’m sorry but if you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you up.”
“She isn’t the President of the United States,” Georgie argued. “If she finds out that you knew about this hot tip and didn’t let the source up to give it to her personally, well, I’d just hate to think what the repercussions could be.”
The security guard stood up and folded his arms over his chest.
“Okay,” Aleta interrupted. “Would you just tell him the truth?”
Georgie looked at her sister with her mouth open like she was catching flies.
“My sister is an artist and a huge fan of Laney Chung’s. She was just hoping she could see her for a moment to grab an autograph.” She leaned over toward the guard. “Asking for that was too easy. She had it in her head to make this into a big adventure. She just wants an autograph. You can search her if you need to. It’ll be the biggest thrill she’s gotten in years.”
The security guard laughed.
“That’s all it is. In fact, we don’t want to get you in any trouble. If you could tell us when Laney usually comes to the lobby, we’ll wait for her. It isn’t like my sister has anything better to do.”
“I don’t,” Georgie smiled innocently. “I could wait here all day.”
“Now, didn’t anyone ever tell you that honesty is the best policy?” the guard asked Georgie with an angry face. “My daddy would wash my mouth out with soap if he caught me in a lie.”
“Now there’s an idea.” Aleta’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry.” Georgie looked at her sister. “I don’t really know what came over me. The excitement of meeting such a celebrity, I guess.”
The security guard huffed at Georgie but smiled wide at Aleta who, during times of stress or embarrassment, always managed to maintain her composure. Especially when it was Georgie who was embarrassed.
“You take these two badges and give me your driver’s licenses. I’ll return them when you bring me back my visitor passes.”
The Kayes quickly dug into their purses and handed over their identification to the guard. He studied them for a moment then looked at the ladies.
“Fifth floor. I’ll be watching you, Georgie Kaye,” he grumbled as he pointed to the second bank of elevators.
“That is very wise,” Aleta replied slipping her arm underneath her sister’s and pulling her toward the elevator bank.
Once the women were out of view, Georgie put her hands on her hips and looked at Aleta.
“You can be such a dud.”
“Right. We could have stood there, argued with that giant mountain of muscle, and gotten nowhere, or we could do it my way and here we are going to see the critic that bashed a dead man in her column. Your way was better?”
“Fine. But I get to talk to Laney,” Georgie huffed.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. I hope your nervous bowels don’t start acting up in this elevator,” Aleta said loudly just as the doors began to close. Georgie couldn’t help it and cackled loudly.
When they stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor, both Georgie and Aleta stood there for a moment.
“I don’t know. This isn’t what I expected.” Georgie spoke like she was in a library.
“What did you expect?”
“People rushing back and forth. Harsh conversations on telephones. The sound of typewriters or at least keyboards pounding away. Perry White screaming orders at Lois Lane and Clark Kent.”
“Yeah. I was kind of expecting that, too.”
Instead, Georgie and Aleta found themselves looking at about a dozen people stationed across long white desks, staring at computer screens. There was the occasional click of a keyboard or the tick-tick of a mouse, but other than that, the room was relatively quiet.
Without hesitation, Georgie walked up to a skinny fellow with a man-bun and glasses, and tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he pulled out his tiny earbuds and stared at Georgie.
“Hey, Kolchak,” Georgie smiled. “I’m looking for Laney Chung. Can you point me in the right direction?”
The young man pointed to an office in the corner where the door was halfway closed.
“My name is Stephen,” he called as Georgie and Aleta quickly walked toward Laney’s office.
They knocked, peeked in, and quickly stepped inside.
“Laney Chung?”
“You must be Georgie and Aleta Kaye,” the woman said with a smirk. “And you want my autograph?” The woman was a good bit older than her snapshot in the paper, making her also a good bit older than Jamal. She was what Georgie would call middle-aged boy crazy.
“Boy. News really does travel fast,” Georgie chirped. “Miss Chung, we are…”
“You can call me Laney. Anyone who feels the need to concoct such an elaborate story to get upstairs can most certainly call me by my first name. Please, sit down.”
The Kaye sisters took seats in front of Laney’s desk. It was stacked high with art magazines and books. Framed clippings hung on the wall showed Laney shaking hands with gallery owners, standing in front of Picassos and Rembrandts, and posing at red carpet benefits.
“That’s very kind of you,” Georgie continued. “We really are big fans of your column. As an artist myself, I know how exhilarating it can be to see my work mentioned positively in even a small newsletter or flyer, let alone a major newspaper. But, I have to ask you about your review of the last exhibit at the Wyland Art Gallery.”
The color drained from Laney’s face, leaving her pale and looking afraid of what was coming.
“What do you want to know?”
“Why did…”
“Why did I say such horrible things?” She stood and walked over to the door, closing it tightly. “That review went to press before I knew what had happened. I’ve been getting complaints and demands for my resignation ever since.”
She sat back down at her desk and stared at the work in front of her.
“What people didn’t know was that Jamal wanted it to look like there was a feud going on. He didn’t want anyone to think we had ever exchanged a kind word between us. Let alone anything else. As if we were mortal enemies. I do think it helped the gallery get attention. But it didn’t help our relationship any.”
Georgie l
istened attentively, then felt the next question bubble up and over before she could stop it. “Isn’t that a little dangerous to date someone you have to review?”
“Jamal and I had an arrangement,” Laney confessed.
“Were you two dating?” Aleta asked carefully.
“Not dating in the traditional sense. My husband and I had separated. We met. Things happened. But then my husband and I got back together. I still thought…”
“You still had feelings for Jamal?” Georgie leaned closer.
“I thought I did. But he had obviously moved on. Talk about news travelling fast. He said he was leaving Chicago and going to move to Montreal, Canada.”
“Did he give you a reason?”
“He did. He said Chicago bored him. Everything about it bored him. But as a parting gift, he offered to sell me a piece of the gallery. Isn’t that nice?”
“What gallery?
“Wyland Art Gallery, of course.” Laney tilted her head. “He’d been scouting out buyers for the past couple of months. From what I heard, he was about to unload what he called a ball and chain from around his neck when…” she swallowed hard. “I was writing that review when it happened. I only had a couple hours to get it in by deadline. There were several of us working late that night.”
Georgie looked at Aleta out of the side of her eye.
“Well, Laney, we truly appreciate your being so candid with us. We’ve really imposed enough already.” Aleta pushed herself up from her chair and offered a hand to Georgie.
“Yes. Thank you so much for your time.” Georgie smiled, receiving a genuine smile back from Laney. “We’ll let you get back to work.”
“Before you go. Can I ask you one question?” Laney looked at Georgie intently. Where did you get that jacket?”
“Oh, a little place called Hemlock over on the south side. I rarely get over there but when I do, I always find something wonderful. I got the t-shirt there, too,”
she gushed.
“I never was a big fan of Elvis,” Laney replied as she walked to her door and opened it for the Kayes. “But the jacket is cool.”
Aleta could see her sister ruffle at Laney’s confession. She couldn’t be sure but the fact Laney Chung didn’t like Elvis was more of an affront to Georgie than if she’d waved the gun that killed Jamal in her face, stating she deserved the same fate.
They returned to the security desk, traded their badges for their IDs and quickly left the building.
“What do you think? An older woman dating a wealthy and good-looking younger man?” Aleta asked. “He calls it off. Certainly a motive. Crime of passion. Happens all the time.”
“Yes,” Georgie nodded. “But she’s got witnesses putting her at work during the time of the murder. Jealous husband maybe?”
“Oh, good call. Maybe.”
“Especially if Laney was still carrying some kind of torch for Jamal. Her husband is just a bloke who goes to work, has a spare tire around his waist and maybe a bald spot. He finds out his wife has this “relationship” when they are separated and the only reason it isn’t continuing is because Laney got dumped. A very hard and bitter pill to swallow.”
“Wait. What street are we on? Yes. You must walk with me down this way. There is this fantastic French café that has…”
“Do they have canelé?”
“They do and they have so much more. You’ll think you stepped through a wormhole and ended up in Paris.”
“Lovely.”
Georgie linked arms with her sister, a favorite move of theirs, and the conversation about Laney and Jamal continued until they had decided that after a sampling of desserts at the café, they should look into Laney Chung’s husband’s whereabouts on the night of the murder. But, fate had a different plan in mind.
12
“Oh, heavens! Are those chouquettes?” Aleta gasped as she clutched Georgie’s arm while peering into the dessert display case.
“Oui, chouquettes.” The lovely proprietor smiled with her red lips and heavy-lidded brown eyes. “How many would you like?”
The Kayes looked at each other.
“A dozen.” Georgie nodded. “A piece,” she added happily.
“Oui! Two dozen. In separate boxes?”
“Oh, no. We’ll eat them here. And two cappuccinos.”
“Mervielleux.” The proprietor smiled and nodded her head. “Have a seat. I’ll bring them to you.”
“You were right, Georgie. This place is adorable.”
“Wait until you taste the pastries. I also saw a croquembouche. When Emily gets married, we should make sure she has that along with her wedding cake. That reminds me. Stan’s partner Leto would be very interested in taking Emily out for dinner.
“Leto Murphy? Really?”
“Yes, I spoke with him the other day. Can I give him Emily’s phone number?”
“Well, go ahead but if she asks me, I’ll say you did it on your own.”
“Got it.” Georgie clapped her hands together as two heaping plates of the chouquettes were placed in front of them.
“For the first five minutes, the sisters were silent as they tasted the tiny custard-filled treats. Finally, they both swooned over the taste.
“Heavenly.” Georgie rolled her eyes.
“Perfection,” Aleta added.
Just then the door to the café jingled and Georgie saw a very pleasant and familiar face.
Malcolm Obberfield, better known to his friends as Obby, walked in and scanned the café quickly until his eyes snapped into focus on Georgie. His smile was contagious.
“What are you grinning at?” Aleta asked since her back was to the door.
Obby said a quick hello in French then slowly strolled over to the table Georgie and Aleta were sitting at.
“I’ve been coming here for the past three days hoping I might catch up with you again.” His eyes twinkled like the images of Santa Claus in books for little kids.
“That is very sweet of you, Obby. This is my sister Aleta.”
“So, you’re Obby.” Aleta beamed. “Well, I’ve heard a good bit about you. My sister told me she mentioned my humped back and crossed eyes.” Aleta crossed her eyes, making both of them laugh.
“I didn’t expect you to be as bad as she had made you out. Artists often have a way of exaggerating the truth. It’s what gives them their genius,” Obby said with a charming smile.
“Please pull up a chair and join us,” Georgie said encouragingly.
“I wish that I could. Unfortunately, I have several phone calls that I need to make and later this afternoon I have a meeting. But, I will be free after that. Georgie, would you care to meet me for dinner tonight?”
Aleta had a look on her face like she had just guessed the Final Jeopardy question and got it right. Leaning back in her chair, she folded her arms over her chest.
Georgie’s back straightened and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
“I’m hoping to get a gentleman to change his mind on selling me his business. This is sort of a last-ditch effort. If he changes his mind, we can celebrate. If he doesn’t, well, I’ll need someone to cheer me up.” Obby winked.
“Well, I’d have to make sure Bodhi was fed and…”
“I’ll take care of Bodhi,” Aleta piped up. “I’ll bring him to my house. You can pick him up when you get home.”
“Bodhi?” Obby hunched his shoulders.
“Bodhi, my pug.”
“You look like a person who’d own a pug.” Obby nodded his head.
“And what does that kind of person look like?” Aleta looked like she was loving every minute of her twin’s flushing.
Obby looked at Georgie then squared his shoulders.
“That kind of person is unique.”
“Well, where should I meet you?” Georgie quickly jumped in, not wanting to allow her sister any more chances to tease her.
“This meeting I’m having is at the Regency Gold Hotel. I’ll be finished by 4:30. Can you meet me in the bar
area?” He stood straight with his hands folded in front of him like a gentleman.
“I can.” Georgie stroked the back of her neck, smoothing out her short hair.
“Then I will see you there. Aleta, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
“You as well, Obby. Please have my sister back home before midnight.”
“Indeed,” Obby chuckled. Without saying another word, he turned, strolled to the counter where Mademoiselle handed him a bag in exchange for some money. Nodding his head, he left not before turning to Georgie and giving her a wink.
“They don’t make’em like that anymore,” Aleta mused. “He seems very nice.”
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“Well, bring Bodhi over when you’re about to leave and then we can have a talk about what all men are after and why no means no.”
“What?”
“It’s been a while since you’ve been on a date. You’d be surprised at what you forget.”
“It’s not a date. Good heavens. I’m sixty-six years old.”
“But I’ll go over the birds and the bees with you once more. Just remember, no man wants to buy the cow if the milk is free.”
Both ladies laughed like schoolgirls as they finished their pastries and espresso.
13
“Can I help you?” purred the small man wearing an impeccable gray suit as Georgie walked up to the entrance to Hue, the bar inside the Regency Gold Hotel.
Georgie adjusted her red turban, making sure the rose was still sitting prettily in the middle, and adjusted her long black blazer.
“I’m meeting someone. He said he’d find me at the bar.”
“Absolutely,” the man said. He stepped down from a platform and was even shorter than Georgie first thought. Yet, the way he carried himself made him look like the tallest man in the room. He offered Georgie his arm.
“This way.”
She wrapped one red gloved-hand around his bicep and felt unusually strong muscles beneath.