Secret Remains

by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush

  Emily took another look at the ring. She was thinking of the guy in the picture from Tiffani’s Facebook page. They were clearly two different rings, but the same stone. Coincidence or connection? Why on earth would Tiffani be with a guy from the pack? These guys had violated her sister, and most likely one of them had killed her. They would be the last people on earth she would want to associate with. If it was true, it would be a truly sick twist.

  She dog-eared the page and slid the yearbook back onto the shelf.

  When Emily and Jo were finished packing, dusting, and polishing the multiple pieces of wood furniture, the office did not look empty by any stretch, but it had tidy appeal, ready for a new occupant. They took all twenty boxes into the storage area and stacked them next to Emily’s mother’s things. As Emily pushed a box on top of the shelf, her eye caught the corner of a box she knew well. Her mother’s sealed wedding gown.

  “How about you? Anything spicy happen on your trip to Chicago?” Jo sent her a wry grin as they wedged the last two boxes into the storage cubby.

  “Caught Brandon with a med resident.”

  Jo gasped. “Are you kidding me?”

  “He denies there’s anything there, of course.”

  “Appearances don’t lie.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That sure ripped the ringer out of the wedding bells.”

  “Better to know now than after the wedding knot is tied,” said Emily.

  “Even then, can you ever really know someone?” Jo raised an eyebrow. “You’re in the sweet spot. Ready for change and choice.”

  Emily liked the sound of that. This was her season of change and choice. She should embrace it.

  “Where’s that wine, by the way?” asked Jo.

  “We finished it. Another bottle?”

  “Please. I’m not ready to face my three hooligans just yet.”

  Emily led Jo into the kitchen and pawed through her father’s kitchen cabinets. “Something I just can’t get rid of,” said Emily.

  “I was going to ask, but I didn’t want to push.”

  “A lot of my mom’s stuff is still here.” Emily opened a bottom cupboard stuffed with bakeware.

  “I’m starving.”

  “Help yourself.”

  Jo reached for a half-eaten bags of chips on the counter and slid into a chair as Emily used a step stool to reach the cupboard doors over the fridge.

  “I think there’s more wine in here.” She tugged on them, but they didn’t budge. She tugged again, and the left one gave way and flung open, sending Emily back. Jo grabbed Emily to steady her. Regaining her balance, Emily peered into the cabinet. Bingo. There was a three-quarters full fifth of gin and an unopened bottle of champagne staring back at them. Emily saw a tag hanging from its neck. She turned it over and read aloud: To Robert and Cathy. May you have many years of happiness together. Here’s something to celebrate the first.

  Jo saw it, too. A quiet moment passed between them.

  “They made it only six months,” said Jo.

  Emily nodded. Life was fleeting. Love was not to be squandered. And champagne was to be drunk. Emily pulled it down.

  “Let’s get this chilled, and someday soon we’re going to pop the cork on this in celebration of finding Sandi Parkman’s killer,” said Emily.

  Jo nodded. “Sounds right to me.” Emily handed her the bottle and Jo put it into the fridge.

  “For now, gin?”

  “I’ll get the glasses,” said Jo.

  Emily poured two generous shots over ice. They toasted and tossed them back. Emily’s body warmed from throat to belly to toes. The smooth gin relaxed her tense muscles and the light taste of juniper berry lingered on the roof of her mouth.

  Jo slid her glass over to the bottle and clinked it twice.

  “I’m not stopping at one,” she smiled. “Hey, I never get to do this at home. Let me live a little.”

  As Emily poured a second round and topped it off with tonic, an idea popped into her brain.

  “Jo, do you have time to help me with something?”

  “I’m all yours.”

  Jo lifted her glass, and she and Emily did a second toast.

  “To best friends forever.”

  “No matter what the future holds, we will always have each other,” said Emily.

  They clinked glasses and drank.

  “So, what do you need?” asked Jo, licking the gin from her lips.

  “A makeover.”

  “For your date with the doctor?” Jo giggled.

  Emily’s face crinkled into a sly smile.

  “Em, what are you scheming?” Jo crammed two more crackers in her mouth.

  Emily shook her head. “I appreciate your solidarity, but you’ve got enough stake in this case already. The less you know, the better.”

  “If you want my help, I need the four-one-one.”

  “I can’t. Sorry.” Emily sucked down the rest of her drink. “Don’t worry. I got this. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Oh no, no, no.” Jo shook her head. “We just toasted to our undying friendship. I’m not helping you until you tell me what you’re up to.”

  “Fine. I’m applying for a job.”

  “Sleuthing in Freeport not paying the bills?” Jo joked.

  “Promise you won’t say a word. Not even to Paul.”

  “Of course not. But I don’t want to be an accomplice to anything sordid or dangerous.”

  “I just need a way to get to Tiffani.” Emily raised an eyebrow. “Undercover-like.”

  “Em, you just barely recovered from being left for dead the last time around.”

  “Jo, it’s going to take everything we have to find Sandi’s killer. Please.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Something club-like?” Emily posed.

  “Where are you applying for a job?”

  “The Silver Slipper.”

  Jo’s brow wrinkled. “Then you mean something slutty.”

  “You were always good with using your assets to get guys to notice you.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  Jo sighed. “Emily Hartford. I will help you. But we’re gonna need a shopping trip to Rock River.”

  “I don’t have time.” Emily motioned to her boxes from Chicago piled in the foyer.

  “Somehow I don’t envision a clubbing outfit in one of those.”

  “Brandon liked buying me sexy clothes and taking me to fancy restaurants.”

  “And you left him why?” said Jo.

  Emily pried the lid off one of the plastic bins and dug inside, pulling out a cheetah-print cocktail dress and black heels with spiky brushed-silver grommets.

  Jo admired them. “Well, I can definitely work with that.”

  And she held out their glasses for a third round.

  34

  At half past midnight, Emily tottered into the Silver Slipper, completely disguised thanks to Jo’s makeup skills and a Marilyn Monroe wig Jo had trimmed into a short bob. The place was teeming with people, and she strained her eyes to the front to see who was up on stage. No Tiffani. The music changed. Dancers on stage collected their tips and exited. A new group of dancers entered. Tiffani was one of them. She took her place at one of three poles and began her routine. Emily watched for a moment, then set her sights on finding Wanda, the manager, who turned out to be a beefy broad in a black muscle shirt. Her jet-black, waist-length hair, pulled back into a thick ponytail, was streaked with tasteful purple and blue strands.

  Emily watched and saw Wanda sail behind the bar, yelling something at the bartenders that Emily couldn’t decipher. Whatever it was sent them scurrying back and forth as she barked orders. Emily lifted her chest and made her way toward her target.

  “Excuse me, are you the manager?” Emily sang in a sweet voice.

  The woman turned to Emily. In her spike heels, Emily was a good four inches taller than Wanda.

  “Lemme guess, you’re looki
ng for a job?”

  Emily swallowed, plastered a fake smile on her face, and mustered up her Chicago wits. “I am. And it looks like you could use some more talent on that stage.”

  The woman looked her up and down. “What’s your experience?”

  “Diamond Rhino.” Emily made up the name on the spot.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s in … just outside Chicago.” Betting that Wanda didn’t cross the Michigan state line very often.

  Wanda bought it and looked her up and down. “You class up the joint too much and I lose my regulars.”

  “I can be whatever you need,” Emily said with a wink, holding her persona.

  “What’s your name?”

  Emily’s mind flicked skittishly through a couple of possibilities. Pepper? Cinnamon? Anise? Why did she have spices on the brain? Were spices sexy enough? She hoped she hadn’t paused too long when she croaked out, “Cardamom.”

  “Unusual.” The woman gave her a curious look. “I like it.”

  “I bake a lot of cookies,” Emily blurted. Ridiculous.

  “I’m Watch Your Ass Wanda. Meaning you’d better keep it in line, or I’ll be on yours.”

  Emily nodded coolly. “No worries. I’m easy to work with. I don’t get in anyone’s way.”

  “When Tiffani finishes her set, go up and introduce yourself. She’ll show you the ropes.”

  “Oh … ah, Tiffani. Okay.” She had to think fast. She needed time to work her way more covertly to Tiffani. “I was wondering if I could shadow that girl instead.” She pointed to a leggy girl who couldn’t have been a day over seventeen.

  “Lexi?”

  “I like her style.”

  “Sure. Whatever. Lexi’s a strong dancer.”

  “So, I start tonight?”

  “Not dancing. I need you in rehearsal first so I can see what you do and know what shift to give you. If you suck, you’ll be working Monday afternoons.”

  “What time do you want me here?” Emily held her moxie.

  “We hold dance rehearsals at four tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here. Thanks.” Emily reached out her hand to thank Wanda. She slapped a dirty, wet rag into Emily’s hand.

  “Wait. When you’re not dancing, you’re serving. Consider tonight your table audition.” Emily nodded as Wanda pointed to a set of tables in the corner where a quad of biker dudes chugged cheap beer. “Start there.”

  Emily made her way to the tables in the back. She had actually never waited tables before. Tonight would be total improv. How hard can it be? Smile. Bring beers. Take tips.

  It was hard. Really hard. Customers shouted names of drinks at her that she had never heard. With no pen or paper, Emily had to commit orders to memory. Thank goodness for years of medical school memorization tactics.

  The Wild Goose. Grey Goose vodka and grapefruit juice.

  Tito’s and Tonic. Tito’s vodka and tonic water.

  Grandma’s Whiskers. Whiskey, grenadine, and a spray of soda water.

  Emily was relieved when the orders were simply beer or shots. As she served, Emily did her best to keep her focus on Tiffani, who moved on and off the stage in short shifts. If a guy leaned in to tip her, Emily would try to get a look at his hand for the black-onyx ring. Often Emily would wedge her way up toward the stage, tray in hand, pretending to scan for empty bottles to clear.

  As the night wore on, the sweaty crowd multiplied and kept her busy in the back corner. After four hours of music pumping through every cell of Emily’s body, she was exhausted. She needed a break and wanted to check in and make friends with her new mentor. And her feet were killing her! How did these girls do it night after night?

  At four thirty AM, customers from her section cleared out and made their way to the stage. Emily drew in a breath and took a seat at an empty high-top in the corner. Meanwhile, the action onstage never slowed. As the music transitioned, indicating a dancer exchange, Emily saw her newly appointed mentor, Lexi, slip offstage and head to the back. Tiffani was still onstage. Now would be the perfect time to introduce herself.

  Knowing the way to the dressing room, Emily trailed Lexi. But she found the dressing room empty. Strange. Emily popped her head out and looked down the hall. The exit door was cracked. Of course. Smoke break. As she hoofed toward the door, she heard girls’ voices. She opened the door, and three girls holding cigarettes looked up at her.

  “There you girls are. How’s it going?” she said with a confident smile as she hobbled down the rickety wooden steps toward them. “I’m Cardamom,” Emily said. “The new girl.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been watching you,” said a girl in a pink wig with wisps of her real red hair poking out. “First time in heels?”

  Emily feigned a laugh and turned to Lexi. “Wanda said she wants you to train me.”

  “Tiffani does the training.” Lexi lit her cigarette and inhaled.

  “Guess she’s promoting you,” said Emily.

  “What’s your real name?” Lexi asked.

  “Cardamom.”

  “Uh-huh. Your mom must have been on the good stuff when that birth certificate came around.” Lexi took a drag on her cigarette.

  “Spare one? I said I was going to quit, but … maybe tomorrow.” Emily forced a laugh. Lexi was not amused.

  Lexi handed her a cigarette and a lighter. In a rebellious phase during her freshman year, Emily had learned to smoke at parties. She lit the tip and inhaled, trying not to cough. How had she ever thought this was pleasant?

  “How long you ladies been working here?”

  “Long enough,” said Lexi, clearly not in the mood to train anyone.

  “Got any tips for me?” Emily bluffed.

  She must have hit on the right question, because names and descriptions of customers started to fly from the girls. Emily let the cigarette burn down a couple of centimeters before she drew it to her lips again. She did a lot of nodding and took note of the endless list of guys who were causing trouble for these girls.

  “No bouncers?” said Emily.

  “We have Bulldog and Jax,” said Lexi.

  “Two’s not enough for a place this size,” said the girl wearing fishnet stockings and Mary Janes.

  “But all Wanda cares about is profits,” said Lexi.

  “You ever say anything?”

  “We’ve tried. The money’s good, and there’s never been any real trouble.”

  “What exactly do you consider real trouble?”

  The job sounded a lot more dangerous than Emily had imagined.

  “Real trouble is—well, you know …”

  Emily assumed they were talking about sexual assault. “Rape?”

  Lexi nodded and took another drag.

  “How far does it go?” said Emily.

  “We can hold our own,” said the pink-wig girl.

  Emily tossed her butt to the ground and stamped it out with the toe of her shoe. “You’re kidding me about all this, right? It sounds awful. Illegal. When I worked at the Diamond Rhino—”

  “Where’s that?” said Lexi.

  “Chicago,” Emily fibbed.

  “Oh my God. Why on earth are you up in Podunk Freeport?”

  Emily sighed. “Long story. How do these guys get away with all this crap?”

  “Who’s gonna stop them?” said fishnet stockings.

  “Watch Your Ass Wanda? It’s her job to keep you safe.”

  “Telling your customers no is bad for business,” said Lexi.

  A wave of compassion struck Emily. These were young women, just like her, who were trying to earn a living. It wasn’t right that they were being taken advantage of.

  “Well, that’s gotta end. You should be able to say no. It’s your right.”

  Lexi smiled at Emily. “I like you. You have spunk. But good luck changing anything around here.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t stir up the waters. Snitches get short-shifted,” added fishnet stockings.

  Emily would talk to Nick about
this place later. These girls needed protection. Maybe some undercover surveillance. One or two arrests and some bad publicity would strike the fear of God into Wanda or shut her down.

  Emily shook her head. “Don’t worry. I have a few ideas.”

  At that moment Watch Your Ass Wanda stuck her head out the door. “Hey, I’m not paying you for your ideas. All of you. Get back in here. We’ve got another two hours until close.”

  Two hours! Emily didn’t know if her legs would make it that long. The girls snubbed out their smokes and made their way to the door. But as Emily turned to head inside, her gaze landed on that familiar black Lexus she and Nick had seen at the club before. It was parked just twenty feet from the back door in the staff lot at the back of the building. Something about it gave Emily pause. The front passenger side bumper was dented in.

  She marched over and turned on the flashlight app of her phone so she could scan the light over the front bumper. Dealer plates. This was definitely the Lexus she’d seen at Pinetree Slopes.

  “What are you doing?” Lexi yelled.

  “Does anyone know who’s car this is?”

  “Tiffani’s.”

  “Really?”

  She moved the light across the bumper and around to the passenger side, where she saw a large dent near the tire wall. The dent matched the height of her Leaf’s rear bumper, and she noticed red paint flecks embedded in the center of the indent. Emily pounded the spike of her right heel into the ground, trying to gain composure.

  “Did she say how it happened?” Emily’s cool tone crusted the ladies standing around watching her.

  “She said she ran into a mailbox,” said Lexi.

  “What do you care?” said Wanda from the back door. “Get back to work!”

  Adrenaline surged through Emily. She growled under her breath and pounded to the back door. The girls stood back bewildered as she stomped past Wanda into the back of the club, down the hall, and into the main arena. The club was thumping, and Tiffani had moved to center stage. Emily didn’t hesitate a second as she pranced herself onto the stage, garnering strange looks from the other dancers. Emily wove her way to Tiffani, hands on her hips.

  “It was you! You tried to drive me off the road!” she yelled over the music. Tiffani didn’t hear or notice Emily until she spun around the pole and her leg caught on Emily’s, sending Emily off-balance and Tiffani sprawling to the floor. Emily grabbed the pole to keep from falling, but she couldn’t keep a grip on its greasy exterior and she crumpled next to Tiffani.