by Sharon Potts
“Hi Robbie. It’s Judy Lieber. Are you home?”
Robbie’s heart started pounding. “You’ve found Kate?”
“No. Nothing like that. But I’d like to talk to you. May I come up to your apartment? I’m just down the street.”
Lieber arrived a few minutes later carrying her battered leather case. She was wearing black pants and a short-sleeved white shirt, yellowed with age. It was probably still very hot outside if she’d ditched her jacket.
Lieber glanced at Robbie’s shorts and sweaty tank top splotched with white scouring powder. There were shadows under Lieber’s eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”
“I was just having an early dinner. Would you like some pasta?”
“No thanks. Water would be great, though. And please, go ahead and eat.”
They went into the kitchen, Matilda twining herself around Lieber’s legs. Lieber put the briefcase down and picked her up. “Same cat?”
Robbie was confused. She held the bottle of water she’d taken from the refrigerator against her chest. Then she remembered. Lieber had been to Robbie’s townhouse in Coconut Grove a year before. “Yes. Same cat. Her name’s Matilda. She stayed with Jeremy’s grandfather while we traveled.”
Lieber scratched the cat’s neck, then released her. “Mr. Weiss. Such a nice man. How’s he doing?”
“I guess okay. I haven’t seen him in a while. I feel kind of badly.”
“I’m sure he understands. You’re busy with your own life.”
“Still.” Robbie handed Lieber the bottle.
“Thanks.” Lieber sat down at the table, glancing at the open laptop screen and street map.
“So you said you’re not here about Kate,” Robbie said as she sat back down in her chair.
“You ever hear of Richard Griswold?” Lieber asked, taking a sip of water.
“The congressman?”
“That’s right. He’s been in Miami Beach at a health care summit.”
“And?”
“This morning, he took a header off the balcony of his room at the Regency Hotel.”
“He jumped?”
“Probably. It appears to be a suicide, but for the time being, we’re classifying it as a suspicious death.”
“Suspicious? Why?”
“I’ve talked to Griswold’s family and colleagues. There was no reason for him to kill himself. His career was really taking off. There was even talk that he was in line for Speaker of the House. No health issues. Good family life. Two kids—both out of college and doing well.”
Robbie picked at the ziti with her fork. “But why are you here? Do you think his death is connected to Kate?”
“I’m here because Griswold was at BURN Friday night.”
BURN again. Puck was probably going to be there tonight hoping to see Robbie. But that couldn’t have anything to do with Griswold. BURN was the kind of place that out-of-towners gravitated to.
“Griswold left with two women,” Lieber was saying. “I’m trying to find out who they were and whether there’s any connection to his death.”
“And you happen to know I was at BURN on Friday?”
“I met with Jeremy a little while ago, since I know he sometimes frequents BURN. As it happens, he was there Friday and he gave me the names of everyone he remembered seeing.”
“So he saw Griswold leaving with the two women?”
Lieber shook her head. “No. He doesn’t remember seeing Griswold at all. A couple of other people did. But no one can identify the two women with him. Or if they can, they’re not willing to tell me who they are. I was hoping you may have seen something.”
Lieber reached into her case and pushed several photos across the table toward Robbie. There were the standard, posed photos of Richard Griswold she recognized from the newspaper. Mid-fifties, short black hair. But there were also a couple of candid shots. Robbie held up one of the congressman laughing, deep wrinkles above his bushy eyebrows, jowly cheeks.
“You saw him at the club?” Lieber must have picked up on something in Robbie’s face.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I did. I thought he looked familiar at the time.” Robbie tried to recreate the moment from her memory of Friday night. “He was very drunk. Almost out of it. Two women were hanging onto his arms. No. That’s not quite right. It was more like they were holding him up.”
“Did you know the women?”
Robbie shook her head. “Never saw them before. But that was also the first time I’ve been to BURN. I’m not exactly into the club scene.”
“I know. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll be able to give me a more objective take on what you saw than some of the other people I’ve spoken to.”
“You think they’d cover if they knew the women?”
“Frankly, yes. South Beach is a small town. No one likes to be known as someone who rats out friends or even acquaintances.”
Robbie wondered how the people whose names Jeremy had given Lieber would react if they knew what Jeremy had done.
“What can you tell me about the two women?” Lieber had her little notebook out with a pen.
“One was very tall and skinny. Dark tan, but it could have been the natural color of her skin. Really big breasts.”
“South Beach. What else is new?”
“She was laughing. Having a great time.” Robbie thought for a minute. “The other woman—actually she was more of a girl. Anyway, she had straight light blonde hair with bangs. She was out of it. Not having fun like her friend.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
Robbie shook her head.
“Would you recognize them from photos?”
“I’m not sure. They went by in a blur.” Robbie took a sip of water. “Why do you think there’s a connection between his death and the women?”
“I spoke to the concierge at the Regency. He happened to be on duty Friday and Saturday and saw Griswold when he left the hotel, then when he returned. He said Griswold was in high spirits Friday night. His aide had left unexpectedly and Griswold was acting like a kid without a chaperone. Griswold told the concierge he was going to check out BURN. Then, other people confirmed seeing Griswold leave BURN with two women a little after two a.m. When Griswold returned to the hotel around eleven a.m. on Saturday, he was still wearing what he’d had on the night before, but was disheveled and appeared drunk or stoned. The next time he was seen was this morning, splattered on the oceanfront dining terrace.”
Robbie shook her head.
“Anyway, it seems Griswold spent much of Saturday night and early this morning drinking, according to the room service tabs and the state of his minibar. Something may have happened after Friday night that changed his state of mind.”
“Did he have any calls or visitors?”
“No visitors. A few calls, one that we’re unable to trace.”
“Did he leave a suicide note?”
“No. But he called his wife very early this morning, and she said he was uncharacteristically upset.”
“So it points to a suicide.”
“Maybe. But if so, why? This is a story of national interest and the media are about to have a heyday with it. You know, South Beach—hotbed of vice. I want to be sure there’s nothing to that.” Lieber gathered up the photos, then pushed out her chair and stood. “Thanks for your help and for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” Robbie looked at her laptop on the kitchen table. Earlier she’d been looking for Facebook messages from Kate. “Does this mean searching for Kate and figuring out what happened to Joanne is being put on a back burner?”
Lieber hesitated, then she sat back down. It was a moment before she spoke. “Actually, I’m not officially investigating the congressman’s death. The FBI’s taken the lead. I just like to know what’s going on in my own backyard. Many times, when there’s a spike of negative activity, I find there are connections. I’m processing my findings here with the information I have about Kate and Joanne.”
“My
father told me you found Joanne’s car.”
“That’s right.”
“Anything about the car that’s helpful?”
Lieber tapped her fingers against the edge of the table.
“You found something?”
“Actually, we did,” Lieber said.
“What?”
“A crumpled receipt. It was under the seat. Probably missed by whoever cleaned out the car.”
“And?”
“It was from a Circle K. For two bottles of water. It was dated the Friday the girls disappeared.”
“A Circle K where?”
“Key Largo.”
“Key Largo? But I thought the car was found on Miami Beach.”
“It was. That’s why the receipt’s probably a dead end. Even if the girls drove down to Key Largo, it appears they returned to Miami Beach.”
“But maybe they went to a party down there and that’s where Joanne drowned.”
“Then how’d the car get back to Miami?”
“I don’t know. Could someone have driven the car back so the girls wouldn’t be associated with Key Largo?”
“It’s possible. I have a couple of people down in the Keys checking things out. But all we know is that their car was most likely in Key Largo. We don’t know for sure whether the girls were with it.”
Robbie stood up and went to the window. It was quiet outside. The sky had turned a darker gray, and the palm fronds were perfectly still, like in a painting. Two bottles of water purchased in Key Largo the day the girls disappeared. There had to be a connection.
“Robbie?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I told you, it’s being investigated. And it’s very likely a dead end.”
Robbie turned back to Lieber, her arms folded across her chest. She was feeling strangely chilled. “You already said that.”
Chapter 23
Lights. Throbbing. Pink. Purple. Green. Blue. Like icicles. Melting icicles. Melting into thump-a, thump-a, thump-a. Her heart? The music? It was all the same. Thump-a, thump-a, thump-a.
Angel stretched her arms up and moved with the beat. Her satiny dress cool and slinky against her.
Tyra gave her a smile. “You’re startin’ to like this shit, aren’t you, baby?”
Angel didn’t answer. No need to talk. No one listened, anyway.
BURN again tonight. Smoke melted the icicle lights. Red, orange, yellow. Not icicles, flames. They were in hell. Burn, baby, burn.
Hell. What was Angel doing in hell?
A big black bouncer with dreadlocks passed close to Tyra. “Everything cool?” he said in a deep baritone.
“I guess.” Tyra kept her eyes on the room, without even a glance at the bouncer.
“Heard there was some trouble. The Man said to keep our eyes open. Make sure no one’s messing with the game.”
“Don’t know why we don’t just lay low for a few weeks,” Tyra said. “But no one wants my opinion.”
“Hey, babe. You need to trust The Man. He says this fucker’s too big to let go.”
“The Man’s not the one with his tits hanging out while the cops sniff around.”
“Don’t you worry, sister. I’m watching. You girls got no worries.” He squeezed Tyra’s nipple, then slinked through the crowd.
Tyra muttered under her breath. “The Man don’t know shit, just thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. Thinks he’s untouchable.”
Angel wondered what was going on. Tyra had been acting weird since the phone call she got this morning. But none of this concerned Angel. She had her own problems.
Abruptly, Tyra stood alert, shoulders back, like a cat ready to pounce. “There he is,” Tyra said. “Almost didn’t recognize him with the Clark Kent glasses and stubble. Angel, pay attention.”
Angel focused. Tyra had lightened up on the drugs tonight, explaining that Angel might need to help out in case the target didn’t want to cooperate. And if Angel was good, Tyra had promised, they’d ease up on her a bit. But if she was bad—Angel didn’t want to think about that.
“See the bald guy at the bar?” Tyra asked. ”Wearin’ a suit, no tie? He’s checking his watch.”
Angel kept moving her hips with the music, playing her part. She glanced at the man in the suit. Just an ordinary guy. But once he was naked, he’d be like the others. The thought made Angel almost retch. She took a few deep breaths and stared at her feet, not at the guy, not at the lights. Maybe if she made believe she really was Angel, she wouldn’t get so sick that she puked.
Tyra’s breath was close to Angel’s ear. “I think you’re more his type than I am, but I’ll be watching you. You know I’m always watching you.”
No choice. Do what Tyra says. You’re Angel tonight. And just remember—Angel isn’t you.
She looked again at the guy at the bar. Younger than her dad, but like him. Nervous, awkward. Didn’t belong here. The other targets didn’t either. Too dorky. But they had lots of money—that’s what Tyra said. And a lot to lose.
The guy was checking out the room, like he was getting ready to leave.
“Come on.” Tyra had Angel by the arm. “And when we get back to the apartment, don’t be making a fuss like you did the other night. Or puking on his dick.”
The guy was coming toward them.
Tyra held Angel tighter and blocked his path. “Hey honey.” Big smile. “Buy me and my friend a drink?”
He didn’t even look at them. “Some other time.” He tried getting around Tyra.
She pinched Angel’s arm and gave her a look that meant she had better do something or else. But Angel had pretty much forgotten how to flirt.
“Hi,” she said to the man.
He stopped trying to escape and took Angel in with brown eyes magnified behind his black-framed glasses. He had a nice face. Soft lips, a few day’s beard growth, his eyebrows almost touching in a concerned kind of way.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Angel glanced at Tyra, who was giving her a warning look.
“Yeah. I’m good. Can you buy me and my friend a drink?”
“Are you old enough to drink?”
“Sure. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Tell you what,” said the man, “why don’t you and I sit for a few minutes and talk?”
Tyra gave her a little nod. Angel was doing a good job.
The man pulled out a stool and Angel sat down. He stood beside her, his arm resting on the bar. Lights were swimming over the room. Pink. Purple. Thump-a, thump-a, thump-a. Angel ignored the guy and moved to the beat. Maybe he’d just leave.
She looked around for Tyra. Gone. She was gone. Angel’s heart sped up. No one was watching her. She could escape, just run right out of here if she wanted to. But where would she go? What would she do?
The man said something to her.
If she ran away, they would find her. Tell the police what she’d done.
The man was looking at her like he expected an answer.
“Huh?”
“I said, what’s your name?”
Her name. “K—” she started to say. “Angel.”
“Angel.” He shook his head like he didn’t believe her.
“What’s yours?” she asked.
He seemed taken aback by her question, then he laughed. “Puck. You can call me Puck.”
“Puck?”
“It’s as good a name as Angel.”
He was almost handsome when he smiled. And there was this light in his eyes, like mischief. Then, he got serious. “What are you doing here, Angel? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
She shook her head hard.
“Here you go.” Tyra handed Angel a drink with a leaf floating in it.
Where’d she come from?
“Good thing I know the bartender. Got you one, too,” Tyra said to Puck. “My friend makes the best mojitos in town.”
“No thanks,” he said, but she pushed it into his hand.
“Come on. Have a little taste.” Tyra in
ched closer to him. “Maybe I didn’t spend my own money on it, but I did carry it over here and now my hand’s all cold.” She dropped her arm between her hips and the man’s groin and pressed closer. “So cold.”
Puck’s eyes widened. He brought the drink to his mouth and took a sip.
“Good, ain’t it?” Tyra said in a voice like hot fudge. “Like I said, best ones in town.”
He took another swallow.
Tyra smiled, pressing Puck against the bar. “So, you from around here?”
Puck shook his head, but not in answer to her question. He looked really annoyed with himself. He put the drink on the bar and shoved Tyra away.
Tyra held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. So I’m not your type. No need to get all huffy.”
She backed away and gave Angel a look that Puck couldn’t see. Angel understood. It meant take it from here, or else.
Angel reached for Puck’s drink. “Please,” she said, handing it to him. “Can you just make believe?”
Tyra had evaporated.
“What do you mean, make believe?”
“That you’re having fun with me. So I don’t get in trouble.”
“What’s going on? Who’s that woman?”
“Please,”Angel said. “Don’t look mad. Just drink your drink and make like you’re having a good time.”
Puck frowned, but he brought the glass up to his mouth and drank.
Angel started moving to the beat, holding her arms up in the air while he watched and sipped his drink. He didn’t seem turned on by her little show—more like he was thinking about something, analyzing the situation—but at least he was drinking.
God, she hated this. But she knew Tyra was watching her and she’d better do her job.
“We can dance, if you want,” Angel said.
“What I want is to find out what’s going on here. Why are you so frightened?”
Angel glanced around. People everywhere. Dancing, drinking. Where was Tyra?
“Because I can help you,” Puck said. “I’ll take you out of here and we can call your parents, or anyone you’d like.”
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink.
He wanted to help her. Maybe he could.
He touched her shoulder, his fingers cold from the drink, but so gentle. Daddy, she thought. Help me.