Vixen Investigations: The Mayoral Affairs

by Ashley Papa

  I paced while Victoria continued to stand as if she knew she wasn’t going to be staying a while.

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. Like I said, Richard and Walter are usually dealing with our personal account.”

  “Okay. I’ll look into this. Do not say anything about this to your husband. Don’t even bring up the subject of money,” I ordered.

  Victoria agreed and walked back out to meet her driver. Even more questions raced through my head. The figures couldn’t prove anything except that he was possibly being financially unfaithful, as well. Walter could be embroiled in a gambling or prostitution ring. Or, maybe he was just making secret investments? It could even be as innocent as charitable donations or college funds for Piper. It was just too soon to tell.

  I was putting the finishing touches on my evening attire, which included diamond stud earrings and Vixen Red lipstick, when I could hear Adam’s ring tone repeatedly going off in the other room. Worried that something big may be happening, I hurried to pick it up.

  “What’s up? Everything okay?” I asked in slight panic.

  “Yes, yes. It’s very quiet. It looks like Victoria just left for her event. There’s something else, though. I got a phone call from that mystery number,” he began.

  My eyes widened and I straightened up as the hairs on my body did the same. The caller said a bizarre riddle like the ones I had been getting. It said to him, “What’s green, destructive, and something even Superman can’t combat?”

  Kryptonite!

  I was jolted back to the very first text from that anonymous number that read “kryptonite tiger.”

  Whoever was texting us somehow knew Adam was working with me. But how did they get his number?

  I instructed Adam not to answer his phone should he receive a call from that number again. I also ordered him to go home for the night. I didn’t want him staked out by himself any longer, especially when deep down, I knew Walter was going to be at Chez Régine.

  Adam obeyed. In the meantime, I had gone from being early to running late for my date. I quickly finished painting on my face, gathered my belongings, and threw them in my clutch and made my way out.

  As I inched my way in the Thursday night traffic, I decided to dictate another follow up email to Jimmy. I spoke into my earpiece as the phone typed away.

  “Dear Jimmy. Following up about that one-on-one interview with Mayor Wilcox. Would love and appreciate a response ASAP. Please let me know when you would be available to chat. Thanks. Paige Turner.”

  “Send,” I ordered the phone. It made a “whoosh” sound and off the email went.

  The chances of a quick response are slim.

  My eyes went from phone to tail lights in front of me and back down to the phone as traffic continued to crawl. I scrolled through the rest of the emails I had ignored all day. It seemed like endless emails from suspecting lovers.

  Just as I was about to turn out of the tunnel and into Tribeca, one last email caught my eye. The subject line read, “Gotham Post Meeting Request” and it was from a girl named Connie Carter, Director of Communications.

  Dear Paige,

  My name is Connie with The Gotham Post. I spoke to Taylor Jackson about a piece you are working on and I would love

  to chat with you about it. Please let me know if you can meet

  next Tuesday.

  Best,

  Connie

  Tuesday? That’s less than a week away! I quickly typed “YES” without even bothering to check my schedule. Anything already booked that day would just have to be canceled.

  When I got to SoHo, I did a lap around the block in hopes I’d find a parking spot. With no space big enough to park the Jeep, I settled on a nearby garage. It was the perfect night. At a mild 50 degrees, walking around outside was actually quite nice for mid-March.

  As I neared the brick-faced restaurant, I replayed the mystery phone call in my head.

  Why would they tell me the restaurant’s name if something weren’t going to happen here tonight?

  I thought about what Adam had told me, too. Hopefully the phone call didn’t frazzle him too much. I needed him on his A-game.

  From the outside, Chez Régine looked like an old brownstone. That is, until you walk through the entrance’s curtain, down the narrow stairs, and into the dark and cool dining room. The trick to handling stairs as narrow as a granola bar while in heels was to walk on a sideways angle. It was the only way to maintain balance and ensure that the entire foot was on the step. As awkward as I felt I looked, I didn’t need to fall down the stairs and expose my privates to strangers like I did one night at Cellar Bar last fall.

  My successful descent led me to a skinny hallway where, if it weren’t for the hanging candelabras, I would almost need a flashlight to find my way to the hostess.

  “Welcome,” she said. She sounded like the same woman I spoke to on the phone earlier. “Your name?”

  “Reservation should be under Dempsey. It’s for nine. I am a little early.”

  The reservation wasn’t under Liam’s last name; it was under mine. I needed to figure out a way to distract her so I could get access to that seating chart for a minute.

  “I’m sorry. I am not seeing anything under Dempsey. Are you sure it was under that name?”

  “Yes. I am sure it is under that name. I made the reservation a while ago and was even called to confirm it.”

  The hostess searched through the list again with a puzzled expression on her chiseled face.

  “Okay. Let me just check through some of the notes and emails here. Maybe it got deleted.”

  “Deleted? Please don’t tell me that. I had a reservation.” I pretended to get a bit more worried and angry as the hostess became more nervous and flustered. “Can you get your manager? Maybe he can help you.”

  She hustled to where I assumed her manager hid for the night, in between greeting guests and asking how their dinner was. As soon as she was out of sight and the coast was clear, I popped behind the desk and scanned the computer to see the seating arrangements. My eyes widened with excitement when I saw Mayor Wilcox was on the list and he was sitting in one of the corner nooks!

  I knew it! I had a feeling he would be here!

  Liam and I were slated to sit in what would’ve been the worst spot for me.

  This won’t do.

  I clicked and dragged our names so we would be sitting next to him. Now Turner would be sitting next to Wilcox. Just then, the sound of clicking heels returned from behind a wooden door. I jumped away from the computer.

  “Mrs. Dempsey…”

  Did she just call me Mrs. Dempsey?

  “I am sorry. We are trying to find your reservation if you can just bear with us.”

  “You know what I just realized. I think the reservation may be under my name and not my boyfriend’s. Check under Turner, Paige Turner?”

  With a smile of relief, it took her no time to find my name.

  “Here you are! Your second party isn’t here yet but I can seat you if you’d like,” she offered.

  I agreed right after making one last stop at the lady’s room. I had this reoccurring feeling all evening like I had to go to the bathroom. It was either a UTI or those nerves again.

  Stop being so nervous. It looks like I have a rash.

  I could tell in the mirror that my rosacea was acting up, again. Maybe ignoring it will make it go away. I powdered my chin and nose to try to take away some of the shine, and pressed hard on the bags under my eyes.

  “Please go down,” I said.

  The woman in the neighboring stall let out a cough as if to signal that she could hear me. I didn’t care.

  Tonight could be a game-changer. What if Mayor Wilcox shows up with another woman? No way. He’s too smart for that.

  “Ms. Turner, Mr. Dempsey actually just arrived an
d has been seated. I can take you over now,” the hostess said when I emerged back from the lady’s room.

  I was surprised to see that he was a good fifteen minutes early himself.

  Punctual and a Jersey boy. Could it be?

  I was never the type to play the “fashionably late” game and I didn’t like it when others did it either. It’s incredibly rude. In fact, it was hard for me to be late to anything. The latest I’ll ever let myself be is on time.

  I followed the skinny hostess in the black wrap-dress through the dining area. We weaved through tables and around stone columns like a mouse in a maze. I swore there were hidden passages and trap doors in this place.

  What is it with restaurants having dark and dungeon-like basements as if they were smuggling goods or something?

  Goosebumps shot up my body as my exposed right leg accidently brushed by part of the cold, stone wall. I was curious as to what scandalous and seductive things used to go on down here. Surely there were stories to be told.

  She took me by the mayor’s table that was still empty. Three chairs surrounded the round table. It would be hard for anyone to spot him in the almost closed off area except for the person sitting directly across from him. It happened to be Liam. His already rosy cheeks brightened more when he saw me. He looked handsome as always in his navy blue slacks, gray button-up, and a matching sport coat. He stood up and gave me a hug and a kiss on the lips. I loved how wanting he was of me. Even in my high heels, I still needed to elevate myself a little to meet his lips.

  “It’s so good to see you again. It felt like a long week without you,” he said while still gripping me in his arms. I looked up into his green eyes.

  “I know. It’s been quite a week. I was surprised to see you here before me. I was running so early and just needed to get out of my apartment.”

  He pulled my seat out for me and together we sat down. His smile lit up the room. I could feel my insides bubbling up. Perhaps I was anticipating a little lovemaking later or I really was falling for him.

  “Thanks for changing the plans last minute. I know you wanted Nobu,” I said.

  The tap water on the table tasted and smelled like the streets of New York City. I quickly put it down.

  “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’m sure there will be other opportunities to go to Nobu. It’s not that big of a deal. In fact, next time, I’d love to cook you dinner,” he said and kissed me on my temple.

  He had left his hand on my thigh after positioning his chair closer to mine. I felt like a virginal 14-year-old on her very first date. Usually, I wasn’t into public displays of affection, but I guess our PDA compatibility was too intense to fight.

  “How was your day today? What’s in the news?” he inquired.

  “It was fine.”

  Insert awkward cough.

  “Just a lot of writing and stuff.”

  Lie #1 of the night. I was shooting guns all morning with some ex-FBI friends.

  “I can’t wait to read some of your writing. You should write about a Jersey boy and a cute Jersey blonde with a sexy smile, meeting in a bar after her friend blew her off…”

  “Oh yeah? And then what happens?” I teased.

  “Then, they fall madly in love and live happily ever after,” he finished and kissed me again. His lips felt like warm, satin pillows.

  We continued our heavy flirtation while I continued to watch for any signs of Walter. Liam got even more revealing and began delving into his past loves and his dreams for the future. He told me about his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him with his best friend. It made him bitter and resentful towards all girls that he became a serial player for a minute. He was quick to realize that what he wanted wasn’t sexual affairs, but a girl he could “grow old with.”

  “So, Miss Turner. When are you going to show me around your neighborhood? You keep talking about your view. I want to see your place,” he said. The sudden change of topic threw me for a loop.

  “In time! I’m very picky about who I bring back to my place,” I said and gave his hand a squeeze.

  I could sense the disappointment he was hiding on his face. The truth was, I couldn’t bring him back to my place, have him see my spy gear, the War Room and everything else that might reveal my business before I even told him what I really do for a living. What if he saw my high definition monitoring screens, case files and collection of interrogation and criminal profiling books?

  “Okay. I can respect that. Eventually you’ll have to or I’m going to think you’re hiding like a family or bodies over there,” he joked.

  I kissed him playfully on the cheek. We stared back into each other’s eyes right before I watched him look over my left shoulder.

  “Hey, isn’t that the mayor?”

  I snapped my head around and let out an uncontrollable gasp.

  Right you are. And I must say, I am pretty impressed he was able to spot him before me.

  Surely enough, it was Mayor Wilcox and he was with two men who were both wearing big cowboy hats. The same hostess was escorting them to their designated table. Luckily, nobody else in the restaurant seemed to recognize him. When his two companions spoke, I could tell they had heavy Texas-sounding accents. From their mannerisms to their hair, thick frames, and jovialness, it was clear these men were brothers. Their giddiness proved that the three of them had to have been drinking already.

  What was Mayor Wilcox doing with two Texans? They’re definitely friends…or new business partners?

  I kept watch on Walter’s table while managing to keep the bulk of my attention on Liam. I didn’t want to come off distracted or uninterested. The mayor and his chums have been here only fifteen minutes and had yet to notice me. Hopefully he was drunk enough to where he wouldn’t, or even better, would forget about the hard time I gave him at his press conference.

  “I’ll have to bring you to the house to meet my mom and brothers the next time I go there. She’s been asking about you,” Liam said as I nearly choked on my croquette.

  Bring me home?

  “Aww, that’s sweet. Hope you told her good things about me.”

  Whatever he was telling his family must have been a lie since I haven’t even been completely honest.

  I smiled and reached for the bottle of Bordeaux, which was starting to hit us rather hard. The combination of passion and nervousness I was feeling was counterintuitive. I worried that perhaps I had fallen victim to the “love at first sight” scenario, which I knew was risky. I found myself going against my own advice as I meticulously detailed in chapter seven of my love manual.

  The Vixen Investigator was in the midst of a new challenge: eavesdropping while under the influence of good wine and intense chemistry. While he continued to whisper sweet words and graze my arm with his hand, I covertly kept my ears and eyes on Walter’s table. They were on bottle number three of Pinot Noir. I couldn’t make out exactly what the men were talking about.

  “Something, something, something, Dallas, something, hotel, something, something, Lucy,” was all I could comprehend. I had yet to hear him say Victoria or Piper.

  Liam had summoned the waiter over, signaling that he wanted the check. He was ready to leave, but I wasn’t. I was determined to come out of this night with some damning evidence. So, I did what any private infidelity investigator would do.

  “Mayor Wilcox!” I yelled just loud enough to get Walter’s attention. Liam looked at me with a stunned expression. “I’ll be right back.”

  I gave Liam a kiss on the cheek, untied my leg from his, got up and wandered over to their table.

  “Hello, Mayor Wilcox.” I leaned over the table to shake his hand. He looked just as surprised as Liam. His evening companions stared up at me with big grins over their face. “I’ve been sitting right over there with my boyfriend and I thought you looked familiar.” I turned towards Liam and gave him a little wa
ve. He had just handed the waiter back the signed bill and was getting up to come over to me.

  “Miss Turner. I thought that was you. I guess I am just not used to seeing you outside your typical newsgirl character,” Walter stated in a somewhat condescending tone.

  Who is he calling a newsGIRL?

  “Join us for a drink. Your boy toy, too. We are just about to order another bottle of this 2013 red.”

  It was definitely the alcohol doing the inviting. I couldn’t imagine a sober Walter ever inviting press to join him on a night out, especially when that press is I.

  The men scooted around in the oblong booth so that Liam and I could squeeze in on the end. The night was turning into the unexpected and I was convinced Liam wasn’t used to being thrust into situations like this. He remained quiet at first, most likely out of fear or confusion.

  It’s not every day you go on a date with a private investigator, only to end up sharing a $1,200 bottle of wine with the mayor of New York City.

  Liam seemed to warm up and relax right after we cheered to a “fun and wild night.” During the round of introductions, I learned that his two friends were Rodney and Richard Roche, two oil tycoons from Fort Worth, Texas. I acted pleased and indifferent to meet them while I really questioned their connection to the mayor, who was actually heading to Dallas with them in the morning. The trip was not listed on his schedule for the week. It was either being kept a secret or it was a last-minute getaway. None of the men said why he was going down there. All I got was a “business negotiations” response when I inquired.

  The four men chatted like old friends. I knew it was getting late, as we were now the last five people in the restaurant. While my company discussed the losing Knicks and new high-rise apartments on the West Side, I furtively studied my phone under the table. I had missed calls and texts from Adam, Taylor, and April. They were wondering how the night was going.

  “What are you looking at, love?” Liam asked and jolted me back to the current time and place. He had caught me looking at my phone.