Roses After Midnight

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  “Never a good idea,” Celeste told her. “There are too many crimes where people have been killed with their own guns.”

  “Yeah, Luc kinda said that, too. He also said it was a great way for me to break a nail,” she said, examining said digits, which were polished a vivid shade of red. Obviously, the thought of breaking a nail was more traumatic to her than getting shot. “These babies are all my own and I don’t do anything that could do harm to them.”

  “That’s Flip. Always looking out for herself.” Luc walked into the bar. “If you two ladies are ready to leave, I’ll walk you to your cars.”

  Celeste had hoped to question Flip on her thoughts about the rapist, but Luc’s arrival had her postponing it. The young woman had switched her monologue to “this hot guy I met at Sabins,” as Luc walked with the two women out into the parking lot.

  “I thought you were going to cut down on the club scene,” Luc commented as he watched her climb into a sleek black Intrepid.

  Flip made a face. “I went with friends and stayed out of trouble.”

  He shook his head.

  “See ya tomorrow!” She gunned the engine and took off with a squeal of tires.

  “Where does she get all that energy?” Celeste mused as she moved on.

  “I don’t know, but I could make a fortune bottling it.” Luc raised an eyebrow at her vehicle. “Something from the impound lot?”

  As Celeste looked up when Luc asked his question, she found herself snared by the darkness of his gaze. Just as before, she felt that tiny bit of warmth settling in the pit of her stomach. What was it about this man that unsettled her so? She quickly shook it off and forced herself back to answering his question before he realized how much he was affecting her. Celeste looked down at the cream-colored Porsche Carrera convertible, deactivated the alarm and slid onto the bucket seat. “Actually, I picked this up at a police auction.” She smiled widely. “Good night, Mr. Dante.” She took off with a muffled roar.

  Luc stuck his hands into his pockets as he watched her drive off.

  “When did you take up bodyguard duties?” Jimmy stood in the open doorway as Luc returned to the restaurant.

  “I was handy.” He walked into the kitchen. Workers were busy cleaning up under Jimmy’s sharp eyes.

  “Any problems with the new bartender?” Jimmy asked.

  Luc shook his head. “She knew what she was doing.”

  “Did you see the car she’s driving? Hell, crime never paid that well for us.” The chef chuckled.

  Luc’s lips curved in a brief smile as he recalled the light in her eyes as she gave him the history of her car. He sensed that she was telling the truth and enjoying it. “It appears we need to shop more at police auctions.”

  “She got that sex machine at a police auction?” Jimmy roared with laughter. “Guess I better check them out, too. That looks like a sweet ride. Hey! Richie, those pans need to shine.” He went after one of the dishwashers. “I wanna see my face in it.”

  Luc walked through the kitchen and back to the offices. His office was dark, but a light shone in the one next to his. As he expected, Paulie was seated at his laptop computer, his fingers flying with lightning speed over the keys.

  “How does tonight look?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

  “Very good,” Paulie didn’t look up from his task. “It’s even nicer that the new bartender can actually count higher than ten. I reconciled her drawer first. Not a penny off. Do you know how rare that is? And she had the chore of keeping Flip straight, which we both know ain’t all that easy. How did you manage to find her?” He finally looked up.

  “She heard about the opening and applied for the job.” Luc stepped into the tiny office and dropped into the chair across from Paulie. “She knew her stuff, so I put her on a trial run.”

  “What’d she do?”

  Luc didn’t need any further clarification to his friend’s question. “Wrote too many bad checks.”

  Paulie shook his head. “Have you ever thought about hiring someone who doesn’t have a record?”

  “If it wasn’t for Tank hiring us all those years ago, we wouldn’t have had a chance in starting this restaurant,” Luc reminded him.

  “Working in an old diner is a far cry from Dante’s Cafe,” he pointed out. “It still doesn’t mean we have to hire every ex-con that walks in the door.”

  “Only the ones who can do the work and keep out of trouble.” It was on the tip of Luc’s tongue to tell Paulie hiring Celeste hadn’t been his idea, but he’d made a promise not to tell anyone there, not even his own partners. The promise had left a bad taste in his mouth, but he always believed in keeping his promises. No matter how badly he wanted to break them. “If she can’t do the job, she’ll be out the door.”

  Paulie chuckled. “Most men would keep her for her looks alone. But then, you’re not like most men.”

  Luc’s expression, or lack of, told Paulie his opinion of his friend’s jest.

  Paulie shook his head. “We’re doing really good, Luc. You can afford to take a night off. Have some kind of life outside the restaurant.”

  “So can you,” Luc said softly.

  Paulie ducked his head and busied himself with sorting out sheets of paper. “Jimmy didn’t leave the invoices for today’s produce delivery on my desk. I better see what he did with them.” He rose to his feet.

  Since he couldn’t easily leave the room as long as Luc was seated in the chair, Luc stood up and walked out into the hallway.

  As the two men reached the kitchen, they could hear Jimmy’s rough bass as he joked with his helpers.

  Luc looked at the two men he considered brothers. Men he considered closer to him than any blood relative could ever have been. Not that he had any blood relatives. The three men’s bonds had been forged more than twenty years ago and had strengthened over time.

  Luc studied them and the various kitchen helpers working under Jimmy’s direction.

  He refused to believe any of them could be Prince Charming. But it appeared he would have to suffer Detective Bradshaw’s presence until they discovered he was right.

  Something about the woman got under his skin. He felt unsettled. Uneasy with himself, and he didn’t like that feeling at all.

  He wasn’t sure any kind of feeling about the woman was a good idea.

  After all, she was a cop. And if there was one thing Luc Dante didn’t like, it was a police officer.

  Even if said police officer was a pretty blonde with shimmering gray-green eyes.

  Chapter 3

  C eleste struggled to control the yawns tugging at her mouth, but she was losing the battle.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, nap time is over,” Dylan quipped, dropping on her desk a stack of papers, which landed with a thump.

  She looked up. “Tell me this contains Prince Charming’s real name.”

  “We should be so lucky.” He picked up her coffee cup and stole a sip. She snatched the cup from his hand.

  “Get your own.” She set the cup on the other side of the desk away from him.

  Dylan dropped into his chair. “So how did last night go?”

  “The staff pretty much keep to themselves,” she replied. “They’re friendly, but they’re not going to break down and tell me their life stories within the first hour. I don’t expect to hear any confidences any time soon. I will say the restaurant and bar are very well run. I don’t know why I haven’t been in there before. The food is great.”

  “It might have something to do with a sparse social life lately.”

  “Look who’s talking!”

  Dylan ran the palm of his hand over his short-cropped hair. “Got a call from the D.A. earlier. Seems Robinson copped a plea.”

  Celeste sat up. “Damn! I was hoping to see him totally trashed in court. Not professional, I know, but that man beat his child so badly the boy was in the hospital for weeks.”

  “He’s still getting serious prison time. Seems he didn’t want his kid testifyi
ng against him. Probably the only unselfish thing the bastard ever did,” Dylan told her.

  Celeste shook her head. “More like he knew not only his son’s testimony but the scars on his face would bury him big-time. It’s times like this that I think about that alternative life I could have. Maybe work on benefit committees, keep an office open for my psychology practice and raise two-point-five adorable children.”

  “Don’t forget the nanny and pedigreed dog. Maybe you could get one of those poodles with the fancy haircut. Or one of those little dust-mop types that does nothing but yap. Or maybe a cat that lies on a tasseled cushion and looks down her feline nose at the world.” Dylan pulled three rubber balls out of his desk drawer and started juggling them.

  “Bite me, gray fox.” Celeste used the nickname Dylan had been saddled with since his first day on the force as she picked up the first page and began reading.

  She didn’t have to read much of the investigator’s report to know it didn’t offer anything new.

  “You know what I can’t understand? It rained that night and we still didn’t get any viable shoe prints. No unknown hairs or fibers found,” Celeste grumbled. “When did criminals get so tidy? My housecleaning service doesn’t do this well. This guy could make a fortune as a housecleaner.”

  “It’s all the cop and court shows on TV. Sort of a criminal study course they can take—once they’ve stolen a TV, that is.” Dylan started tossing the balls higher.

  “Parker!”

  The three balls fell to the floor and bounced underneath Dylan’s desk.

  Sam stood by Dylan’s desk.

  “Unless you’re planning on running away from home to join the circus, I suggest you leave your balls where they belong,” the lieutenant growled.

  Celeste’s snicker was echoed by the other detectives. At Sam’s scowl, the men suddenly showed interest in papers on their desks.

  “Give me some good news about Prince Charming,” he ordered.

  “I called Janice Bowen. She was the first victim. She agreed to talk to us again,” Celeste said.

  “She wasn’t too keen on going over it again,” Dylan added, “but Bradshaw used her persuasive skills.”

  Sam swung from one to the other. “I’ll want an immediate report when you return.”

  “Got it,” Celeste promised.

  The lieutenant scowled at Dylan, who was in the process of crossing his heart.

  “If the two of you weren’t such a good pair, I’d split you up. Except I don’t dislike anyone enough to make them put up with either of you.” He glanced around and took off.

  “Next victim,” Dylan muttered under his breath.

  “Lieu used to have such a great sense of humor,” Celeste commented as she stood up and pulled on her jacket. One look at the streaked windows warned her the rain hadn’t let up that morning.

  “That was before his divorce.”

  “Your divorce didn’t ruin your sense of humor,” she reminded him.

  “That’s because it was the only thing she didn’t get out of me.” Dylan shrugged on a jacket. “I already signed out a unit for us.”

  They went downstairs and out the back door. Celeste shivered as the blast of cold damp air hit her face. She quickly buttoned up her jacket over her raspberry-colored wool sweater and tailored navy pants. It never failed—the station was chilly during the winter and warm during the summer, so she’d dressed accordingly.

  “Robberies decrease during rainy weather. After all, no legitimate burglar wants to leave what could turn out to be distinctive footprints in mud. Why can’t all criminals do the same?” she commented as she slid into the passenger seat. “Then we could stay warm and dry inside the station. All right, dry,” she added at Dylan’s wry expression. “Maybe this is the year they’ll get the heating system updated.”

  “Stay inside? Are you kidding? If we were stuck inside, Lieu would have us going over the cold cases,” Dylan said. “He’s said he’d like to see all the cases closed.”

  “I’m sure he’s eagerly awaiting the day when someone will come in to confess to stealing the widow Barker’s butter churn back in 1853.” Celeste prided herself on having knowledge of the town’s older cases, no matter how far back they went.

  Dylan adjusted the defroster controls as he rolled out of the parking lot. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment when a patrol car rolled past them.

  “That would be a coup. Refresh my memory about Janice Bowen. Was she the legal secretary?”

  “Paralegal,” Celeste corrected. “She works for Will Zane. Defense attorney extraordinaire.”

  Dylan muttered his opinion of the criminal attorney who was known to defend anyone who had enough money to afford his services. That he was excellent at his job didn’t endear him to the police department. As the attorney stated, if they’d done their job right to begin with, he wouldn’t have it so easy getting his clients off.

  “It’s not her fault she works for a sleaze,” she argued.

  “Did Zane ever defend any rapists and lose the case? Maybe a disgruntled ex-client decided to take it out on the staff,” Dylan said. “We’ve seen it happen before.”

  “No one else worked for an attorney.” Celeste consulted her notebook. “We have a real estate broker, an artist, a clothing boutique manager and a specialty candle maker. I can’t see some guy coming back for revenge just because his candle order didn’t come out right.”

  “You know as well as I do that anything is possible nowadays. Hey! We’re the cops, idiot,” Dylan groused at a motorist who abruptly cut him off without signaling. “Oughta switch on the lights and siren and see if that gets your attention.”

  “No macho cop stuff, okay?” Celeste wished she’d brought her coffee with her. Maybe an extra hit of caffeine would perk her up. She had discovered the previous night that it wasn’t easy sleeping in a strange bed. The department-owned apartment she was using was generic enough for her cover, but she wished she could have taken more personal items with her to make it feel more like home. Although some of her personal items wouldn’t have fit her new persona, she had taken her own bed pillows. They were as important to her as her favorite lipstick and perfume.

  “Wish we could have met her at her place or a restaurant instead of her boss’s offices,” Dylan commented as he parked the car in a circular lot next to a two-story building.

  They quickly made their way to the front door, shaking the raindrops off their coats once they reached the lobby.

  “May I help you?”

  Celeste and Dylan faced a broad-shouldered man, wearing a navy jacket with a security company patch on the front pocket, seated behind a chest-high counter. An electronic gate was the only entrance to the building’s pair of elevators.

  “We have an appointment with Janice Bowen,” Celeste said as she flashed her badge.

  The man’s face didn’t change expression as he studied her badge and identification.

  “Does she know you’re coming?”

  “Why don’t you call upstairs and find out,” Dylan suggested, baring his teeth just a bit.

  The guard hesitated a moment before picking up the phone.

  “You had to do that, didn’t you,” Celeste murmured, turning away from the guard.

  “Call it a manly man thing to do,” he murmured back.

  “No, you just wanted to act like top dog.”

  “Bow wow.”

  “Ms. Bowen is expecting you.” The guard pressed a button.

  The gate buzzed electronically as they passed through it. Celeste was aware of the guard’s eyes on them as they walked into the elevator car.

  “He was looking at my butt, wasn’t he.” She heaved a sigh.

  “Probably doesn’t see too many prime-looking female forms. Zane’s usual clients are of the sleazy male variety.” Dylan punched the button for the second floor.

  “Sleaze that pays well. It lets him own the entire building. I wonder what else he has here. No firm needs a law library that large. And
what’s the use of him having so many associates when he can still only handle so many cases.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Either way, he makes our lives hell.” The car stopped and Dylan waited for Celeste to precede him out.

  A woman in her mid-thirties waited by the reception desk. Her posture was defensive—that of someone who was unsure of herself. Her hands, loosely clasped in front of her, twisted nervously.

  “Detectives.” She greeted them with the barest hint of a smile.

  “Janice.” Celeste offered her a warm smile meant to reassure. “Is there someplace where we can talk privately?”

  She nodded jerkily as she gestured for them to follow her to a conference room filled with a long table and comfortable leather chairs. A credenza sat against one wall holding a water pitcher and glasses along with several coffee carafes and cups. The lush paintings on the walls were obviously original oils.

  “Would you care for some coffee or something else to drink?” she asked.

  Celeste could tell the woman was asking not out of politeness, but in hopes of putting their talk off as long as possible.

  “No, thank you. We’re fine.” Celeste guided her to one of the chairs. She recalled a picture she’d seen of Janice Bowen at her engagement party. In the picture, Janice’s coffee-brown hair had been enriched with golden highlights, her skin was golden from a recent trip to Cancún and her smile had displayed pure joy as she gazed at her fiancé.

  It was clear Janice had lost a good twenty pounds from her already slim frame; she no longer bothered highlighting her hair; her skin was the pasty-white of someone who stayed out of the sun; and the elegant diamond solitaire was missing from her left hand. She didn’t look miserable, just someone who’d dissociated herself from the world around her. She perched uneasily on the chair near Celeste’s.

  “Have you caught him?” she asked, her gaze pleading.

  “No. I’m sorry.” Celeste wished she could have given her the answer she was seeking.

  Janice’s face fell.

  The door opened. “Detectives.” Will Zane walked in and sat down next to Janice. She gave him a smile filled with relief.