Dennis groaned. “You had a drink with him?”
“My mother used to make the best homemade peach ice cream. I have something in common with that bastard.” Craig was almost as miserable as I was.
“He thinks Peyton is from Atlanta. He calls her his Georgia Peach. I should’ve left then.” The rest was like word vomit. I couldn’t stop myself from talking.
“I thought maybe he figured me out, but then I thought he didn’t because he was talking about how miserable he was. I felt bad for him. Then when I went out to the car, he followed me and called me Peyton. He pinned me against my car and said that I had to do stuff with him if I didn’t want my boss to lose her business. Stuff like we talked about on the phone, and then—”
Craig cleared his throat. “I think I’m just going over to the counter.” He grabbed the paper and took it with him. I could pretend he couldn’t hear us from there. I needed the privacy for the rest of the story.
I was approaching a complete meltdown.
“Then he said I wasn’t his type, that I was fat and should lose weight. But he still wanted to do all those things, which I don’t even think I can do because I’m just not that limber. He told me that he was going to call me later and we’d work out an arrangement, only he never called. Dennis, I just wanted to have a nice date. I didn’t want to meet Jim, and I didn’t want him to touch me.” I exploded in big, girlie tears.
Dennis got up and moved to the chair next to me. “Look at me, Emmie. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. He’s not going to touch you. He’s not going to ruin your boss’s business.”
I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and sobbing on his t-shirt. He was going to have horrible mascara spiders on his shoulder, but that didn’t matter, at least not to me. He held me and patted me on the back. “We’ll find a way out of this. I don’t know how, but we will.”
Craig spoke up. “You guys are not going to believe this…” He threw the newspaper on the table. “Ding dong, the perv is dead.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Jim Alexander was dead? That would be the answer to all my problems. It couldn’t be that easy.
Craig pursed his lips. “Not just dead, murdered.”
Dennis snatched up the paper and read the article. “Emmie, Jim Alexander’s body was found by some fishermen in the bay by the Sunshine Skyway. He is dead.”
“Murdered?”
Dennis nodded. “I don’t think people who die of natural causes end up in the Bay with a rope tied to their necks. Someone tried to weigh him down with something; it doesn’t say what.”
My innards started shaking, and it wasn’t long before my outside was doing the same. How horrible of a person was I to be relieved?
Craig didn’t hide his feelings. “You know, there are people in the world that just need killing. And with what he was going to do to you? He deserved it. The cops will be busy on this one. There must be a thousand suspects.” His eyes widened and he squealed. “Emmie, you could be a suspect! Did anyone see you?”
Dennis glared at him. “She is not going to be a suspect. Emily didn’t do anything.”
Craig rolled his eyes, “Of course she didn’t, but not all suspects are guilty.”
My eyes were starting to water up again. “Dennis, someone might have seen me. He was there with someone.”
I didn’t know what to think, how I was supposed to feel, or what I was supposed to do. Dennis gave me a hug. “Everything’s is going to be okay, Emmie.”
Dennis didn’t understand, I might have been the last person to see Jim alive. I might’ve seen his killer.
If things were going to be okay, why did I still want Cocoa Puffs?
Chapter Eleven
While I was stuck at home waiting to be blackmailed, there’d been one bright spot in my life. Rick had called. We had a long conversation and he offered to give me notes from our history class. He said he wouldn’t have a lot of time but would be glad to meet me before he went in for work.
After seeing Dennis and Craig, I walked to The Globe, where we were meeting. I love Le Bel Age, but The Globe was my favorite place to hang out. It was more of a coffee lounge than a café, with tables and big overstuffed chairs. Paintings and photographs from local artists were offered for sale at great prices. The Globe was a place where worlds collided. On any weekend night, it boasted a pleasant mix of preppies, scenesters, artists, Goths, and just about anyone else who was out roaming the city. They also served a great cherry limeade.
Rick was already there when I walked inside. It was still early in the afternoon and only Josie was behind the counter. She looked at me when I came in. “The usual?”
I sat across from Rick. “That would be great.”
Rick kissed my cheek. “I take it you’re a regular here?”
He kissed my cheek! A greeting reserved for rich old women, Europeans, and maybe girlfriends. Was Rick taking a step into boyfriend territory?
“It’s close to my house, and it’s fun.”
“You live close by?”
“Two blocks away. I’ve got a little apartment in a Victorian across from the Times parking lot.”
Josie brought over my limeade. “I’m making Sloppy Josies; will you guys be sticking around?”
Rick shook his head. “I can’t stay for long.” As soon as Josie was out of earshot, he whispered, “What’s a Sloppy Josie?”
“Josie owns the place. It’s really a Sloppy Joe, only she uses some secret ingredients. They’re delish; you should try one.”
“Maybe you’ll bring me back here sometime.”
“Maybe.” The thought of bringing him back made me smile. I was picturing us at a table sipping sangria until closing, then a hand-in-hand stroll back to my apartment. I knew I shouldn’t get carried away, but he was the one doing all the cheek-kissing. It was only natural that I start daydreaming about our future. Maybe I was basing this little fantasy on three kisses and a possible Sloppy Josie, but it was my dream and I planned on dreaming it.
He pulled out some papers. “My notes aren’t as good as yours, but they might help you figure out what you missed.”
Was he ever right? His notes were nowhere near as good as mine.
He took a sip of his tea. “Hey, have you ever heard of Jim Alexander?”
I started to choke. My limeade went up my nose. Rick was quick with the napkins, and luckily nothing shot out my nostrils at maximum velocity. I don’t know if it was the cherry or the lime, but it burned, and it brought quick death to my little fantasy. Who wants to sip sangria until closing with a girl who sprays juices from her nasal cavity?
Rick was staring at me. “Are you okay?”
I held the napkins to my nose. “I guess it just went up the wrong pipe.” I’m not sure if there were any pipes that went to my nose, but it sounded a lot better than the truth. “Jim Alexander? Isn’t he that real estate guy?”
“Yeah, he was murdered.”
“Really?”
“He had dinner at The Alibi the same night we were there. You didn’t see anything strange, did you? The police think it might’ve been the last place he was seen alive.”
And there you have it. I had to make a choice. I could lie, or I could come clean. Looking at him right then — staring into those deep brown eyes, I wanted to tell him the truth. I didn’t want to lie to him. It’s just I didn’t want to lose him before I really had him, either. I liked Rick. His smile made me feel good; everything about him made me feel good. I could say, Not only did I see Jim Alexander, I had a drink with him after our date. You see, Jim and I sorta had a relationship beforehand. He paid me for providing him with auditory erotic services, and well, he figured out I was his phone kitten, and he walked me to my car and was going to blackmail me for sexual favors, even though he thought I was too fat under normal circumstances. But then I would never see Rick again. Okay, it was only one date, a date and a half if I counted today. I know that it doesn’t seem like much, b
ut it was enough for me to know that I wanted to see more of him. I liked the way he looked at me, I liked the way he kissed me, and I really liked how I felt about myself when I was with him. I just wasn’t ready for this whole Rick thing to end.
Telling him what really happened would send him walking out of The Globe and out of my life. He wouldn’t even sit next to me in class, much less ask me out on another date. He’d probably end up dating a girl with protruding breasts and pouty lips, who fit into a size two perfectly. I’d see them at school and she would be living my fantasy with all the sangria and hand-holding. There wouldn’t be a Sloppy Josie big enough to feed my sadness.
Josie refilled my cherry limeade. “Be careful with it this time. Your friend came in. She was asking if I’d seen you. I take it there’s trouble in paradise?”
“We don’t hang out anymore.”
Josie popped her gum and headed back to the counter. “Good. She’s a piece of work.”
“Who’s she talking about?” Rick asked.
How do I explain the Dani situation without sounding like I’m in third grade? I could just hear myself: Dani’s this girl I used to work with at the paper. She made off with my man, and then I was dumb enough to let her steal something I wrote for her column. She all but called me fat in front of my boss, and for fun she got me fired. Dani’s the reason I can’t ever tell you about work. She’s the reason I’m a phone kitten. She’s the reason I talked to Jim Alexander. If you give me enough time, I’ll find a way to blame her for his murder.
That’s how the plan began.
Oh, it was ill-conceived, and it probably wouldn’t make much sense to anyone but me, but since I was going it alone, I was the only one who needed convincing, and I was already in.
The way I figured it, Dani’s taking my column told me one thing: she thought I was a good writer. Good enough to steal from, in fact. So if I was a good writer, surely I could be a good reporter. I could investigate Jim’s murder. If I found out who the killer was, my problems would be solved. I would redeem myself in the eyes of my former employer, I would unmask Dani as the evil-doer she was, and most importantly, I wouldn’t have to tell Rick the truth about what happened that night. I could even put off telling him about the whole phone kitten thing for a little while longer. Order would be restored in my universe.
“She’s talking about a friend I used to hang out with. We sorta grew apart. She doesn’t tip well.”
“So do you remember anything unusual happening at The Alibi? Maybe before I got there?”
“No. Honestly, I was really only studying the menu. I didn’t notice anything.” It bothered me that the lie was so easy to tell.
“You must’ve been studying it hard. I remember that scream.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go to work. Hey, I have Friday off. Maybe we could go out, if you have the night off, too.”
“I’d like that.” I tried to contain my excitement and hoped the smile on my face didn’t make me look criminally insane.
“You’ll let me pick you up?”
“Absolutely.”
He moved his chair closer to me. “Is it okay if I kiss you in front of Josie?”
“Yes!”
Gee, Emily, why not just scream, “Ram your tongue down my throat!” on the off-chance he didn’t get the hint.
He didn’t tongue me down viciously. It would’ve been a little too much action for The Globe, at least in broad daylight. However, his kiss was a little more curious and just a smidge more urgent than our last good-bye kiss. When our lips parted, I felt a little tipsy.
He stood up. “I’ll call you about Friday.” He leaned back down, and I could feel his words on my ear. “And if you answered in your sexy voice, I wouldn’t mind at all.”
Let the swooning begin!
After he left, Josie looked at me. “That was some kiss. Are you okay?”
“I’m excellent.”
She gave me a saucy wink that I’m sure is taught only in waitress school. “I can’t imagine why.”
I had a plan and another date with Rick.
Life was about to get good.
Chapter Twelve
Where does a girl detective begin her sleuthing? I had no idea. Everything I know about detective work I learned from watching Law and Order. I didn’t have handsome Rey Curtis, or Lenny Brisco crackin’ wise to help me along. There’s no “Detecting for Dummies” available at the local Barnes and Noble. Believe me, I checked. I decided that there really was only one thing for me to do—go to Jim’s funeral. The killer always likes to see his or her handiwork. Anyone who wanted Jim dead would be there. At least that’s what I was counting on. I’d be able to formulate my suspect list while I was there, and I would just investigate each one until I was down to one name — the killer’s.
I knew what to wear, general funeral attire—black, black, and more black. In my heart, though, I felt like being a little more festive with my dress. Something springy and cute. Something that was more appropriate for any spontaneous grave-dancing that might breakout. I wasn’t going to be the only person who was happy that he was gone. I didn’t wish him dead, but the truth was, his untimely demise did clear up my little problem. How many other people might be thinking the same thing?
When I got to the funeral home chapel, I made it a point to stay in the back. I wanted to observe. In the movies, people who don’t want to be noticed always sit in the back. The casket was closed, thank God. I could only imagine what Jim looked like when he was fished out of the bay. Pictures were on display all around the room: Jim as a baby, as a teenager, Jim graduating from college, Jim getting married, Jim with his children… A huge portrait rested on the casket. It was more recent — the Jim I knew. It was the same picture that had run with his obituary in the paper.
I would have pegged Rachel-Ann as a fading beauty queen even if Jim hadn’t told me about her contest years. She had big blond hair, the kind that only grows in Texas or New Jersey. She’d gained weight since her pageant days, at least that’s what I assumed. Her black dress fit her a little too snugly. If Rachel-Ann had killed her husband, wouldn’t she have bought mourning clothes that fit her perfectly in preparation? It seemed petty, but I didn’t know what type of woman Rachel-Ann was. When people approached her to offer their condolences, she was gracious and smiled. Beauty queen smiles always look a little crazed to me.
Next to her were their two children, Jake and Madi. Jim had mentioned them to me on a few occasions. Madi was a coltish thirteen. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and even with her swollen, red-rimmed eyes, she was a beautiful girl. Watching her cry made me feel bad about the relief I felt over Jim’s death. Jake, on the other hand, didn’t look sad at all. Jake looked bored. He was a chubby boy, with equally fat freckles sprayed across his face. He fidgeted in his chair and gave a churlish look to anyone who came over to comfort his mother.
The room was filled. People who’d been milling around were beginning to take seats. I recognized a few shady faces that had run in the newspaper. Apparently Jim knew a lot of important people in city politics and in business, not all of them with squeaky clean reputations. His funeral looked like a cocktail party. I was surprised that a little martini bar hadn’t been set up on the casket. Still, I didn’t see a lounge-singing gangster. And while there were men in black, none of them were the man in black I’d seen that night.
I studied faces from the back of the room. I was about to whip out my trusty notebook when a hand came down on my shoulder and sent my entire nervous system out of my skin and across the room.
“Hi, I’m Brant Jenson.”
Washed-up surfer was the first thing that came to my mind. He had shaggy blond hair, blue eyes with slight shadows underneath, and his entire body looked a tad puffy. Not fat, I would never call anyone fat, but puffy. Like someone who spent too many of his nights at the bar drinking margaritas and wishing his life was a Jimmy Buffett song.
He was staring at me.
I hadn’t really prepared for
any introductions. “Emily. Emily Summers.” My first alias! It was close enough to my real name that, if he did any checking, he would think he just got the season wrong.
He didn’t take his eyes off me for one second. “I was a pretty good friend of Jim’s, but I don’t remember him ever mentioning an Emily Summers.”
Okay, so I was wrong. The washed-up surfer thing was an act. Brant Jenson was working security at the funeral service.
I wasn’t going to be outfoxed. I employed the look of kids selling “the world’s finest chocolate bars” outside the grocery store. Sure, the candy tasted liked pressed wood, but no one can resist a pair of sad eyes and a trembling lip.
“The truth is, I really didn’t know Jim, at least not in person. I only spoke to him on the phone. I work at the newspaper. Whenever one of the reporters needed information about downtown development, I would call him. He was just so nice to me, I felt I had to come here and pay my respects.” I covered my mouth and gave a little whimper like I was going to cry. “It’s just sometimes reporters can be so mean, and I was new in the research department. Mr. Alexander was so nice to me.”
It worked like a charm. Brant gave me a light embrace. “That’s going to mean so much to his widow. Have you met Rachel-Ann? I know it would be a comfort to her to know Jim was so well thought-of.”
I blubbered a little more. “Oh, I couldn’t. She has so much on her mind right now. I’m sure she doesn’t have time to listen to me go on. He was her husband, but he was just a stranger to me, a very kind stranger.”
He looked at me for a minute. “I think that’s exactly why she’d want to talk to you. Why don’t you swing by the house, just for a minute. Just a word or two from you would mean so much to Rachel. You wouldn’t have to stay for long.” He took out a pen and scribbled an address on the back of his business card and handed it to me. “Thanks for coming, Emily. It’s good to know Jim touched the lives of others the same way he touched mine.”
“I’ll do my best to stop by.” Oh hell, yeah! I was so totally there.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 8