Nothing.
I took a deep breath and went for it.
My bladder threatened to explode as I squatted down on the floor and withdrew the wallet, using the feathered wrap as an impromptu glove. Fingerprints on the phone I could explain. Fingerprints on the wallet? Probably not.
I cradled the wallet in a hammock of pink feathers and lifted the edge with a fingernail. It flopped open to reveal a Texas driver’s license. The man pictured looked to be in his late twenties, with close-cropped black hair, a bright white shirt and a red tie.
My eyes darted to the man in the stall. The hair exposed where the blonde wig had been torn off was short and black. The hair was a match, but I couldn’t tell about the face.
Evan Maxted, read the name under the picture. 5’11”, 29 years old. I gazed from the picture to the person sprawled over the toilet. Somebody’s son. My heart twinged. Did his parents know about his double life? How would they deal with the crushing news that their son’s life had been snuffed out? My eyes flicked toward the gruesome scene in the toilet stall again, prickling with hot tears.
Get yourself together, Margie. I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and forced myself to look away, focusing instead on the wallet cradled in the pink wrap. Evan’s picture smiled at me from his driver’s license, a dimple in his right cheek. I took a deep shuddery breath and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of my emotions. The police are going to be here soon. You’d better get moving.
Using the wrap to shield my fingers, I pulled out the credit cards tucked behind the license. Platinum Visa, American Express Gold card. Whoever Evan Maxted was, he didn’t seem to be hurting for money. Or else he ran up impressive balances.
A short stack of white cards lined one of the inner pockets. I pinched the corner of the top one between my fingernails and drew it out. It was a business card. Evan Maxted. Vice President, International Shipping Company. That explained the platinum Visa.
I was about to slip the card back in when footsteps thundered down the hall outside.
I whirled toward the door, causing the wallet to tumble from its fluffy hammock onto the tile floor. I thrust my hand into the feathers and grabbed at it, tossing it back into the purse next to the phone. The door burst open as the wallet thunked on top of the phone, flapping open like a clamshell. I curled Evan Maxted’s business card into the palm of my hand and turned to face the police.
Suddenly, people in uniforms flooded the room like a swarm of angry but efficient bees, transforming the echo-y room into a hive of activity. The emergency medical technicians.
“She’s over there,” I said, pointing at the stall, but they had already located her. As they approached the dead man, I turned away, feeling small and unimportant.
A short man with a head of bristle-brush hair and a torso with the dimensions of a pickle barrel pushed into the room. I hugged my wrap closer and smiled at him weakly.
“I’m Detective Bunsen. Are you the one who called?” he asked in a gruff, no-nonsense voice.
I nodded and inclined my head toward her purse. “I’m sorry. I had to use his phone to call 9-1-1. Mine was dead.”
His hazel eyes flicked to the purse, taking in the wallet splayed over the phone. Then he shifted his piercing gaze to me. I was just the woman who found her. So why did I suddenly feel like the subject of an interrogation?
“Why didn’t you just call from the bar?” he asked.
I shrugged, causing my dress to gape open. I tugged it closed. “I don’t know. I panicked, I guess. I saw her phone, so I just grabbed it.”
He gave the wallet a meaningful look. “And did you limit yourself to using the phone?”
My cheeks felt hot. My eyes followed his to the wallet draped over the phone. “I just used the phone. I’m afraid things got a little jumbled in her… I mean, his purse. I was nervous. I’ve never seen a dead body before.”
As Bunsen crossed his burly arms across his chest, two more men in blue entered the ladies’ room. With the EMTs still circling the stall, things were getting a little crowded.
The two cops glanced at the woman draped over the toilet. The younger of the two turned pale.
The older one turned to Bunsen. “Do you need me to call forensics?”
“Yeah. Call the coroner, and get the crime scene van out here.”
“Will do. Want me to close off the bar?”
Bunsen gave a sharp nod. “Edwards is already working on it. Give him a hand, and call for more backup. Lotta people out there.” The two men disappeared through the door again, and Bunsen turned back to me.
“Did you know the victim?”
I shook my head. “Never met her.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Her?”
“Her, him, whatever.” I squeezed my legs together, feeling like I was about to burst. “I hate to interrupt, but do you mind if I slip over to the men’s room for a moment?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re a man?”
“No. It’s just that I came in here to go to the bathroom, and there’s only one stall.”
He nodded. “Meet me in the hall when you’re done.”
I pushed through the door to the Princesses’ room with relief. Relief to be away from the body in the bathroom. And to be away from Bunsen. The thumping music was gone, and the dark corridor was flooded with light. Apparently a corpse in the ladies’ room meant party time at the Rainbow Room was over.
Fortunately, the stall in the Princes room was vacant, and few minutes later I emerged from the men’s room feeling much better. And with Evan Maxted’s business card stashed in my purse. Bunsen hadn’t emerged from the ladies’ room yet, and the corridor was empty. As I leaned against the wall to wait, Cassandra tripped down the hall toward me, her makeup even more garish in full fluorescent light.
She grabbed at my arm just as Detective Bunsen stepped out of the ladies’ room.
“Emerald!” she said. “There you are!” She paused to flick an appreciative eye over Detective Bunsen’s stocky frame. Then she fluttered her caterpillars and reached to squeeze his upper arm. “Oooh, muscles.” Bunsen stepped back. Although his facial expression didn’t change, his olive skin reddened. “Is this your boyfriend, Emerald?”
“Margie. And no. This is Detective Bunsen.”
“I’ll bet you look wonderful in uniform,” she purred to him. Then she turned to me. “Anyway, darling, I know there’s all this fuss going on—I heard somebody had a tiff in the Princesses’ room—but I was just coming to tell you that you won third place.”
Bunsen’s eyebrows rose. “Third place?”
Cassandra smiled coquettishly. “We have a little beauty contest here on Tuesday nights. Emerald here was a smash hit.”
Now it was my turn to blush.
“The trick with the dress was so sexy.” She draped an arm around me and turned to Bunsen. Her purple lipstick was smeared, and her breath was one hundred and fifty proof. “Would you believe it, officer? It’s her first time out, and she takes a bronze!” She leaned toward Bunsen. “And what are all of you handsome men doing here? Did somebody get a little naughty in one of the stalls?”
“Cassandra,” I said. “There’s been a murder.”
Her eyes got big, and she drew in a dramatic breath. “A murder? Who?”
“The contestant in the blue dress.”
“Selena?” Color leached from beneath the orange foundation. “Oh, no… that’s awful!” She clutched at Bunsen’s arm again. “How did it happen?”
Bunsen pried her fingers from his arm. “You knew the victim?”
“Oh, of course I did. I just can’t believe it… We met at Miss Veronica’s Tranny School. What a gorgeous girl.” She pressed two sausage-like fingers together. “We were like this!” Cassandra’s eyes were wet behind the caterpillars.
For a moment, I forgot Bunsen was standing next to me. “Tranny school?”
Cassandra perked up a little bit. “Oh, that’s where we learn all the tri
cks for looking glamorous, darling. How else do you think I learned to look this fabulous?”
Bunsen whipped out a notebook. “The victim’s name was Selena?”
“That was her stage name. Selena Sass.”
Bunsen jotted that down. “And her… his… real name?”
“Something that started with an E, I think. Edward? Edwin?”
Evan, I started to say, but stopped myself just in time.
“Evan,” she said. “Evan something.”
“Would you mind going and having a seat at the bar?” Bunsen asked. “I’ll need to ask you a few questions as soon as I’m done here.”
“Oh, of course, officer!”
“I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve finished with Miss…” He turned to me.
“Peterson.”
“With Miss Peterson.”
“It’s a terrible tragedy. Just terrible. Of course I’ll do whatever I can to help, officer.” Cassandra squeezed his arm again and sashayed down the corridor. Despite the death of her friend, I noticed an extra waggle in her hips. The show must go on, I suppose.
Bunsen turned to me. “So, you were a contestant in a drag queen contest? But you’re a woman, you say.” His eyes slid down to my dress, which was gaping open again.
I pulled my dress up and cleared my throat. “It was an accident.”
“An accident?”
“I’m kind of on a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“A private investigator. May I see your license?”
I shifted. “Actually, I don’t have a license.”
“No license? But you’re here on a job. What company are you working for?”
“Peachtree Investigations.”
He jotted that down. “And you were in this drag queen contest with the victim?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought you said you’d never met her.”
“I didn’t. I just saw her go up after me.”
His dark brown eyes bored into me. “Exactly what were you investigating, Miss Peterson?”
“It was an infidelity case,” I said. “I was trailing a woman’s husband.”
He stared at my dress. “Do you always dress like this when you’re on a job?”
“No. Only when…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to tell this man I was supposed to be a honey pot.
“Only when what?”
I sighed. If he talked to Peaches, he’d find out anyway. “Okay. I was here because I was supposed to seduce someone, then call the photographer.”
He blinked at me. “You came to a gay bar to seduce someone’s husband?”
“I didn’t know it was a gay bar.”
“The urinals in the ladies’ room didn’t tip you off?”
“The ladies’ room wasn’t my first stop.”
“You hadn’t met the victim, but you and this Cassandra woman seemed pretty cozy. Want to explain that?”
“It was just a fluke. She introduced herself and invited me to join a beauty contest. I didn’t realize the rest of them were all drag queens.”
He cleared his throat. “So I’m guessing things didn’t work out with the guy you were tailing.”
I flushed. “No. Not really.”
“Well.” His mouth twitched upward. “On the plus side, at least you walked away with a bronze.”
Anger flared in me. “Look,” I said. “A woman—a man, I mean—was just murdered. Don’t you have anything relevant to ask me?”
He flipped over a page in his notebook. Miss Peterson, I’m going to need the number of the agency you work for.”
“I don’t remember the number offhand, but I can get it for you.”
“You don’t remember it?”
I shook my head slowly.
He sighed. “Okay, Miss Peterson. Before you found the body, did you see anyone else in the corridor, or in the bathroom? Anyone entering or leaving?”
“No, there was no one. Someone went down the hall while I was waiting for you guys to come, but that was it.”
“Did you see who it was?”
I shook my head again.
“Was the door to the stall open, or closed?”
“Closed, but not locked. I waited for a while, but it was so quiet, and she didn’t answer when I asked if she was okay, so I pushed it open, and then….” An image of Evan Maxted’s face flashed into my brain again. I swallowed hard.
“And you called from the victim’s phone because your phone was dead. Where was the victim’s purse before you went through it?”
“I didn’t go through it, exactly.” Well, not the purse, anyway. Just the wallet. “All I did was get the phone out. Anyway, it was on the floor, open, next to the toilet. That’s how I saw the phone.”
“If you just got the phone out, then how come the victim’s wallet was open on top of the phone?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It must have happened when I put the phone back into the purse.”
He fixed me with a hard stare. “Miss Peterson, this is important. Was the wallet open when you first got there?”
Sweat broke out on my brow. “I’m sorry, officer. I was in such a panic, I don’t remember.” I straightened my dress. “And by the way, it’s Mrs., not Miss.”
“You’re married?”
I nodded. “In fact, I have to get home. My son is sick. Do you need anything else from me?”
Bunsen shook his head slowly. “Married. Unbelievable.” He flipped to a new page. “I’ll need to know where to reach you. I don’t suppose you have a card?”
“No, not yet.” I reeled off my home address. “I don’t have the number for Peachtree Investigations on me, but I can get it to you.”
He pulled a card out of the breast pocket of his uniform. “Give me a call when you have it. Show this to Edwards when you leave. He’ll let you go. I’ll be in touch.”
I tucked it into my purse and turned to leave, relieved to be away from Bunsen. As I walked down the corridor toward the dance floor, he called after me.
“Oh, and Mrs. Peterson?”
“Yes?” I turned, cringing. What now?
He smirked at me. “Good luck with your career.”
I pulled my wrap tighter around me and stumbled toward the door.
A gangly man with a large paunch stopped me. “You Margie Peterson?”
“Yeah.” How did he know my name?
His eyes raked over me. “Nice outfit. I’m the photographer. Where’s the happy couple?”
The photographer? I’d forgotten I’d called him. I did a quick survey of the bar. Emerson was gone. “You’re too late.”
He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Fuck. The Cowboys were winning, too. And now they won’t let me leave. What are all these cops here for?”
“There was a murder. Look, I’ve got to go. Sorry you came out for nothing.”
“It’s still gonna cost you, you know. And the longer they make me stay here, the higher my bill.”
I tossed the end of my wrap over my shoulder and stalked toward the front door. “Take it up with Peaches.”
I flashed Bunsen’s card at the cop stationed next to the door and stepped out into the evening’s lingering heat. The warm, soft air was welcome after the chilly bar, and I stopped a few yards away from the entry, closing my eyes and letting the events of the evening roll over me.
I’d ended up in a drag queen contest, found a dead body, and been interrogated by the police. Now I had to go home and face my husband and sick child with a crunched minivan and a dress that looked as if someone had torn it off of me.
I fished for my car keys as I trudged past the crime scene van, my feet aching with every step. It would be nice to get home and change into something normal. My hand closed on my keys as I got to the parking spot where I had left the minivan.
It was empty.
I whirled around just in time to see my battered Dodge Caravan disappear around the corner, attac
hed to the back of a tow truck.
SIX
The house was dark by the time I climbed out of a taxi and teetered up the front walk, clutching the rear bumper of my minivan. I dragged it up the front walk and leaned it up next to the front door, grateful to have made it home.
When the front door closed behind me, I kicked off the slingbacks and crept up the stairs to Nick’s bedroom. The sour smell of vomit assaulted my nostrils as I cracked open the door. Except for pile of soiled sheets, Nick’s bed was empty.
I found him in our bedroom, curled up in the crook of Blake’s arm. I studied the two men in my life in the half-light leaking from the hall. Nick’s broad cheekbones and sandy hair mirrored his father’s, and behind the closed lashes I knew his eyes were the same piercing blue.
In sleep, mouth slightly ajar, the years reeled away from Blake. His face, so tense recently, softened, looking more like the face of the man I had married eight years ago. Full of hope, quick to smile.
For a moment, the horror of the evening faded. I reached out to touch their faces—first Nick’s downy cheek, like the skin of a peach, then the soft bristle of my husband’s. As my fingers brushed across Blake’s jaw, his eyes jerked open.
“Sorry to wake you, “I whispered. “I was just checking on the two of you.”
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Where have you been?” His eyes dropped to my gaping dress. “Good God. What happened to you? Did you change your mind and go for the exotic dancing after all?”
I pulled Carmen’s wrap tight around me. “I was on a job. Go back to sleep. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” I touched my son’s damp forehead. “How’s Nick?”
“I hope nobody saw you like this.”
I decided this wasn’t the moment to mention the drag queen contest. “Is Nick okay?” I repeated.
“You mean aside from throwing up all over the place?”
“He seems to be doing better.”
“Well, he is, but my car’s not. I hope you cleaned the van out this week, because I’ve got clients to meet tomorrow morning. First Nick throws up everywhere, then you come home looking like something out of Moulin Rouge…” He glanced over at the glowing digital clock. “I don’t have time to deal with this right now. I need to get to sleep. The alarm’s set for five.” He jerked the covers up and rolled away from me.
Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out Page 5