by Ritter Ames
Wondering if I’d possibly caught her in the act of cheating on her husband, I calculated my next words carefully.
“I say, this woman positively reeks of impropriety,” Marmaduke said, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we place odds scandal is afoot beyond that door?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer before disappearing through the wall.
With Marmaduke doing his job, I needed to stick to mine. “Mrs. Blackwell, I believe your case is related to other robberies in the area, and I really need to speak with you now to clarify some of what we discussed last week. You do want me to apprehend whoever did this, don’t you?”
She huffed and opened the door wider. A blue robe was loosely cinched at her waist. A suitcase and travel bag were on the floor to the right of the door. “I’m getting ready to leave town. As soon as I get dressed, a cab is picking me up.”
“If you and Mr. Blackwell are leaving town for a few days, I can be sure to have extra patrols in your area to watch the house. I’m sure you don’t wish to be a target a second time.”
“That’s not necessary. Mr. Blackwell isn’t coming. I’m meeting friends in Key West. A girl’s weekend kind of thing. Can you make your questions quick? Or maybe I can talk with you when I get back?”
“I just wanted to verify that your cell phone was not on the list of stolen items.”
“No, my cell phone wasn’t stolen. It was in my bedroom with me at the time.”
“And you are very sure no one else has your key. A neighbor maybe?”
Her irritation with me was rising. “You asked me that last time. No. And we don’t keep one hidden.”
“Right. Okay. Um. Let me see, there was one other thing…”
Marmaduke floated down the stairs. “She is not hiding a man up there, but I might have discovered something of interest.” He vanished through the wall.
“Never mind,” I said. “That was it. I did check out pawn shops within a fifty-mile radius and to date, none of your stolen items have been found. I’ll be sure to let you know of any leads.”
“Sounds good,” she said, practically pushing me out the door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the airline ticket lying on top of her travel bag—the destination in bold letters grabbed my attention. Debbie Blackwell wasn’t going to Key West; she was going to Las Vegas.
* * *
I DIDN’T HEAD back to the station. Instead, Marmaduke and I drove back to my apartment where we could talk openly while I did an internet search. Marmaduke had found Debbie Blackwell’s computer with an open tab on the screen. He was strangely proficient in computer and website terminology for a ghost who had died before computers were invented. When I asked him how he knew so much, he said he’d learned from watching Sophie Rhodes at work. I powered up my laptop. “Tell me where to go.”
“Her browser was open to a page called, ‘The Adonis Touch’.”
I typed it in and found it quickly. “Choice Male Companions for Women with Discriminating Taste.” I made a gagging noise. “Ick. Makes them sound like they’re choosing a cut at a steak house.” Photos of strikingly handsome and outrageously sexy men scrolled across my screen one by one. Some were bare-chested, some wore finely tailored suits. Some had two-day stubble on their rugged, square jaws, some were clean-cut like the all-American boy next door. They all made my mouth water. And none of them had last names: Bradley, Marco, Joaquin, Anatolio.
Marmaduke shook his head. “What is this? A location where men are sold like chattel?”
“More or less. So Debbie Blackwell was busy looking at this page, and she had a ticket to Vegas. Is there a connection?”
He cocked his head to one side and then the other. “I say, I am somewhat befuddled. There are just so many blokes. The effect is quite dizzying. The page I saw had a picture of just one man by the name of Damon. Raven hair, shirtless, bulging biceps. His singular visage filled the screen along with a description. I tried to memorize it, but the exact words escape me now. Something about romance and dynamics.”
A navigation bar at the top listed names of cities. I hovered the cursor over the box for Las Vegas and found ten names, Damon being the top of the list. “Bingo!” I shouted. I clicked again and a profile appeared. “A Las Vegas boy at heart,” I read aloud. “Damon is every woman’s dream: a wild romantic who pulses with pure, raw sexual vitality.”
Damon was too good to be true. I found it hard to take my eyes off his picture. “These guys are gigolos.”
“They look like paid inamoratos to me.”
“Same thing. Let’s see if we can find a Jaxx.” I perused the list of cities again. New York, Denver, Dallas, Miami…Stephens City. Seriously? Stephens City had its own set of Adonises? We hardly seemed to be a large enough city for that, but okay. I clicked the button.
“Voila!” Marmaduke exclaimed. “A bloke named Jaxx!”
Jaxx was not like Damon at all. He was more flirtatious, practically winking at me from his picture. His fitted gray suit was professional, yet inviting. His blond hair was short and feathered. The Adonis Touch website was kind enough to provide its shoppers with vital statistics. Jaxx was six-foot-one, 185 pounds, thirty years old. I read his “welcome” message. “Are you a lonely woman in need of a strong but caring man to listen? Jaxx is your man. He’s a personal trainer and a licensed therapist, but he doesn’t need a license to serve your needs. Jaxx loves to give women the attention they deserve.”
“We have our man,” said Marmaduke. “My, that was jolly good fun. Let’s go arrest the wily bandit.”
“Can’t. I don’t have proof. There are so many unknowns here and mostly just educated guesses. Did Debbie Blackwell procure Jaxx’s services before deciding to try out Damon in Las Vegas? Or are these guys somehow in it together? Who else is involved? We don’t even know for a fact this Jaxx is the same Jaxx that called Belinda Rucker’s cell phone.”
“Ah. I see what you mean. There must be, what, a million Jaxxs in Stephens City? Two million? Why, certainly it would be akin to locating a Jaxx needle in a Jaxx haystack.”
“Do you want to be a real detective or don’t you? Because we have to work with facts. It’s a fact that a Jaxx called Belinda Rucker’s phone today. Actually, technically, I’m not even sure that is a fact. You’re the one who saw the name on her phone, and you’re a ghost. It’s not like I can bring you in as a witness. But, let’s pretend we already obtained a warrant for her phone records and it is a fact. It is also a fact this man on the screen in front of us is named Jaxx. It’s not a proven fact, however, that they are one and the same. Not yet, anyway.”
“This catching of criminals is a complicated business, isn’t it?”
“Truthfully, it’s usually pretty boring and filled with reams of paperwork. Thanks to you, it has become a little more interesting.”
He puffed up like a proud peacock. “Are you complimenting my skills?”
“Maybe, but let’s not get mushy over it.”
“So, Detective, what is our next endeavor towards catching our criminal? I am at your beck and call.”
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the computer screen, pondering my next step. I could return to the Ruckers’ house and confront the wife about the second phone. I’m not sure how I’d pull that one off believably: Well, Mrs. Rucker, a ghost friend of mine observed a ringing phone in your car while I was interviewing you. Nope. But if I did confront her anyway, not caring about how she knew what I knew, what would it get me?
Only one way to find out. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed her home phone.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Rucker? This is Detective Sage from the Stephens City PD.”
“Yes. Did you find our stuff?”
“No. I’m afraid not. But I did have a question for you which might lead me in the right direction.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever procured the services of a male escort by the name of Jaxx from a website called The Adon
is Touch?”
She went silent on the line.
“Mrs. Rucker?”
“I’m, I’m, um, so sorry,” she stuttered. “The man from the security company just arrived. I have to go.”
“Mrs. Rucker, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Maybe we can talk about this another time. Thank you, Detective Sage.” She ended the call.
“Another woman too busy to talk,” I said, setting the phone down. “Isn’t that interesting?”
Marmaduke spun his bowler hat in one hand. “I take it she did not give up an admission.”
“She did not,” I said. “At least not in words, she didn’t. Her voice was rich with guilt though.” I leaned close to the computer monitor again, a plan brewing in my mind.
“How about the other women? From those earlier burglaries? Perhaps you could ask each of them the same question.”
“That’s one way to go,” I said, picking up my phone again. “But I think I’ll go to the man himself. I’m going to hire myself a gigolo.”
* * *
I WASN’T BREAKING department rules by going undercover on this assignment, but I wasn’t exactly abiding by the rules either. I could have told a judge I knew about Belinda Rucker’s second phone and asked for a warrant to see those phone records, but that would have taken time, and I still wouldn’t have had probable cause to search Jaxx’s domicile. The bottom line was that a crime spree needed to be stopped. If Marmaduke and I were on the right track, then going undercover was probably the quickest way of getting it done.
I grabbed takeout lunch from the deli around the corner from the precinct. I rolled the windows down, and waited for Shane Daniels. I hoped to rope him into my plot.
“Do not misunderstand me,” Marmaduke said about my plan, “I enjoy the idea, but I do believe your motives are slightly ulterior.”
“Because Jaxx is attractive?” I asked around a mouthful of bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.
“My dear, Brenna, that man is not simply attractive. Why even I, of the heterosexual persuasion, can see Jaxx the gigolo is an exquisite specimen. A zenith among sexually appealing males.”
I laughed while stuffing an errant tomato back where it belonged.
“What do you find so amusing?”
“Just the way you talk. You’re so…proper.”
“Of course, I’m proper. I’m British. We are a decorous and dignified people.” He cringed at me. “You have some sort of white, gelatinous sauce dripping from the corner of your mouth.”
I was aware of movement in my peripheral vision and before I knew it, Shane was leaning against my car.
“Geez!” I shouted. “Why’d you sneak up on me like that? Where’s your car?” I had expected him to pull up beside me in his cruiser rather than surprise me with a walking approach.
“I parked on the other side of the deli. Used their bathroom first.” He gave me a long look. “Who’s so proper?”
Snatching a napkin from the dash, I wiped away the mayonnaise Marmaduke had pointed out. “What?”
“You were talking to yourself, again. I heard you say, ‘You’re so proper.’”
“He’s on to us,” said Marmaduke.
I didn’t think Shane was on to anything but I wasn’t telling him about my new ghost partner, whether Shane knew of Marmaduke or not. “Just more motivation-talk. Ignore that. It’s crazy, I know. But hey, it works for me.”
“You’re right. That’s about the craziest kind of motivational speaking I’ve ever heard.” He crossed his arms. “What do you want?”
“Your help.”
“How?”
“You’re on patrol duty tomorrow night in Old Town, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a date with a man I believe is linked to the string of home invasions.”
“What? Are you crazy? Oh right, we’ve already established you are.”
“I’m meeting him for drinks at the bar of La Fortuna’s at six and our reservations are for six-thirty.” I handed Shane a handheld communication device. “You know how to use this. I have the earpiece, receiver and microphone. Position yourself near La Fortuna, turn that on at six and just be alert to any problems. Step in if I need you.”
“There are two other detectives in the department, why aren’t you using them?”
“The captain doesn’t know about this. They’d blab.”
“Why should I help you?”
“Because you’re basically a nice guy and I trust you.”
“That’s not the reason.”
“Fine. Because he suggested La Fortuna, and I knew you patrolled Old Town. But you’re still a nice guy.” I handed him a printout from the website. “This is the man I’m meeting.”
Shane scanned the paper and frowned. “You’re investigating a male escort? At a location he suggested?”
“Is that all you can ask, rhetorical questions?” I rolled my eyes at him and pressed on with the details. “I’ve created a profile for myself to match the profile of the females burgled. My name is Sharon, I’m a married, forty-five-year-old—”
He cut me off. “Forty-five? Aren’t you only like thirty-one or thirty-two? How do you intend to pass for forty-five?”
“I’m thirty-three. La Fortuna is a dark place—everyone’s wrinkles disappear there.”
“Did you check this guy for priors? Has he done this kind of thing before?”
“How am I going to run priors? All I’ve got there is a first name and we both know that’s not even real.”
He handed the paper back to me. “I’m out.”
I shoved it back at him. “I have good reason to believe he’s involved in the burglaries. Two of the female victims have used this service. It could be some sort of huge crime ring and this is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“The victims have admitted to hiring this guy?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, Shane. All you have to do is be there if I need you. And if I’m right, the captain might just consider you for detective next time around.”
That swayed him, but he took his time agreeing to help. With obvious reluctance, he finally said, “Fine.”
“Thank you, thank you. Okay, back to my profile: I’m a forty-five-year-old empty-nester living in a big and lonely house in the Stony Creek neighborhood. Twenty-one Thirteen Rolling Road.”
“That’s my house!”
“Oh right. There was one more thing. I need a key to your house.”
* * *
TRUTHFULLY, SHANE’S HOUSE wasn’t that big, but it was conveniently located in a neighborhood similar to those previously hit by the robber, so it was a good match for my plan. Initially, Shane didn’t see it my way. He was, and rightly so, concerned about the safety of his pregnant wife, Amy. I liked Amy. She was one of the few spouses who went out of her way to say hi and ask me how things were going. I know I don’t make it easy on people; my social graces are weak, but she tries anyway. So I called Amy, explained the scenario, said she and her baby would never be in any danger, and I’d be sure to recommend Shane for detective if it didn’t all blow up in our faces. She told Shane to give me the key. One night later, I was seated at the dimly-lit bar of La Fortuna waiting for the best looking date I’d ever had in my life. Too bad I had to pay for him.
And speaking of payment, Jaxx’s hourly rate was staggering. For authenticity, I felt compelled to spruce up my wardrobe to a level of wealth higher than my own. Earlier in the day, Marmaduke had tagged along while I rifled through the bargain rack at a high-end department store. He kept insisting the dress had to show more skin, and I kept insisting I needed to show less gun. We finally settled on a red number with a deeply plunging neckline for the sex factor and a billowy, knee-length skirt that easily cloaked the gun strapped to my thigh.
I’m not a dress-wearing kind of girl, and I’m especially not a low-cut, let-it-all-hang-out-dress wearing kind of girl, so I found myself distracted by t
he constant need to make sure my breasts weren’t putting on an accidental show. All-in-all, though, I was actually pleased with how I looked. The color and the cut suited me surprisingly well.
As planned, I’d arrived before Jaxx and was waiting on the bartender.
I spoke into the microphone. “I’m in place,” I told Shane.
“Don’t order a Shirley Temple, whatever you do. White wine. Order a white wine.”
I made a face at the thought of drinking alcohol.
“What can I get you ma’am?” the bartender asked.
“White wine, please.”
“Pinot? Sauvignon blanc? Chardonnay?”
“Uh… give me the first one. That sounds good.”
He placed a glass in front of me, pulled the cork from a green bottle and poured.
“Thank you.”
“You have the posture of a baboon,” Marmaduke said, pacing back and forth in front of me. “Straighten your back. It will push out your bosom.”
“I don’t want to push out my bosom—it’s out enough already.”
“What are you talking about?” Shane asked.
I cringed, having forgotten I had him on microphone. I couldn’t talk to Marmaduke with Shane listening.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sorry.”
“You have the strangest way of motivating yourself.”
Marmaduke perked up. “Look. He has arrived,” he said. “Sit up straight now. Legs crossed. Smile.”
“He’s here,” I told Shane.
“By the way, I never asked you. How far do you plan to take this tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
Jaxx was moving toward the bar, but we hadn’t made eye contact yet.
“You know,” Shane said.
There. Eye contact made. Wow. He was even better in person. How could one man look that good? I waved. “I’m a professional,” I told Shane.
“So is he.”
“Okay. Stop talking in my ear. I have to concentrate.”
When I swiveled the stool seat to stand, Marmaduke talked me down. “No, no, no. Remain seated, for goodness sakes. Forget you are a copper. Tonight you are a genteel and lonely wife seeking connection and romance. Remember, despite the exchange of funds, he is here to woo you.”