by Cindy Sample
“I used to practice tailing cars just for fun,” he acknowledged. “In case I switched careers and ended up with the cops.”
“You never told me that,” I said.
He shrugged. “Eventually I realized I probably wouldn’t fit in. I think I’m more comfortable hanging out on a stage than in a squad room.”
The conversation died as Stan concentrated on his mission. It was dark now and more difficult to follow Gino’s vehicle. Fortunately, he drove a newer model fitted with a bright display of rear taillights that practically screamed luxury car.
Gino also assisted us with our tailing maneuvers by utilizing his blinkers to indicate whenever he planned to turn left or right. Something most drivers seemed to disregard these days.
When Gino hit Highway 50, he headed west toward Sacramento. Ten miles later, he exited the freeway. Instead of going straight, which would lead to Sacramento State University, he turned left on Howe Avenue, heading south for a brief distance before going right onto Folsom Boulevard. Shortly after, Gino drove into a strip mall. Garish fluorescent lights in eye-opening shades of hot pink, lime green and banana yellow advertised a smoke shop, nail salon, laundromat, a few vacant stores, and at the end of the mall, a larger venue, with one of the more tasteful signs, simply titled The Gray Goose.
“Interesting spot for a business meeting,” Stan said.
“It looks like Adriana has good instincts.”
“Yes, although Gino wouldn’t be the first male to conduct business in a bar.”
“It’s a long way from his home, though. Lots of bars closer to his house to choose from.”
“True,” Stan replied. “And this isn’t the classiest part of town either.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “I guess I should go in and see who he’s meeting.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Not dressed like that you won’t. Lose the raincoat and hat.”
Stan clutched his fedora. “Not the hat. It’s part of my image.”
“Whatever. Look, I’ll go in there first. See if he’s meeting with a woman. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, come in after me. But be cool.”
“Moi? I am the epitome of cool,” Stan replied before giving me the once-over. “But you are totally not dressed for the occasion. You need to look hot, and right now you look more like a soccer mom than a gal out for an evening.”
I glanced down at my white button-down shirt and jeans skirt. Perfect for a stakeout—not so ideal for nightclubbing. Stan leaned over and unbuttoned my top button. I swatted his hand away.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Attempting to turn you into a sexpot. Two more buttons will help.”
I reluctantly unfastened the next button. Then I reached into my surveillance tote bag and pulled out one of Gran’s auburn pageboy wigs. I found a dangling pair of earrings stuffed in the bottom of my purse I’d worn a few weeks ago when Tom and I enjoyed an infrequent date night and added them to my ensemble. I slipped out of the car and rolled the elastic waistband of my jeans skirt up twice, revealing shapely, albeit pale, legs.
“Go get ’em,” Stan said, leaning out of the car window, “and try to look sexy. Don’t stomp around like you usually do.”
“I don’t stomp,” I said with clenched teeth. “I merely have a brisk stride.”
“Yeah, well, slow down and put some swivel into those hips.” He punched the power button on his window and waved me forward.
I clumped away from the car, realized Stan was right about my heavy tread, and switched to a slower, more seductive pace. It took me awhile to find my rhythm and at first I probably looked more like an arthritic redhead than a hot-hipped hussy. By the time I pushed open the heavy door to The Gray Goose, I’d fully embraced my new role.
It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Booths lined two of the walls with a few scratched wooden tables in the middle of the room, half of them occupied. The clack of colliding billiard balls echoed from the back of the L-shaped room. To the left of the entrance, a long bar welcomed couples and singles. I guessed their primary goal was to end up as one half of a couple by the end of evening.
The Gray Goose epitomized your standard neighborhood bar. The question remained—why was Gino in this particular neighborhood?
I glanced around the room, my senses assaulted by the smell of booze, cologne and hot grease. A few patrons shot lewd grins in my direction, making my skin crawl. I took care of my most imperative mission first—the ladies’ room located way in the back of the building. I fluffed up my curly wig, added two more coats of lipstick, took several deep breaths, then headed back out. My first objective: an empty seat at the bar. Maybe I could learn something about Gino from the bartender.
The tall burly bartender sidled over to me. “What can I get for you, hon?”
“What kind of chardonnays do you serve by the glass?” I asked. He hooted, and a woman a few seats over snickered at my request.
My face heated in embarrassment. “Just give me a glass of your house white,” I mumbled, reaching into my purse for my wallet. A large hand stopped the movement and a figure slid onto the bar stool next to mine. In a deep baritone, he said, “Put it on my tab.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I turned to thank the man for my drink and almost fell off my stool. Seated next to me was my quarry—Gino.
Some detective I was.
“First time here?” he asked me, his thick dark lashes framing curious eyes.
Wasn’t it obvious? But I simply nodded and took a sip of the white wine the bartender placed in front of me.
Blech. Their house chardonnay tasted more like house vinegar. I reluctantly swallowed since I didn’t see any spit jars nearby, then asked my own question.
“What about you? Come here often?” I fluttered my lashes at him, feeling like a bimbo straight out of a B-movie.
Gino gazed into my eyes. Briefly, before his gaze dropped to my chest, which is not nearly as talkative as my lips. I placed my index finger under his chin and helped him locate the correct visual coordinates for our conversation.
“Sure.” Gino smiled seductively. “You never know who you’ll meet.”
I could see how Adriana fell for him. The guy simply oozed charm. And wealth. His silk shirt, slacks and lizard shoes screamed designer duds. He’d paid for my drink from a huge wad of cash in a silver money clip.
So if he was that well off, why was Gino hanging out in this dive?
“You live around here?” I tried to sound sultry and mysterious, like a husky-voiced Lauren Bacall or Kathleen Turner, but I was so nervous it came out more like Betty Boop. I needed to drown out my soccer mom persona. And keep him from recognizing me from our brief exchange during the garden tour.
“Not far. And you?” He leaned closer as if anxious to hear my reply.
“Not far.” I gave my best attempt at a Mona Lisa smile. I picked up my glass, hoping to find some investigative inspiration and sipped again. Double blech. This wine did not improve with age. “So what do you do for a living?” I asked, back in fluttering female mode, curious how truthful he would be.
“I dabble in a variety of things,” he replied. “My goal is to make sure my clients are”—he leaned in, his chin practically resting on my bosom—“completely satisfied with the service I provide.”
Hmm. I’d been out of the dating scene for a few years now, but that sure sounded like a pickup line to me. Or maybe that’s how he reeled in his clients.
“And your line of work?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that,” I said. “I get bored easily.”
“Well, maybe you haven’t discovered the right position?” His dark eyes held a hint of laughter at his innuendo-laden comment.
Me. I just wanted to barf.
The door to The Gray Goose burst open. A giant of a man, clad in a leather vest, jeans, ginormous metal-studded belt and a multitude of colorful tattoos on both arms, strode into the bar. A bushy
black beard and moustache covered most of his face, but his beady black eyes looked annoyed as they scanned the room. His gaze finally settled on the bar, and he sauntered in my direction.
The bearded giant claimed the seat next to me as he growled at the bartender. “Pete didn’t show?”
Great. I was sandwiched between a Hell’s Angels lookalike on my left and Mr. Suave on my right. It might be time to head for home. As I started to rise, the bruiser placed a firm hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down.
“Don’t leave on my account, babe,” he said before telling the bartender, “Shoot me a Bud.” Then he turned his attention back to me. “I’m Jake. What’s your name, sweet thing?”
Uh oh. I hadn’t prepared a new identity and my own name was somewhat uncommon.
“I’m Tiffany,” I squeaked out.
“Tiffany, huh. Does that mean you cost a bundle?” He roared with laughter, almost knocking over the beer the bartender set in front of him.
What?
Gino leaned in and covered my hand with his warm palm. “I’d say she’s a real gem of a gal.”
Jake also leaned forward, a cloud of beer breath permeating the air as he wrapped his arm around me, squeezing me tight enough to make another of my buttons burst open.
Okay, it was past time for this detective to disappear. I attempted to escape from Jake’s iron-fisted grip, but the guy had superhuman strength.
Now if only a Superman would appear and rescue me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The door to The Gray Goose opened once again. Although not quite the superhero I’d envisioned, a rescuer stood in the open doorway, the neon lights from the sign highlighting him in shades of blue, pink and green.
My fedora-wearing friend didn’t exactly fit the mold of The Gray Goose’s clientele, but at least he’d dumped the raincoat. Stan’s gaze finally landed on me, and he sidled over. Beneath his wire-rims his gray eyes looked concerned.
“Hi…” Stan stopped as I shot a warning glance at him. “Um, hon. I’ve been waiting for you,” he said in a whiny voice. A perfect imitation of a petulant spouse.
Jake’s arm dropped and so did his jaw as I responded to Stan’s plea. “Sweetie,” I said, “you’re here.”
I jumped off my barstool and gave Stan a big hug. “Nice meeting you boys,” I said to the two men before grabbing Stan’s hand and racing out of the lounge.
The cool night air felt fantastic after the stifling heat and sweat-scented aroma in the bar. I peered over my shoulder as Stan beeped his clicker. I fretted that one of the men might follow us out of The Gray Goose, but both remained inside.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” I said to Stan as I slid into the passenger seat.
“I wasn’t certain what to do, but you were in there so long I got concerned. What did you learn?”
“Not a heck of a lot.”
“That big dude in leather looked like he wanted you for his dinner.” Stan chuckled as he reversed out of his parking space.
“You might be right. Say, do you think we should find a more discreet place to park and see if Gino ends up going home with someone other than Adriana?” I asked.
Stan looked at the clock on his dashboard. “It’s not quite ten yet. I could manage another hour here. How about you? Do you have a curfew?”
“Nope. I’m being paid to hang out with you. Let’s see if we can learn something other than Gino’s poor taste in bars.”
I woke with a start when Stan jerked his elbow into my shoulder.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I wiped drool off my chin and straightened in my seat. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. Next time I’ll bring a thermos of coffee.”
“If you drink coffee, you’ll have to make more bathroom stops,” Stan reminded me.
“Yeah. I might not be cut out for this surveillance stuff, after all. Wait a minute.” I scooted forward in my seat so I could get a better look through the windshield. “That’s Gino walking out with Jake and another guy in leather.”
We watched as the three men conversed. Gino was the more animated of the threesome, using his hands to emphasize his point. The other two, both dressed in all leather, listened, sometimes nodding at Gino’s remarks. Other times shaking their heads in disagreement. Whatever they were discussing, the big dudes seemed far more in agreement with one another than with Gino.
What an odd trio. Jake eventually walked over to his bike, reached into a saddlebag and removed a small parcel. He handed it to Gino. Then Jake and his friend yanked helmets over their heads, climbed on their motorcycles and roared out of the parking lot, turning right on Folsom Boulevard. Gino got in his car and drove off behind them, although he made a left turn, most likely returning to his home in Granite Bay.
“Now what?” asked Stan.
“I wish we had X-ray vision and could see what was inside that bag.”
“It could be anything,” Stan said. “Drugs, money…you’re not going to make me follow those guys, are you?” He groaned before turning onto Folsom Boulevard, a few cars behind Gino.
I yawned. “Nope, that’s enough detecting for tonight. I’ll report in to Adriana and tell her what we found. She might not care if Gino is up to something suspicious, as long as he’s not with another woman.”
“Adriana can be a bit of a bulldog. I have a feeling you’ll be following Gino again.”
“Fine with me. It’s a fairly easy detail.”
Sometimes I’m too naïve for my own good.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was after midnight by the time I returned home. I’d intended to shower off the remnants of my time in The Gray Goose, but I hated to wake up Tom, who snored softly into his pillow.
I slipped into our king-size bed, pulled the sheet up to my chin and rolled over on my side, ready to sink into a welcome oblivion. Seconds later, my body tingled as fingers lightly caressed my neck and fluttered across my back.
I flipped over on my other side, where my husband’s mischievous eyes met mine.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Your last text said you’d be home several hours ago.”
“Sorry. We were determined to get a lead tonight.”
Tom moved closer and wrapped his arms around me. Then he pulled back looking repulsed. “I’m not sure how to say this delicately, but you stink.”
“The perils of being a P.I.,” I countered. “We ended up in a dive bar in Sacramento.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of you hanging out in seedy bars.”
“Don’t you trust me?” I asked, somewhat annoyed at his comment.
“Of course. I just don’t like the idea of you being around a bunch of sleazeballs.”
“It’s all part of the job, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” he said reluctantly. “I never envisioned you doing surveillance work. It could be dangerous.”
“Did you expect me to remain in the office all the time? That’s somewhat chauvinistic.”
“I’m only concerned about your safety, hon.” Despite my aromatic scent, he nestled closer to me, tickling my neck with his hot breath, trying to distract me from our conversation.
A conversation that needed to be continued another time. Right now, I was ready to be distracted.
Tom left early the next morning, so our late-night discussion was postponed for the time being. With Jenna’s car out of commission, I dropped the kids off at their respective schools and drove to the office. My first item of business was to type up a report detailing the events of the previous evening’s stakeout. Despite four cups of coffee, two at home and two more at the office, I could feel my energy level ebbing to the point that I wistfully eyed the cushy client sofa in our tiny lobby area.
If I locked the front door and flipped the open sign to closed, maybe I could squeeze in a short catnap. Although whoever originated that term had obviously never lived with a cat, because our pet’s naps lasted for hours on end.
My cell rang as I stifled yet another y
awn. I bent over to check the display.
Gran. Probably calling to bug me about Iris. I was tempted to ignore the call, but I clicked the green button and greeted her as cheerily as I could.
“Hi, Gran. I’m working on Iris’s case as we speak.”
“Good girl. But you may need to switch your attention to my case.”
“You have a case for me? I hope it’s not another missing coupon investigation.” My grandmother lost coupons as quickly as she scooped them up. But nothing made her smile faster than a discounted purchase.
“Nope. There’s some police officers here want to drag me to their station.”
“What?” I shrieked so loud the front blinds rattled in protest.
“Ouch,” complained Gran. “You just about busted my hearing aid. It’s no biggie. At least I hope not,” she muttered under her breath.
“Start at the beginning. What’s going on?”
“Two detectives stopped by my house this morning. They want to take me up to Tahoe and grill me.”
The sound of other voices in the background echoed over the phone line.
“Good grief. About the murder?” I asked. “Do you need an attorney?”
“Not sure. The only lawyer I know is the guy who did my will for me.” She let out a gasp. “And since I can feel a heart attack coming from all this scrutiny, you might be meetin’ with him sooner rather than later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I managed the drive to Gran’s house in nine minutes flat. And I only broke the speed limit for eight of the nine minutes. An SUV with a South Lake Tahoe police medallion emblazoned on the side of the vehicle was parked in her driveway.
I scooted around the official vehicle and trotted up her sidewalk. Hank’s truck was gone so he was probably at his current job site. I pounded on the door hard enough to bruise my knuckles. My grandmother finally opened it and I skidded into the entry.