Jen exchanged a look with Piper, then made her way to the couch, her nude-colored pumps clicking on the hardwood floor. “Sweetie, Howard is gone. We understand how much you miss him, but—”
Berni shook her off. “I know you both think he’s dead, but he’s not. I told you. I saw him last week, right in the middle of Lincoln Square. He was wearing one of those foam cheeseheads. But Howard hated Green Bay, and I can’t think why he’d be wearing a cheesehead.”
Jen looked toward Piper for help. They’d heard the cheesehead story several times now, but since both of them had attended Howard Berkovitz’s funeral, they were disinclined to believe he’d resurrected—let alone as a Green Bay Packers fan.
As Piper poured the last of the Stoli for Jen, there was another rap on the door, this one tentative. Berni sighed. “It’s her.”
“Come in, Amber,” Piper called out. And why not? If her friends weren’t here, all she’d do was brood.
Amber Kwan, her downstairs neighbor, entered the apartment tentatively. “Is it okay? I wasn’t invited, but . . .”
“Neither were they,” Piper pointed out. Amber was a slightly overweight twenty-seven-year-old with porcelain skin, shiny black hair, and an insecurity that vanished only when she took the stage as a permanent member of Chicago’s Lyric Opera chorus. Most of Piper’s childhood friends had moved out of the city, and she was grateful to have these three in her life.
“Hello, Mrs. Berkovitz. How are you feeling?”
Berni gave her a tight-lipped nod. Berni didn’t like Amber because she was Korean, but since Amber believed Berni’s age gave her a pass for racial prejudice, she wouldn’t let Piper or Jen confront Berni about it.
“I’m out of vodka,” Piper said. “Beer?”
Amber settled on the edge of the ottoman. “Nothing, thanks. I’ll only stay for a minute.” Amber had moved into the building more than a year ago, but she continued to behave as though she were an interloper in their group, even though Piper and Jen had welcomed her. “I stopped by to see if you’re still thinking about subletting,” she said apologetically.
“No!” Berni declared. “Piper, you’re not going anywhere, and Amber, you shouldn’t have brought this up.”
“I don’t want you to sublet,” Amber said hastily. “But you said you were going to have to, and I have friend who’s a visiting professor at DePaul. He’s looking for a rental.”
Leaving her cozy condo would be like stabbing herself in the heart. But unlike Berni, who wanted to bring her dead husband back to life, Piper was a realist. “Let me sleep on it. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”
There wasn’t much to sleep on. She could no longer afford to pay the mortgage on the condo she’d scrimped for years to purchase, and she wouldn’t impose on her friends, despite their offers to let her stay with them. By renting out her condo and moving into the basement of her awful cousin Diane’s two-flat in Skokie, she’d be able to avoid selling this place for a while, and she’d also preserve her friendships.
“The last thing we need is a strange man living here,” Berni said. “I won’t have it.”
Jen didn’t voice an objection. She understood that this was a last resort for Piper. “He’s a friend of Amber’s,” she said, “so he won’t be a stranger.”
“He was one of my professors at Eastman,” Amber said. “A very nice man.”
“I don’t care,” Berni said. “We don’t need a man here.”
Apparently, the gay newlyweds in the downstairs unit didn’t count.
“Having Piper subletting is better than forcing her to sell,” Jen said. “And you know she won’t move in with any of us. It’ll only be until she gets her business on its feet.” She uncrossed her long legs. “Unfortunately, I’ll be unemployed by then. It’s me we should all be worried about, not Piper. She’s tougher than I am. And younger.”
This pronouncement wasn’t as self-centered as it seemed. Jen was taking the heat off Piper. “I know broadcasting too well,” Jen said. “The younger and the blonder, the more the powers that be want to hire them. And Dumb Ass is a sucker for twenty-one-year-olds.” Jen had referred to the new station manager as Dumb Ass for so long that Piper had forgotten his real name.
Jen took a swig of vodka. “Studying meteorology is the new go-to major for every pretty girl who has even a passing interest in science. The colleges are turning them out in macrobursts.”
“Talent is more important than looks,” Amber said loyally, and then quickly added, “not that you aren’t still beautiful.”
Amber was used to being judged only by her agile coloratura-soprano voice, and that made her naive about the television industry. Piper tried to encourage Jen, but growing up as the daughter of Duke Dove had let her see every facet of male sexism. Jen was being held to a different standard than the men at the station were, and she had reason to worry.
Berni shot up from the couch. “I know what I’m going to do!”
“Put out a contract on Dumb Ass for me?” Jen said glumly.
“I’m going to hire Piper to find Howard!”
Piper regarded her with dismay. “Berni, that’s not—”
“I’ll pay you. I’ve been looking for something special to spend my income tax refund on. Nothing could be more special than this.”
“Berni, I couldn’t take your money. Howard had a—”
Another knock sounded on the door, this one more forceful than the others. No one had buzzed her condo, and her usual visitors were already here. She set down her beer, made her way across the carpet, and turned the knob.
He filled the doorway—all long muscles, big shoulders, and powerful chest.
“Hello, Esmerelda.”
3
The barbarian was at her gate. Piper’s stomach plummeted. “How did you get in the building?”
He regarded her with the golden-brown eyes of a wolf ready to devour his prey, not because the wolf was hungry, but just for the hell of it. “Your downstairs neighbors are Stars fans.”
They weren’t the only ones. Berni squawked as though she’d laid an egg. “Cooper Graham!” She jumped up from the couch, agile as a teenager. “Oh, I wish Howard was here! Oh, my goodness.”
Cooper tipped his head to her. “Ma’am.”
“Howard was a Bears fan like Piper,” Berni told him, “but I was born in the western ’burbs in the days when hardly anybody lived out there. I’m Berni Berkovitz. Bernadette, really. I’ve been a Stars fan from the beginning. And Howard always rooted for the Stars. Unless they were playing the Bears,” she amended.
“Understandable.” He was all celebrity graciousness, waiting patiently as she rambled on. Jen, in the meantime, crossed her very shapely legs, dangled her pump from one toe, and swished her dark hair away from her face, waiting to be noticed. Amber, however, was mystified. She could name every obscure composer from the past four centuries, but she barely knew Chicago even had professional sports teams.
Berni was still gushing. “Oh, my, Piper. You said you had an important client, but I had no idea . . .”
“I’m not a client of Ms. Dove’s.” Cooper stomped on her name as if it were a cockroach. “I’m the person she was hired to investigate.”
Thank you, Officer Hottie, for your big mouth.
Berni sputtered, then turned accusing eyes on Piper. “Really, Piper? Why were you investigating Cooper?”
While Piper tried to unlock her jaw, Jen rose gracefully from the couch. “Jennifer MacLeish. Channel Eight weather. We met at the Children’s Charities Holly Ball last year, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”
“Of course, I do.” His hand engulfed hers. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. MacLeish. Although I can’t say much for the company you keep.”
Amber dashed toward the door. “I’ll leave.”
“Not you, Amber,” Jen said. “He’s talking about Piper.”
Graham nodded. “That’s true.”
Piper took a slug of beer, wishing it were the Stoli.
Berni couldn’t stand Amber’s ignorance. “Amber, this is Cooper Graham. He’s one of the most famous football players in the world. Even you have to have heard of him.”
“Oh, I’m sure I have,” Amber said, sure of no such thing.
“Amber sings with the Lyric,” Jen explained. “She’s both clueless and amazing.”
“I’ll bet I’ve heard you,” Graham said.
Fat chance, Piper thought. Graham would no more darken the halls of the Lyric Opera than he would throw a deliberate interception.
“Ladies, as much as I’ve enjoyed meeting you, I need to talk to Ms. Dove”—another cockroach stomped into oblivion—“about a business matter.”
Amber began to turn to the door, then stopped and moved next to Piper. Jen did the same thing. “Maybe we can help,” she said firmly.
Girlfriends stuck together, and none of them were leaving until Piper gave the word. With the greatest reluctance, Berni joined them. They were a unit: a ballsy television meteorologist, a Korean opera singer with the voice of an angel, and the number one Stars football fangirl. How screwed up could Piper’s life be when she had friends like this?
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?” This came from Amber, who suddenly looked as formidable as Wagner’s Brünnhilde.
Not sure at all, but Piper nodded. “It’s business.”
“I’m certain this is a simple misunderstanding,” Berni said, and then, in a pseudo-whisper, “I’ll leave a retainer check in your mailbox, Piper. That’s how it’s done, right?”
“No check, Berni. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After today, what was one more challenge?
“Piper?” Jen said.
As much as Piper appreciated their concern, she couldn’t let Graham see her as a weakling. She forced a lazy wave toward the door. “Later.”
On her way out, Berni regarded Graham. “Piper is a very good person.”
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Berkovitz,” he said.
She touched his arm. “I make an excellent brisket. If you ever get hungry for brisket, you let me know.”
He gave her his odious fan-smile. “I’ll do that.”
“Or my divinity fudge if you’ve got a sweet tooth.”
He smiled, the door closed behind them, and his affability vanished. Piper’s only defense was a strong offense. She set her shoulders and charged toward him. “My surveillance was legal. Yes, going into the club could be a gray area, but Spiral is a public space, and you’d have to prove that my presence caused you extreme emotional distress. Somehow I don’t think a judge would buy that from a former MVP.”
He loomed over her, six feet three to her five feet six. “Who hired you?”
She straightened her spine, trying to gain another inch of height. “I can’t tell you that. But I will say that it’s no one who wishes you harm.”
“Why don’t I find that comforting?”
“It’s the truth.”
“And you’re an expert on the truth, Esmerelda?”
She struggled to keep her cool. “Nobody likes being duped. I understand that. But I had a job to do.”
“Not impressed. Who are you working for?”
“Like I said: no one who’s a threat to you.”
“I’ll decide that for myself.”
“I have nothing else to say.”
“Is that so?” He bored in on her. “Let me put it this way: you can either tell me now or you’ll hear from my lawyers.”
He had to know a lawsuit would destroy her. She tried to channel a wealthy CEO. “Lawsuits are such a time sink.”
“Then give me what I want.”
She couldn’t do that, but she had to do something other than fall on her knees and beg him not to sue her. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you back off, I’ll tell you who your real enemy is. And it’s not the person who hired me.”
He gave her his iciest stare. Waiting. She fought the suffocating feeling that he was once again sucking the air out of the room. “That model you’ve been singling out,” she said. “Blonde. Big boobs, tiny hips, and bizarrely long legs. I know—she’s only one mouse at a cheese convention—but this mouse calls herself Vivian, and you’ve been having lots of cozy chats with her.”
“What of it?”
“After a few snorts of funny stuff in the ladies’ room, she’s telling all her friends how she’s going to trick you into getting her pregnant. You want someone who’s a real threat to you? She’s your gal.”
“Nobody had better be snorting anything in the ladies’ room,” he declared. “That’s why I have security.”
“You’re paying them way too much.”
“And you’re making this up.”
“Am I? Has your so-called security picked up on the side business that at least one of your employees is running? At your expense.”
“What kind of side business?”
“Don’t call your legal eagles, and I’ll tell you.”
“I’ve already called ’em.”
She gulped. “Suit yourself. But I strongly suggest you do your own liquor inventory instead of farming out the job. And when you come up short, remember this conversation.”
“You’re bluffing.”
He was done with her, and as he turned to the door, she knew she had to give him something more. “Keep a closer eye on your red-haired bartender. Then call me and apologize.”
That stopped him. His face toughened with anger. “Keith? That’s bullshit. You picked the wrong guy to lie about.” He drove a pointed finger in the general direction of her head. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to give me the name of the person who hired you or you’ll hear from my lawyers.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
***
Cooper fumed all the way to the club. She was a liar ten times over. Keith Millage was one of his oldest friends. They’d played ball together all through college. Bartenders were notorious for skimming from club owners, and Cooper had brought Keith out from Tulsa just so he’d have someone he trusted watching his back. As for Vivian . . . Coop had no interest in any of his customers, but if he did . . . Unlike some of his stupider teammates, he’d never made himself vulnerable to those “accidental” pregnancies.
He pondered the most important question. Who’d hired a detective to follow him and why? He knew the Chicago nightclub business was cutthroat, but what could anyone hope to learn?
He arrived at the club and settled behind his desk. He didn’t like mysteries, and he especially didn’t like mysteries when he was trying to attract an investor. Not just any investor, either. The best in the city. The only one he wanted to work with.
It was time to get down to the floor. He was the card that drew in customers, and while other celebrity nightclub owners made only passing appearances, he played to win, even if it meant being accosted by overzealous fans and trapped by self-proclaimed football experts who only thought they understood the game.
To his disgust, he caught himself watching Keith that night, a guy he’d trust with his life. His hostility toward Piper Dove hardened. As he turned his attention to the group of women pressing up against him, he made up his mind. Nobody won a championship by letting his enemies walk free. He was taking her down, right along with her penny ante detective agency.
***
On Monday morning, Piper dressed in black for what was certain to be the most miserable meeting of her short-lived career as a business owner. Black sweater and black wool slacks. She polished her ancient black boots and unearthed a pair of jagged silver earrings. As long as she was going down in flames, she’d look tough while she did it.
Deidre Joss’s right-hand man and senior VP met Piper in the reception area of the Joss Investment Group offices. Noah Parks was Piper’s regular contact, the person she’d had to call with the ugly news that Cooper Graham had made her. Even though he was an East Coast Ivy Leaguer, his buzz cut, blunt nose, and square jaw made him look like a former
Marine. He gave her a curt nod. “Deidre wants to talk to you herself.”
Noah directed her through a set of glass doors into a light-flooded hallway where bands of cream-colored marble bordered the hardwood floors. At the end of the corridor, he opened a door into the office of the firm’s president and CEO.
Tall windows and sleek designer furniture projected stripped-down elegance. But the whiteboard that took up most of the end wall testified that this was a workplace, not a showroom. Its CEO sat at an imposing desk beneath an oil painting of her father, Clarence Joss III. Like Piper, Deidre Joss was following in her father’s footsteps, but unlike Piper, she hadn’t been forced to buy the business from a jealous stepmother. At thirty-six, Deidre was only three years older than Piper, but she seemed a generation older in sophistication and experience.
Tall and thin, with small dark eyes that tilted up at the corners, a long, patrician nose, and mahogany-brown hair, she looked more like a prima ballerina than a CEO. She was dressed in black, as she’d been at their only other meeting, a jersey dress with ropes of pearls. She’d lost her husband in a snowmobile accident a year earlier, so Piper wasn’t certain whether the black was a statement of mourning or an exceptionally flattering fashion choice.
Deidre came around the front of her desk and shook Piper’s hand. “I hope the traffic wasn’t too awful this morning.” She gestured toward the arrangement of couch and chairs. “Have a seat.”
Noah remained standing by the door while Piper took a gray leather conference chair and Deidre resettled in a chair nearby. This assignment had meant everything to Piper, and she’d been determined to do it so perfectly that Deidre would continue hiring her for future work. So much for determination. Now she was a loser kid called to the principal’s office.
“Tell me what happened.” Principal Deidre crossed legs long enough for a grand jeté.
Piper outlined the details, leaving out only the appearance of Esmerelda Crocker.
Deidre didn’t believe in padding her words. “I’m disappointed.”
Piper had no grounds to defend herself. “Not as disappointed as I am. I followed him too closely. It isn’t a mistake I’ll make again, but that doesn’t change what happened.”