I shoved the two new files into my messenger bag and hung the bag on my shoulder. “Gotta go. People to see. Things to do.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lula said. “Which one of these losers you gonna see first?”
“Dottie Luchek. She’s in Hamilton Township.”
SIX
DOTTIE LIVED IN a neighborhood of small single-family houses with backyards large enough for a swing set, a Weber grill, and a picnic table. The yards were fenced for dogs and kids. Landscaping wasn’t lush, but it was neat. We parked on the street and walked to her door.
A pleasantly plump woman who was clearly Dottie answered our knock. “Yes?” she asked.
I introduced myself and gave her my card. “You missed your court date,” I told her. “We need to take you downtown to reschedule.”
“Thank you. That’s very nice of you,” she said, “but I’ve decided not to go to court.”
“Hah!” Lula said. “Good one.”
“I appreciate your point of view,” I said to Dottie, “and you don’t have to go to court, but you do have to reschedule.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I said.
Because that’s how I got paid. And because once she walked into the municipal building she’d be rearrested and she’d need a new bond to get released.
We were standing at her open front door and could see some of the house behind her. It was modestly furnished. It was neat and clean. And it looked homey, just like Dottie.
“It looks like you got a comfortable home here,” Lula said to Dottie. “How come you were hookin’?”
“I thought about it a lot,” Dottie said, “and it seemed like a good career choice. My husband, George, passed two years ago, and suddenly there was no money coming in. I tried to get a job, but I didn’t have any luck at it. And then I remembered how George always told me I was good in bed. So prostitution seemed like the logical choice. It was that or lose the house.”
“What about your family?” Lula asked. “You have kids?”
“Two. Marie Ellen and Joyce Louise. They’re in college. University of Wisconsin.”
“Are they home?”
Dottie shook her head. “They’re in Wisconsin. They have summer jobs there waiting tables.”
“So how’d the hookin’ go for you?” Lula asked.
“Terrible. The first man I approached was a policeman. That’s when I got arrested.”
“That’s what happens when you’re an amateur,” Lula said. “People think being a ’ho is easy, but it takes a lot of skill. You gotta keep your eyes open and be a judge of character.”
“He looked like a nice man,” Dottie said. “He was wearing a tie.”
“Probably what you need is a business manager,” Lula said. “Or as we say in the trade, a pimp.”
“Jeez Louise,” I said to Lula. “Don’t tell her that. Hasn’t she got enough problems?”
“Just trying to be helpful,” Lula said. “After all, it’s my area of expertise.” Lula looked over at Dottie. “I used to be a ’ho. I was a good one too.”
I checked my watch. “We need to move along. You can swap professional secrets in the car.”
“I’d like to talk more,” Dottie said, “but I don’t want to go back to the jail. It smelled funny.”
I was getting a bad feeling about this apprehension. I was going to have to handcuff Dottie Luchek and muscle her into the car. She’d be sobbing and begging and moaning, and someone would surely see her and call my mother to complain about me.
“Bring a can of air freshener with you,” I said. “Maybe a nice scented candle.”
“Yeah, and some hand sanitizer,” Lula said.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Dottie said. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Excellent thinking,” Lula said to me. “She wasn’t gonna go, and we were gonna have to drag her apple dumpling ass all the way to the car. Which would have been a shame since she seems like a nice lady.”
We were on the front porch, and I heard a cupboard door open and close from deep in the house. Another door slammed shut. I looked at my watch again. I wanted to get to the court-house before the end of the day. There was the sound of a large door rolling up, and I realized it was the garage door. “Damn!”
“She must be coming out the garage door,” Lula said. “Don’t she know this door’s still open?”
“She’s running,” I said.
I took off for the garage, and reached it just as she backed out. Her car came out fast, she laid rubber, and sped down the street.
“Hunh,” Lula said. “I didn’t see that one coming. Where do you suppose she’s going?”
“I’m guessing she won’t go far. She’ll probably park a couple blocks away and call her neighbor to find out if we’re still here.”
“So we could be sneaky, and one of us could drive away, and one of us could hide out here, since she didn’t bother to lock up her house.”
My phone rang and an unfamiliar number appeared.
“I got your granny, and I’m turning her over to the police if you don’t get her out of my sight in the next ten minutes,” the caller said.
“Who is this?”
“Randy Briggs. Who else would be calling? And you’re lucky I’m head of security here. Anyone else would have shot her.”
“What did she do?”
“What didn’t she do. Just come get her!”
“I’m on my way, but I’m in Hamilton Township. It might take more than ten minutes. And do not call my mother.”
“That don’t sound good,” Lula said. “What was that about?”
“Just drive me to the hospital.”
Twenty minutes later, as Lula idled in the Central parking lot, I ran in to retrieve Grandma. I found her handcuffed to a chair in Briggs’s office. Her wig was tipped to one side, and I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming off the top of her head.
“What’s going on?” I asked Briggs.
“She’s a menace,” he said. “She set off a fire alarm, and then I found her at a nurses’ station, trying to get into the patient database.”
“I would have done it too, if this idiot hadn’t come along,” Grandma said. “I was real close.”
“Thank you for not calling the police,” I said to Briggs.
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I’d be a laughingstock if one of the police beat hacks heard about an arrest. The headline would be ‘Little Man Tackles Old Lady.’ Or the gold standard, ‘Short Stuff Sticks His Nose in Old Lady’s Business.’”
This didn’t evoke a good mental picture. “I agree. Not good publicity for the head of Central security. Unlock the cuffs and we’ll be out of here.”
“I’m not getting near her,” Briggs said. “She’s an animal. She ripped my shirt and went for my gun.”
“That’s a big fat lie,” Grandma said. “I don’t need your gun. I got one of my own.”
Briggs handed the key over to me, I got Grandma out of the cuffs, straightened her hair, and herded her past Briggs and out of his office. We crossed the lot, I loaded Grandma into the Firebird, and Lula took off.
“How’d it go?” Lula asked Grandma.
“I got some good stuff,” Grandma said. “And I had shrimp salad for lunch. They make a real good shrimp salad. Mitch McDoogle was there with two of his lodge buddies, and he didn’t even recognize me. It might have been on account of his cataracts, but I still had a pretty good disguise.”
“What did you find out?” Lula asked.
“I got the name of the night nurse that was checking on Cubbin. Her name’s Norma Kruger. I heard a group of nurses talking about her at lunch. And I heard her name before. She gets around, if you know what I mean. I’ve never seen her because she only works the night shift, but I think she’s a looker. Rumor is she disappears into the broom closet with some of the doctors.”
“Well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Lula said.
&nb
sp; “Yeah, and I wouldn’t mind doing it,” Grandma said. “I just got trouble finding a man that don’t have a heart attack opening the condom package. They gotta make it easier to get them dang things open. It gets to be depressing. There’s paramedics that know me by name.”
“What else did you find out?” I asked Grandma.
“A couple other people disappeared like this. One was a year ago. And another was right after. I was going to get names for you, but Shorty interrupted me.”
Interesting stuff, but I didn’t actually care how many people disappeared from Central in the middle of the night. I cared about finding Cubbin. Preferably alive, because dead meant a lot of extra paperwork.
“Did anyone talk about Cubbin?” I asked Grandma. “Like where he might have gone?”
“No. They were mostly busy talking about Nurse Kruger. They said she bought her boobs. And one of the nurses at the table said she didn’t see how Kruger could afford a boob job when all her money went up her nose.”
“Honestly,” Lula said, turning in to the Burg. “A cokehead nurse. What’s this world coming to?”
“Did you go out of the house in your disguise?” I asked Grandma.
“No way. Your mother would have a cow if she saw me in this. Thanks for reminding me,” Grandma said.
She took her wig off, stuffed it into her purse, and put her sweater on over the pink tank top.
Lula looked at Grandma in the rearview mirror. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the beauty parlor? How are you gonna explain your hair? You got hat hair.”
Grandma rolled her eyes up as if she could see the top of her head. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe you should drop me off at the beauty parlor, and I’ll have Dolly do a quick set. I can walk home from there.”
Aside from the occasional wedding I don’t have many reasons to get dressed up. I own a sexy red dress with a swirly skirt that I put on when there’s the possibility of dancing. I have a blue dress that I think is flattering and that I wear to events my parents will also be attending. And I have a very dressy, very slinky black sheath that I bought on sale, on impulse, and have been saving for the right moment. I hadn’t anticipated that the right moment would be an assignment to guard Ranger’s body, but what the heck. A moment is a moment.
I was ready and waiting at six o’clock, wondering about the appropriate etiquette for a paid date. Was I supposed to meet him in the parking lot, or was I supposed to let him collect me from my apartment? The issue was resolved when he knocked once and opened my door.
He stepped inside and looked at me. His eyes were dark, his expression serious. “Nice dress.”
The unspoken message was that he wouldn’t mind seeing me take it off. And there was a part of me, looking at Ranger in his perfectly tailored black tux, that thought it might not be a bad idea. There was also another part of me, the part between my ears, that scolded me for considering such a thing. I was in a relationship with Morelli, trying to determine if he was my future, and good Catholic girls don’t engage in spontaneous dalliances even if the guy in question is beyond hot. Plus I’d spent forty-five minutes on hair and makeup, and steamy Ranger sex would leave me with ten inches of frizz.
“Thank you,” I said, slightly breathless, quickly moving past him, through the doorway, into the hall.
Ranger was driving his black Porsche 911 Turbo. The car was fast and sexy and sometimes the ride was a little rough, a lot like Ranger. He was never especially talkative, usually staying in his zone, always alert, keeping his thoughts hidden. This was fine because if I knew his personal thoughts about me I’d probably hyperventilate and faint. He didn’t break the silence until we hit the Atlantic City Expressway.
“We’re attending an awards dinner for a man who’s been active in the Atlantic City community,” Ranger said. “And we’re keeping an eye on Robert Kinsey. He’s one of the speakers. He owns an electrical supply company in White Horse, and he lives in Hamilton Township.”
“A client?”
“A friend.”
“I didn’t know you had friends.”
“Funny,” Ranger said.
“So not only do you have a friend, but he’s the sort of guy who speaks at awards ceremonies.”
“He’s marrying Amanda Olesen. Her father is getting the award.”
“Okay, that would explain it.”
“I was in the Middle East with Kinsey. We were part of a small unit of specialists. Kinsey and I bailed when our tour of duty was up. The rest of the unit went career military. Three weeks ago Kinsey and I started getting cryptic threatening messages ending with a code known only to our unit.”
“You don’t know who’s sending the messages?”
“No. I haven’t been able to trace them down.”
“Do you think they’re serious?”
“The unit wasn’t made up of a bunch of guys with a sense of humor. If they said they were going to blow up a building or wipe out a terrorist cell you knew they would do it.”
“And this person is threatening to do what now?”
“So far it’s just a vague threat. Nothing specific. If it wasn’t for the code I wouldn’t take it seriously. But the truth is, all of these men are capable of doing just about anything. At least they were when I knew them.”
“And you?”
“I was part of the unit, and I fit the profile. We were all handpicked.”
“Will any of the others be there tonight?”
“No others were invited.”
Ranger pulled into the casino garage, parked by the walkway leading into the building, and looked at the small evening bag I had on my lap.
“No gun?” he asked, knowing my .45 wouldn’t fit in the bag.
I felt the heat go to my cheeks. He was paying me to watch his back, and it never occurred to me to take my gun. “No gun,” I said. “Sorry.”
He opened the hidden drawer under his seat and removed a small semi-automatic. “See if this fits. It’s a Ruger .38 with a trace laser. It carries six plus one rounds.”
I dumped everything out of my bag, and the gun just barely fit in. “This is serious,” I said.
“It could be. So far it’s just annoying.”
SEVEN
WE LEFT THE CAR and entered the casino, following signs to a private room on the second floor. The carpet was red and gold. The chandeliers were ornate crystal. The walls were covered in gaudy gold fleur-de-lis wallpaper. The lighting was bright to accommodate the seniors with macular degeneration. We passed an entrance into the gaming area, and the noise of the slot machines blasted out at us.
We found the room for the Olesen party, had our names checked off at the door, and moved inside. It was a large space with décor identical to that of the public area. Round tables seating eight people each were set up with gold tablecloths and white and gold flower arrangements. I did a fast count and came up with twelve tables. A few people had found their name tags and taken their seats, but the majority were socializing, drinks in hand. Waiters were circulating, passing hors d’oeuvres. I took a glass of champagne and a mystery appetizer, and we slowly made our way through the crowd.
“Are you recognizing anyone?” I asked Ranger.
“No one from the unit,” he said.
His hand was at my waist. He bent his head and leaned close when he spoke. If I had a second glass of champagne it would be easy to forget I was working and instead think this was an occasion for flirting. Best not to have a second glass of champagne. Best to concentrate on the cocktail sausages and tiny spicy meatballs.
Ranger introduced me to Kinsey. He was shorter than Ranger, and softer. Not entirely out of shape, but he had a few extra pounds that rounded out his face and belly and made him more approachable than Ranger. He had brown hair cut short. He was in a rented tux, and he looked like he’d rather be at a barbecue.
“This is a nightmare,” Kinsey said. “I hate this stuff. And my wedding is going to be even worse. If I can get through the wedding I’m home free.”
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“Are you having a big wedding?” I asked him.
“Ten bridesmaids,” he said. “Is that big?”
“It’s a village,” Ranger told him.
Amanda Olesen crossed the room and stood next to Kinsey. She was blond and pretty and soft in the same way Kinsey was soft. And she was clearly in love. There was something about the way she watched Kinsey, really listening when he spoke, smiling when she was near him.
I wondered if I looked like that when I was with Morelli or Ranger. It would be a good thing with Morelli, and a disaster with Ranger. And truth is I was a tiny bit jealous of her happiness. It would be wonderful to be that confident and excited about the future. My future was sort of a mess.
I looked up at Ranger and saw he was watching me. “What?” I said.
“You just did a massive eye roll and you grunted.”
“Heartburn from the champagne.”
At eight o’clock we found our table. It was one table away from Kinsey and to the side of the room.
“You’re sitting with your back to the wall,” I said. “You arranged this seating so you could keep your eye on Kinsey, didn’t you? Do you think something bad will happen tonight?”
“I’m being cautious.”
“That’s more than I can say for the guy next to me. I just sat down and he has his hand on my leg, inching up my skirt.”
Ranger looked around me to scope the guy out. “Do you want me to shoot him?”
“Maybe later.”
The man was ninety if he was a day. Sparse white hair, splotchy skin showing several scars where cancer had been cut out, some drool escaping from the corner of his mouth.
“Excuse me,” I said to the drooler. “Your hand is on my leg.”
“What?”