Tall, Dark, and Deadly Page 8

  The brunette smiled, taking the chair opposite Lacey. “Honey, I nailed you right away, but I guess you don’t recognize me. I’m Tiger Lilly, from the club.”

  “Ohmygod!” Lacey breathed, all in one word. Tiger Lilly—of course. She did a great little number, Indian fashion. Like Lacey, she covered her hair with a long wig when she danced. And her features were far from innocent at the club. It was amazing what a difference makeup could create in a woman’s appearance.

  Lacey looked around quickly, feeling her cheeks flame with color. No one knew what she did. No one. Not even Aidan, and she told him almost everything. He took the role of big brother to heart. He would want to drag her off the stage, slug any man looking at her.

  “I-I-I—” she began to stutter.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” Tiger Lilly told her softly. Then she giggled. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I even know your real name—Lacey Henley—and I don’t believe it, but you really don’t recognize me, do you?”

  Lacey stared at her and shook her head.

  The woman grinned. She had a cute, mischievous quality to her. A truly friendly smile. Different, of course, from the smile she wore onstage.

  “Loretta.”

  “Loretta?”

  The woman lowered her voice again. “Sweetie, you’ve come into the law office a few times with your mother and Sam to pick Marnie up for lunch. I’m Marnie’s assistant.”

  “Ohmygod,” Lacey breathed again, staring hard. Loretta Anderson. Yes. Marnie’s efficient, polite, charming assistant. She wore perfectly tailored suits, a smooth chignon, and an aura of serenity and professional calm that was eminently dignified and… almost asexual!

  “No, I hadn’t recognized you, I wouldn’t have, I…” She broke off, moistening her lips, leaning forward. “Oh, Loretta, please, you mustn’t ever say that you know me. I mean, if my family found out—”

  “No one will find out!” Loretta promised quickly. She reached across the table, taking Lacey’s hands, squeezing them. “Do you think I put my real name on my job application?” She inquired, sitting back, a bit amused now.

  “No… I… guess not,” Lacey said. She shook her head. “But you’re old!”

  “Thanks a lot, kid,” Loretta said dryly.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I mean, I’m not even twenty-one. You have a great job. You can do what you choose to do. And you must be pretty well paid—”

  “Yeah, pretty well,” Loretta agreed, smiling again. Then she shrugged. “Once, though, I wanted to be a dancer. Areal dancer. I was with the ballet, in Cincinnati. And don’t go knocking Ohio. It was a great ballet troupe, and I was darned good.”

  “I believe you. What happened?”

  “I broke my ankle. It was never going to go back quite right. Anyway, I couldn’t really dance anymore, so I started taking a few law courses, some computer classes… and I landed the job with the firm down here.”

  Lacey shook her head. “But still…”

  “Why the club? Is that what you’re about to ask?”

  Lacey grimaced, then smiled. “Yeah. How do you go from Swan Lake to Tiger Lilly?”

  “How do you think? The same way you did.”

  “Oh, no, I haven’t given up yet!”

  Loretta smiled, but looked sad. “Honey, I didn’t give up—it was just over. But that’s not what I meant. I got my job at the club through the same party, I’m sure, who suggested it to you.”

  Lacey inhaled sharply. “Marnie?”

  “Yep. Marnie.”

  “I thought no one else knew how she made most of her law school money. She told me she stripped in clubs in Gainesville when she was there with Sam and that Sam didn’t even know what she’d really been up to.”

  Loretta grinned. “You know, one of the nicest things about Marnie—and trust me, she can be a regular witch to work for at times—is that she can be extremely honest. And funny. When we talked once, I told her that I’d like to finish law school myself. That’s when Marnie told me about the club—and that she’d been a stripper at that particular club herself.” She paused, was about to say something but stopped herself. Then she went on. “The only way to make the money you really need without giving away hours and hours of labor you can’t afford. There’s always a method to Marnie’s madness, you know.”

  Lacey laughed, stirring her milkshake with her straw. “That’s exactly what she told me. I was complaining once that I’d never get to New York, that I just couldn’t afford living there. My mother kept giving me the same old story, you know—try out locally, get a basic education, then go for the dream. She can’t comprehend just how old a dancer can get! Marnie came to me and told me about the stripping, saying that she didn’t advertise it—wasn’t good for her image—but she wasn’t ashamed of it either. It got her through law school.”

  “Are you ashamed of what you’re doing?” Loretta asked her.

  “No,” Lacey said, then reddened. “Yes. Well, I’m not comfortable, let me put it that way. But I don’t want to give it up. In a year I might have some real money. You know, it’s not that my folks won’t help me, but my mother… well, she was a mother most of her life, she didn’t really make much money and she’s just now learning how to make it and handle it herself. And my dad, well, he’s a cop, and cops don’t make great money. So…”

  Loretta sipped her coffee. “I’ve seen you, honey. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You’re putting on a performance, and that’s it. You don’t go anywhere near those guys.”

  “I try not to,” Lacey admitted. Then she laughed ruefully. “Well, sometimes I go near. When they’re not too repulsive.” She sighed and felt her cheeks redden again. “You make more money if you let them touch you.”

  “Yes,” Loretta said, sitting back and studying Lacey. “But I do understand what you mean. Sometimes the men and the women. But then…” She broke off, hesitating, studying Lacey. “Well, sweet thing, they are just too old and ugly and rotten for you most of the time. Still…”

  “Still what?” Lacey asked curiously.

  “Sometimes I work private parties. There’s a man who calls me about them—totally on the up and up. Birthday parties, stag parties, that sort of thing. Nothing any more intimate than what we’re up to now, but usually with a clientele that you don’t mind having touch a garter— especially when they’re touching it with large denominations in good old American green.”

  “You work a lot of private parties?” Lacey asked.

  “Um… yes, actually, I prefer the private parties.”

  “And no one asks you to… to do anything other than strip?”

  Loretta sat back, shaking her head. “I didn’t say they didn’t ask. Men will always ask. But they do take no for an answer and accept it. Honey, half the old-timers in the audience couldn’t get it up in ten years, but they’re men. They feel compelled to ask, to pretend that they’re studs. That’s life, I suppose. But I’ve never been pressured to do anything. I’ve…”

  “You’ve what?” Lacey asked innocently.

  She was surprised when Loretta was the one to flush then. “Once or twice, when I’ve been really intrigued… I’ve… well, hell, I’ve said yes. But always on my own terms. You say no, honey, to any of it. You remember that. You are still young. And innocent. You may dance on that stage, but you’re as clean as a whistle. There are tens of thousands of women making money that way, and some of them are married and loyal and devoted to their husbands and just as sweet as you.”

  Lacey just nodded.

  “Well, I’m going to get on home. I live just down the street here. And don’t you worry—I swear it. Your secret is entirely safe with me.”

  “Thanks. And I’ll never tell a soul about you, either!” Lacey assured her.

  Loretta smiled, rose, and started out of the shop. “Wait!” Lacey called after her.

  Loretta hesitated, then walked back to the table. “What is it, sweetie?”

  “When you kn
ow about a—a good private party, let me know?”

  “Sure thing, kid. Sure thing.” Loretta smiled and left. Lacey stayed at the table. She was still sitting there, when she felt someone shake her shoulder. She looked up. It was Jennie Allen, one of her friends from school. “Earth to Lacey!”

  “Jennie!” she exclaimed. With a short-cropped hairstyle, pedal pushers and a midriff sweater, Jennie looked no more than fifteen. Something about her friend’s appearance suddenly made Lacey feel strangely old—and not innocent or decent at all.

  “Hey!” Jennie said. “Hugh Norman was just telling me that your brother is playing at the Hot Patootie tonight.”

  “Oh, Lord! That’s right! He told me. I was supposed to show up there, and I forgot.”

  “It’s all right. We were thinking about riding out now.”

  “It’s so late—”

  “He’s with the closing band,” Jennie told her. “We’ll still be early, actually! Do you have your car here?”

  “Yeah, I do—”

  “Good. It’s the best car between us. You can drive, and bring Hugh and me back here to pick up our cars. Okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Aidan nearly fell off the stage.

  At first it had seemed that the night was going straight to the dogs. They were the last band to play—and another local group, Fungus, playing ahead of them, made it all run even later. They’d had trouble with their sound system, and then they’d just played and played. Even on a Saturday night on South Beach, people eventually tired out. Young marrieds had to get home to baby-sitters, teens with fake I.D.’s had to arrive in time for some kind of curfew, and even the legal singles began to wear thin.

  His father had come with one of his friends, another cop. Sally Hewitt, a sweet lady who was a detective with homicide as well. She was very slim, short, a waiflike woman with platinum-blond hair. She looked way too delicate to bring down murderers. But then, Aidan knew that it was hard to judge people.

  Like the tall, lean, dark guy with the longish hair in the corner. He knew him; he’d seen him before, talked to him before… but couldn’t quite place him.

  His sister had shown up with some friends, and she had smiled in support and he had smiled back.

  The real problem was Nellie Green. “Nellie Nightlife,” as she styled herself in the papers, did a section on local talent. She dressed bizarrely and rushed around to all the clubs on the beach. There were a few other local newspaper people doing the club beat and local talent as well, and most of the time, they had good words—or at least a decent opinion—for Beowulf, his band. Not Nellie.

  Nellie had dated Hogan Landon, their bass guitarist, and she hated Hogan now. Hadn’t been Hogan’s fault, he had said, and Hogan hated Nellie with a passion as well. So they were in trouble whenever Nellie showed up to cover the band.

  Then his mom walked in.

  And he very nearly fell off the stage.

  She arrived with Rowan Dillon.

  He’d met the guy. Once, a long time ago. He’d still been in middle school, he was pretty sure. They’d gone up to Gainesville, where Sam was going to the university, and they’d gone out to dinner with him because Sam had been in love. Then, of course, Rowan had gone back to his wife.

  So Aidan had never in a thousand years expected to see Rowan Dillon, once of the famous group Blackhawk, standing in the audience with his mother, ready to cheer him on.

  The song they were doing ended; there was a smattering of applause—his mother and sister among the most enthusiastic, along with the heavyset drunk at the corner of the bar.

  And Rowan Dillon. He lifted a hand to Aidan, a gesture like a friend might make, a longtime friend.

  Alex Hernandez, lead guitar, nudged him. He burst back to life, gripping the microphone, thanking the crowd. He hesitated just a minute. Introduce Rowan? No. He didn’t know how the guy had gotten here, but he was here, and he was just going to be grateful for it and not tempt fate.

  He announced “Bereft,” their next song, one he had written with Alex, one of his favorites and, he hoped, one of their best.

  The bass started with the hook, the drums popped to life, and the guitars revved up for his vocals. He was still in the middle of the second bridge when Nellie Nightlife made her way over to Rowan Dillon. He wasn’t sure what Rowan Dillon said to her, but he spoke quickly, then indicated that he wanted to give his attention to the band. He gave Aidan a thumbs-up sign.

  And Aidan smiled, his belief in God suddenly renewed.

  “Rowan, I can’t thank you enough!” Laura told him sincerely. She was seated in the passenger seat of his Navigator, her eyes bright, her face illuminated. She twisted toward him. “I mean it.”

  He smiled, watching the lights as he moved along the causeway. Beautiful. The night was beautiful, with the bridges, the islands, the water reflecting the light in shimmering diamond patterns.

  “Laura, honestly, I was happy to come.”

  She was silent for a moment, then she said, “You were happy to come when you thought Sam was coming.”

  “It would have been nice,” he acknowledged.

  “I don’t care if you did come just because of Sam—I’m still so grateful.”

  He laughed. “Laura, look, I’d like a chance to talk to Sam sometime, really talk to her, but I came with you because you’re a wonderful promoter—and I really wanted to see your son play. I remember what it’s like to start out. I got help now and then. If I can do anything for Aidan— great.”

  “Oh, but you don’t know what you did!” she told him, wide-eyed. “I can’t help but be grateful. I mean, Teddy was almost jealous!”

  “Well, now, I didn’t come to make trouble—”

  “Trouble? We’re divorced, Rowan.”

  “I know, but unfortunately a divorce doesn’t necessarily mean feelings are neatly resolved. I don’t want to play a pawn between you and your ex-husband.”

  “Don’t be silly. I would never do anything like that to you.” She grinned. “It was just great to be with someone so sexy and so famous.”

  “Infamous,” he murmured.

  “How did my silly cousin ever let you get away? Oh, that’s right,” Laura said, looking at him innocently, “you were still married. You threw her out.”

  He looked at Laura, shaking his head. She was an attractive woman, and he really liked her very much. She’d always been straightforward with him.

  “It wasn’t that simple, and you know it,” he told her.

  “Of course not.”

  He glanced at her, arching a brow.

  “No, I mean it. Nothing is ever that simple. And you two—you were like a pair of Shakespearean tragedians, determined to do the right thing. But she’ll never forgive you, you know. Because however not simple it was, you did turn your back on her, make her feel like a fool. And she really loved you, you know. Humiliation is even more painful when you really love someone. Believe me, I know.”

  “Laura, I can’t undo what happened.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you can. But you realize, she thought, when she first started seeing you, that you were divorced. Sammy has always been so…”

  “So…?”

  “Moral,” Laura said, after thinking a moment. “Being the bad guy in the whole thing was so mortifying for her.”

  “I honestly tried to keep her from getting hurt. Don’t you understand? I thought that if I stayed away from her, the media would stay away from her. I tried—”

  “You tried too hard. You threw her away.”

  He gritted his teeth, saying nothing.

  “And you were still married. And you went back to your wife.”

  “Yep.”

  “And then she died anyway.”

  “Laura—”

  “I’m sorry. We won’t get into all that. You were so wonderful tonight. That nasty Nellie girl was there, and you told her that you thought Aidan’s group was great. That will make her change her wretched little write-ups!”

&n
bsp; “Well, I hope so.”

  “And I sure hope they have a future. Are they really good, Rowan?”

  “Yes, I think so. They’re writing some good lyrics, and it seems as if the group really knows how to play as well. There’s a lot of heart in what they’re doing. There’s nothing manufactured about them. They just need one really catchy song to get played at some stations, and they may hit the charts.”

  They reached his house. Pulling into the drive, he got out, came around, opened the door for Laura. He walked with her to her car, parked in front of Sam’s.

  Laura kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I hope she’s going to be jealous as hell.”

  “Sam?”

  “Of course, Sam! She should have come with us tonight.”

  “But you said she’d never forgive me,” he whispered back.

  “I don’t know. How well can you grovel?”

  “I don’t grovel; it can never really change anything. I’m sorry as hell that I hurt Sam, but going back, don’t you see—I couldn’t have changed things. I thought that maybe Dina’s life was in my hands. I had no idea at all that I had no power whatsoever,” he told her. “I can’t beg Sam to understand the position I felt I was in.”

  “If you’d only managed to really talk to her—”

  “Laura, you forget everything that was going on back then.”

  “Oh, I remember you being arrested—”

  “Actually, I was taken in for questioning,” he interrupted.

  “You got into a big fight with the cops.”

  He felt a tick in his jaw. “One of those cops is still a good buddy of mine. I got into a fight with two of them who were being assholes, yes, but I honestly didn’t mean to do that. I was worried sick, and they were insisting I had to know what had happened to Dina. I guarantee you, I got no apologies when she came back.”

  Laura chewed on her lower lip. “Remember how Sam used to love the drums? How natural she was, what a good player?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She hasn’t touched them since she left Gainesville.”

  “That’s too bad. No one should ever lose his or her love for music.”