Authors: Ginger Simpson
“Well, our mobster just happens to be Kitty Kat.”
“Don’t tell me he strips, too?”
Michelle laughed and then pulled her mouth into a distasteful pucker. “Ew, bad image. He looks gross enough with clothes on, but relax…he’s owns the place, and the gals I met didn’t seem overly fond of him, but afraid…yep. Makes sense.” She leaned forward and rested her arms on her desk. “I think we’re going to have to look a little deeper into Kitty Katz background. Maybe our victim knew more than she was supposed to.” Raising her hand, she laid a finger alongside her cheek, another under her chin. “I think we’ve got a lead here.”
Tony smiled. “Finally.”
He stood, pulled his sport coat from the back of the chair and slid his arms through the sleeves. “While you do a little digging on our feline friend, I’m going to call on the Austins again. Maybe, armed with what the both of us have gathered, I can pose a few more questions.”
* * *
Aware of the beads of sweat on his forehead, Tony struggled with the unpleasantness of dredging up pain for Cara Austin’s folks again. He sat in the same dated armchair he’d occupied before and soaked in the aroma of whatever cooked in the kitchen. Was the perspiration from nerves or the stifling heat inside their home? Thank God he’d left his sports coat in the car. Regardless, the wafting smell summoned the taste of his mother’s special lasagna and made his mouth water.
Again, with his pen poised above his notepad, he cleared his throat. “L
…last time we spoke, I didn’t have some of the information we’ve gathered from Cara’s co-workers. One of the women mentioned Cara took the job as a dancer to pay for her education. We aren’t clear on whether or not she was a student or planning on being one. Do you happen to know?”
More composed this time, Mrs. Austin looked to her husband for his answer.
“Our daughter wasn’t actually enrolled yet. She planned to study journalism. She loved to write and kept a journal almost daily when she lived with us. Her mother and I wished we could have helped with the expenses, but we’re both on a limited income and simply getting by as it is.”
Tony widened his eyes. “A journal, you say?”
“Ah, yes….” Fondness shone in Mrs. Austin’s eyes. “Cara recorded each day’s events, no matter how boring she thought them. She had big dreams and shared them in writing and with me. I swear she could make even the most mundane seem exciting. I only wish….” The emotional memory proved more than the seemingly stoic woman could handle, and she blotted the tears rolling down her rouged cheeks.
“I’m sorry to put you through this again. I’m hoping this will be the last time.”
He fought the urge to cross over and hug the woman, but working rules warned employees about demonstrating unwanted affection.
“So,” he focused on Mr. Austin. “Surely, Cara had friends that visited or called. When I was here before, you couldn’t think of any ‘love interests,’’ in your daughter’s life, but how about casual acquaintances of girls she grew up with and remained close?”
Sniffling, Mrs. Austin leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Cara had become quite the loner over the past few years she lived with us. However, while in high school she and her best friend, Callie Sims, were inseparable. Either they lost touch or Cara’s…uh, sexual preferences drove Callie away because Callie suddenly stopped coming over.”
“Do you know if she still lives in Philadelphia?”
Mrs. Austin shrugged. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen or heard from her in at least three years.” She stared into space for a moment. “Of course, you realize, we weren’t privy to what went on once Cara moved out.”
“Of course.”
“Detective, could you please stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” Tony stiffened.
“Clicking your pen. You’ve been doing it non-stop since you took it out of your pocket.”
Mr. Austin looked over the bridge of his spectacles and smiled.
Tony stared at the writing instrument, and then retracted the point one last time before putting the pen back into his shirt pocket. “I’m sorry. Just a bad habit, I guess. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”
He closed his notepad and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “Do you have anything else you want to share before I go?”
Both shook their heads.
“Do you still have my card?”
“Right by the phone,” Mr. Austin offered. “If we think of anything helpful, I’ll definitely call you.”
Tony stood, anxious to get to the car. He imagined the sweat rings beneath his armpits and grimaced. “Thank you both again for allowing me to intrude on your grief. I appreciate your help.”
Mr. Austin showed him out, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Tony made a beeline for the air-conditioned sedan. Evidently, what he’d heard about elderly folks liking the heat was true.
* * *
Tony, his jacket strung over his shoulder and held by two fingers, strolled into the comfortably cool squad room. His breath hitched and he paused in the doorway. Seated at her desk, her back to him, Michelle hunched over a file, seemingly deep in thought. Blonde hair, normally smooth and neat, splayed over her shoulders, looking as though she’d combed nervous fingers through it. How he wished he could be the one to run his hands through those luxurious locks…kiss those full lips he predicted were puckered to the side, as they always were when she concentrated. Despite the temperature in the room, his blood heated, and he chastised himself for wishing for things that weren’t to be.
With a breath, he proceeded to his desk. “Hey, Meesh, got anything new on the Austin case?”
She looked up and rolled her eyes. “Not yet, how about you? Have any luck with her parents?
“Not a lot, but I did discover she wasn’t enrolled in school, just had plans to become a student. Evidently our dead little miss loved to write and wanted to study something related to that field. Did anyone mention finding a journal in her room?”
Michelle stiffened. Now she wondered if the victim in her first vision had ties to writing, too. As if the current case wasn’t strange enough, now author M.D. Lynch had watched as someone who shared the same passion got snuffed out.
“You okay?”
Tony snapped his fingers in front of her. “What did I say that caused that frightened look on your face?”
“Uh…nothing,
Frightened? Of what? I was thinking of our victim and how sad for her to have missed out on her dream.”
“Yeah, sad!
By the way, I did learn that before Cara turned into a loner, she did have one very close girlfriend from high school.” He plucked his notepad from his pocket and flipped it open. “Callie Sims…the Austins haven’t seen or heard from her in a long time, but according to them, their daughter and this Callie were joined at the hip.”
“Do they know where she lives?”
“Nope.” He pulled out his chair and sat across from her. “Said even if their daughter stayed in touch with her bud after she moved out, they weren’t aware of it. Sounds to me like they didn’t meddle in their daughter’s affairs.”
“I hope you don’t mean that as in what went on in her bedroom.”
Michelle made a face.
“Please. You know what I mean. They stayed out of her business. That’s about all I got today…that and info that she kept a daily journal. Boy, something like that might offer some helpful insight into the case.”
Michelle leaned on her elbow and nested her chin in the v of her thumb and forefinger. That finger tapped her cheek as if prodding her memory. “I didn’t see anything about a journal on the evidence list, but I agree, getting our hands on it might hold the information we need. I’m sure I didn’t see anything diary-like when we went through the room.”
“You think the killer took it?”
“Maybe. Who knows? There are more questions than answers in this business.”
Michelle slapped the file folder closed and leaned back in her chair, and with both hands, flipped her hair off her shoulders. “Speaking of business, I’m about to go blind looking at Carlos Costanzo’s rap sheet. He’s been arrested for everything from petty theft to money laundering, but he always seems to beat whatever he’s charged with. He must have one damned good lawyer.”
“How about any of the other’s who work there?”
“It’s kind of hard to run wants and warrants on stage aliases, and I’m not sure we have a right to insist they give their real names. We don’t have any evidence against them.”
She leaned forward and turned pensive. “I might have another go at Persia. She seemed more helpful than any of the others, and I sorta got the feeling she had more to tell me, but was afraid.”
A chuckle bubbled into Tony’s throat, but he swallowed it. He knew the feeling well. There was a lot he wanted to tell Michelle, but fear of losing his job, sending her running for the hills, and the lack of his own courage kept him mute. Why couldn’t he have been a fireman?
At least he could put out the flames she stirred. He forced a smile.
“While you have another chat with your favorite feline, I’ll do some more checking on the missing best friend.”
“Deal!” Michelle stood, her white silken blouse tucked into trim-fitting gray slacks and showing just enough cleavage and curves to make him happy he remained seated. Dipping his chin, he tugged at his crotch while pretending to read his notes. Damn the woman for having such an effect on him.
* * *
On the way to Kitty Katz, Michelle marveled at her stupidity. She hadn’t even gotten the name of Carlos Costanzo’s muscle man—the bouncer. Usually people in that profession did what they were told, regardless of right or wrong. Dang if she’d leave this time without asking. Surely, he wasn’t called by something related to the establishment species, but then she couldn’t be sure. She giggled at the mental image of asking for his name and hearing him say, “Tom Cat.”
With her shoulder bag swinging to match her rapid gait, Michelle slipped into the dimness once again. Recognition flashed on the bouncer’s face and she put on her best smile. “Hi,” looks like you remember me…Alicia Keys?”
“Sure, didn’t expect you back so soon.”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “You have an advantage over me. I don’t even know your name.”
He sat straighter on his stool, pulled his shoulders back and smiled at her shameless flirtation. “Louis Rocco,” he said without hesitation. “Nice to see you again, Alicia. What can I do for you?”
He was cute, in that gymnasium, pumped up, jock sort of way, but not the type that attracted her. Tony’s image—not total muscle, at home in dress or casual clothing, and a demeanor that screamed sex flashed in her mind. The room heated, and she fanned her face with her hand.
“Are you okay? Is it too hot in here for you?”
She swallowed hard. “I guess the walk in from the humidity finally got me, but I’m fine now, Louis. Thanks for the concern.”
“So, as I already asked, what can I do for you today?”
“Is Persia working?”
“I believe she’s not scheduled until this evening. Let me look.” He scanned a roster on the wall. “Yep, she’ll be in around 8:00 tonight.”
Of course after working hours for Michelle. Her disappointment must have shown on her face.
Louis leaned a little closer. “So, since you have to come back, why not let me buy you a drink? Just so happens my shift ends at 8:00.”
Caught like a rock in the proverbial hard place, Michelle struggled with her response. She needed to talk to Persia, and she didn’t want to insult Louis. Despite the little voice in her head warning her to say no, she nodded. “I’d love to. If Persia gets here beforehand, let her know I’ll be in, will you?”
Of course, Ms…I mean Alicia. I’ll make sure she knows.” He dropped one chocolate eye in a wink. “See you tonight.”
Michelle maneuvered through the crowded city streets, her mind only half on her driving. What had she been thinking? Louis Rocco could be the thug he appeared to be…maybe even the hitman hired to off Cara. Should she ask Tony to come back to Kitty Katz tonight? No! Not just no, but Hell no! Inviting him to be her bodyguard would mean admitting she was weak, and she wasn’t. No matter what happened she could handle it. She hoped.
Michelle parked in her usual spot outside the station, preparing to go inside. A familiar haziness clouded her vision and her temples pounded. Oh, no, she thought. Not again!
She grabbed the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening against the sensation that always preceded a vision. Like a TV screen, a scene played before her eyes. A woman, short, dark hair, brown eyes pleading, lay against a floral pillow and moved her full lips in words even a deaf person could read. “Please! Don’t!” Her lithe fingers moved from gripping a button-tufted headboard, struggling to free the cord twisted around her neck, but to no avail. Her chocolate eyes fluttered, her face paled, and lolled to the side, and the vision cleared.
“Oh, not Persia!”
Michelle yelled into the empty car while she massaged her brow and struggled to recall everything she’d just witnessed. A moment of relief slowed her breathing as she remembered the mellow blue of Persia’s eyes. The victim had brown. Still, somewhere, someone was dead, and as usual, she had no idea who?