I had to hand it to Debbie. Booking cruises so single women in Lehigh could meet lonely loopers was an inspired idea. That was, if the lonely loopers were really loopers and not ex-cons.
Hold on. “Did you say Louie got laid?” I asked. “More often than Mohammed’s prayer rug. If what he says is true, it’s a helluva story, ain’t it?”
And how much better a story it would have been if I could interview women who’d been victims of Debbie’s scam. Women like Tess and the brunette. Then again, what was I saying? Tess
despised
me. Damn. And she would have been so perfect!
“You’re thinking and that scares me,” Lawless said. “It’s unnatural. You’re supposed to put on mascara and lipstick, tease hair, not think.”
I carefully slid off Doris’s chair. It tottered back and forth. “Could you get Lucky Louie to confirm on the record that he was hired by Debbie to pose as a looper?”
Lawless shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Louie doesn’t want to go back to jail. He wants to keep his name out of the papers for now. He’s looking at a job in substitute teaching, should the teachers go on strike next month. Wants to keep a low profile.”
That sounded like another page-one blockbuster right there:
Con Subs for Scabs
. Too bad I didn’t have the time. “You think he’d be willing to go as background? Maybe he could find other ex-cons. Surely he wasn’t the only bachelor on board.”
“I’ll try it, see if I can entice him. When she died, Debbie owed him five hundred bucks for the last cruise, so he might be inclined. What about you?”
“There are some women I could talk to.”
“From the salon?”
“No. But that’s not a bad idea.”
The phone on Doris’s desk rang. Lawless picked it up.
“Uh-huh,” he said, eyeing me. “She’s here. No . . . no. I won’t let her go.” He hung up and I flew at him.
“You set me up!” I screeched, feeling his chest for a wire, reaching around to detect if a tape recorder was concealed in the small of his back. “You are a spy for Notch and now he’s coming to get me.”
Lawless clinched me in a bear hug. “Knock it off, Yablonsky. Get ahold of yourself. It’s not Notch who’s on his way. It’s your nutty mother.”
Mama stood frowning in the doorway next to Genevieve, who was holding a large garment bag. “Well, I never. Less than a week before the wedding and still throwing herself at men.”
“What can you do? It’s the Lithuanian in her,” Genevieve said. “We got a sex drive that just won’t quit.”
Lawless and I snapped apart. He fled that room faster than the hot summer when he was gypped out of a Push Pop and chased the Good Humor truck four blocks.
Mama watched him go. “I know you told us not to show up when you were at work but since it’s after five we figured it would be okay. Turns out you were just making hoohaa in the library, anyway.”
She was in a new Christmassy outfit of a cranberry-colored flared skirt and a green cardigan decorated with snowmen and snow-covered houses and a lot of snow-related activity. Genevieve, on the other hand, wore a black turtleneck and,
gulp
, Aberdeen plaid trousers. Her thighs were larger than the entire landmass of Scotland. Angrier, too.
“We weren’t making hoohaa. Lawless and I were talking business.”
“Hmph,” Mama hmphed, unconvinced.
“If it was sexual harassment, I got my home castrator in the Rambler,” Genevieve suggested. “Might be a bit rusty after the incident at Niagara Falls and whatnot.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. Not for Lawless. I got other rusty home castrator candidates. I could make a list. A long list.” I pointed to the garment bag. “What’s in there? Your outfit for the Christmas pageant?”
“Hardly,” Mama said. “Give it to her, Genny.”
Genevieve thrust out the garment bag, which was surprisingly heavy. “It’s for you.”
“We went to Jersey yesterday to find camels. And we saw it in the window of Loehmann’s. We had to buy it.”
I sniffed the garment bag. It smelled vaguely of a circus. “They’re selling camels at Loehmann’s now?”
“Don’t be silly. Try it on. Genny and I can’t wait.”
There was only one bathroom in the library and it was for Doris’s personal use. She kept it locked when she was off the clock. Even when it was available, it was more her space than the
News-Times’
space. She stored a coffeemaker in there, a box of tampons, her toothbrush and toothpaste and a collection of makeup that didn’t seem to do much good.
“I’ve got nowhere to change and I’m not going into the newsroom.” I handed the dress back to her. “I’ll try it on when I get home. Dan’s going to be here soon. We’re getting our marriage license tonight.”
Mama slapped her cheek. “Oh, thank heavens. We were worried you were going to miss the license deadline. That’s a load off our mind.”
“I got an idea,” Genevieve said. “Why don’t you and I stand guard out in the hall, Lulu? If we see Dan, we’ll run interference. Meanwhile, Bubbles can try on the dress here.”
“What’s the rush?” I said. “I’ll try it on tonight. No biggie.”
Mama shifted her feet and looked furtively at Genevieve. “The thing is, tonight might be too late.”
“For what?”
“To make closing time at Loehmann’s,” Genevieve said. “We gotta get the dress back by then.”
“Especially if you like it,” Mama added, tossing the garment bag back to me. “It’s your wedding dress.”
I couldn’t believe it. She was at it again. Shoplifting—my wedding dress!
Mama had a bit of a problem in the kleptomania department, depending on her medication levels, though Genevieve had promised to keep an eye on her. I didn’t think taking the dress outside “to check it in the natural light” would work as an excuse this time, not with the crossing of state lines.
“If this dress is over three thousand dollars, then it’s a federal felony which might require investigation by the FBI,” I said. “That is, if it’s stolen.”
Mama blinked, all the color suddenly gone from her rouged cheeks. “It’s not worth more than three thousand dollars.”
I thought so. And here I was, holding the hot merchandise.
Genevieve waved me on. “Go on, try it. Look at it this way. You’re test driving a dress like a car. Don’t buy a car until you test-drive it, right?”
This made sense in a distorted, oversexed Lithuanian way. “Okay. But you two have to not budge from the hallway and give me a high sign if anyone comes.”
“How about . . . ‘Get that stolen wedding dress off, Bubbles. It’s your boss!’ ” Mama said. “Is that a good high sign?”
I told her that would do. My firing was looking more and more imminent, anyway.
They left and I hung the dress up on the handle of a filing cabinet. Carefully, I zipped it open, fully expecting an explosion of toile or chiffon. Mama preferred dresses that resembled the white crocheted canister covers in her kitchen. You know, the ones with the doll sewn in the top. Her bedroom bureau was covered with them.
The bag opened. I peeked inside and was flabbergasted. This was not a crocheted canister cover by any stretch. This was a beautiful V-necked gown with a ruched bodice and faux pearls and silver beaded straps in ivory silk. It was gorgeous!
I pulled off all my clothes and stepped into it. I couldn’t wait. The dress slid over my skin like water and fit like a gem, hugging my waist and flattering my hips. It wouldn’t have to be altered at all. The silver beads made the most of my shoulders and the ruched bodice lifted my bust regally. This was too good for Dan. This dress was too good for Cinderella.
There was a knock on the door.
“Just a minute,” I called as I struggled with the side zipper.
“Bubbles,” Mama croaked from the hallway. “Get that hot dress off. We got trouble.”
Oh, crap. Notch. And here this zipper was stuck. I pulled it up, down. Nothing. Finally, I just kicked my clothes and looked for a place to hide. There was scuffling on the other side of the door and a man’s voice, low and gruff.
I thought of throwing myself into a file cabinet, but they were all stupidly stuffed with files. Doris’s desk wasn’t any help and her bathroom was locked, damn it.
There was no out. I watched dumbly as the handle turned and the door opened, covering my eyes so I didn’t have to meet Notch’s furious gaze. There were footsteps and then the door shut. I waited, counting to ten before I peeked between my fingers and saw that it wasn’t Notch.
It was Stiletto.
Chapter Nineteen
S
lowly I brought my hands down. Remembering that I was in a wedding gown, a very sexy wedding gown at that, paralyzed me into self-consciousness. I stood frozen against the filing cabinets, submitting myself to Stiletto’s inspection, which he insisted on conducting despite my obvious mortification.
He said nothing as he let his dark blue gaze travel over me, from my bare shoulders and exposed cleavage to my relatively narrow waist and the outline of my thighs. I could tell he approved, at least according to the way he smiled knowingly at his favorite parts.
“New career style?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” I held out the skirt and let it drop. “Just trying it on before the cops arrest Mama. It’s hot.”
“You might say that.”
I brushed back a strand of hair, remembering our fight from the night before. It helped to dissipate some of my uncharacteristic modesty. “I’d take it off except the zipper’s stuck.”
“Want some help? I’ve had some experience with dress zippers, you know.”
This could be trouble.
He didn’t wait for my permission. Instead, he placed the files he had borrowed on Doris’s desk and took the matter into his own hands. He knew exactly where the zipper was and exactly how to unstick it. I held my breath as his capable fingers swiftly unsnagged the head and he slowly proceeded to unzip.
“That’s far enough,” I said, pushing his hand away. “Thank you.”
I looked down. Stiletto’s rough hand was on my bare hip and not showing any signs of budging. He was very close. So close I could feel his breath on my neck, smell the leather of his jacket.
“You better take this off,” he murmured. “Your mother says Dan’s going to be here any minute to get a marriage license. Don’t want him to see you like this before the wedding, do you?”
But I didn’t think Stiletto really cared whether or not Dan saw me like this before the wedding. Emily Post wasn’t foremost in his thoughts. I had a hunch what was foremost in his thoughts and it had absolutely nothing to do with etiquette.
“Do you mind?” I said.
“What’s the matter, Bubbles?” He paused. “Don’t you
trust
me?”
Oh, what a bastard he was to throw the trust issue back in my face. “We’re done discussing that, Stiletto. I have very good reasons for marrying Dan and you have offered nothing to show me why I shouldn’t.”
“How about the fact that you can’t stop thinking about me?” He grinned, cocky, enjoying the torment he was putting me through.
I wrenched away. In so doing, half of my dress split open and my strap fell off my shoulder. It was Stiletto who gently slid it back. He was hesitating, one hand still on my shoulder, giving me the look of a thousand looks, when the phone rang.
“Could you get it?” I said. “I’m kind of . . . you know.”
Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and picked up the phone. I could hear Veronica’s voice, high-pitched and hysterical, on the other end. “Is Bubbles there? This is really important. We have an emergency.”
“Apparently there’s an emergency.” He handed it to me.
Veronica was so manic she could barely sputter out the words. “Bubbles! Ohmigod. I’m so glad I tracked you down. I was looking all over the newsroom for you. This guy’s been calling for the past hour. He’s on the other line and won’t hang up. I don’t know if he’s drunk or drugged or what. He keeps saying he knows you’re here. He sees your car in the lot and he insists on talking to you. Sounds like a stalker. Should I tell Mr. Notch?”
“Heavens no. Don’t tell Notch. Don’t do anything, Veronica. I’ll handle the creep.”
Stiletto raised an eyebrow.
“Did he give you a name?”
“No. He just said that you’d know who he was. Bubbles, he sounds, uh, really dangerous.”
“That’s okay. Patch him through. I know how to handle dangerous men.” I stuck out my tongue at Stiletto. He laughed halfheartedly, but I could tell he was concerned.
“Hold on,” he said. He headed for the other phone by the rear file cabinets. Picking up the receiver he said, “Okay, Veronica. This is Steve Stiletto listening on another line. Send him through. I’ll take care of it if there’s any trouble.”
I cupped the phone under my chin and pounded my chest. “Me, Tarzan. Me, Stiletto.”
“Stiletto?” a voice on the other line said. It wasn’t Veronica anymore. It was Ern Bender.
I swore silently. Stiletto nodded to show me it was okay to go on. “This is Bubbles Yablonsky. Are you looking for Steve Stiletto?”
There was a pause and then Ern hissed, “You lied to me. I don’t like it when people lie to me.”
“Pardon?”
“You said you were a hairdresser. Now I find out you’re a reporter. That’s not cool, not cool at all. I have half a mind to make you pay for that.”
He sounded one hundred percent different from the rather stable, albeit possibly intoxicated, Santa Claus at the Christmas tree lot. I looked over at Stiletto, whose brows were furrowed, and prayed that he wouldn’t tell Ern to take a flying leap.
“I am a hairdresser,” I said. “I’m both. I didn’t lie to you.”
“You know too much. Already, you know too much.”
I paused, trying to choose the right words, and settled on my favorite tact: stupidity. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t know what I know. I don’t even know who you are.”
Stiletto grinned.
“You know who I am. Ern Bender. Debbie’s ex-husband. I’ve been keeping tabs on you. You went straight for it. You couldn’t resist.”