Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) (7 page)

“What was what about?” her breathy voice hedges.

“Where do you go?”

“I’ve been right here with you.”

Okay, now I’m irritated.  Where did the unyielding openness and honesty go?  What is she trying to hide?  I’ve found that in times like these, silence is best to pressure people into talking.  Nobody likes uncomfortable silences and I intend to make this very uncomfortable.

Em actually holds out for quite some time.  “Fine, Richard.” 
Finally!
  “It’s embarrassing to admit but I was just wondering what Annie’s death was like for her.”

There is no way that is true.  If it is, it is the most disturbing excuse I have ever been given.  I swallow the accusation because I’m curious to find out how far she is going to take this.

She tears her eyes from mine and looks out over her office.  I can tell she doesn’t see any of it.  “To feel your life slip away from you.  To know it is now in someone else’s hands.” 
Um, huh?
  We haven’t released to anyone that Annie was strangled.  “To watch the world shrink from existence as you take your last breath.  And to do it with only death as your companion.  It must have been awful.”

That was not the direction of her thoughts.  Her embarrassment and blush alone told me I was a part of whatever she saw in her mind’s eye.  It isn’t arrogance talking but years of training in observation of human behavior.  Em’s statement about Annie is not only morbid but also creepily specific to what I know about strangulation.

What if Steve is right?  What am I going to do if Em is our murderer?
  I still don’t believe she had anything to do with Annie’s death.  She doesn’t seem to be reveling in a memory or remorseful about her actions.  It’s more like she suffered Annie’s trauma.  Is it possible Em witnessed more than she consciously knows?

Empathy Delacroix: Ill Timing

Oh my God!  What the hell are you thinking?!  Why choose the memory of Annie’s murder to keep from confessing the sex scene the room played out for you?  Because, you fool, you needed something that would dampen the fire about to ignite between Richard and yourself.  Death certainly is a passion killer.

Richard doesn’t move from my side, but I can see the wheels in his mind spinning rapidly.  I probably just put the nail in my own coffin to be the prime suspect in her murder.  I pull my sight from my thoughts to reality and quickly take stock of the situation I created with the ill-timed vision.  Until the bit about Annie, we seemed to be progressing nicely.  We teeter on the line the whole time, but I never feel like his reputation is in jeopardy.  Sure, he held me, but it was more out of a common bond of grief and loss than romance.  I feel as though a strong friendship is blossoming.

But now, he has tucked his desire for me away.  Even though he is still sitting beside me, he no longer feels close to me.  Doubt emerges from the oceanic depths of his blue eyes. 
Do something or you’re going to lose him
.  I take a deep breath and ensnare his hands in mine.  I open my mouth to confess the truth, but my office door swings open and interrupts me.

“Em?  Trevor said you would… be… here.”  The last word practically dies on Tom’s lips.  His eyes grow wide with shock, and Richard makes to pull his hands out of mine.  I steadfastly hold onto them, amazed at my own strength.  “This is your personal matter?! 
He is your personal matter?!”
Tom’s voice explodes, filling the room.

Richard springs to his feet, pulling me up with him.  He positions me at his back, protectively standing between Tom and me.  I can’t help but feel relieved.  If his instincts are to protect me, he can’t think I killed poor Annie.

I sidestep Richard and look cautiously at Tom.  “When something is described as a personal matter, Tom, a person shouldn’t have to answer for it.  Do I ever challenge you on the activities you partake in behind the closed door of your office?”  It’s a low blow.  He opens his mouth to blast me again, but I beat him to the punch.  “Do I judge you for them?”  That shuts him up.  “Now I will ignore the complete impropriety of you bursting into my office like you own it on two conditions.  One, you apologize to my guest for the embarrassment you caused.  And two, you wait, like the gentleman I know you are, for me on the other side of that door and do not call your lawyer whom I know is on your speed dial.  You know what the consequences will be if you fail in either of those conditions.”

A furious ripple steals through his body from head to toe as he scowls at Richard. “I apologize,
Detective Giordano
, for interrupting whatever this is.”  The apology complete, Tom spins on his heel and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

I press my fingers to my temple and take a moment to gather my thoughts.  Richard’s hands on my shoulders jolts me out of them and I twirl around to face him.  ““I assume since one of your demands was for him not to call his lawyer that he’s threatened to?”  My hands find his elbows as I confirm Tom has.  “His lawyer can call all day long.  Your statement will end my career.  Is that something I need to worry about?”  His hands make their way to my waist, and I want nothing more than to close the distance between us, reach up on my tiptoes, and meet his lips with mine.  “Em?”

Right, I haven’t answered him.  “No, I don’t believe you’ve done anything undesirable.” 
Except resist me.

“Is there anything else you desire of me?” his husky voice begs.

God, how about
everything
?  My eyes dart to the loveseat as the image of a man on top of me, kissing me until I can’t think straight while his pelvis makes demands against my own, overtakes my thoughts.  I don’t know who the couple was who partook in that romantic interlude, but I know whose face I’ve put on the man from my vision.  Thankfully, I have locked my knees so even though they weaken I don’t crumble.  “No.  Not at the moment.”

I remove my eyes from the blasted loveseat that will forever serve as a reminder of a memory I hope can be of a future with Richard.  A knowing smile toys with his mouth as his gaze follows mine.  “That’s too bad.  When do you have to leave with him?” he asks as he brings his focus back to me.

“Honestly, I don’t know.  What time is it?”  This dress, while having the desired effect of making his jaw drop when he first saw me, serves no other practical purposes.  There are no pockets in it and I don’t own a watch.

Richard fishes through his jacket and pulls out his cell phone.  “Looks to be about six.”

“Evening shows typically start around eight.  Tom needs to be there by seven.  I imagine we need to leave here no later than six-thirty.”

“But
you
don’t need to be there that early.  I have a few more questions and you did say you wanted this part of our interactions behind us, right?”  There is that devilish twinkle again.  “I’ll make sure you get to the theatre safe and on time.  It might be just in time.”

As much as I want to take Richard up on his offer, I have to wonder if it is worth the risk.  I place our futures squarely in fate’s hands by going to the door and poking my head outside.  “Tom, we aren’t quite done.  We’ll probably be another half hour, maybe longer.  I’m sure you stopped by to see about grabbing a bite.  If you want, go on ahead and I’ll meet you there before curtains up.”

“How are you going to get there, Em?” Tom asks in a reproachful tone.

“The detective offered to drive me.”

I don’t even finish the sentence before Tom pronounces, “I’ll wait,” then crosses his arms over his chest as if daring me to kick him out.  Well, there is my answer and it is probably for the best.

I close the door, return to the loveseat, and sit as far from Richard as possible.  For some odd reason he looks the most at ease I’ve ever seen him.  He lounges on the loveseat with one arm stretched across the back. “You’re a bit further away now,” he observes in his deep, husky voice.

Electricity fires between us. I inhale and exhale slowly before continuing.  “Your questions, Richard,” I say, steering us back on course.

His arm drifts down the cushions and captures the hand I left in the space between us.  He interweaves our fingers while simultaneously fondling mine, sending shock waves from my fingers to my toes.  “Do I need you to spell out the activities Tom partakes in or do you think I’m savvy enough to have comprehended your inference correctly?”

Oh, no!  No, no, no, no, no!
  “You misunderstood!”

“So Tom doesn’t have sex in his office with women who work for him?”

Oh, this is bad!  Very, very, very bad!
  “I shouldn’t have said that.  Especially with you here.  It wasn’t fair to him.”  The walls of my life begin closing in on me.  Tom doesn’t deserve what I inadvertently just did to him.  He’s been really good to me and while he has his faults, that isn’t an accusation I have the right to fling at him in front of a cop.

“Easy there, Em.”  My vision fills with Richard’s face.  His hands cup around my cheeks and our noses are mere millimeters apart.  “I’m not going to go out there and arrest Tom.  As long as the adults are consenting and no one is claiming sexual harassment, I can’t, even if I wanted to.  But,” he pauses dramatically and I don’t breathe, “has Tom ever made unwanted advances on you?”

“No,” I answer emphatically and without hesitation.  His brow knits together.  “Tom’s hit on me from time to time, similar to your partner.”  Richard stews on that.  “But he’s harmless.  We’re friends and business associates.  He knows that is how it’s going to remain.”

His eyes search mine as if gauging the truth of my statement.  “You two have never …”

“Oh, God, no!  Tom’s not my type
at all.
”

A flash traverses his eyes and a smile slides onto his face and into his eyes.  The intensity of his labored breaths becomes obvious when he speaks.  “Well, that’s good information to have.”

We are silent for some time, both unsure what to say or do.  The damn vision keeps flashing in my mind, and I can’t stop from imagining the feel of his caress or the press of his hips.  I want it.  My face flushes and I drop my eyes only to lose control of my mouth. “How do I go about getting off the suspect list, Richard?”

An audible inhale answers me, drawing my eyes.  I find that his are full of surprise.  “Why do you ask?” stumbles off his tongue.

I shrug and sigh.  The
complete
truth isn’t something I’m ready to admit to him.  “Why not?  Would you want to be on a suspect list if you had a way to get off it?”

Richard closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  “Your financial records, personal and business.  Give us access to them.”

I’m about to ask “why” when it dawns on me.  “You think I paid to have her killed?!” I expel in shock.

“I don’t,” he immediately clarifies, “but it’ll prove you had no hand in it.”

I’m desperate to get away from this case - but not this detective - so I nod my head in agreement.  “What do you need?”

Richard Giordano: The Brooklyn Bridge

M
y mind reels from the events that just occurred.  Am I reading too much into Em’s words and actions?  Can she possibly be attracted to me?  What is the full extent of her relationship with Worthy?

All the cast, when we ask about the horrible Thomas Worthy, rave about the sleaze, almost as if they are beholden to him.  None act intimidated, but Em stood up to him, threatened him if he made an attempt to ruin my career.  And he backed down, well, so far.  The next few days at the precinct will be the ultimate test.  If that guy can maintain a strong friendship with her for years, maybe I stand a better chance than I thought.

Then there was her question about getting off the suspect list. It came out of nowhere.  I’ll have her financials tomorrow after I send her the form.  It won’t get us closer to Worthy’s but at this point I don’t care.  It is becoming harder and harder to resist Em when we are together, and I am no longer willing to avoid her and let Steve try to connect her to a murder she didn’t commit.

My mind wanders as I drive home.  What I’d give to know what she sees when her eyes cloud over.  So far it is the only mystery about her and the detective in me is innately suspicious.  The man, well he is still too busy getting lost in her sparkling eyes.

Empathy Delacroix: Advice

“What information did the detective need this time, Em?”  It is intermission, and this is the first time Tom has spoken to me since barging into my office more than two hours ago.

“Just the same stuff, I guess,” I answer.  “Is there anything else I could recount about Annie’s personal life?  He asked about the loose stage equipment.”

“What’d you tell him?” Tom presses.

I shift in my seat and don’t meet his gaze, trying to choose my words carefully.  “You know I’m not supposed to divulge that to you.  None of us are supposed to be discussing what we talk to the detectives about.”  It’s true.  Beauregard told me during the first round of questions that it convolutes the witness statements.

Tom’s fingers run the length of my jaw as he turns my face to his.  “What happened to my Em who told me everything?” 
I’ve never told you
everything
.  I meet what he hopes is a persuasive expression and keep my mouth shut.  I assume he gets the message when his lips thin and turn white out of annoyance.  “That took an hour and a half?”

“I suppose.”  There, that is a non-committal answer without being an outright lie.  Not that the distinction makes me feel any better.

One side of his mouth arcs into a cunning smile.  “This is why they keep talking to you.  You’re the only one who’s following their rules.  You know they haven’t really contacted anyone else for further questioning, don’t you?”

I swat his hand away from my jaw. “No.  I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to do what I can to help them with their investigation.  Annie was murdered, Tom.  She may have been a space cadet and naïve, but she didn’t deserve to die because of it.”

That shuts him up, until, “How hard have you fallen for this detective?”

I choke on my own saliva.  “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve seen you handle men who are infatuated with you,” Tom explains with a cynical chuckle.  “I’m one of them,
remember
?  You’re polite but not inviting.”

“Look, I see no reason to be rude to someone I barely know.  Now do you want to discuss the problems with this show, or not?”

The house lights flicker before we can, signaling the second act.  I glance down at my notepad, which scarcely has anything written on it, and feel bad.  One of the patrons shares some similar features to a certain fetching detective I’m getting to know and every time I caught sight of him my mind wandered to scenes of my hopeful future.  Fortunately, Tom doesn’t hide his emotions well.  I’ve noticed some of his not so subtle cues over the years, the ones that indicate when he is disgruntled with how certain aspects of the show play.  Each time he leans forward, I forcibly pull myself out of my head and return my attention back on the stage.

By the end of the show, I have a few more notes than before.  Enough, I feel, to make it worth having come.  I stand in the lobby, waiting patiently for Tom to get finished with the creative team.  “Em, can you come over here for a minute?” he calls out, waving me over.  He introduces me after I join them.  They are all new to the theatre circuit.  This show is the first one most of them are cutting their teeth on.  It’s one of the things I admire about Tom.  He spots talent and is very generous in giving the person a helping hand in this business.  “Are you free tomorrow?”

“You have to check with my boss,” I answer, smiling.  “I’m currently committed to another show.”

I finally get an easy laugh from Tom.  “Touché.  Since I happen to know
your boss
, I think there will be some time in the morning so your unparalleled talents can help out here.”  With that, he schedules a time for us to come back to the theatre to review our notes.  We depart the lobby, once everything is settled, and stand on the sidewalk to wait for his car.

I hold my hand out to flag a cab.  He grabs it and pulls it down, spinning me to face him.  “Just once will you let me drive you home?”

“Thank you, but you know my rule.”  He grumbles that he does.  The cab pulls up and he pays the driver after opening my door.  I sit down then turn to him.  “Hey, we’re okay, right?”  I know Tom isn’t always forthcoming with me about every aspect of his life.  Which is fine, because despite what he thinks, I don’t share everything with him either.

He smiles down at me and nods.  “If you say we are, I see no reason to disagree.”  I get into the cab and go home.

The next morning we meet with the creative team for the other show and end up inviting them to the day’s rehearsal of
Singin’
.  Tom pulls me to the side while the director and choreographer watch.

“I have another job for you.  How would you like to choreograph the floor dancers for the Emergency Responders Charity Gala in four weeks?” 
Is he kidding?!
  Having been countless times, I have wanted to be involved for years.  My jaw works vigorously but no words come out.  “I’ll take that as a yes.  Look, the show here is done.  Sam can manage the rest. My advisor will keep me in the loop.  I won’t let anything happen to your baby, especially when they’re already throwing out ‘Tony contender’ with it.”  This year’s awards season had just ended, so it is vastly premature to be talking Tony’s already, but people are.  “Go show everyone outside the theatre circuit what an exceptional talent you are.”

Richard Giordano: 57
th
Precinct

Getting up this morning had been hard.  The night’s sleep was sporadic, but I wouldn’t have traded any of it away.  My dreams had been full of Em.

“What’s up with him?” Frisco’s voice pulls me out of my daydream.

“Been like that all damn morning,” Steve grumbles from his desk.  “It’s getting pretty annoying, particularly since he won’t tell me the name of the skirt who put that smile on his face.”

Steve thinks I got laid last night.  He isn’t aware of my appointment with Em, but Frisco is.  Her eyes grow saucer wide at his theory.  I flash her a calculated grin, allowing her to think whatever she wants.  “Name or not, I’m just happy our little Dick here found a place to stick it finally.  About time too, you were becoming a real prick.”

“Ugh, Steve, do you always have to be so crude?” Frisco growls.

He just shrugs his shoulders at her.  “You’ve met me, right?”  She rolls her eyes, and Steve continues. “What brings you up to the land of the living?  The last DB we brought you was just a standard OD, wasn’t it?”

Frisco ignores Steve and levels her attention on me.  “You want to go to lunch?”  She wants details.

I’m tempted to decline her invitation. I change my mind after Steve opens his big, fat mouth, putting his foot squarely in it.  “A little late there again, Queen of the Dead.  The grounddog has already come out and buried his shadow.  If you’re lucky though, you might be able to catch him next year.”

I leap from my chair and motion to the door to the precinct.  Poor Frisco is shaking with embarrassment and rage.  It’s no secret she still has a crush on me.  We dated because she asked me out.  We stopped because it got complicated.  It is something we never really talk about and over time, it ceased being the looming elephant in the room.  Steve just turned that single, tiny pachyderm into a damn herd!

We get outside and walk silently to the nearest deli before finding a shady place to sit.  I want nothing more than to apologize to her for Steve’s insensitive comment, but I wait.  Her demeanor alone tells me his jab cut her deep.  She is halfway through her sandwich when she finally speaks up.  “Why didn’t we work out?”

There is a small smile on her face, and I can’t help my cautious laugh.  I guess five years is enough time to address this issue, finally.  “I don’t know.  Why doesn’t any couple work out?”  It never occurred to me before that maybe her feelings go beyond a simple crush.  “Frisco you’re smart, funny, tough as nails,” she releases a girly giggle, “and lovely.”  She is an average height with a fit build.  Her dark hair frames a round face with her expressive brown eyes centered on her nose.  “There are a thousand guys who’d be honored to be your boyfriend.  I’m truly sorry I wasn’t one of them.  If it helps, at the time, I really wanted to.  I beat myself up wondering what was wrong with me because I wasn’t falling for you.  On paper, we should have worked.”

There is an awkward pause before she continues.  “Was it too soon after Sara?”

Years ago, I was in love and engaged.  At least, I thought I was, on both counts, to Sara Welch, until I found out that she was a lying, backstabbing bitch.

“Maybe,” I guess with a shrug and stare out over Fifty-Second Street.  Who knows?  Would things be different if the timing had been?  Possibly.  But I want Em now, and there has never been another woman in the world I have wanted more.

It is time to walk back to the precinct.  We’re about halfway there when Frisco nudges me with her shoulder.  “You’re a good guy, Rich.  I’m not going to lie and say I’m not jealous but at least I know she’s a good woman.  You deserve that.  From what I understand from Sabene, she might be pickier than you.  You any closer to clearing her?”

I offer a non-committal shrug.  I know Em didn’t have sex with our victim, and her financials will soon clear her of purchasing the hit because the rats are working on them right now.  Trouble is, there is a new sticking point centered on the break.  Her contacts confirmed how she runs her rehearsals and her breaks.  They all said the same thing: two hours of rehearsal, followed by a fifteen-minute break, with an hour for lunch always at one o’clock.  That day the break occurred twenty-three minutes
after
the chorus had returned from lunch, not two hours.  So she deviated.  Was it because something happened or because something was scheduled to happen?  The financials aren’t going to show that she paid to have Annie killed, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t know about it, and it doesn’t mean Worthy didn’t have a hand in it.  And if Worthy is involved, did he involve Em?  Did he play some role in the timing of the break?  That’s what I need to figure out,
fast
.