forty-two

I tagged along with Cal to the Kit Kat West—for professional reasons, of course. It was not, as Angel had suggested, to have another peek at the voluptuous Lee Hawkins. Now, if the ghost of Norma Jean or Jayne Mansfield were hanging around the club, different matter.

We arrived at the club just after ten a.m. and parked in the rear employee lot. Cal walked to a rear door marked “Delivery” and went inside. I followed him to the back office where the mysterious Raina had snooped around last night. He knocked on the door.

“I’m busy,” Keys Hawkins bellowed from inside. “Shove off.”

Cal pushed the door open. “It’s me, Keys—Calloway.”

“What are you doin’ here so early? You boys got a rehearsal I don’t know about?”

Calloway—er, Cal—dropped into an old wooden chair beside the door. “No, man, sorry. It’s official. Is Lee around? I need to speak with the two of you.”

I stood near the window beside Keys’s desk and listened.

“Lee?” Keys picked up a cup of coffee and took too long to sip it. “What’s she got to do with anything you’d be asking about?”

“Oh, come on now, Keys.” Cal stretched his long, thin legs out in front of him, trying to appear as casual as he could. “You know I gotta do this, right?”

“Do what?”

“Investigate, man. You know, about Willy.” Cal smiled a big, genuine smile. “It’s me or Bear. You got the long straw, be happy.”

Keys grunted a laugh. “Sure, okay, Calloway. Shoot. Just remember who signs your weekend check, though. And we both know it’s more than your deputy pay.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They both laughed.

Cal leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “I hear Lee got into a little pissin’ contest with Karen Simms this morning. What was that about?”

“Oh? Don’t know about that. Who told you that? Nicholas didn’t.”

“I never mentioned Poor Nic.” Cal let a crooked smile out. “Bad play, Keys. Come on, now. What’s the deal between Simms and Lee? And give me the straight story. Don’t make me regret playin’ here.”

I went over and looked around Keys’s desk. He had a thick notebook open with a three-inch stack of papers inside. On edge of the binder, printed in wide, black marker, was, “Sancus Security Invoices.”

That name tickled my memory but nothing floated to the surface.

Keys said, “Listen, Calloway, you know about me and Willy. We were close. Real close. Brothers, even—from the war. He and me were trying to work some things out.”

“What kind of stuff, Keys?”

“Personal stuff. I ain’t sayin’. It has nothing to do with anything you need to know.”

Cal shook his head. “No, it might have something to do with his murder.”

“It doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“ ’Cause I do.” Keys rested himself on his elbows. “Look. He wanted to invest in the business and couldn’t come up with the capital. He was heartbroken and so was I. We always talked about being partners and all. He was worried the Kit Kat wouldn’t turn a profit and he’d be stuck. The bank and that kid of his drained him, so I told him not to worry about it. But I knew he would. That’s all.”

“What about Lee?” Cal asked. “How’d she fit into that? And what’s it got to do with Karen Simms?”

“I really don’t know, Calloway. Honest. I think Karen was sort of kissing up to old Willy. You know, like trying to work her way up the chain at the bank. A couple times, Lee met with Willy on our accounts. Every time Lee showed up, that Simms dame wiggled into the meeting. Lee had the idea Simms was up to something—something no good.”

Funny, that’s exactly what Karen suggested of Lee.

Cal watched Keys for a while and squinted at him like he was dissecting his every word. Finally, after crossing his legs for the second time, he said, “Okay, Keys. But I know you’re not tellin’ me everything. So let’s agree on somethin’.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll cut you some slack. You find Lee so I can talk to her. And you think hard about Willy and Karen Simms. Don’t be holding out on me, man. Music or not, it’s my job and I’m gonna do it right.”

Keys laughed, “You’re a better musician than a cop.”

“Serious now, Keys. I gotta do my job.” Cal stood up to go. “And I’m a better cop. Trust me. Remember, we’re talkin’ about Willy, your best friend. Do him right.”

Keys stood up, too. “I hear you, Calloway. Lee hasn’t been in all morning. I swear. She must have had a late night. I’ll let her know you’re looking for her. Now, nothin’ personal, but I gotta get back to my books. Nicholas might be an investor, but he don’t like me payin’ his own company’s bills late.” He tapped the notebook on his desk and thrust out a hand across to Cal.

I looked at the binder again. Sancus Security Systems, LLC—of course. Sancus was also the bank’s alarm company. The name appeared on the records Larry Conti showed us yesterday morning.

Poor Nic owned Sancus?

“I’ll be waitin’ on a call, man.” Cal shook Keys’s hand.

“You do that.”

When Cal shut the door behind him, Keys stared after him for the longest time. Then he picked up his office phone and dialed.

I wasn’t fast enough around the desk and missed the number.

“Mornin’, it’s me. We gotta meet. Soon. The cops just left. No, it can’t wait. And if my granddaughter is there, send her to me. She kicked a hornets’ nest this morning and now I’m getting stung.” Silence. Then, “I don’t know anything about no deal with William. That’s got nothing to do with me.” He hung up.

Poor Nic?

Keys sat down and took his cell phone out of his desk, hit a speed dial number, and opened the Sancus notebook. “It’s Keys. We got more than one problem and it’s time you did your part, fast. That account is what I’m sayin’—you find out what the devil was going on there? Oh yeah … really? Then fix it. And fix it fast before Calloway Clemens forgets he plays in my club.”

I waited but I couldn’t hear any more. Being dead has a lot of advantages. Like now: I can hang around and listen in on conversations without anyone knowing. I didn’t need a warrant or probable cause, either. The downside was, well, I don’t have any magical hearing or crystal ball. In other words, I can’t hear both sides of the call. And unless I knew who Keys was talking to, I couldn’t poof over to the other caller and hear their side of the conversation.

Good and bad. Yin and yang. Ice cream and liver and onions.

When Keys tapped off his call and returned to his records, I snooped around a little more. Just as I got ready to go and find Angel to make nice-nice, something sent a bolt of “holy shit” through me.

Sitting on top of a stack of computer printouts on Keys’s credenza was a small hand-carved stone figurine inlaid with gemstones and trimmed in gold. A scarab beetle—identical to the one in William’s office. I hadn’t noticed it last night.

“Oh Keys, you have some ’splainin’ to do.”