“I got here as soon as I could,” I said, hurrying into Mrs. Janowski’s dining room.
Rand wasn’t about to let me go until we ironed out details for the purchases he was about to make. Because I was distracted, he threatened several times to dump me in a cornfield again.
I sat down next to Edna, which was probably a mistake. Her knitting needles were moving faster than pistons in a racing engine. “So, what happened?” I asked, flinching as she made a loop.
Mrs. Janowski sat on the edge of a chair opposite of us. “There was a disturbance at a campsite not too far away. I know it’s her. Ida always went there when she needed some air.”
“But she wouldn’t cause a disturbance,” Sylvia said. “Even when she’s tipsy, she doesn’t cause any problems.”
“Would Hank know where she camps?” I asked.
Mrs. Janowski nodded. “Of course. They used to go there all the time together until they split.”
“I think I know what caused the disturbance,” I said. “Remember when I said I was over at Hank’s and something I said made him want to leave? He had to go through a wall of reporters, so you know it was urgent. Perhaps he went to find Ida.”
“What did you say to him?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“I can’t remember exactly. But I’m sure it had something to do with Wade.”
“You must have triggered a memory,” Sylvia said.
“Maybe he figured it out and confronted Ida,” Mrs. Janowski said.
Edna paused the needles. “Oh, dear. This isn’t good.”
“No, it’s terrible.” Mrs. Janowski stood and wrapped her hands around the back of the chair. “I was hoping for more time.”
“Have they officially charged her?” I asked.
“I haven’t been able to find out,” Mrs. Janowski said. “But I’d think the news would report on it if she had been. We’ve been keeping an eye on the TV.”
“So, now what?” I asked.
“We wait to hear,” Mrs. Janowski said. “We’ve already tried all of Aaron’s leads and we only came up with a rap sheet that’s dirty, but it’s not enough. We have no character witnesses except for Hank, and he loved the guy. If Ida is charged, we might not win.”
It wasn’t like Mrs. Janowski to throw in the towel, but she was right. Ida couldn’t run away anymore. Now it was time for her to talk or hire a good lawyer.
We sat around the table in silence, each with our own thoughts and the ticking grandfather clock that shouted we were running out of time. The evening news would air at five. Only half an hour to go.
Mrs. Janowski stood nervously. “You girls want sandwiches?”
“I’d love one, thank you,” I said.
The other two agreed.
When Mrs. Janowski bustled out of the room, Sylvia said, “I like your necklace. Very retro.”
I automatically reached for the golden strand I was still wearing. “Oh, thank you. I forgot I was wearing it.”
“It looks familiar,” Edna stated, her needles pausing for a moment.
“I thought the same thing,” Sylvia said.
Funny, at first glance I thought it looked familiar too, but I couldn’t place where I would have seen it before.
Mrs. Janowski stuck her head out of the kitchen to ask, “Tuna or egg surprise?”
“Tuna,” Sylvia replied. “Your surprises scare me.”
I had to agree.
* * *
I crawled into bed a little past midnight. The girls and I had waited for the late news and then the late late news. Still no word on Ida.
While I didn’t know much about police procedures, I believed they could hold her for twenty-four hours before they had to charge her or let her go. Or was that forty-eight hours? Well, my theory, and that of Sylvia’s, was that they were waiting for her to sober. According to Mrs. Janowski, they didn’t have enough evidence and were hoping she’d crack. Edna just sighed while her hands wielded the knitting needles.
The Ida I knew wouldn’t crack under pressure, but maybe for the return of her flask she might be willing to talk.
Sprawled in bed, I stared at the dark ceiling while my mind whirled. I had so many questions. Included in those were thoughts of Brett. Where was he now? What was he doing?
I reached up to flick the handcuffs still dormant on the headboard.
With a sigh, I flipped the covers away and slipped downstairs to retrieve my laptop. While I was tired, I wasn’t nearly ready for sleep. Maybe I could research some more.
I crept through the dark house, not wanting to wake Emily. However, finding my laptop was proving difficult. I turned on the light, ready to voice an apology for disturbing her, but she wasn’t there. The blanket was still folded on the couch.
Where was she? Did she go to the strip club with Brett? I actually wouldn’t mind her as a tagalong this time. While Brett made sure the club and girls were safe, Emily would make sure Brett stayed safe and untouched.
Now, where was my laptop? I swore it had been on the kitchen table. Did I bring it with me today and leave it in the car?
Not wanting to risk the chance of it getting stolen, I donned a pair of flip-flops by the door and raced out to the car. The full brunt of the falling temperature hit me like an ice block as soon as I stepped outside. The frigid air whisked away any warmth trapped in my not-so-fashionable flannel nightshirt.
The laptop wasn’t in the front seat. Not in the back either. I didn’t think it was in the trunk, but I checked there too.
Nothing.
Now panicked and freezing, I retreated into the house. Mentally retracing my steps and trying to remember the last time I had used it, I came up dry. So, I called Brett since I had no idea what else to do and I missed him. I didn’t think he’d answer, but I’d leave a message. He seemed to know where I was most of the time; perhaps he knew where my laptop was.
Something nagged at me as I finished the message and hung up. What was I forgetting besides where I put my computer?
Another mystery to solve, but not tonight.
Right now, I was hungry. The tuna sandwich had staved off hunger for only an hour or two. We all missed dinner.
Dinner.
Dinner with Brett!
I swore loudly. I forgot to tell Brett I was over at Mrs. Janowski’s. Did he wait for me? Was he mad?
With another curse, I ran upstairs to yank on a pair of jeans, then tossed on a coat as I raced to the car. I’d go to Longhorn’s and apologize. There would be no sleeping until I spoke with him.
When I arrived, I breathed a little easier. Brett was at the door, carding people and waving them in. He noticed my approach before acknowledging me. Currently, he eyed a very young-looking man as he inspected the ID. It didn’t take long before the kid caved under Brett’s gaze. He snatched his fake ID as he bolted.
Brett then smiled at me. “Hey, sweet thing. What brings you here?”
He didn’t seem mad about the forgotten dinner.
“I missed you,” I said.
He held out his arm for me to cuddle into, ignoring the waiting men. “I missed you too.”
“I know you’re busy, but have you seen my laptop?”
“I saw it on the table earlier.”
“That’s where I thought it was too, but it’s gone.”
“Maybe Emily borrowed it.”
Of course. Her “borrowing” had led to many missing items since her arrival.
“Hey, buddy,” the first man in line said. “Can I get inside? I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”
Brett ignored him, but I couldn’t, not with my guest services background. “I’ll talk to you at home.” I stepped away.
“Wait,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for falling asleep.” At my confused expression, he added, “I thought I could take a quick nap before we went out for dinner, but it ended up being a long one. Why didn’t you wake me?”
Ah. Well, that was a lucky happenstance.
“You need your sleep. I kept busy over at Mrs. Janowski’s house. She made sandwiches.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Hey, buddy. Are you deaf? I want to see the girls.”
I backed away. The slightly older man was a bit rough around the edges and clearly wasn’t intimidated by Brett.
“Did you read the sign?” Brett asked simply.
“What sign?”
Brett jabbed at a sign at the door. “No weapons allowed.”
“What about it?” the guy asked.
“Lock your gun in the trunk of your car, and then you can go in.”
“I’m not carrying.”
I scanned the man and didn’t see a gun.
“You don’t want me to search you,” Brett said. “Just follow the rules.”
“What if she does the searching?” The man pointed at me with an oily smile that made me retreat behind Brett. “I’ll follow her rules if she follows mine.”
Ew.
Thankfully, T stepped outside at that moment. No one messed with T. I’m pretty sure it had to do with the tarantula tattoo on his neck that moved when he talked.
“Can you take over for a bit while I talk to Mars?” Brett asked.
“Yeah,” T replied, as if he’d expected to find me glued to Brett’s back. “How you doing, Mars?”
“Good. How about you?”
“Been better.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Emmy’s upset. I haven’t heard two words from her since yesterday.”
I stared at him. “And do you have any idea why?”
“None.”
“She hasn’t mentioned anything to you at all?”
“No, why? Do you know something?”
“Yeah, and you might want to start listening to Emmy.”
“How can I listen if she’s not talking?”
“Hey, jackass! I want to go inside.”
T sent the man a lethal glare that would have me running in the other direction. “Read the damn sign. No weapons.”
Did they see something I didn’t? I studied the man, looking for suspicious bulges but couldn’t detect anything.
Brett swung his arm around me. “I think T’s got this.” He steered us into the club where it was warm. “You don’t mind, do you? Your toes have to be freezing.” He pointed to my flip-flops.
They were, but I’d rather have them fall off than go inside. But since I was corralled by his arm, I went anyway and tried not to be a prude. But, as a prude, I trained my eyes on the floor, the ceiling, the walls.
He led me to a spot in the far corner where a tall booth blocked most views. I sat on the side that faced the wall and not the happenings behind me. Brett, however, could still see everything, which I didn’t like. Since his eyes didn’t drift to the stage, I let it go.
“Put your feet up,” he said, tapping his leg.
“They’re ice.”
“I know. I’ll help warm them up, sweet thing.”
Not arguing, I plopped them up on his lap and proceeded to lose all thought as his deliriously toasty hands kneaded and soothed.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“Me too. If I had known this night would end in a foot rub, I would’ve come earlier.”
“Hopefully T and I will only have to do this for a few more nights. Emily is busy trying to hire new recruits. By the sound of it, she’s creating an army. I can honestly say I don’t care how much the overhead will cost. I just want to spend more time with you.”
I smiled. Brett was always generous with his words, and I appreciated it. A part of me needed to hear him say such things.
The cuddly bubble I was floating in popped when I heard a sickly sweet voice. “Hi, Brett.”
I looked up at the girl standing next to Brett, thankful that she wore three tiny triangles that covered bits and pieces.
She was young. Way too young to work in a place like this. I tried to guess her age.
“What can I do for you, Cinnamon?” Brett asked.
Cinnamon? I guess strippers had to use a fake name. I sighed, knowing mine would be Cheesecake.
Cinnamon dragged her gaze away from Brett to study me, then returned her focus to Brett with a practiced pout from her cinnamon-colored lips. “Can you check the dressing room for me again?”
She had a dressing room? For what? She wasn’t wearing anything except for string and postage stamps. I was pretty sure she didn’t need a room for that.
“Sure.” Brett stood, knocking my feet to the floor.
Dropped like a bag of rocks. If he hadn’t leaned over to kiss me and murmur that he’d be right back, I’d have had a serious case of molting, ruffled feathers.
Instead, I sat back and tried to ignore the happenings around me.
But, something felt off. And it wasn’t just the general lack of clothes.
I turned to peek out when my head was nearly lopped off by three seniors piling into the booth with me.
“What are you doing here?” I questioned.
“We got information from Bob and Mac.” Mrs. Janowski rapped on the table. “They squealed like pigeons.”
I thought that was a mixed metaphor but let it slide. I was more interested in what Bob and Mac had to say.
“We did not squeal!” Bob blustered behind the girls, making them all squeal. There certainly was a lot of squealing, and I still had no idea what was going on.
“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Janowski demanded. “This is Fearsome Foursome business.”
“We have a right to help our friend,” Mac stated. He pressed his lips together so tight I couldn’t even see them behind his beard.
“You mean Hank,” Sylvia said. “We are trying to help Ida.”
“Hank said she killed Wade,” Bob said.
“And we believe him,” Mac added.
“He doesn’t have proof,” Mrs. Janowski said.
“A dead body on his property is proof enough,” Bob said.
“Still no evidence,” Sylvia countered.
Bob scowled.
Mrs. Janowski crossed her arms, staring down her nose at him.
Brett returned, looking very confused. “What did I miss?”
“Hank sent Ida to jail,” Mrs. Janowski said.
“Yeah, because she killed Wade!” Bob barked.
Brett put his hands on his hips. “Who is Wade, and why would Ida kill him?”
“There’s no proof!” Sylvia stated.
Brett eyed the opposing sides and then me. I shrugged. It didn’t seem like picking a side would be wise at this moment.
Brett scratched his jaw before asking, “Can I at least get the bullet points of what happened?”
Mrs. Janowski straightened as she held up her index finger. “First, Ida has been officially charged with murder. Second,” she held up two fingers, “without a whiff of proof, these bozos think she did it. Just because Hank says something doesn’t make it true.”
There was a bit of an uproar from the boys, but Brett quieted them. “You’ll get your chance to speak.”
“Three,” Mrs. Janowski continued, “The Fearsome Foursome will prove her innocence . . . or find sufficient evidence that she was defending herself. Four,” she let her hand drop, “we ran into a snag.”
“What snag?” I asked.
“She waived her right to legal counsel.”
Waived her right? Did she want the proverbial book thrown at her?
Whatever happened all those years ago, she was doing her best to make sure no one found out.