Later that night, after stuffing herself with spaghetti and changing out of her sister’s idea of a makeover, Cece took the commuter rail—better known as the T—into Boston. No way was she attempting to drive Granny’s Witchmobile again. Getting off at her stop, she walked the city streets until she stood outside of Woody’s. Second thoughts plagued her. No matter how hard she tried, she always messed up and found herself in the most ridiculous predicaments, even before she had entered the convent.
Like the time her sister talked her into waxing her eyebrows and wearing makeup. Cece had insisted on doing it herself and proceeded to wax the entire brow clean off one eye. There wasn’t enough makeup on the planet to hide that shiny, swollen, bald patch of naked flesh. At least it had gone perfectly with her bloodshot eye that had resulted from her missing her lashes and instead poking her eyeball with the mascara wand. No waxing, no makeup, no worries. Donning a habit had been a relief.
Only, her relief had been short-lived.
One time, she mixed up the holy water with clear liquid hand soap. She’d had to watch, horrified, as parishioner after parishioner blessed themselves with a trail of stringy slime dangling from their fingertips and oozing down their foreheads.
Then she tried to conduct the choir, but a sudden attack of the itchies from a bad heat rash resulted in the altos chiming in on the tenors and the sopranos hitting notes that would make an opera singer proud, as the choir tried to keep up with the direction of her crazy wand. In her defense, nun’s robes were hot, but a maestro she was not. Several parishioners wore earplugs to church the next week, much to her mortification.
She pushed her doubts aside and opened her tote bag. At least she’d come prepared to snoop properly this time. She peeked inside to make sure she had everything she might need.
Disposable camera: check.
Okay, so she didn’t have a cell phone or one of those high-tech digital cameras, but a disposable camera should be okay.
Cassette recorder: check.
My how times had changed. She didn’t have one of those mini-recorders either—just her old cassette tape recorder. It could work, assuming she could keep the bulky thing hidden.
Gloves: check.
Hey, at least she remembered a pair this time. Not sleek, fancy leather ones like she imagined most seasoned investigators used, but big bulky winter gloves. No worries. They would do. And last but never least...
Prayer book and special pen: check, check.
She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder and opened the door to the club before she could change her mind.
Loud, racy music boomed beneath her feet as she took a few tentative steps inside. Men of all shapes and sizes filled every nook and cranny of the huge building, but she’d expected no less. All the tables in front were occupied. Colorful spotlights punctuated the dark room, drawing all eyes to the big, beautiful women in outrageous costumes dancing on stage.
Wow! Cece had never realized strippers were just like dancers and models. Tall, with perfect bodies. At least all of these dancers had some meat on their bones, unlike the ultra-thin supermodels. Now she could see why her sister hadn’t fit in here. Candy was tall enough, but way too thin and not nearly as well-endowed as these women. Big bosoms must be a requirement here. Besides, Candy went for sexy, not gaudy. These women looked more like Las Vegas showgirls than exotic dancers.
Cece studied the room, trying to decide on her next move. She really needed to speak to the strippers the senator had noted in his book. She made her way along the back, keeping to the shadows until she neared the dressing room. Maybe she’d be able to hear something from outside the door.
“There you are, Spanky,” someone said from behind her. “You’re late.”
Cece whirled around and looked up into the face of a stunning woman with exotic features and caramel-colored skin. “Oh, I, well—”
“Honey, they said you were little, but I didn’t expect this little. What was your father, two feet tall?” She clucked as she spun Cece around in a circle, swatting her fanny and lifting her breasts. “Amazing hair, plenty of curves, and a great rack. You’ll do.”
Cece took a step back, unable to speak.
The Amazon woman grinned. “That innocent act really works for you—stick with it. What’s your real name, sugar?”
“Sister...” Cece said without thinking and then quickly amended, “Uh, I mean, Spanky.”
The woman tipped back her head, and the purple feathery plumes on her sequined hat fluttered as she let out a throaty laugh. “Your act is a nun? Oh, that’s priceless. They are gonna love you.”
“Act?” Cece sputtered.
“Fine, your ‘show’ then.” The woman fluttered her false eyelashes, bending her wrist and flopping her white, satiny-gloved hand forward. “Pleaaase tell me you’re not another diva.”
“Um, no, I’m probably the complete opposite of a diva.”
“Good.” She grabbed Cece’s arm and led her into a corner booth of the dressing room. “You’re on in ten.”
“Ten?”
“Hey, you’re the one who was late, Sister Spanky. There are some accessories in the wardrobe, but you’d better hurry up. The crowd is getting restless.” With that, she spun around on her three-inch stilettos, her peacock tail feathers waving goodbye as she exited stage left with style.
Dancing? Cece gulped. What had she gotten herself into?
Another sticky situation, that’s what. But “Sister Spanky”? That had to top them all. She groaned and surveyed her black pants and sweater, her stomach turning sour over the thought of confessing this one.
She wandered to the wardrobe closet, getting closer to a group of strippers talking in the corner. Flipping through the garments, all she saw were satin, sequins, lace, and feathers. So many feathers, she thought, spitting one out of her mouth.
Aha. Finally. “Thank the Lord for small miracles,” she muttered, as she pulled a black silk scarf off the rack. She draped it over the top of her head and then tied it beneath her hair at the back of her neck. There. Instant habit. And with her makeshift habit on, a bit more confidence seeped into her.
She would need all the confidence she could get to pull off what she was about to do.
Joining the group of strippers in the corner, Cece said, “Hi there. I just wanted to say ‘Hi.’” Okay, so she’d said it twice now. She smiled wide and clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s my first night, and I’m kind of nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous,” a woman with red hair said, glancing at Cece’s hands. “It’s a quiet crowd tonight. You’ll be fine.”
The brunette next to her looked Cece up and down, tsk-ing. “Good thing you weren’t here last night. Now, that was a rowdy crowd. They would have chewed you up with one bite.”
“Hey, don’t complain,” a blonde woman interjected. “They might have been animals, but at least the tips were better.”
Chewing, biting animals? Cece’s stomach clenched, and she thought she was going to be sick. She couldn’t go out there on stage, which meant she needed to hurry up and get some answers now. She knew the senator frequented this club a lot, so she said, “What do you ladies do for extra money now that Senator Sloan’s gone?”
They froze, looking at each other accusingly.
“What do you know about Senator Sloan?” Red asked.
“Just because I’m new here, doesn’t mean I didn’t know the senator.” Cece put on her best you-can-trust-me face. “Relax ladies. I’m one of you. I understand what it’s like not being taken seriously and not getting the respect you deserve. We’re all misunderstood in one way or another. And certainly no one wants to be a stripper, but sometimes life doesn’t give us much choice.” She thought of Candy and realized how true that statement was.
“Anyway, I worked with the senator before. He even confided in me once.” She paused and looked around, then lowered her voice. “I was in his little black book too.” She adjusted her habit in the mirror, giving them a moment to digest that little tidbit. “Anyway, I could really use the money. Can you blame me for wanting in on the action?”
The women studied her for a full, tense moment, then glanced at each other and shrugged.
“Yeah, well, there is no more action. Our moonlighting career is officially over,” Red said, as she pulled on a pair of fishnet stockings.
“Maybe not, Glitter.” A brunette applied a fresh coat of hot-pink lipstick and smacked her lips in the mirror. “Just because the senator’s gone doesn’t mean one of those other horny politicians won’t pick up where he left off in organizing the meetings.”
“Yeah, but he was so good.” A blonde woman sighed, slipping on amazingly high white platform shoes. “I would have done him for free.”
“Get real, Creamy. No matter how much he favored you, he never would have left his wife, and you know it,” Red added.
“A girl can always dream,” Blondie said.
All three giggled.
“What’s your name, New Girl?” Red asked.
Cece quit fiddling with her habit and tried hard not to blush as she said, “Sis–Sister Spanky.” That sounded so wrong.
“Sister Spank-me?” Glitter twirled her red locks. “Nice. Where do you come from? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Oh, I’m from a small town. I worked at a place called The Pole for years. Just thought I’d try something new. Speaking of new, what exactly does this moonlighting gig involve?”
“It’s pretty wild.” Hot Lips looked at the other women, and they all seemed to make up their minds about something. “It’s good money, but I’m not sure a little thing like you could handle an orgy that size,” Hot Lips finished.
Cece went into a choking fit. “Sorry,” she croaked. “Swallowed my gum.” The senator wasn’t just a ladies’ man, he was involved in a prostitution ring, and it sounded like he was the organizer. That had to be the illegal matter he was talking about. She needed to find out what politicians were involved, and then maybe she could find out who had betrayed him.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Creamy said, sweeping her blond hair onto the top of her head. “No one else has stepped forward to take the senator’s place.”
Cece wrote down her phone number, with her fake name listed, and handed it to the women, struggling to find the courage to say, “If anyone does plan another orgy, please call me. You’d be surprised what I can handle.” She didn’t wait for an answer but just grabbed her tote bag and backed out of the room.
“Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome for our newest dancer, Sister Spanky,” said the woman Cece met when she first came into the club. The microphone boomed, and a spotlight shined brightly on Cece’s back.
Oh no!
No, no, no, no!
She hadn’t backed out a door at all—she’d stumbled through a curtain onto the stage, and now everyone was waiting for her to dance. Only one problem.
Cece couldn’t dance to save her life, much less strip.
They started chanting her name, and the women from the dressing room came to the edge of the curtain to watch. They frowned and started whispering, leaving Cece no choice if she wanted them to take her seriously. Pasting on a huge smile, she turned around to face the music.
Gulping loudly, she made the sign of the cross and proceeded to give them a show they weren’t likely to forget even if they tried.
“What the hell is taking her so long?” Ace muttered, as he sat inside his truck down the street from Woody’s.
When Rocco had called him earlier, it had been to give him an update about the mayor. Turned out the mayor had been blackmailing the senator’s father, after all. Both their phone records showed numerous calls back and forth, and the mayor’s bank account revealed regular deposits of checks from Old Man Sloan. But Ace still didn’t know what the mayor could be holding over Sloan Senior’s head.
Ace had decided to give Cece some space earlier because he knew she was hiding something. After she’d blessed the senator’s office, he’d had Rocco check the place out again. Her fingerprints were everywhere, but he still hadn’t found anything new. Because the warehouse had turned up empty, Ace figured whatever she’d found, she still had. When she’d mentioned a strip club called Woody’s, he knew exactly what he had to do.
He’d made an excuse to leave but had never actually left her place, and sure enough Cece went snooping again. So much for her counseling skills; his reverse psychology had worked like a charm, and she had no clue he had followed her. But now, she’d been in the club for a good fifteen minutes.
Well, hell.
He climbed out of his truck and headed into the club. Scanning the inside, he saw a sea of men and the gaudily dressed women, and his jaw hit the floor. Holy Christ, he had to find Cece now. Pushing his way through the crowd, he searched for the nun with no luck. Until he heard someone say the new dancer Sister Spanky sucked, and he looked up at the stage.
“No fucking way,” Ace muttered.
“No shit, right?” some guy next to Ace said. “The outfit’s totally lame, and I haven’t seen anyone dance that bad since the losers back in high school during the eighties.”
Slap, slap, clap, clap, double-fist, double-fist, over, over, under, under, double-thumb, double-thumb. Cece’s hands moved at the speed of light, and her smile was so wide and stiff, her face looked like it would split in two at any moment.
“Jesus, what the hell is she doing?” Ace asked.
“That would be a really crappy version of the Hand Jive,” another guy chimed in. “I mean, who still does the Hand Jive, anyway?”
Ace ignored him as he tried to figure out what the hell she was doing up on that stage. She gave up on the Hand Jive and started jerking her body about in short, choppy moves as though she were a robot. Apparently not what the crowd had in mind, judging by the sounds of their booing.
Ace could see the worry on her face as she moved into another dance. Holding her arm at the elbow, she sliced the air like a meat cutter on crack as she pivoted back and forth, and back and forth. For God’s sake, she looked like a damn sprinkler, twisting about as she watered the stage.
Ace wasn’t a religious man, but he couldn’t help uttering, “Please, God, make her stop.”
“Dude, I already tried that. It didn’t work,” another man chimed in.
Ace just kept watching, thinking, Doesn’t she have a clue? She was working the crowd, all right. Working them into an angry frenzy as the boos and catcalls grew louder and more negative. It was like a really bad reality show. You knew it stunk, but you couldn’t look away.
A sheen of sweat glazed her forehead as the colorful lights reflected off her face. He couldn’t blame her for being nervous. Her last move hadn’t produced any better results. Next, she held her arms shoulder-width apart out in front of her as she bounced and pivoted slightly to the left and right.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not the Shopping Cart. Who taught you how to dance, Sister? A grocery store manager?”
She smiled bigger, which Ace hadn’t thought possible, and quickly transitioned into yet another dance. What the hell was this one supposed to be—the Lawn Mower? Her goddamn arm was going to fall off if she kept pulling that imaginary rope so hard.
“I got something you can pull, Sister!” another guy in the crowd yelled.
Cece immediately let go of her imaginary rope and turned sideways as she moved into a dance even Ace recognized: Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk. She pushed off the toe of one foot while sliding the other backward across the stage, then switched legs and repeated. She even added her own twist of flapping her arms at her sides.
“Christ, don’t improvise, doll face. Ya look like a fucking loon about to take off, and it ain’t pretty!” someone else yelled.
She quickly dropped her arms and faced the loud, rumbling crowd, looking desperate. For a minute, Ace didn’t think she was going to do anything but stand there. Then she suddenly thrust her hands out in front of her and clenched them into fists. Bringing them into her chest and then away, she started a pumping motion.
That’s it? Ace wondered, hoping, but oh, no—he couldn’t be that lucky. Apparently, she wasn’t done. She lifted her knees up and down and slid her feet back and forth as though she were marching in place. “What in God’s name is that supposed to be?” he mumbled more to himself, but the guy next to him must have heard.
“Where have you been for the past couple decades? It’s the Running Man, and not a very good one.”
Ace glared at him. “Do you wanna live through this decade?”
The guy held up his hands and walked off, saying, “Well, excuse me, but it’s true. Who doesn’t know the Running Man?”
The crowd cheered wildly, and Ace looked at the stage to see what had them so excited. He clamped his jaw tight and gritted his teeth. Cece had no idea that a woman with breasts that size had no damn business doing the Running anything!
She paused, her face registering her shock at finally winning the crowd over, then her mouth twisted into a beaming smile. Oh, Christ Almighty, the crazy fool! he thought, as Cece started running even faster, her bouncing girls keeping pace with the rhythm of her feet.
Little did she know that she wasn’t the one the crowd had gone wild over. A group of strippers had slipped on stage behind her and looked as though they were trying to help her get the crowd riled up by demonstrating their own unique dance moves. The dirtier they danced, the crazier the crowd became, and... good freaking God!... the faster Cece ran.
The crowd started chanting, “Strip! Strip! Strip!”
Cece stopped running. Her cheeks flamed crimson, and her expression screamed horror, but she didn’t flee.
That only spurred the crowd on even more. They repeated, “Strip, strip, strip!” adding, “Take it off, Sister!”
Cece closed her eyes for a minute as if she were channeling something or someone, and then she squared her shoulders and raised her chin a little. With eyes still closed, she started swaying sensually to the music. Ace swallowed hard. She might not know how to dance, but she sure as hell knew how to move.
Her palms toyed with the hem of her sweater, slowly beginning to slide it up and down her stomach, exposing more and more bits of silky bare skin. When Ace caught a glimpse of her belly button, he clenched his jaw, not knowing what made him angrier: her for being on that stage or him for reacting to it.
“Oh, hell, no,” Ace grumbled, shoving his way through the throng of lust-crazed idiots. When he reached the edge of the stage, he whistled sharply. “Hey, Sister Spanky, I thought you weren’t a nun anymore.”
She jerked in his direction, her eyes springing wide. “Ace? Oh, thank goodness! I mean, how did you know where to find me?” she yelled above the crowd, a flash of relief crossing her face before she masked it and straightened her shoulders.
“Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”
“Just so you know, it’ll cost you double for a private session,” she said, obviously still playing her role as she sashayed to the side of the stage, attempting to look sexy while salvaging her dignity.
Yeah, not gonna happen.
She’d moved way past that point when she’d started those hideous eighties dances. If her sister could see her now, she’d be horrified. Although that last bit, when Cece had started her sexy striptease, had definitely been pole worthy... and that pissed him off even more. He waited until she was at the edge of the stage and then grabbed her hand and yanked her down over his shoulder.
“Eeeek!” Her makeshift habit fell to the floor as she hung upside down, giving a new meaning to the words “bottoms up,” and the crowd roared with laughter. “What do you think you’re doing, you... you... caveman!” She wrapped her arms around his ribs and held on tight.
“I’m saving your scrawny ass.”
“You go, you Cro-Magnon warrior, you!” the Amazon woman who’d announced Cece shouted.
Cece squawked but didn’t let go. “I don’t need saving, and you so aren’t getting a private session now.”
“I don’t recall asking.”
“That’s right, dude, play hard to get,” someone else shouted. The music still boomed and the lights continued to flash, but the dancers weren’t dancing. Ace knew the entire club was focused on the scene unfolding before them. He needed to get Cece out of there before someone did something stupid.
“Then why are you taking me out of here?” Cece asked. “I was just getting close to—uh, to having a good time.”
“We’ll talk in my truck about what you were doing.” He started to walk.
“Wait—my bag.”
Ace turned around, scooping up the black scarf Cece had dropped. “Hey, Blondie,” he shouted to the dancer on stage, who was wearing a set of wings, a halo, and little else. “Trade ya. Wanna toss me Spanky’s bag?” He held out his hand with Cece’s scarf in it.
“Wanna spank me for it?” the dancer asked.
“Sorry. I kinda got my hands full now.” He swatted Cece on the ass, and she let out a yelp.
“Lucky girl,” Blondie shouted back as she tossed Cece’s tote bag at him.
He caught it, threw the scarf up on stage, and then turned to march out the doors. Only one guy had the nerve to try to stop him, but Ace just barked, “Back off, pal—this one’s mine!”
“How dare you! I am not yours, Detec—”
Ace swatted her harder.
“Stop doing that!” she snapped.
“Then stop talking,” he ground out.
Seconds later, he pushed his way outside and stepped into the night. The doors closed behind him, muffling the crowd’s cheer of “Stick it to her, baby!”
“You can let me down now, Detective. You’d do well not to touch my hindquarters again, or I’ll make sure Granny sticks it to you and puts a real tail on yours, you big oaf.”
Ace just grunted. “You do that,” he said, but he didn’t let her down until he reached his truck and deposited her safely inside. He stared straight ahead for a full minute before finally saying, “What the hell were you doing up on that stage, “Sister Spanky”? I can’t believe you were actually going to take your clothes off.”
“Relax, Detective. I wasn’t going to take all of my clothes off. And if you must know, I was there doing some research for my new client. I wanted to gather information so I would be better equipped to counsel him,” she said as though she’d rehearsed it a hundred times. Probably had.
“Are you that hands-on for all your clients?”
“Maybe.” She looked down at her lap. “This is all new to me.” Her eyes met his, and she sighed. “I am trying to do what is right, Detective. To help the people who need me in the best way I can. Is that so wrong?”
“Helping people isn’t wrong, Sister. Withholding evidence is wrong, not to mention illegal. And putting yourself in danger is just plain stupid.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I just tried Charity’s Tae Bo tape the other day. I’m sure I could defend myself if the occasion presented itself.”
“Tae Bo? Yeah, that’ll stop a bullet,” he snorted.
“Why did you follow me, Detective?” She shifted in her seat.
“Because you’re too stubborn to realize someone wants you dead—”
“I told you I will not cower in fear,” she interjected.
“—and because I knew you were hiding something.”
“Well, then I guess you wasted your time tonight.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I did some checking on my way here. Senator Sloan was a frequent visitor to this club.”
“Well, that’s hardly front-page news.”
“No, but I’ve got something that is headline worthy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you notice how big those women all were?”
“Well, yes, but models and dancers tend to be tall. There’s nothing unusual about that.”
“They were really built too.”
“Oh, believe me, I did notice that. Made me decide to up my Tae Bo routine first thing tomorrow morning.”
“And every single one of them had an Adam’s apple.”
Cece blinked rapidly. “So, what are you saying, Detective?”
“I’m saying that Woody’s is not a strip club. It’s a drag queen club. Which means...”
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my Lord in heaven above!”
“That’s right, Sister. The senator wasn’t a ladies’ man; he was a man’s man. Looks like Senator Sloan was batting for both teams.”