Chapter 5
“Oh, no.” I felt sick to my stomach. I swallowed down the bile that was threatening to come up and took a few deep breaths to try to center myself.
“I’m sorry, Mack,” Duncan said, walking over and gently massaging my shoulders.
“It’s Lewis Carmichael? Are they sure?”
“Sure enough,” Duncan said. “They haven’t informed next of kin yet so it’s not official, but he’s been identified by ID he had on him, fingerprints, and some unique scars he had on one of his legs.”
Lewis Carmichael was a nurse who worked at a nearby hospital and a frequent patron of my bar as well as a member of the Capone Club. The letter writer had kept his or her promise, striking close to home. The sick, frightened feeling I’d had a moment ago faded and an intense anger took its place. I literally saw red, something that always happens when I’m really mad. “Damn it,” I seethed. I squeezed my eyes closed and massaged my temples. “What now?”
“I have an idea,” Duncan said. “Give me a minute.” Once again he retreated to the kitchen and dialed a number on his phone. I tried to eavesdrop, but he spoke in a low voice and all I could make out was a word here and there. After several minutes he disconnected the call and came back out to the dining area.
“Okay, here’s the plan. We have a guy who’s been working undercover for the past month with a construction company that we think might be operating a sophisticated burglary ring using some of its workers. He’s likely to have to maintain his undercover status for a while as we think only the long-term hires that the boss comes to trust get let in on the alternate business. His name is Malachi O’Reilly and he’s your date.”
“My what?”
“Date,” Duncan said grinning. “Think about it. It solves several problems. You can have police protection while you’re looking into this letter and no one will know. Just tell anyone who asks that you and he are a couple. Parade him around to the Capone Club and others in the bar. Once everyone sees that you and Malachi are an item, it will make it clear that you and I are no longer together.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “How much time are we talking here?”
“As much as we need. Malachi isn’t seeing anyone right now, so we won’t be interfering with his social life. He’ll need to be at his construction job during the day of course, but he’s free every evening and every weekend.”
I stared at Duncan with disbelief. “You want me to pretend I’m dating someone else?”
“Basically, yeah,” Duncan said with a shrug.
“What about us?”
“We’ll still be us. We just have to do it behind closed doors and without anyone knowing for now.”
“And what happens if I need to go out and look into something during the daytime hours when Malachi is at work?”
That gave him pause. After a few seconds he shrugged. “We’ll just have to try to avoid that as much as possible.”
I didn’t like the idea of having anyone with me because of what the letter said, but I also liked the idea of knowing I wouldn’t be out there completely on my own. After weighing the pros and cons for a few seconds, I nodded. “Okay. I’m fine with that, for now.”
“Good,” Duncan said, leaning down and kissing me on the cheek, “because Malachi will be here in about ten minutes. While we’re waiting, we need to come up with a backstory for the two of you . . . how you met, how long you’ve been together, some shared history, that sort of thing.”
“That isn’t going to work. The regulars here are going to know something is up. They know I’ve been hiding out for the past few weeks so how could I have met anyone?”
“Tell them he’s an old friend from the past.”
I gave Duncan my best skeptic look. “We already used that one with you when you went undercover in my bar during the investigation into Ginny’s murder, remember?”
“Oh, right.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Why don’t you tell them it’s a blind date someone arranged for you?”
“Who would do that?”
Duncan thought for a moment. “Cora?”
He had a point. It sounded like something Cora would do. And Cora, more than anyone else, except perhaps the Signoriello brothers, would eventually know the truth anyway, so we might as well involve her right up front. “Okay, let’s see if she’ll play along.”
I texted Cora on my phone and asked her to come upstairs to my apartment. Then I went down to the foyer door to meet her. She showed up barely a minute later, carrying her laptop.
“What’s going on?” she asked, looking worried. “Did Duncan break up with you or something?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “He’s here. We need your help with something.”
I led her upstairs and we filled her in. A few minutes into it, Duncan’s phone rang and after answering the call, he informed us that Malachi was outside the bar waiting for instructions.
Five minutes later we had a plan in place and Cora went back to the bar. After a few minutes I joined her, leaving Duncan alone in my apartment. Cora hadn’t gone back upstairs to the Capone Club room; she had stayed at the bar in the main area instead, chatting with my bartender, Billy Hughes.
The place was busy and I scanned the tables. Anxiety struck me as I recognized a face sitting at a table near the bar. It was Clay Sanders, a balding, forty-something, particularly pushy reporter with the local paper who had badgered me in the past for details about my involvement with Duncan. His presence now was a good thing, considering what was about to happen, but that didn’t ease my nerves any. I avoided looking at him as I walked to the bar.
“I don’t know about this,” I said to Cora, sidling up next to her and speaking loud enough for Clay to overhear. “I never should have let you talk me into this.”
“Talk you into what?” Billy said, drying a glass and smiling quizzically.
“I fixed Mack up with a blind date,” Cora said. “He should be here any minute now.” Though she spoke in a normal conversational tone, she made no effort to keep her voice low. In the bar, where the ambient noise level was fairly loud when it was full like it was now, many people had to speak louder than usual in order to converse. I knew Clay Sanders was no dummy but hoped he wouldn’t be smart enough to figure out that we were purposefully speaking louder so he could hear.
Billy shot me a look. “A blind date? I thought you and Duncan were . . .” He left the conclusion hanging, which struck me as disturbingly apt.
“Duncan and I have gone our separate ways,” I announced. “Things didn’t work out.”
“That’s too bad,” Billy said. “You two seemed like a good fit.”
“Sometimes what seems like the right thing isn’t,” I said.
This statement had special meaning for me with Billy, who was dating someone I felt was all wrong for him, particularly since he could have his pick of women. He was movie-star handsome with his café au lait colored skin, emerald green eyes, and tall, lanky build. His whip-smart mind, good sense of humor, and charismatic smile rounded out the package. He was in law school and would finish in another year—an event I would approach with mixed emotions since I would be happy for him but sad for me—and I had no doubt he’d make a superb trial lawyer. Despite the number of women who flirted with Billy, he had stayed true to his girlfriend, Whitney, for the past two years. At first blush, Whitney seemed like a good match for Billy. She was a dark-skinned, dark-eyed beauty from a wealthy family and was also enrolled in law school. But once you got past the beauty on the outside, there was some ugliness beneath. I’d met Whitney a few times when she came into the bar to drop something off for Billy. With each visit she made it very clear that she considered the bar milieu beneath her, and Billy’s job there beneath him. By association, anyone in the bar, and me, for owning it, were beneath her as well. Her distaste with us and the place was screamingly obvious whenever she came in, in the look of disgust on her face, in her cross-armed body language, and in the snobby, condescending tones she used whenever she talked to anyone.
Whitney had been trying to talk Billy out of his job ever since she met him. Billy, however, liked bartending and was good at it. He made far more in tips than any of my other bartenders. It was a good fit with his amiable nature, his school hours, and his lifestyle, so I was glad to see that he had resisted Whitney’s attempts to shame him out of the job, at least so far. I just wished he could resist the rest of Whitney along with it.
“You and Duncan broke up?” said a woman seated two stools away. It was Alicia Maldonado, a woman in her late twenties who worked at a bank near the bar. Alicia was from a mixed Hispanic and African American background and had coal dark eyes and long, wavy, dark hair. She enjoyed participating in the Capone Club’s crime games, but if Billy wasn’t nearby, she would usually drift away from the club regulars to be near him. Alicia had a major crush on Billy, and despite getting nothing more than friendly banter and smiles from him, she refused to be discouraged. Her flirtations with him were shameless and obvious.
“We did,” I said to Alicia’s inquiry. I was about to embellish the story but Cora spoke up before I could.
“Malachi’s here,” she said, waving at someone across the room. I saw Clay Sanders turn and look toward the door.
Cora knew what Malachi looked like because Duncan had shown her a picture of him on his phone, a picture he wouldn’t let me see, claiming it would add some legitimacy to the blind date story. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else behind his reluctance. Was it the way Malachi looked? Did Duncan think I was shallow enough to balk at claiming someone for a boyfriend if he was less than perfect?
Malachi knew what Cora looked like because Duncan had also taken her picture and sent it to Malachi’s phone. I had no idea if Malachi knew what I looked like. My face had been on the news at times over the past few weeks but I didn’t know if Malachi had seen it. When I realized I was nervous and fretting over this as if it was a real blind date, I forced myself to take a deep breath and relax. Then I turned and looked at the man who waved back at Cora.
Malachi O’Reilly was about six feet tall, very muscular, with even features, black wavy hair, and brilliant blue eyes. As he smiled at Cora—revealing deep dimples in both cheeks—and made his way over to us, I found myself feeling relieved. Maybe I was a little bit shallow after all.
“Hi, Malachi,” Cora said. “Good to see you, as always.”
“You get lovelier every time I see you, Cora,” Malachi said, and his voice triggered a burst of sweet mint flavor in my mouth with just a hint of chocolate. It was a little startling. No other voice had ever triggered a taste like that. I watched as Malachi leaned over and gave Cora a buss on the cheek as if he really was the old friend he was pretending to be. I had to admit that both of them were frighteningly good at this last-minute deception. They had me convinced they knew one another, so I had no doubt others would believe so, too.
After Malachi’s quick kiss, Cora turned her blushing attention to me. “Malachi O’Reilly, this is Mackenzie Dalton.”
Malachi looked at me with those startling blue eyes and I felt mesmerized. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said she was lovely, Cora,” he said, and the minty chocolate taste intensified. I looked around and realized our little tête-à-tête was the focus of attention for half the people in the bar, including Clay Sanders. I felt both relieved—goal achieved—and embarrassed.
Malachi cocked his arm and proffered it to me. “Shall we? I’ve made dinner reservations for us.”
I took his arm and the touch made me see a crackling fire—hot, comforting, yet sizzling. “Sure,” I said. “Just let me grab my coat.” I walked Malachi over to my office, unlocked it, grabbed my coat from the coatrack, and shrugged it on. After zipping it up, I again took Malachi’s arm and let him escort me from the bar as dozens of eyes watched us leave.
Once we were outside, he said, “My car is parked a couple of blocks over.” With that out of the way, he started up with typical blind date chatter. “Cora tells me you’ve lived in the bar all your life.”
“True, well, not in the bar per se, but in the apartment above it.”
“You must like what you do to live and breathe it every day like that.”
“I love my work. I love the bar, I love meeting all the different people who come in, I love experimenting with drink recipes, I love being a part of the downtown milieu. It suits me.”
“That’s nice, loving what you do.”
There were other people out walking around, and I couldn’t help looking at each and every one of them, wondering if they were eavesdropping on our conversation and watching my every move.
“How about you?” I said. I was still hanging on to Malachi’s crooked arm, and I let it go long enough to unzip my coat. The temperature outside was surprisingly warm. “Cora tells me you’re in construction,” I continued, taking his arm again. “Do you enjoy it?”
“It’s not my life’s dream,” he said with a shrug. “I hope to someday move into something different. But I do love the building aspects, the creation of a bigger something from pieces and parts. I’m hoping to go to school to become an architect one of these days, just as soon as I get settled.”
“Are you from Milwaukee originally?”
He shook his head. “I’m from Washington State.Yakima to be exact.”
“How did you end up here in Milwaukee?” As I asked, I wondered how much of what he was telling me was true and how much of it was made up on the fly.
“I hate to sound clichéd, but it was a girl. Her name is Sabrina.” He gave me a sheepish, apologetic look. “She works for a brewery here in Milwaukee, and I met her while she was in Yakima on business, shopping for a new hops supplier. That supplier just happened to be a friend of mine. Sabrina came out there four different times and we seemed to hit it off. After that we tried the long distance thing for a few months to see if there was really something there, but it’s too hard to tell when you’re that far apart. So I bit the bullet, packed everything up, and made the move to Milwaukee. We lasted all of a month before we both agreed that whatever we had was little more than a flash in the pan.”
“So are you planning on staying here, or going back to Yakima?”
“I like Milwaukee. I’m planning on staying for now.”
We had reached his car and he proceeded to unlock and open the passenger side door for me. As he did so, I said, “I wonder if you could do me a favor. There is an art supply store I wanted to hit today before it closes. It’s not too far from here, over in the Historic Third Ward. Would it be possible to stop there before we go to dinner?”
“Sure. I do some drawing and wouldn’t mind picking up a few things myself.”
As soon as he had climbed in on his side and shut the door, he said, “What’s the address of the store?” I gave it to him and he started the car and pulled out into the evening traffic. “Duncan clued me in on what you want to do,” he said once we were underway, “but I’m not sure how you want to play this once we get to the art store. Do you want me to come in with you? That would be my preference since I can keep a better eye on you that way.”
“To be honest, I’d feel better, too, if you came in with me. I don’t want to jeopardize things, but the letter didn’t specifically say I couldn’t seek help from someone other than the cops. I think if you can be convincing enough on this blind date thing and no one fingers you for a cop, it would be all right for you to come in with me. In fact, if we really were on a blind date, I think it would seem odd if you didn’t.”
“Then come along I will,” he said.
“So how much of that backstory you just gave me was true and how much was made up?”
“The story is true enough. I find it’s best to stick to the truth as much as possible in these cases. The fewer lies you have to keep track of the better. I really did work construction back in the day before I became a cop. I also really like architecture, but I like the cop work more.”
“Well, I appreciate you doing this, even though it isn’t part of your normal cop stuff.”
“Actually, it works for me. You can be a part of my cover story as much as I’m a part of yours. If my bosses are watching me, it would look funny to them if I didn’t have some sort of personal life.”
“Glad to be of help,” I said, somewhat facetiously.
“Duncan said you knew the man they found downtown beneath the RiverWalk.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. “I did,” I managed to say. “He was a regular customer, and seemed like a nice guy. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to die because of me.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Malachi shoot me a look. “He didn’t die because of you,” he said with a scowl. “He died because there are some twisted people in this world. In no way is this your fault.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with him, but my throat had tightened enough that speech was momentarily impossible. I stared out the windshield as a minute or two of silence passed and willed myself to let it go . . . for now.
“Do you like seafood?” Malachi asked.
The sudden change of topic threw me. “Um, sure. Why?”
“Because I made reservations for us at Harbor House. They have other stuff on the menu of course, but they’re known for their seafood.”
“You mean we’re really going to dinner?”
“Sure, why not? We have to eat, right? And if we’re going to make this dating thing look convincing, we should start it off on the right foot.”
“I suppose so,” I said.
I must have sounded a little hesitant because next he said, “If you don’t like seafood, Harbor House has steaks and chicken, too. Or if you want we can go somewhere else.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Harbor House will be fine. I’ve never eaten there but I’ve heard good things about it.” My hesitation had nothing to do with going to Harbor House, but rather with going anywhere with Malachi at all. This felt uncomfortably real to me, and uncomfortably . . . well, comfortable.
We pulled up in front of the art supply store and Malachi found a parking space on the street two doors down. We got out and walked together to the store, Malachi once again offering his arm. I felt uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure if it was the situation with the letter and the art store that had me feeling that way, or if it was the situation with Malachi. Maybe it was both. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Malachi, I did. In fact, I liked him a lot. He felt . . . right.
As if things weren’t confusing enough for me already.