Forty-Six

I waited in the L’Ombragé lobby, surrounded by marble and soft lights. Kate left, muttering something about my not needing a chaperone anymore.

When Den pulled the police car up to the curb, it was as if all the onlookers had never seen a cop car before. Snappy white with blue strips down the side, it made my breath hitch. Just a little. I drew in air and marched outside. Den was waiting by the door, and he opened it for me with a crooked smile. “At your service,” he teased, tipping his blue cap.

I slid into the passenger seat, marveling at the dashboard with its sparkling blue lights and a computer screen.

Den climbed in on his side.

“It’s great to have a police escort,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “This car is one of the new smart cars. It’s a prototype. It’s full of all kinds of cool technology. Half of which I don’t understand, yet.” He laughed. “I mean, I’m a cop not a computer geek.” There was a hint of disdain in his voice.

“Are you up for some kind of promotion? Didn’t you mention that?”

He pulled away from the curb. “Yeah, I applied to be a detective. They have more time to investigate. I get a little frustrated with the paperwork and the chain of command I have to deal with. I always just wanted to investigate crime. Ya know, help people.”

Little fireworks exploded in my chest. I gazed off, out the window. It was obvious Den would not pursue our relationship. But the attraction tugged at me.

“What about you?”

“What?” I asked.

“What did you want to be? Did you always want to be an assistant to a writer?” He grinned. We stopped at a red light. I watched the crowd move from one side of the street to the other. Sometimes I marveled at how orderly things were, and how at any minute someone could change all that.

“I always wanted to write,” I said. “I worked for Justine right out of college. I’ve learned a lot from her.” My voice cracked. And we left it there. Rode in silence the rest of the way.

Walking into Club Circe was like stepping into an enchanted castle. I remembered being more than impressed during Justine’s memorial service. But I’d been in a haze and not truly able to appreciate the many details of the splendor. The ornately carved baluster. The gilded age murals on the ceiling. The huge stained glass window with the goddess Circe’s image.

“Sergeant Brophy.” A woman approached us. “So glad to see you.” She turned. “You must be Charlotte Donovan.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure I could speak. Not yet. Her bearing was so precise, confident, and sharp. She was a woman used to having her way. Like Justine. It would take me a few moments to gather myself.

“Follow me, please,” she said, and lead us into an office with a huge fireplace flanked by the plushest leather chairs I’d ever seen. Gorgeous red oriental carpets were well-placed throughout the room. Instead of sitting behind the massive desk, the woman took a position in the chair. There was a table with a set-up tea service.

“Please sit down,” she said.

Den and I took our seats.

“Tea?” she asked as she poured. Her nails were perfect and smooth, but she didn’t wear nail polish.

“No thank you,” Den said.

“How about you, Charlotte? I won’t have to have my tea alone, will I?” she purred. And she was catlike, slinking about the hallways and now pouring the tea. So graceful but with a hint of edge, as if she was ready to pounce.

“Sure,” I said, taking the delicate cup and saucer, Limoges, I was sure.

“Justine was a close friend of mine,” she said. “She thought highly of you, Charlotte.”

Air left my lungs as I tried to smile. I lifted the tea to my mouth and sipped.

“Ms. Collins,” Den said, “was Justine staying here during the last few weeks of her life?”

She drank from her cup, set the cup back in the saucer, and held it. “Yes, she was.”

I sat the tea cup and saucer down on the table. As I did, my hand trembled. We were right.

“We have private rooms for the exclusive use of our members. Justine was a lifetime member. She had a suite,” she said.

Den looked at me and sort of rolled his eyes. Disappointment seemed to be lodged there. “Can we see the suite? It’s imperative to the investigation of her death.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Brophy.” Ms. Collins held the tea cup to her perfectly lipsticked lips. “This is a private club. And as such, I cannot permit you to enter any of the rooms.”

I swallowed. “But Justine was murdered. There may be something in that suite to help us find her killer.”

Den held up his hand to quiet my blabbing. “We can get a search warrant. Private club or not. So, why not let us look today?”

The woman smiled a stiff smile. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Brophy. I cannot allow you to enter that suite.”

Den stood in a huff, chest out. A shock of excitement, fear, and attraction moved through me. Damn. He was all male.

“Fine, you’ll hear from us soon,” he said and turned toward me. “Charlotte?”

I stood. An awkward moment as my eyes met hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Okay,” Den replied. “We’ll be back with the search warrant. In the meantime, I trust nobody else will be going inside that room. Because that would be tampering with evidence.”

“I can assure you, Sergeant, nobody has been inside since Justine’s death,” she said, standing. “Let me show you out.”

“Nah, don’t bother.” Den waved me to walk in front of him. We headed toward the opulent entryway, opened the door, and exited Club Circe.

“What the hell?” I said. “Why wouldn’t she let us see Justine’s suite?”

“These society types,” he muttered.

But these women were more than society types. They were learned and powerful. Several judges and congresswomen were members. You’d think they’d have a healthy respect for the law.

I followed Den to the car. He opened the door for me and I slid in. He walked around the back of the vehicle. When he was inside, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed his finger on the screen.

“This is Den Brophy. I need a search warrant for a suite in Club Circe. Has to do with the Justine Turner case. She was living there the last few weeks of her life.” Pause. “That’s right. Club Circe.” Pause. “No, man, I’m not kidding. Club Circe. Get it done.”

He put his phone back in his pocket and glanced at me. “This won’t be easy.”

But I wondered if it would have been easier if I had gone alone as Justine’s assistant, without Den. I made a mental note to call and ask Ms. Collins. In the meantime, I sank into the car seat and watched Den drive, enjoying my view, perhaps a bit too much.