A Thousand Tombs (23 page)

The lights were low when they walked into The Cosmo Club that night. It was the first time Gen had been there, and later she’d remember how sultry the room felt. Sexy and smooth.

The crowd was fashion-forward, dressed to the nines. Gen swore she saw a face or two that had recently graced the tabloids, but she didn’t stare and couldn’t be sure. The venue was standing room only and the patrons were having a good time, but their enjoyment was low key. They were jaded, it seemed. Either that, or their level of sophistication allowed no more than the occasional burst of loud laughter, even though the liquor was flowing.

This wasn’t a college bar, that was clear.

The exclusive nightclub was a cosmopolitan gathering place, the kind found in every major city with an affluent population. Although not a members-only club, the clientele was carefully screened and subject to a strict entrance policy. Admission was off-limits to the general public. You had to be on the guest list to get through the door, and no amount of tip-palming could overcome that.

At least two dozen tables rimmed a small dance floor, with booths lining two sides. Nearly every one was full. The bar was stretched along the third wall, and the customers were keeping the bartenders busy. A trio of cocktail waitresses in short skirts and tight, sequined black t-shirts skimmed through the crowd, smiling and plying the tables with drinks.

Directly in front of the dancers, a jazz quartet on a raised stage occupied a section of the fourth wall. They were covering a well-known tune, and a dozen couples swayed to the music. Discreet spotlights lit the band, highlighting the two guitar players’ finger work, but when the piano man opened his mouth every eye was riveted on him as he sang.

All the women’s, anyway.

He looked and sounded like a young James Taylor, prior to his dive into heroin and before he lost his hair. Plaintive. Soulful and bluesy. Gen could feel every female in the room lean forward to watch. She wondered how many wanted to send him their phone numbers on a cocktail napkin.

Half, she’d bet on it.

Mack Hackett tugged her hand and she moved with him, navigating around the people spilling out into the walkways. Then they were skirting chairs, and soon he was pulling out one for her.

A card in the middle of the table read
reserved
, and it didn’t take two minutes before a waitress showed up, wearing her spicy outfit and a welcoming grin. Glitter-infused body makeup accentuated her eyelids, neck and cleavage. All the waitresses wore it, and they sparkled like jewels in the low light.

“You with the band?”

Mack mouthed
yes
, and she picked up the sign.

“I’m Trudy. What can I get you folks tonight?”

“Red wine, I think.” Mack looked at Gen with a question in his eyes. “May we have a wine list?”

“Of course,” Trudy replied. “I won’t be a minute.”

As the music wound down, the bass guitar drew out one final, gorgeous riff and the dancers slowed, then parted and clapped. The piano player stood and spoke into his mike with a voice that melted a handful of hearts. The Southern tinge was there, but subtle, just like Mack’s.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be right back.”

Canned music leaked softly from the room-wide speakers. The sound of Bonnie Raitt crooning
I can’t make you love me
brought their eyes together, and Mack scooted his chair closer and took her hand. He squeezed it, then held up their clasped fingers and brushed his lips across the back of her wrist.

“Did I say how beautiful you are tonight?”

She smiled at him. Yes, he had told her, but she’d never get tired of hearing it. He was good that way, noticing and complimenting. But then, he was good in a lot of ways. Her cheeks flushed.

The waitress returned and offered Mack a pretty little black leather book. “I’ll give you a minute,” she said, and took off again to serve another table.

Then the piano player arrived, and Mack was on his feet. They grinned like what they were, long-time buddies pleased to see one another. They clasped fists and leaned in until their shoulders touched. Mack looked happy when he unloosed his friend and reached to touch Gen’s shoulder.

“Shiloh James, meet my girlfriend, Genevieve Delacourt. She prefers Gen, but her friends call her Genny.”

“Beautiful Genny.” Shiloh took her hand and stared openly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, as well.”

He took a chair and wasn’t in it longer than ten seconds before their server set a tall glass of something amber and bubbly in front of him. Bourbon and soda.

“Thanks, Trudy.” He took a long pull.

Gen thoughts spiraled back to her own whiskey-laced days. She didn’t miss them, and she no longer needed the stress release that came with the booze. Thank God for small favors.

“We’ll have a bottle of the Mayacamas Cabernet, please,” Mack told Trudy, and she gave him a thumbs up and turned toward the bar.

Shiloh took another pull on his glass, then set it down. “I think we were in high school the last time I heard Mack call anyone his girlfriend.” He studied Gen thoughtfully, then morphed from serous into a mischievous grin that revealed a dimple in his right cheek.

Gen shot Mack an appraising glance. “Really?”

Shiloh nodded. “He tells me you’re special. One look at you and I can see part of the reason why.” He drew on the drink again and kept staring.

Gen wondered what he saw, besides the dark red dress that clung to her curvy body. She never knew how to respond to a comment like that. Do you just say
thank you
, or simply assume they were being polite? She decided changing the subject was safest.

“Is Shiloh your real name?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was the first son, so the family tradition landed on me.”

“I like it,” she said.

He tipped his head in an acknowledgement, a little bow that served as a gracious thank you. Maybe she should learn to do that when someone gave her a compliment.

“Shiloh got us a lot of dates back in Franklin,” Mack said. “The girls used to flock around when he sang and played that dang harmonica. I usually ended up holding hands with whoever he didn’t want.”

Gen imagined what he’d said was true. She studied Mack again. To her eyes, his choirboy good looks rendered him more handsome than his friend, but in a much more understated way. Mack was down-to-earth and real. He didn’t lack any of the elements of attraction, but at the same time he didn’t ooze charm and he couldn’t play an instrument and croon like Shiloh James. That alone would probably have shoved him into second place with a sixteen-year-old.

She tightened her grasp on his hand and his eyes slid to her and held her gaze. His expression told her nobody else mattered until now, and she gave it back.

“You two have got it bad, my man.” Shiloh’s voice was low and throaty and held an edginess that sounded almost jealous. No, not envy; yearning. He wanted what they had.

Gen liked him for it.

Mack’s gaze went to the piano man and he started to speak but hesitated, then finally just said, “I think we both feel lucky,” and left it at that. Emotions weren’t something guys talked about in public, not unless it had something to do with football.

Trudy came back with the bottle and two glasses and showed the label to Mack, then stuck in a corkscrew and popped it. She poured a finger of wine into his glass and waited while Mack had a taste. He didn’t make a big deal of it, just inhaled over the rim and sipped and nodded for her to continue.

She poured a half glass for each of them. Mack and Gen both thanked her, and she put the bottle in the center of the table and left.

“Are you guys the house band?” Gen asked.

“Sort of,” Shiloh replied. “We play here every Saturday night, sometimes Fridays, other places the rest of the week. It’s a great gig. Jazz is making a comeback and the crowd here likes us.”

“Jazz is your bread and butter?”

“Jazz pays the bills, blues feeds the soul, country makes the heart flutter, and rock gets the blood pumping.” He sounded amused.

And so did Mack when he replied, “He can play it all. Shy, remember that club down in San Antonio? Those cowboys almost beat your butt for making their sweethearts swoon.”

“It happens.”

When Shiloh’s eyes drifted and his lids lowered, Gen followed his gaze. A languid smile played around his lips. He was watching a woman approach, and Gen knew she meant something to him.

The woman was striking, one of those fiftyish ladies who could get away with letting their hair turn silver and look ravishing. It waved to her shoulders, thick and rich and with the kind of body supermodels achieved with the help of a stylist.

She was slim and toned, maybe a size six, something Gen would never be and didn’t lose sleep over. A string of diamonds glittered above the cleavage of her form-fitting dress, and the creamy skin of her neck and face were unlined. Botox, maybe. Regardless of the help she did or didn’t have, Gen could see she took good care of herself.

Shiloh stood before she reached the table, and Mack rose with him. Gen still wasn’t used to the Southern gentleman treatment, and now here there were two of them. It made for double the confusion.

“My goodness,” the woman murmured. “Please, have a seat.”

“Julie.” Shiloh moved to draw out the remaining empty chair. “This is my old friend Mackenzie Hackett and his girlfriend, Genny. Mack and Genny, Julie Russell. Julie owns The Cosmo Club.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Mack said. Gen repeated his greeting without the ma’am part. The men waited for Julie to sit, then followed suit.

“It’s heady, all this chivalry,” Julie said to Gen. Then her eyes flicked to Shiloh, and Gen got the impression she was looking at something she thought was hers.

So that was it. They were lovers.

“Makes my head spin sometimes,” Gen replied. “I’m used to men from Cali who think the epitome of charming is coming to the door to pick you up.”

Julie laughed. “How’s the Mayacamas?”

“Delicious,” she replied.

“I’m not an expert,” Mack said, “but you’ve got a great wine list.”

“Thank you for noticing,” she replied. “I worked hard to develop it. Great wine, fabulous music, beautiful people. It all keeps the doors open.”

From the looks of the place, the till was overflowing. Julie must make great bank on her business. Gen recognized a few of the exclusive labels that peppered the tables around them. Although its name was more a nod to the famous vodka drink, it appeared that Cosmo sold a lot of expensive grape.

“So you and Shiloh go way back,” Julie said to Mack.

“Yes, ma’am, to junior high. We both ended up in detention often enough we got to talking.”

“What was he like?”

Mack contemplated Shiloh, and he was serious as he examined the other man’s face. “The same,” he finally replied. “Smart. Talented. The best friend a man could have. He’s had my back more than once when I needed it, and a couple times when I didn’t even know I did.”

Shiloh drained his bourbon, then stood and raised his glass to catch Trudy’s eye for a refill. “Time for me to get back to work. Genny, it was good to meet you. I’m honored Mack let it happen, he’s been keeping you to himself. We’ll take a longer break in an hour or so and we can talk more.”

He squeezed Mack’s shoulder, gave Gen and Julie a little demi-bow, and headed for the stage. The other musicians were already there, gearing up for another set.

“He’s really great,” Gen said.

“Yes, he is.” Julie watched Shiloh stroll away, then turned back to them. “So what do you do for a living, Mack?”

“I’m a detective with the SFPD.”

Julie’s eyebrows arched. She tilted her head and gave Genny a face full of concern. “You must worry about him.”

Gen shrugged. “He probably worries more about me.”

“Why is that?”

“Genny is a private investigator,” Mack replied.

“Really? That’s a coincidence.”

“How so?” Gen asked.

“I’ve been thinking about calling someone.”

Both of them were looking at Julie, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I have a bit of a mystery playing out here,” she said. “No dead bodies, nothing major. It’s the case of the disappearing empties. We pour a lot of wine, and our expensive bottles are going missing.”

“Sounds like the customers taking souvenirs,” Mack said.

Julie shook her head. “Our clientele wouldn’t be caught dead getting excited about collecting labels. It’s not their style. I have no idea how or why they’re vanishing, but they are.”

“Is it a problem?” Gen asked.

“Only as far as the fact that there’s something going on at my business I don’t know about,” Julie replied. “First the empty bottles, then the full ones? You see what I mean.”

“And you’re sure it’s not an employee,” Mack said.

“I’m not certain about anything, but I’ve asked them and they say no. They’ve no reason to lie. None I’ve discovered, at any rate.”