Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) (24 page)

“Wes, will you be free for dinner this evening?” she inquires while grabbing her purse.

“Yes,” he confirms as he calls for the elevator.

She rushes over to give me a deep kiss then follows her cousin to the elevator.  They discuss restaurants and times as the doors close, taking her away from me and leaving me alone in her apartment.

Empathy Delacroix: Deal Making

“It’s a good deal, Fitz.  If you keep pressing for more we could end up losing the theatre,” Tom’s frustrated voice challenges Fitz.  The lawyers and the executive director of the Foxwoods Theatre are waiting inside Tom’s conference room.  We moved this argument into his office.  “This is why the
producer
normally attends these meetings without investors.”

I glance at my phone as I sit on his leather couch and wonder when will be a good time to bring up that I plan to leave early.  There is maybe another hour and a half before I absolutely have to go to get Richard to his appointment on time.

My eyes settle in on my new “partner” and “mentor” as I try to figure out how their long-standing business relationship even exists.  In all the time I have spent with them jointly, all they do is argue.  If Fitz wants to change the director, Tom doesn’t.  The theatre Tom initially wanted, Fitz rejected.  The design house, the set designers, the tech union, the actor contracts,
me
, they agree on nothing.

“Gentlemen, for the love of God, stop!” I interject at the first opportunity.  “Tom, can I claim breach of contract or pain and suffering or insufferable work conditions or
something
for having to put up with the incessant bickering between the two of you?”  If anyone will know, it is him.  He wouldn’t allow me to sign it until he went through it with many fine toothed-combs.

That brings a smile to Tom’s face.  “Sorry, Em.”  He comes and sits beside me.  “Actually, why don’t you settle this?  You are a producer now, after all, what do you think?”

Smooth, you big baby.
  But I can hardly blame him for pawning this off on me.  Fitz agrees with everything
I
say.  He insists on being present at every meeting, negotiation, and rehearsal, claiming it will ensure my success.  Yet, it is Tom who remembers I exist and includes me in the decisions.  The only time Fitz acknowledges me is to subtly hit on me or disparage my dating a “
mere detective
.”  “If it were up to me alone, I would sign the contract.”  Tom is right.  It is a good deal.

Tom puts his hand on my leg after my voiced agreement.  The familiarity startles me and I knock my phone off the arm of the couch.  I lean over to pick it up as I listen to Fitz then throw it in my purse before brushing Tom’s hand off my leg.

“It is a good deal, I’ll give you both that.  But we can get a better one.  We need to capitalize on the best aspect of this show,” Fitz pauses dramatically as Tom and I eye each other and then him.  Fitz motions between Tom and me while rolling his eyes.  “You two.  You’ve always been a dynamic pairing.  Alone whatever you touch is good; together it has been golden.  But now the co-producer pairing is creating even greater buzz.  If we appear as a united front, they’ll take the deal
I’m
offering.”

“Fitz, that’s all well and good, but I have no desire to screw over my friends,” I say with a sigh.  “Tom and I have both worked with all the theatre houses, unions, design houses, for years.  Just because we can maybe get a better deal doesn’t mean we should.  If you’re unhappy with the profit margins as it affects the return on your investment, then rework my contract and take a bigger cut from me.  I’ll not have us playing hardball with the very organizations we need to ensure
Covered
is successful.”

Fitz spends the next fifteen minutes trying to explain how good for the theatre house his deal is but neither Tom nor I buy it.  Fitz
finally,
begrudgingly agrees to stop hoarding all the potential profits after I announce that I only have another twenty minutes until my next meeting.  We return to the conference room, Tom does all the talking, and twenty-two minutes later, I race out of his building to flag a cab after signing the contract.

“Em!” Tom hollers behind me.  “Where are you running away to?  We should celebrate.”

He pulls my arm down.  “I’m late and you’re not helping.”

His car pulls up.  “Then let me offer you a ride.  Where to?”  Richard will absolutely
hate
it, but Tom’s car is here
now
.  I hop into the backseat and tell his driver to take me home.

Tom sits down, angling himself to talk.  “We haven’t had a real chance to talk this last week.  It must be a pretty bad injury if he’s still down.”  We ride companionably to my apartment building as I fill him in on some of the details of my life.  “Tell you what, we’ll wait here.  Go get your detective; we’ll give you both a lift.”  Grateful for his offer, I leap from the car and race into the building.

Richard’s deep voice calls my name and pulls me up short halfway between the front doors and my elevator.  I spin around, collect him, and usher him outside.  “I’ve been trying to call you.  Everything alright?” he asks as we walk outside.

“Sorry, I silenced my phone due to the meeting.”  Richard turns to have Walter hail us a cab, but I grab his hand and drag him over to Tom’s waiting car.  “Ah, please don’t hate me, but Tom gave me a lift and extended the offer for your appointment.”  Richard instantly stiffens.

“Detective,” Tom greets Richard emotionlessly after we open the door.

Richard straightens up and with deliberate politeness returns Tom’s greeting then begrudgingly climbs into the car.  The tension that builds in the backseat on our way to the doctor’s office is palpable.  Richard and I share the forward facing seat while Tom sits across from me in the rear-facing seat.  They carry on a stilted conversation that is painful to witness.  They ask the common questions of strangers, but it is obvious their faked interest is strictly for my benefit.

We manage to make it to the doctor’s office on time and Richard thanks Tom for the ride.  However, while we wait in the examination room, he crossly addresses me.  “Em, please don’t surprise me with Tom in the future.  At least not until he and I come to some type of agreement.  I know he’s your friend, and I
will
make an effort, I would just prefer to have some time to mentally prepare for his company.”

“That’s fair.  I’m so sorry.”  I drop my eyes.  We should have just been late.

He squeezes my hand and pulls me into him, folding me flush to his chest.  “Nothing to be sorry for.  I’m just letting you know how I feel.  I’m jealous that lately he sees you more than I do.  I’m jealous you two have a long history where our story has just begun.  I’m jeal-”

I kiss him, stopping his laundry list of insecurities, and keep kissing him until I hear the sound of the door opening behind me.  A blush resides in his cheeks when I pull away to sit in the corner chair.

Richard Giordano: Em’s Apartment

“That’s odd,” Em says as we step off her elevator.  Her phone is in her hand.

“What is?” I ask.

“My battery is dead but I hardly used it at all today.  I could have sworn it was full this morning.  Oh, well,” she says with a confused shrug of her shoulders before heading to the bedroom to plug it in.  There are a few hours before we are supposed to meet her cousin for dinner.  I am sitting on the couch when she returns with my right side open to her.  She hands me the remote, grabs a book off the shelf, and curls into my side.  I peek over her shoulder, curious to see what she is so engrossed in.

It surprises me when I recognize the writing.  “I didn’t know you like Holmes.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she allows as she turns the page.

I smile and turn back to the television and we sit in a comfortable silence for a while before my ringing phone interrupts us.  The out of area number confounds me.  “This is Rich.”

“Rich, sorry to bother you.  It’s Wes.  Is Emp with you?”

“Yeah Wes, she’s sitting right here.”  She starts upright when she hears his name, dropping her book on the floor.  I pick it and set it on the table after handing her the phone.

“Wes? ... Oh, sorry.  Yeah, my phone died. … No, we understand.” Our eyes meet and I ask about my number. “Hopefully tomorrow then. … Hey, how’d you get Richard’s number?”  Whatever answer he gives, makes Em laugh.  “Yeah, I’ll talk to you later,” she says prior to hanging up to give it to me.  “Wes can’t make dinner - he’s got to work late. But he did say if he told us how he got your number he’d have to kill us!”  She laughs as she gets up to walk to her bedroom.  “My phone should be charged enough now.  I’ll cancel our reservation and order something for delivery.  Anything in particular you want?” she calls over her shoulder.

Are you on the menu?
is what I want to say.  I hold my tongue instead and send my family a text with an update on my health while Em is gone.  I’ve just pressed send when Em screams my name. 
Good God, what could possibly be going on!
  I scramble to my feet and rush to her room.

We meet in the hallway, running headfirst into each other.  I keep my feet, but I can’t move fast enough to stop her from rebounding off my chest and falling to the floor.  She quickly gets back up. I am initially relieved to find her unharmed but she is white as a ghost and shaking violently.

“Em, what’s wrong?” I ask with my hands on her shoulders.  I expect an immediate answer so I peer over her shoulder to see what caused her distress.

I return my gaze to her when she doesn’t voice an explanation.  She is trying to speak, but no sound passes her lips.  Tears sit heavy in her eyelids, threatening to spill at any moment.  She struggles to regulate her labored breathing.  “Em, focus.  Breathe with me.”  I begin taking deliberate breaths.  It takes a while, but eventually she is breathing normally, yet she still can’t speak.

I am so focused on her physical state, so worried, I don’t readily comprehend that she is trying to hand me something.  When I do, I see it is her phone.  Her fingers turn it on as I take it in my hand. 
Holy shit!
  A couple I recognize gazes back at me from the screen of the phone, but the image isn’t of me and my girl.

Empathy Delacroix: Unexpected Connections

H
ow?  Why?  How?
  My mind is reeling.  Did I really just see what I think I saw?  Richard’s face confirms it isn’t my imagination.  He sees the same picture I did.  This is a nightmare.  I swear I’m going to vomit.  If he hadn’t helped me regain control of my breathing, I know I would have.

How had I been so blind?  How had I even ended up with her phone?! 
Oh, holy hell!
  It
had
to have been in Tom’s office.  I now recall the times we mixed our phones up.  It must have been under Tom’s couch.  I must have picked Annie’s up when I dropped mine.  That explains why the battery was dead.  It explains why Richard and Wes couldn’t reach me.  It also means my phone is still in Tom’s office. 
Dear Lord!  What am I going to do?!  I can’t face him now!

My heart starts racing again and my chest constricts around my lungs.  Can it be that my visions have morphed again?  After all, until recently I only
ever
saw the past.  Or maybe, I’ve finally lost my mind.  “Please, Richard.  Please tell me my mind is playing tricks on me.  Please tell me that is not your partner with my deceased chorus girl!  Pinch me!  Show me this isn’t real!  DO SOMETHING!”

“EM!”  His hands are back on my shoulders and he gives me a little shake.  “Stay with me.”  Oh, God!  He isn’t going to tell me I’m crazy.  I was so hoping he would.  “I’ll take care of it.  I know it looks bad.”

“LOOKS BAD!  This is the very definition
of bad,
” I barrel over him.  “
Horrid
is probably more applicable.  Your partner not only knew Annie but by the looks of that picture they had some kind of recent relationship.”  Steve stands at her back with his arms wrapped around her.  “This is a joke right?  Tom and you, you actually like each other and you managed to pull a fast one on me.”  My mind is still spinning; still trying to explain away the truth.

Richard’s arms fold me into his chest and his tone becomes very tender.  “I know it’s upsetting.  We’re going to get through it.  I’ll call the captain, right now, and we can figure this all out.  They have to come get Annie’s phone.”  I agree and Richard kisses the top of my head.  “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch.”

“He never mentioned anything to you?” spills from my mouth as the questions clog my mind.  “Did you know about this?”

He drags me to the living room, adamantly denying any knowledge.  He says nothing more until the call to his captain to tell him about Annie’s phone ends.  We don’t discuss how I ended up with it.  The few times I try or do so by accident, he shushes me, stating he can’t know anything.

About half an hour later Walter calls to announce that members of the NYPD have arrived.  They are inside my apartment within minutes, buzzing around me.  There is Richard’s captain, two evidence analysts, and another detective I’ve never met.  One of the analysts takes the phone, puts it in a bag, and immediately leaves with the other one.  “Ms. Delacroix,” the detective whose name I can’t remember begins, “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

Before their arrival, Richard told me he would stay by my side.  He warned that they would have questions on how I ended up with Annie’s phone.  Unfortunately, his captain apparently has other plans.  “Rich, we need to talk.”

Richard Giordano: Em’s Apartment

I’m torn between listening to my boss and comforting Em so I don’t immediately move.  She is still shaking.  “Giordano?”  Okay that tone doesn’t leave room for arguments.  She closes her eyes, shakes off the last of her tremors, and takes a deep, steadying breath.  I give her hand a squeeze and go join the captain in the hall.

I am halfway to him when her voice pierces the silence.  “Richard, do I need my lawyer?”

I turn back to find a stronger Em than the one who screamed my name almost an hour ago.  She is no longer fighting for an irrational explanation to discredit the truth.  No, now she has found acceptance.  “I don’t think so but if it would make you more comfortable I’m sure Detective Hunt will wait.”

“You’re not a suspect, Ms. Delacroix.  Your lawyer isn’t necessary,” the captain pipes up.  She trusts me but hearing him confirm it as well makes her relax as much as a person can, given the circumstances.  Hunt will treat her with kid glove so I feel comfortable stepping into the hallway with the captain.  I position myself to not only face him but also keep an eye on Em.

“I take it this is as much of a surprise to the two of you as it is to me,” he asks me.  “How would they have met?”

“Steve’s a bar fly.  He hangs out with Bobby, who has dated an ‘actress’ or two.  He’s been after a particular one for years.  From what I heard when we had the case, Annie frequented many of the same hot spots.  Must be one of those freak coincidences.” 
It has to be.

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences?” he challenges me.

Being a detective, I never have before.  “Recent events are starting to change my mind.”  I mean look at the hand fate has dealt me.  I met Em over a corpse.  I went on a date with Frisco’s best friend, Sabene, who tried to set me up with Em two years ago.  If we hadn’t met through those channels, we would have eventually crossed paths since Em runs the outreach program for Joe’s school.  Bobby came across her at a Broadway event.  Now with Steve and Annie it is beginning to appear inevitable that we were going to happen upon each other at some point.  Where before I never would have thought we ran in the same social circles, the longer I know Em, the smaller our worlds become.

The captain scrubs his face as if it will erase these new, disturbing details then peers back over his shoulder.  “Where did she find the phone?”  I share my suspicions with him.  He doesn’t say anything for a while as he ponders everything we have stumbled upon.  “She strong enough to handle this?”

“Handle what?”

“It hasn’t occurred to you?”

“What?”  I am apparently missing something major and the edge in his tone tells me I’m not going to like whatever he is about to reveal.

“Steve is
your
partner.  Em is
your
girlfriend.” 
Okay, so far facts I’m already aware of
.  “Tom Worthy is
her
friend and business associate, as well as Fitzwallace now.” 
Again, already know
.  “We suspect Steve is
Fitzwallace’s
mole.  Now he’s also connected to our victim.” 
Waiting for the bombshell
.  “Exactly what is Mr. Worthy’s role in all of this?  If he is involved, how much is the proximity of it all going to cost her?” 
Boom
.

Empathy Delacroix: Not So Simple Questions

“The only time you could have come across Annie’s phone was in Mr. Worthy’s office?” Detective Hunts asks me for what seems like the hundredth time.

“It’s the only place where I accessed mine, then subsequently lost sight of it.  I mean it normally stays in my purse, so I didn’t have eyes on it all day,” I respond tartly.

“And why were you looking at your phone if you were in a meeting?”

Okay, so I understand cops ask the same basic questions repeatedly for consistency’s sake.  The captain said they don’t consider me a suspect but the way this guy grills me over where I found Annie’s phone, ad nauseam, sure makes me feel like one.  This is our third time running through my explanation for how I ended up in possession of a dead girl’s phone.

I jump when the apartment buzzer goes off proclaiming Walter’s call.  Who can possibly be here?  Sabene has her own key and Wes currently has mine.  So they don’t need to be announced.  But it does put an end to the infinite barrage of repetitive questions, which brings me great relief at the moment.

My stomach drops to my knees and my heart leaps into my throat when Walter announces Tom, though.  Richard’s and my eyes immediately lock on the others.  “What do I do?” comes out of my mouth weakly.

“Ask him why he’s here,” Richard instructs as he comes to stand beside me, running a comforting hand up and down my back.

“What does he need, Walter?” I say through the intercom.

Static sounds for a few seconds before I get an answer.  “He says he has your phone, Ms. Delacroix.”

Richard gathers me into the comfort of his arms before deferring to his captain.  “How do you want to proceed?”

“I think it’s time we had a more direct chat with Mr. Worthy,” Richard’s captain responds.  “What do you think, Marcus?”  The detective who grilled me agrees.  “I’ll get your phone, Ms. Delacroix and bring it up and then we’ll be on our way.  Thank you for your continued willingness to help us.”

“What’s going to happen to Tom?” I ask after the captain departs for the second, and hopefully final, time that evening.

Richard leads me to the couch and pushes me into the cushions.  “They’re going to question him, Em—”

“But not arrest him, right?  Tom wouldn’t do something like that.  I can’t believe he would do something like that.”  I know Tom.  He is my friend.  There is no way he would physically hurt somebody.  Ruin a career?  Sure.  Murder?  Absolutely not.

Richard sits down beside me, takes my hands, and places a kiss in each of my palms.  “I don’t know.  A lot of it will depend on his answers and the results of the DNA tests.”

“DNA tests!”

The expression transforming his face informs me that I will get no more on that particular subject.  “If he’s innocent, there’s nothing for Tom,
or you
, to worry about.”  There is no trace that Richard is reveling in the possibility that Tom is somehow involved in Annie’s death.  “It’s getting late.  What would you like for dinner?  I can make you something simple here or I can order in.  Name it and it’s yours.”

How did we switch roles?  He shouldn’t be caring for me.  Sure, I was dealt an emotional blow, but he is still suffering from cracked ribs.  “I’m fine.  I no longer have an appetite anyway.  What can I get for you?”

“You have to eat.  It’ll make you feel better.”  We bicker lightly over whether or not I will eat and what to eat until the hour draws late.  Soup ends up being our meal chosen strictly for its ease of preparation.  The way Richard twirls his spoon around the bowl shows how little appetite he has as well.  “What time is your cousin getting here?” he asks.

I shrug as I mechanically stir the liquid in my bowl.  Wes just said he will be late and not to wait up.  I am grateful now.  He doesn’t need to know all about this mess.  There is enough on his plate.  Plus, it will only make him worry more.

We both finally give up on eating and go to the bedroom.  Richard lays down and opens his arm to me, but the urge to snuggle in next to him doesn’t exist.  “Um, I’m not really tired anymore.  I think I’ll read for a bit in the living room so as not to keep you up.”

“If that’s what you want.  I’m not expecting to do anyth-”

“I don’t think you are.  I… I just… I think I need some time alone.”  I hate it when my mind stutters.  I just need to think.  He starts to shift as if to stand.  “No, Richard, stay.  I don’t want you to leave.  There are just some things I need to figure out on my own.”  My admission stings both of us.  I’m committed to our relationship, I really am, but it is still a new concept to me to be the other half of a “we.”  I have been on my own for so long and have fairly set coping patterns.  Even though I think of Sabene as a sister, I don’t share
everything
with her.  While part of me wants to share my emotions with Richard, I just really don’t know how.  I take the silence for agreement, close the door, and return to the book I was reading earlier.

I sit on the couch, turn the pages, see the words, but don’t comprehend a thing.  What am I going to do if Tom is involved with Annie’s death?  There has to be a reasonable explanation.  The cluttered pages of the book in my lap mock me as if it is hiding the answers within the prose.  I give myself over to the spinning wheels in my mind.  Tom is no hero by any stretch of the imagination but he is no villain either.  He embodies the expression “living in the gray.”  There are many who think I have blinders on when it comes to him.  Many warned I would eventually be crushed when he finally fell.  Had they been right all along?

No.  You’re not being fair.  Tom has his flaws and faults.  Who doesn’t?
Yet, in recent years, he has mellowed.  He isn’t as quick to anger; isn’t as quick to strike. Which is why this whole thing is mind-blowing.  Tom is many things but a killer isn’t one of them.  A shrewd businessman?  Check.  A man with sometimes questionable morals?  I begrudgingly admit he is.  A man who is loose… with… women?  Yeeesss!

And there it is, my explanation.  Tom is a good-looking guy and he can be immensely charming when he wants to be. 
Singin’
was Annie’s first show as part of the regular chorus.  She was an understudy for us before but never made it to the stage.  She was also a pretty girl who drank and partied hard.  Which in the world of sex made them an inevitable pairing.  Tom’s known for using his office for more than just business meetings.  If they engaged in a sexual tête-à-tête there then it is probable that was when she lost her phone.