I walked into the glass Slipper around midnight. Buddy Elder was not there. Neither was Denise. The doorman didn’t remember my face, or he didn’t care. I watched several dancers, picked my favourite and bought a lap dance. She was the very opposite of my wife, compact hips, hardly any breasts at all, dark hair, a small red mouth. I guessed her to be nineteen or twenty. She was just plain enough that she had to work to make a living, just proud enough that she substituted athleticism for sexual wiles. I liked that. Sexual wiles feel like an act if they’re not done well. You can’t fake a body slam. She made hard, repeated contact against my torso. She pressed her flat chest against my face with bony enthusiasm. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, completely at odds with the vitality of her young body, as if to say, nothing personal here. It was just the thing I needed, and I bought a second dance. I thought she might spot a sucker and play me a bit more skilfully, at least until she emptied my pockets, but I got the same thing. Slap, slide, breast-bone to nose bone, staring off into the distance, wagging her buttocks over my crotch.
As she was slipping her skimpy top over her practically nonexistent breasts, I asked her if Denise Conway was still working here. The girl focused. ‘How do you know Denise?’
I could see I had made a mistake, but I couldn’t understand what it was. Old habits die hard. In a tight spot, I always conjured up a true statement. The ghost of Tubs. ‘She was a student of mine this fall,’ I said.
‘She said if I came out here and saw her dancing it would embarrass the hell out of her.’ I gave the dancer a nasty leer, ‘So I thought I’d try it. Only I get here and I don’t see her around.’
The girl relaxed. I had served up enough truth for her to buy it. Who knows, maybe she even thought I looked like a professor. Good diction, straight teeth, chalk dust under my fingernails, or maybe it was that I was a horny old goat. ‘Denise don’t dance under her real name is why I asked.’ She laughed. ‘I guess I should say she don’t dance at all no more. She got married.’
‘Married?’ I expect I blinked. I know my mouth hung open Wade-style.
‘Right before Thanksgiving. The guy she married used to come in here all the time, but now he don’t want anyone looking at her no more. You know how it goes.’
‘Buddy’s friend? Roy, Ray? Something like that?’ I asked.
‘Roger. And he used to be Buddy’s friend. Buddy and Denise broke up because of him. They had this big fight in here because of her. Everybody was like… how? Turns out Denise is like no dummy. Turns out, Roger is rich.’
‘Lucky Denise.’
‘Me? I’d rather have Buddy.’
I drove by Buddy’s house. He was home. I drove by the Beery residence. The place was dark, the newly-weds apparently already in bed. At the farm I found Molly’s rental and Lucy’s Toyota parked side by side in the shed.
I showered and went to my room, but I couldn’t sleep. Married, right before Thanksgiving. Walt had told me they were going out of town to meet friends of hers. An alibi? With five million-plus in play it was just was too neat for coincidence.
I lay awake working through the possibilities, but it always came down to Buddy Elder. I could imagine Roger falling under his spell, the three of them, Roger, Denise, and Buddy, working up a double homicide and making it look like domestic violence.
What still did not make sense was the disappearance of Johnna Masterson.
Chapter 23
I joined Molly fairly late the next morning on the third floor. ‘Guess what I found out?’
Molly looked at me, waiting but not guessing. Denise Conway and Roger Beery got married last week.’ Molly didn’t seem especially interested. When I tried to explain my theory that Buddy and Denise and Roger had conspired to murder Walt and Barbara, she laughed at me.
‘Please, David.’
‘I’m serious! He and Roger staged a fight at The Slipper.’
She smiled. ‘Like you and Buddy staged one?’
I laughed and shook my head. ‘I’m just telling you.
Walt and Barbara were murdered. The three of them did it.’
‘I suppose they’re involved in Johnna Masterson’s disappearance as well?’
‘I expect an arrest any day now,’ I said.
‘Great. That means I can get back to Florida.’
‘You and Lucy have a good talk?’
‘Reasonably. I told her I needed to stick around for a while. I told her that you’re in trouble. You know what she told me? She said you didn’t sleep with Denise Conway. She said you’re not lying.’
I considered a snappy comeback, but something in Molly’s tone told me Lucy’s faith in me was not the point.
‘When we got home I showed her the diary.’ Denise Conway’s diary had become The Diary in our parlance. Molly met my stunned gaze with a degree of satisfaction I found cruel. ‘She asked me how I could stand it, staying here in the same house.’ The flesh around Molly’s mouth quivered, almost a smile. Her martyrdom was now fully appreciated by her daughter.
‘You didn’t have to do that, Molly.’ I said this without energy or bitterness. I was too tired to fight. A part of me had actually begun to accept the diary as fact.
I carried the guilt of it at any rate.
‘How many ways did you swear to her you were innocent, David?’
‘I told her the truth. I told her it was none of her business.’
‘You keep nothing from me, wasn’t that it?’
I was not angry. My mood was closer to that of a man who has been told he has only a few weeks to live. I had no blood flowing through me. I had no reason to hope. I had nothing at all besides a madman who was determined to ruin my life one misery at a time. Devastation piecemeal.
‘You’re the one who got Lucy into the middle of this, David. Don’t give me that look.’
I said it wasn’t a look. ‘I’m just afraid I’ve lost her too.’
Molly turned back to work without comment.
Whatever I had lost, I had lost by my own doing.
‘Kip Dalton,’ Molly said, holding the phone receiver toward me. We had been working for close to an hour installing a tongue-and-groove floor. I blinked as I stood up and stretched. Dalton meant more questions about Johnna Masterson. I calculated the possibility of convincing him that Buddy Elder was behind it and decided I needed to go slowly. My credibility was in question. The first thing I needed to do was to sell Detective Kip Dalton on David Albo, The Honest Man.
I took the phone from her nervously because I had not been The Honest Man since I had walked out of the wastelands for the last time. Dalton apologized for bothering me. I tried to sound cheerful. It was the voice suicides use once their minds are made up, the enthusiasm thin, imaginary. ‘Not at all! What can I do for you, Detective?’
Kip had a few questions. Could I come into the sheriff’s department around three o’clock? I told him I needed to check my day planner, then I laughed.
‘What do you know? Free all afternoon.’ Molly, who had been watching me intently through this exchange, whispered the word lawyer. I shook my head. Talking was my business! Dalton and Jacobs were just a couple of tire kickers I was going to turn into a sale!
The moment I was off the phone Molly told me to call Gail. I said I didn’t need her. Besides Gail didn’t understand what was going on. The best thing to do, I said, was to be upfront. ‘If I go in there with a lawyer they’re naturally going to assume I’ve got something to hide.’
‘Dalton isn’t buying a car, David. He’s looking for someone who wanted to hurt Johnna Masterson.’
‘Maybe I can help.’
I felt less confident when I walked into the brightly lit front offices of the sheriff’s department and asked for Detective Dalton. I did not like the place. Men and women came and went wearing county brown uniforms, sleek
