“We already talked about this, Jack.” She licked her fingers. “You’re looking for a case that isn’t there. No one’s been murdered. This isn’t your area of expertise.”
I pulled the crust of a piece of garlic bread and popped it into my mouth. “It seems strange, that’s all. Why would Megan’s sister show up at the Saint Angel if Megan had already gone home?”
“Maybe they had a fight,” Evelyn suggested. “Maybe Megan wanted to get away from her sister.”
“Maybe,” I muttered. “But something seems fishy.”
Evelyn placed another wing between my fingers. “Eat. For once, don’t worry about a police investigation that doesn’t concern you. Your only job is to make sure the bachelorette party goes off without a hitch tonight.”
Later that night, I gathered Marie and her bridesmaids in Marie’s suite on the fourteenth floor. With Evelyn’s help, I’d transformed Marie’s room into a pink, phallic fantasy. While Ev distracted her sister, I decorated with fuzzy boas, sparkly banners, and many, many iterations of the male anatomy. On the desk, I’d spread out a number of wearable items, everything from inappropriately-shaped beads to plastic tiaras to a glittery sash for the bride.
When I allowed Marie and the bridesmaids to come in, they squealed with joy, raucously laughed at the lewd decorations, and ran to the desk to choose their attire for the night. As they draped Marie in as many penile items as possible, Evelyn pulled me aside.
“Nice job,” she muttered, watching her sister giggle and squirm. “I hope the rest of the night is just as successful.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ve got big plans.” I clapped my hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up, ladies! Tonight, we celebrate Marie’s last night of singlehood!”
The bridesmaids whooped and cheered, whirling glittery pink pom-poms around their tiaraed heads. Angelica popped one of the champagne bottles I provided. The cork flew across the room and nearly shot Evelyn’s eyes out. She ducked just in time.
“Our night begins at Sex and Chocolate,” I went on, and the cheers doubled in volume. “For those of you who don’t know, Sex and Chocolate is a dessert restaurant with a sexy twist, but you’ll have to wait until we get there to find out what it is.” I suggestively waggled my eyebrows as the bridesmaids whistled and jostled Marie to and fro. “After that, we’re heading to the best burlesque show in town, Gypsy’s Dream!”
“Ow, ow!” hooted Angelica, spinning a boa through the air. Of all Marie’s friends, her exuberance shined the brightest. She snapped the boa around Marie’s neck. “Ready for the night of your life, bride-to-be?”
No one bothered with flutes as the champagne made its way around the room. Everyone swigged straight from the bottle. When it reached Evelyn, she drained the rest of it.
At Sex and Chocolate, Evelyn powered through three dessert martinis and a trio of cheesecakes. The girls hooted at the servers—muscular men wearing nothing but bow ties and spandex booty shorts—and constantly reminded anyone in the vicinity that Marie was getting married. Thankfully, the other women and gay men who frequented the restaurant were equally drunk and rowdy. No one minded our loud, uproarious bunch of women.
When we arrived at the Gypsy’s Dream, a dark theater in the heart of downtown Chicago, for the burlesque show, we all squeezed into one large booth. Evelyn, glassy-eyed, misjudged the distance as she slid in next to me and crushed my hand with her hardened hamstring. As I shook my fingers, she giggled. Giggled.
“Whoops,” she said. “Sorry, Jacqueline.”
“Go easy on the booze,” I warned her. “The night’s only half over.”
Evelyn pursed her lips. “This is a hen do! I’m doing what everyone else is doing.” She threw her arm around Angelica, who was sitting on her other side, and drew the bridesmaid close. “Right, Angelica?”
“Right!” Angelica answered. “Wait, what am I right about?”
“Drinks!” Evelyn shouted.
“Drinks!” the bridesmaids echoed, like lemmings off a cliff.
When the server arrived, Evelyn ordered Irish whiskey and asked to “keep ‘em coming.” Meanwhile, I made sure the table got a round of water to keep everyone hydrated. When the lights lowered and the satin curtain opened to reveal a live jazz band, the crowd went wild.
The bass guitar started a riff, and the rest of the band followed, launching into a lusty blues tune that could tickle the ears of the most prudish listeners. A svelte woman in crimson red emerged from backstage to thunderous applause. She wore several layers, the first of which was a faux fur coat. Her hands and arms were covered. As she began to dance, she flipped the coat in such a way to let the audience glimpse the lacy bodice beneath.
Evelyn cupped her hands around her mouth and whooped. Angelica mimicked her, and the other bridesmaids soon joined in. I grinned as Marie, her cheeks bright red, tipped her head back and let out a howl of approval. Apparently, I’d chosen tonight’s festivities well. When the burlesque dancer seductively dropped her glove, the crowd lost it.
My enthusiasm waned as I watched Evelyn drain drink after drink, getting sloppier by the minute. Never before had I witnessed her get so drunk. She didn’t like being out of control, losing time, or dealing with impaired judgement, but this Evelyn—the one drinking whiskey like water and hollering at the dancers—was content to lose control tonight.
“Have some water,” I urged her, nudging a glass into her grasp. “You need to stay hydrated.”
She pushed it aside. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Jacqueline.”
As the night wore on, I became less of a participant in the party and more of a babysitter. I ordered food so the girls could have more than alcohol in their stomachs. After so many rounds, I pulled the server aside and asked him to cut off our table. When Evelyn ran to the restroom, I was the one who went with her to hold her hair. As she gazed up at me from the bathroom floor, eyes red-rimmed
