Part 31 (2/2)

”So was it?” she asked, one arm wrapped around a railing post so she could get her balance.

”I don't know,” I said. ”Maybe. Probably. I think so.”

She started to laugh. She laughed so hard her feet started to slide on the icy parking lot and she had to wrap her other arm around the stair post. From a distance she looked drunk.

I glanced back at the building. I could hear the music-Bon Jovi belting out ”You Give Love a Bad Name”-and I could still see the dancer in my mind's eye. A black corset, fishnets, heels and a harlequin feather-trimmed mask, all worn by Mary, the kickboxing grandmother who worked at the library and hand-made all those luscious pies for the Winterfest supper.

Because it was her. The mask didn't hide enough of her face. Maggie was still laughing, hugging the stair post like it was a giant teddy bear.

”It's not funny,” I said. ”I work with Mary. What am I supposed to say when I see her tomorrow? Nice corset?”

”Well, it was a very nice corset,” Maggie laughed. ”Where do you think she got it? Not around here.”

I started for the car. ”I'm not asking her, so don't even think about it.”

”I didn't think you were such a prude, Kathleen,” Maggie said as we got in the bug.

”I'm not a prude,” I said. ”And what people do for fun is their own business. It's just that Mary was the last person I expected to see in a strip club. She's someone's grandmother.”

”She looked hot,” Maggie said. ”All the kickboxing means she's in great shape. Why shouldn't she flaunt her booty once in a while?”

I glared at her. ”Thanks for putting that image in my mind.”

One thing was for sure: When I saw Mary at the library tomorrow I wasn't going to ask her how her evening went.

24.

We repeated the process at the next bar, The Hilltop, only with a waitress and with the same result. Now that I knew my role as cuckolded girlfriend, I played it up a little, looking morose and sighing. Apparently Maggie thought I was turning it up a bit too much. She elbowed me in the ribs. Hard.

It didn't matter. The place had been deadly quiet Wednesday night and Eric hadn't been in.

At Barry's Hat, which was more of a jazz place than a dive bar, Maggie charmed the male bartender. It was a side of Mags I'd never seen before. I couldn't exactly figure out what she was doing. It was nothing blatant.

The guy had gone from businesslike to goofy in about three minutes. By now I had the wronged-woman routine down pat. When Maggie pulled out Eric's photo, all I had to do was think about the quick glimpse I'd gotten of Mary starting to undo the laces on the front of her corset, and my cheeks burned.

We weren't any luckier at Barry's Hat. The smitten bartender even had one of the waitresses look at the picture. No one remembered seeing Eric on Wednesday night.

As we were standing up to leave, the bartender asked, ”Have you tried the after-hours club back that way?” He pointed the way we'd come. ”The Drink,” he said, and rolled his eyes. ”Really creative name. Your guy might be doing his drinking there.”

He gave Maggie directions and she gave him a smile that probably made him forget his own name for a moment. ”Come back in sometime,” he said.

”I just might,” she said.

”Where did you learn to flirt like that?” I asked.

”I wasn't flirting. I was just talking.”

”Of course you were,” I said, pulling on my gloves. We hadn't found out anything about Eric, but I'd had an educational night. I'd learned that Mary had some smooth moves as a stripper, and Maggie had some smooth moves period.

”You want to go check out this Drink place? We're going to pretty much be driving by it, anyway.”

I leaned my head against the back of the seat. ”Why not?”

The parking lot of the Drink was jammed with cars. Maggie squeezed the bug in at the end of a row. I hoped she'd be able to back it out when we were ready to leave.

The Drink was noisy, smelled like smoke and bodies and was jammed with people. Maggie scanned the s.p.a.ce.

”How are we going to do this?” I shouted.

She turned toward me but kept her eyes on the people dancing and drinking. ”I don't know.” Then something caught her eye. She started to smile. ”This is going to work,” she said. ”This is going to work just fine. Come on.” She started making her way through the crowd.

I kept my eyes on the back of her head and followed. She stopped beside a young woman with hair the color of lime Jell-O and a nose ring. ”Jamie?” she asked.

The young woman, whose little ap.r.o.n marked her as a staff member, turned. When she saw Maggie, her face split with a huge grin. ”Hi,” she said. ”What are you doing here?”

Maggie tipped her head toward me. ”Helping a friend.”

After Barry's Hat she'd put Eric's photo in her pocket. Now she pulled it out. ”Were you working last Wednesday night? Was he here?”

”What did he do?” Jamie asked suspiciously.

”It's more like who,” Maggie said. She looked from the waitress to me and back again.

Jamie looked at me and shrugged. ”Sorry.” Then she took the picture from Maggie. ”He was here.”

”Are you sure?”

”Oh, yeah. He was a good tipper and he got really, really drunk.”

Maggie and I exchanged looks.

”But he wasn't with any girl. He came in by himself.”

My heart sank.

She gave me an apologetic half smile. ”He seemed really nice. Way nicer than his jerk of a friend.”

Maggie held up a hand. ”Wait a second. I thought you said he came in by himself.”

”He did,” she said. ”His friend was waiting for him.”

”What did the friend look like?” I asked.

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