Part 8 (1/2)
weren't too monstrous, and got the heck outta Dodge. With my shopping complete for the next two months, I went home to change.
That night, I suffered through another boring society soiree, the annual fundraiser for the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra, held at the s.p.a.cious and lavish Bigtime Convention Center and Orchestra Hall.
Naturally, the fundraising committee had chosen a musical theme for the event. Plastic music notes, paper pianos, and cardboard violins dangled from the ceiling, while members of the orchestra played cla.s.sics by the likes of Mozart and Bach.
All the usual suspects attended. Sam Sloane and his supermodel of the week. Fiona Fine wearing her latest sequin-covered monstrosity. Even Morgana Madison came out for the event.
I tapped my finger against my champagne gla.s.s. This was supposed to have been my night off, but Sandra had called in sick. Instead of working on uncovering Striker's ident.i.ty, I'd been called in to cover another bit of society fluff. I'd done my interviews and taken notes in record time. All I needed was a quote from the orchestra's conductor, and I could go write my story. I wandered through the orchestra pit, where the bar had been set up, waiting for the conductor to finish schmoozing with his rich patrons before I pounced on him.
”I didn't realize they let just anyone into these things,” Fiona sniffed. The tall blond elbowed me out of the way and ordered a double gin and tonic.
”h.e.l.lo, Miss Fine,” I said in a sweet, sugary tone that would rot teeth. ”It's good to see you again too.
Tell me, did you make your dress yourself, or did it come out of a paint-by-numbers catalog?”
Fiona's pink lips pressed together. Too bad her face didn't crack from the strain. I glared at the haughty fas.h.i.+on designer, daring her to make a scene. I wasn't afraid of these people, and I wouldn't be cowed by them. Not anymore. I didn't even care if I kept my lousy job on the society beat. Let the editors at The Expose fire me for offending Fiona Fine. The threat of being dumped into a vat of radioactive goo made my other trials and tribulations pale in comparison.
”Carmen, what a pleasant surprise,” Chief Newman's deep brogue cut in.
Fiona gave the police chief a heated look, grabbed her drink, and flounced away. The chief appeared at my elbow. He had traded in his usual subdued suit and tie for a brand-new tuxedo. He looked quite distinguished, and many of the wealthy widows eyed him like hungry vultures flying over a piece of fresh meat.
”h.e.l.lo, Chief. Good to see you.”
Newman lowered his voice. ”Listen, I know it's a lousy time to talk business, but I want you to come down to the station tomorrow and take a look at a couple of bodies we found out by the marina.”
”Bodies? Why?”
”They might be your two kidnappers. They match your description.”
”How did they die?” I asked.
”They froze to death in one of the big fish freezers down by the docks.”
For a moment, my vision fuzzed over. I shook my head, and the world returned to normal. Still, I couldn't stop the chill slithering up my spine.
”They probably got drunk and wandered into the freezer by accident. We found several beer cans at the scene. The coroner says their blood alcohol levels were off the charts.”
I knew better. Frost's icy handprints covered this one. My inner voice chattered. He'd murdered his two henchmen. The question was, why? Had they stepped out of line? Or were Frost and the rest of the Triad trying to send me a message?
KarmaGirl.
”Are you ready for me, Miss Cole?” The conductor, a thin man with a receding hairline, interrupted our conversation.
I felt stiff, frozen inside. Every movement was an effort. ”Sure thing, Mr. Muzicale. I'll see you tomorrow, Chief.”
”Just come by when you get a chance. I'll be in all day.” The chief strolled away. Matronly, marriage-minded society types trailed after him like sharks drawn to blood in the water. I focused my attention on the balding conductor and plastered a big, fake smile on my face.
”Tell me, Mr. Muzicale. What does the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra have on tap for patrons this season?”
Two hours later, I put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on my story and sent it to the society editor. After getting the usual response, I walked over to Henry's desk. He wore his typical sweater vest, khakis, and bow tie.
Henry had skipped right over his youth. He wasn't even thirty yet, but he already dressed like an old man.
His nose hovered next to the flickering computer monitor. His fingers danced over the keyboard in a rapid, staccato rhythm.
”Henry? Henry?”
No response. I put a hand on his shoulder. A static shock sparked and cracked between us.
”Yikes!” Henry jumped a foot out of his chair. ”You scared me!”
”Sorry for the interruption.” I shook my tingling hand. ”I was wondering if you had compiled that list for me.”
Henry blinked. ”Sure. I've got it here somewhere. Let me check.”
He dug through a tall stack of papers. Minutes ticked by. I frowned. Even though his desk was Chaos Central, Henry could usually find a pin in less than a second. What was up with him?
Ten minutes later, Henry yanked a thick binder out from under a pile of half-empty, take-out Chinese cartons on the back of his desk. I wrinkled my nose. The paper containers reeked of two-week-old General's Chicken.
”Here you go. All the info on the fifty wealthiest citizens of Bigtime.”
”Thanks, Henry.” I stuffed the binder into my purse. ”By the way, did someone named Lulu call you?”
Henry pushed his gla.s.ses up his nose. ”Yes, yes, she did.”
”And what did you think of her?”
”She seemed like a very nice woman.”
I arched an eyebrow. ”A nice woman? A nice woman you might take to dinner if you could tear yourself away from your computer long enough?”
Henry fiddled with his gla.s.ses again. ”Um, well, you see . . .”
”Never mind, Henry. I'll let you two work it out. I just wanted to make sure she'd called you and got the ball rolling.”
Henry and Lulu had made contact. My inner voice whispered with satisfaction. The rest would take care of itself. Who knew? Maybe Lulu could introduce Henry to Bella Bulluci's men's collection and get rid of those horrid polka-dot bow ties. Or at least get him to stop wearing stripes with them.
I told Henry good night and made my way through the gauntlet to the elevator. I rode down to the ground floor, brushed past the doorman, and hurried out onto the sidewalk.
”Hey, baby. Where you off to? Why don't you come over here and sit on Daddy's lap?” my familiar hara.s.ser cooed from his stoop.
KarmaGirl.
”Get a life, loser,” I snapped and kept walking.
After two blocks, I stopped. A faint scuffle sounded behind me. I turned, but there was no one on the deserted street. I didn't even see any headlights coming in my direction.No people, no cars, nothing. A s.h.i.+ver slid up my spine. I eased a hand down into my purse and grabbed my pepper spray. I continued on, quickening my strides.
The uneasy feeling continued for several more blocks. My inner voice murmured, and I knew who was, well, stalking me.
”Oh come out,” I snapped. ”I really hate playing hide-and-seek, especially with superheroes. You're all so much better at it than I am. It's so not fair.”