Chapter 5
5
5:05 p.m. Thursday, October 31
“ I thought you said we were going shopping for masquerade outfits?” Riley was feeling skeptical as Nick led her and Burt up the steps of the town house with a rainbow welcome mat.
The dog stuck his face in the planter of flowers, his long whiplike tail joyfully whapping Riley across the backs of her thighs.
“Trust me. I’ve got a guy,” Nick said as he rang the doorbell.
“Also, you didn’t tell me this was a dress-nice outing,” she complained. Her jeans and thermal shirt seemed too casual next to Nick’s fitted polo and butt-hugging trousers. A woman on the sidewalk had walked into a trash can when Nick got out of the car.
“Anyone asks—especially the guy who answers this door—I dress like this all the time,” he warned.
The slap of flip-flops approached the other side of the door before it opened to reveal a trim white guy with a tidy mustache, short graying hair, and a pair of expensive-looking headphones around his neck.
“Nick Santiago,” the man said, putting a hand on one hip. “You’re looking delicious.”
Nick tugged on the collar of his shirt. “Thanks. I dress like this all the time now.” He gave Riley a nudge.
“Uh, yes. I can confirm. He even sleeps in his Dockers.”
“Too far. Too far,” he muttered from the side of his mouth. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Alistair, this is my girlfriend, Riley. Riley, Alistair. We need you to play fairy godfather.”
“A fairy godfather request and I finally get to meet the infamous girlfriend?” Alistair said with an approving nod at Nick.
“Oh my God! You’re the Alistair! I’m a huge fan of your makeover work. I used to work with Downer Daryl after his divorce. The whole office was so happy once you got him showering again.”
She shook his hand enthusiastically while Nick looked at her as if she’d lost her damn mind.
“My reputation precedes me. Come in, come in. Tell me more about this fairy godfather favor.”
Burt let out a low woof at a passing bumblebee.
“Is that a medium-size pony?” Alistair asked.
“Oh yeah. This is Burt. He’s a dog,” Nick said.
“But we also think he’s part human. He kind of goes where we go. I can wait outside with him if your house—which I’m assuming is really awesome—is not large-dog friendly,” Riley offered.
“Bring him along. Just don’t let my husband see him. Danny is Team Pets That Fit in Aquariums.”
“Behave yourself, Burt,” Nick warned. The dog gave him a baleful look and trotted inside.
“This is so exciting,” Riley whispered to Nick as they followed him inside. Alistair’s town house was actually two units opening into each other, providing a large living and dining space with a massive kitchen at the back. Everything was designer-magazine perfection.
“You have good timing. I just finished up my last chapter for the day,” Alistair said, pulling a pretty glass pitcher of cucumber lemon water from a huge stainless steel refrigerator.
Burt poked his nose into a brass umbrella stand holding a plume of peacock feathers, then sneezed.
“Alistair narrates audiobooks when he’s not improving the men of Harrisburg,” Nick explained.
“It’s not quite as exciting as being a private investigator, but it’s an entertaining way to pay the bills.” Alistair poured water into three tall, skinny glasses. He topped each one with precise slivers of lemon before distributing them.
Nick sniffed his glass with suspicion while Alistair filled a crystal bowl with tap water and put it on a silk place mat on the floor for Burt.
“Drink it,” Riley hissed at Nick.
“I like my water unfancy and unfruited,” he complained under his breath.
“We’re about to ask the Alistair to Cinderella us. Drink the damn water.”
Nick took a sip, and his face contorted. Riley stepped on his foot.
“It tastes like a salad.”
“Now, what can I do for you…uh, three?” Alistair asked, glancing down at Burt as he slurped and snorted his way to the bottom of the bowl.
“We’re doing private security at some adult prom for rich, boring people,” Nick said.
“We’ve been invited to a black-tie masquerade gala tonight,” Riley corrected.
“Ah, the masquerade. How exciting to mix and mingle with the elite of Harrisburg,” Alistair said.
“Now I wanna go even less,” Nick said.
“We don’t have anything in our closet that’s masquerade appropriate,” Riley explained.
Alistair clapped his hands. Burt looked up questioningly from his crystal bowl, water streaming from his jowls. “This is my favorite kind of favor.”
Riley nudged Nick and tilted her head at the slobber tsunami. He rolled his eyes, then oh so casually swiped what looked like a Burberry tea towel off the oven handle. “Is that a new expensive but cool thing?” he asked, pointing at the built-in bookcase in the dining room.
“What a good eye you have. Danny and I picked that up in Venice last month,” Alistair said, turning to admire the twisted black vase on the shelf.
Nick dropped the towel on the floor and swished it through the puddle with his foot.
“And look at this cheeky fellow we found at an estate sale,” Alistair said.
They followed him across the room and pretended to admire the miniature cast-iron chimpanzee baring its teeth in a demonic grin.
“Oh! Company, how ni?—”
The greeting came from the man Riley presumed to be Alistair’s husband, Danny. He was tall and a little bulky with pale freckled skin and salt-and-pepper hair. His sentence was cut short when his Birkenstock hit a puddle.
“Ahhh!” Danny went airborne and landed on his back with an oof.
They raced to his aid, but Burt got there first with his tongue lolling and front paws on Danny’s chest.
“Al? Why is there a pony in our kitchen?” he demanded.
Burt gave Danny’s face a hearty slurp.
“Oh good. You’ve met Burt,” Alistair said.
“You’re not taking us to some empty building to get murdered, are you? Because that will piss me off,” Nick said as he helped Riley out of the back seat of Alistair’s hybrid Lexus. The parking lot of the Krevsky Center, a muraled brick building on Sixth Street, was empty except for a dented minivan with a bumper sticker that read Sewciopath . Burt hopped out and immediately jogged off to water a bush.
“I’m creatively solving your problem,” Alistair insisted as he led them to the back door of the colorful brick building. He produced a key from the pocket of his gray linen trousers and opened the metal door.
Burt muscled his way inside first.
“Don’t go investigating,” Riley called after the dog as she followed him into the building. It was dark, and the air had the musty tang of concrete floors and sawdust.
Alistair flipped a light switch, and overhead lights snapped on high above their heads. “Welcome to your VIP backstage tour of Theatre Harrisburg.”
Stacks of painted scenery flats and show posters leaned against studded walls. Clothing racks of period costumes were clustered in front of storage rooms constructed from chicken wire and two-by-fours. Along one wall was a trio of makeup vanities. Burt was snuffling his way through a collection of feather boas.
Nick gallantly pulled Riley behind him as he scanned the space for threats. “This place smells weird, like…history,” he observed.
Alistair waved toward a door nearly hidden on the black- painted block wall. “Follow me, my little ducklings. This is where you become swans.”
At the word ducklings, Burt raced to Alistair’s side.
“He’s definitely going to murder us,” Nick decided.
“But hopefully he’ll make us look good first,” Riley said.
“Robeena, my dear nemesis. I’ve come to collect on that favor,” Alistair called.
“What the fuck is with the lion? We’re not staging The Lion King until next year,” rasped a very pale white woman with heavy eye makeup and a partially shaved head. The hair that hadn’t been shaved was swept to one side and dyed a silvery purple. She had a vape pen clamped between her teeth and glasses on a thin chain propped on top of her head. Burt sat at her feet, staring at her expectantly.
Nick ducked behind Riley. “She looks like that sea witch from that fucking mermaid movie.”
“Ursula from The Little Mermaid ?” Riley asked.
She felt a full-body shudder roll through him. “Yeah. My niece made me watch that movie a thousand times, and Ursula scared the shit out of me every time. She stole her voice .”
Riley had a sudden vision of Nick cowering under a unicorn blanket next to his bespectacled niece, Esmeralda, who was absently patting his leg while Ursula belted out her musical number.
“It’s okay. Burt and I will protect you,” she promised.
This room was even more chaotic than the backstage area. There were more black block walls, more concrete floors. But here were worktables smothered in layers of fabrics and several rolling racks filled with half-finished costumes. A three-way mirror and pedestal were crammed in a corner between two hefty sewing machines and a couple of headless mannequins. There was a half-assed dressing room consisting of plywood walls and a droopy velvet curtain.
“That’s Burt. He probably thinks your head looks like a blueberry,” Alistair said to Ursula…er, Robeena.
“Bite me, you talentless, Scottish-play-naming imbecile.”
“We’re sorry to intrude,” Riley said, hooking her fingers under Burt’s collar and tugging the dog back. “But we’re in a bind.” Nick gripped her by the hips and kept her between him and the grumpy lady.
“Robeena, meet Nick and Riley. They need a tux, a gown, and two masks for a gala tonight,” Alistair announced, picking up a piece of pink tulle and grimacing. “Nick and Riley, meet Robeena, the evil wardrobe mistress of the theatre.”
Robeena crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “You came to the wrong place, Alistair. Did you forget that I hate you?”
“How could I forget with you sharpening fabric shears every time I enter a room? But you hating me doesn’t negate our deal. You owe me,” he said ominously.
“See, babe? Maybe they’ll murder each other and forget about us,” Riley whispered to Nick.
Robeena glared long and hard. Alistair stroked his mustache and smirked.
“Fine. But this means we’re even. No more holding it over my head. No more veiled threats. No more mentioning it ever again.”
“Agreed. And for the record, my threats are never veiled. They’re just clever,” Alistair said.
“Whatever.” Robeena hefted herself off the wheeled desk chair and stomped off into the dark with the fearless, tail-wagging Burt trailing her.
Nick loosened his grip on Riley and breathed a sigh of relief.
“If this is going to cause problems for you, we can find another solution,” Riley offered to Alistair.
He spun around, wearing a gold and ivory domino mask, and grinned. “Don’t mind Robeena. She’s just an understudy of a human being. Oh, this is shiny!” he noted, picking up a bolt of silver material.
“You know what? Why don’t we just get out of here and forget the whole gala thing?” Nick suggested to Riley.
“Griffin is in real danger,” she reminded him.
“We don’t know that. He could have shot out his own window,” he argued stubbornly.
“And dyed his own chest?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. That jackwagon would do anything for attention.”
Nick wasn’t wrong. Riley vividly recalled Griffin pushing her into a floral display so the photographer could “get a solo shot” of him in front of their cake on their wedding day.
Robeena and Burt reappeared, and Nick stifled a manly yelp.
“Here. Try these,” Robeena announced, shoving two garment bags at Nick.
Riley smothered a laugh as her boyfriend all but levitated out of his boots to get away from the wardrobe mistress, mumbling something that sounded a little bit like “poor unfortunate souls.”
“Good luck,” Riley called after him as he hightailed it to the safety of the dressing room.
Alistair fluttered his fingertips together and turned his attention on her. “Now, Riley, my dear. Before we choose something for you, tell me—who will be there tonight?”
She frowned. “I don’t actually know. We’re going as personal security for my ex-husband. He invited us about an hour ago.”
“Ex-husband, you say? Was this an amicable split?”
“Only if you call nearly forcing me into bankruptcy after I caught him cheating amicable.”
Robeena returned with an armful of gowns. “Here,” she said, irritably shoving them at Alistair. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
He ignored the crabby costume maven and tossed aside a lace gown with bell sleeves. “This does not say, ‘I’m better off without you.’”
Riley chewed on her lower lip. “I’m not really sure that my dress needs to say anything. We’re there to work.”
“It physically pains me to agree with this delusional fool, but your dress is going to say something whether you want it to or not. Might as well make it a knockout,” Robeena said as Alistair discarded two more dresses.
Nick slunk out of the dressing room in his regular clothes. “This one fits,” he said, holding up one garment bag without making eye contact with Robeena.
“No fashion show?” Alistair gave a disappointed tut-tut.
Nick’s phone rang. Still keeping Robeena at a distance, he cursed and yanked out his phone. “What’s up, Bri? Hang on. I’m in a fucking dungeon. Let me see if I can get a better signal far away from here.”
“You’re welcome,” Robeena called after him as he all but sprinted for the exit.
“Thank you,” Nick squeaked before slamming the door behind him.
“The theater makes everyone dramatic,” Alistair said and shooed Riley toward the dressing room.
The first dress was pink, frothy, and strapless, but it was too itchy, and the sequins gouged the sensitive skin under her arms.
The second dress was a perfectly acceptable navy number in simple satin. However, Alistair insisted it wasn’t “main character enough.”
The third dress had a singed bustle and was missing a large amount of fabric from the skirt.
“Oops. That was an accident when we were rehearsing The Arsonists ,” Robeena noted.
Riley eyed the fourth and final dress hanging in the dressing room. “No pressure, but it’s either you or I go to this thing in yoga pants and a sweatshirt,” she said to the sparkly red gown.
She slipped it over her head and contorted herself to mostly zip it up. She was sweating by the time she bothered looking in the mirror.
“Oh boy,” she murmured.
“That sounds like a good reaction,” Alistair said, yanking back the curtain. “Oh. Boy. If I weren’t G-er than the Ice Capades, you in that dress would have me turning Q.”
It was Jessica Rabbit red with a sea of tiny blinding sparkles. Strapless with a deep V of beige mesh fabric that swooped almost to her belly button, the dress cinched at the waist with a rhinestone belt. The slit over her left leg went several inches higher on the thigh than she thought necessary.
“Here. Try it with this.” Robeena shoved a ruby-red domino mask at her.
Alistair fitted it in place and secured the ribbon. “Now this says, ‘I know you still think about me,’” he said with satisfaction.
Robeena harrumphed. “It doesn’t say it. It screams it.”
“I don’t really need to say anything like this to Griffin,” Riley hedged. “A few months ago, he begged me to be his mistress. Besides, isn’t personal security supposed to blend in?”
Alistair waved away her hesitation. “You’re the decoy. Everyone is looking at you while Nick does the blending.”
She did feel just the tiniest bit spectacular in the dress. And it would be nice to show a room full of Griffin’s friends that she’d finally come out on top.
“This uncultured swine is wrong ninety-nine percent of the time, but it’s possible this is the other percentage point,” Robeena said grudgingly.
Alistair placed a hand over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Robeena.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Don’t worry. I know any kindness you display is just an attempt to lure in your next victim.”
The bickering restarted with an energetic intensity, so Riley headed back into the dressing room. There, she pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of herself in the mirror, then fired off a text.
Riley : Too booby or just booby enough?
An instant later, her phone rang. It was Jasmine.
“There’s no such thing as too booby,” her best friend announced in lieu of a greeting.
“Not even if you’re going to a masquerade gala thing?”
“Oh. My. God. Is Riley Thorn going to the Harrisburg Arts Council Masquerade Gala?”
“It’s for work. I’m not suddenly rich and popular,” Riley explained, turning around to check out the rear view in the mirror.
“You work for your PI boyfriend. What’s going down at the gala? Should I change my RSVP to yes?”
“We’re working security…for Griffin.”
“Tell me you mean Peter Griffin. Or Kathy Griffin,” Jasmine said, enunciating each syllable like it was a threat.
“I wish. It’s Griffin Griffin.”
Riley held the phone away from her ear as Jasmine shouted a string of colorful oaths. Her friend had not only represented Riley during the divorce, she’d also smashed her car into Griffin’s outside the courthouse after the judge had ruled in his favor. Riley took the full sixty seconds of her friend swearing to change back into her regular clothes.
“Are you done?” she asked Jasmine as she zipped up her jeans.
“What would make you ever agree to play bodyguard to that lying, cheating, sniveling little troll doll?” Jasmine demanded.
“The business kind of needed the money. Besides, Nick doesn’t think Griffin’s in any actual danger. So we’ll go, we’ll eat some shrimp cocktails, stare at some important people, and then we’ll go home.”
Jasmine blew out an irritated breath. “Definitely wear the dress. I want a full report tomorrow.”
“Speaking of full reports, Kellen Weber was over this morning.”
“What did that rule-abiding pain in my ass want?” Jasmine asked.
“He was reinstated. And he asked about you.”
Jasmine’s tone was the epitome of boredom. “And you’re telling me this why?”
“I think he was looking for you. Did something happen between you two at the party last night when you were luring him into Nick’s office?”
Jasmine scoffed. “Between me and Detective Dick ?”
“You already kissed him,” Riley pointed out.
“That was to piss off his horrible mother.”
“What about when he was Drunk Kellen and you were digging around in his pants pocket and you found his not-wallet?”
“You’re the one who made me reach in there! Just because I kissed him, accidentally pinkie stroked his penis, and played sexy siren to lure him away from a party does not mean I’m in any way interested in the man. He’s annoying and straitlaced and always looks like he’s about to yell at me or handcuff me.”
“I know from previous drunken conversations that you’re into both of those things.”
“Shut up. I have to go. I have a date waiting. Wear the dress. Free the boobs!” Jasmine disconnected the call.
The dressing room curtain twitched, and Burt poked his head inside. He wore a sparkly tulle jester’s collar around his neck.
“I see we’ve been making friends,” Riley observed.
She found Alistair and Robeena locked in some kind of staring contest over a tackle box of thread.
“Uh, I’ll borrow this one if that’s okay,” Riley said, holding up the hanger.
“I knew it,” Alistair said with a celebratory self-five.
“Remember. This makes us even,” Robeena snarled.
“Until next time,” Alistair said darkly. He backed out of the room, glaring at Robeena.
“So what was that all about? What kind of favor did she owe you?” Riley asked once they were safely out of earshot.
“I once watered her plants for a week while she and her partner went to Cape May.”
“You watered her plants and now you have a feud?”
Alistair opened his arms with a flourish. “What can I say? Theater people are so dramatic.”
Riley, Burt, and Alistair found Nick outside in the parking lot, leaning against the brick wall like some sexy rebel waiting for a cause.
“Sorry for bailing.” He pushed away from the wall and got in Riley’s space to deliver a quick kiss. “She didn’t go near your voice box, did she?”
Burt pranced over to show off his Eliza-burt-thian collar.
“What did Brian want?” Riley asked as Nick gave the dog a good scruffing.
He took her garment bag, slung it over his shoulder, then slid his other arm around her waist.
“The asshole next door to Gentry is Lyle Larstein, disgraced executive of one of the biggest health insurance companies in the state. Seems Lyle enjoyed taking cocaine breaks at work and forcing over a dozen of his female employees to admire his not-very-impressive privates. He was sued for sexual harassment. He got canned but with a seven-figure severance. His wife filed for divorce and took the kids.”
“Wow. A real-life bad guy next door. This is almost starting to look like a real case, isn’t it?” Riley mused.
Nick snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”