04 - Shock and Awesome (22 page)

 
   
"I'm rich and gorgeous," I told him with a shrug. I imagined Solomon laughing at the other end of the wire. It wasn't like my statement was wholly untrue. Unlike many women, I chose to celebrate my attributes rather than whine about my flaws. I got so good at it over the years, I forgot about the flaws altogether, or turned them into positives. That was the
Lexi
Graves School of Thinking and I graduated at the top of my class of one. It wasn't complete vanity. It was the result of having four older siblings who got all the attention by sheer loudness and size. That made me give myself plenty of pep talks.

 
   
"Me too," said Marty, and, get this, cracked a smile. "I have all my own teeth."

 
   
"So we
do
have something in common." I smiled back.

 
   
Marty continued to smile, but his face started to crumple and a teary droplet filled his lower
lid
. "I miss my Claire," he muttered, his chin wobbling.

 
   
I couldn't resist. "I'm sorry, but who's Claire? Have you mentioned her before?"

 
   
"The love of my life," Marty wailed. Pushing his plate aside, he dropped his head on the table, unbridled sobs and snuffles emanating from him. After a minute or two, when it didn't subside, I reached over and patted his head as I would a sick dog. The wailing got louder. I cringed, patting harder.

 
   
"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom," I muttered, tossing my napkin on the table as I stood. I just couldn't bear it anymore. People were starting to look.

 
   
"Don't leave me like
Claaaaaaaire
," Marty wailed.

 
   
"I swear I'll be right back," I squeaked, edging away from the couple shooting daggers at me from the next table. I removed the steak knife from his grip and dropped it onto my plate. "Don't, um, hurt yourself."

 
   
"I can't live without my
baaaaabbbyyyyy
," Marty moaned, then hiccupped.

 
   
"Try for five minutes!" I snapped, hurrying away, the eyes of other diners landing upon me. Ugh. They would no doubt think I did this to him! How embarrassing. I put ten virtual bucks on this tale of “The Sobbing Man and the Cold-hearted
Hottie
” being the dinner conversation at the next family hour of every diner in the place.

 
   
The bathroom was empty. I spent a minute gingerly pushing open the stall doors to check I was alone before speaking into my
mic.
"Solomon, I think we can rule Marty out," I told the mirror and, somewhere not far away, my boss. "And, in case you didn't guess, this date sucks."

 
   
"Your date too, huh?" said a woman's voice behind me. I jumped and whirled around to see my acquaintance, Ruby
Kalouza
, entering the restroom.

 
   
"Yes, dreadful."

 
   
"I saw. What a baby."

 
   
"Babies are better behaved."

 
   
"Amen to that, sister." Ruby edged past me, checked each stall, then stopped and stared at the window. She reached over, opened the catch and pushed it open. "Well, what do you know? No burglar bars! Here, hold my purse a moment."

 
   
I took the purse and waited while Ruby hitched her skirt into her undergarments and pulled herself onto the ledge. "What are you doing?"

 
   
"Escaping. There's no hope for my date. I hate to stick him with the bill, but I'll commit a random act of kindness every day next week to make up for it."

 
   
"I like
your
thinking."

 
   
Ruby swung one leg over, then the other before dropping. For a moment, I grimly wondered if she was okay, until her head popped up into the open space. "Thanks for the distraction, by the way. My date thinks you're both nuts. Hey, you want to come?" she asked.

 
   
"Big time," I told her, but I knew I couldn't. One: it was unprofessional to ditch a suspect, even if I'd all but ruled him out. Two: and more importantly, my borrowed jacket was still in the cloakroom, and Serena would kill me if I left it. "But I left my jacket. Here's your purse."

 
   
"Good luck, and tell Lily I'll come by the bar tomorrow."

 
   
"I will." Ruby grinned, waved, and disappeared. I reached over and pulled the window shut, securing the catch.

 
   
"Ruby
Kalouza
just left the building," I told the mic while I reached into my purse for emergency lip gloss. "I want bonus points for not joining her. I also want a bonus for completing this date against my better judgment."

 
   
My cell phone rang and I fumbled in my purse to find it. "Any other demands?" Solomon asked.

 
   
"A helicopter, one million dollars in untraceable bills, and a tube of Pringles."

 
   
"Or what?"

 
   
"I thump Marty unconscious, and you bail me out of jail."

 
   
"Date not going well?" Solomon deadpanned.

 
   
"Never better."

 
   
"Try and get him talking about his other dates," Solomon suggested. "Maybe he'll say something incriminating."

 
   
"Yeah, right. He's just a wet blanket and you know it. He couldn't pull off a pity date as the last man on earth. He's only interested in Claire. Can you find out who Claire is?"

 
   
"I've got Lucas working on it."

 
   
"Ten minutes, John," I told my boss in my sternest don't-mess-with-me voice, "and I'm out of here. I'm telling you now, Marty
Tookey
is not our guy."

 
   
"Enjoy dessert," said Solomon before hanging up.

 
   
I tried to get Marty to talk about his other dates, just in case he did have the smarts to rob them, but all I got was Claire this and Claire that, and how wonderful Claire was. I thought Claire sucked, but didn't dare say in case Marty murdered me at the table. On the plus side, I did enjoy the salted caramel and chocolate dessert — Marty feeling too depressed to order for me by that point — but not as much as I enjoyed making my excuses and calling a taxi to go home. Alone. It may have been a terrible date, but I came to some certain conclusions. One: Marty was definitely not our guy. Two: Claire was a smart woman for dumping him. Three: I wasn't desperate enough to date just anyone, and single seemed a really good option if there were guys like Marty on the market. Four: since Marty would set the alarm bells ringing of every woman he dated, he wouldn't get any information from them. That narrowed our suspect pool from three to two. Trouble was, who was the thief? Ben Rafferty or Lord Justin
Camberwell
?

 
   
Chapter Twelve

 
   
"I swear I'm never dating again." Lily and I were sitting in her shell of a bar while she leafed through catalogs. Page after page of wine glasses, tumblers, and things I didn't know a bar needed flipped past. She tossed the latest discard onto the foot-high stack and opened a brochure of bar furniture. I hoped she would pick some soon, because right now, sitting on the floor, with only flattened cardboard boxes between my pink-jeaned butt and the concrete, was anything but comfortable.

 
   
Lily paused mid-flick and looked up, her face skeptical. "Are you sure? There's a lot of guys out there and you have a lot of spare time."

 
   
"Meh. I've dated four guys in the past few days. Two yesterday. Started off great, ended up..."

 
   
"Oh, please! Don't say you set another one on fire!"

 
   
"No!" I rested my head on my knee while I had a mini breakdown. When I looked up, Lily was waiting expectantly. "Suspect number four, also known as yesterday's date number two, spent the whole night talking about his ex-girlfriend. When he started crying, I had to run out on him. I saw Ruby, by the way. She'll come by the bar today."

 
   
"She called this morning, but she didn't say she saw you. Why was your date crying? What did you say to him?"

 
   
"Nothing! I couldn't get a word in. Besides, he was a big baby."

 
   
"Sounds like a suave thief to me." Lily snorted.

 
   
"I know, right? My report for Solomon starts with 'ha-ha no way' and ends with 'just no'. I'm pretty sure Marty's not our guy. No one who cries that much can be a jewel thief."

 
   
"Maybe he's a genius. Maybe he played you. Did you check to see if you still had your purse on the way out?"

 
   
"Yep, I did and it was there. He's really not the one. He's not even number one million. He was a moron, Lily. When did men get like that?"

 
   
"I blame Oprah."

 
   
"Uh, why?"

 
   
"Jerry Springer gets blamed for everything else. I figure it's Oprah's turn."

 
   
"What about
Ricki
Lake?"

 
   
"Too cute."

 
   
"Chelsea Handler?"

 
   
"Scary, but don't you just want to go out for the night with her? I bet she drinks shots and dances on tables." Lily paused to circle a photo of a leather barstool with red pen.

 
   
I contemplated it. "Now I want to go out with her."

 
   
"Wait until my bar opens. You can dance on the tables all you want."

 
   
"This is why you're my best friend."

 
   
"That, and you can't get rid of me."

 
   
"Hand on heart, I would never try. Also, do I get free drinks?"

 
   
"You get a substantial discount."

 
   
"One hundred percent?"