Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Unknown (audio ebook reader .txt) 📖

``Of course not. He looks terribly callow up close. But there was a very charming gentleman waiting for a latte, who--''

``Are you so desperate for male company that you-- Never mind. What is Calvin doing?''

``Waiting for his lunch. He must be a hearty eater, by the way. He ordered two meals to go--a burger and a Greek salad.''

``Maybe he's picking up for somebody else.''

``I suppose he-- Look, here he comes!''

We dodged into the doorway of a stationery shop and pretended to admire a display of Christmas cards. I tried to hide in Libby's shadow.

Calvin walked past us, holding a clear plastic bag by its handle. Two Styrofoam containers were inside. He headed back in the direction we had come.

``He's going back to work,'' Libby said.

But he turned right instead of left, heading away from Haymaker's.

``Let's go,'' I said, already in pursuit.

74 SLAY BELLES 75

We tailed Calvin for four more blocks and ended up on a short residential street lined with apartment buildings that had been designed in the days of fallout shelters. Scraps of newspaper tumbled in the street, and a homeless person slept on a grate, wrapped in trash bags and guarded by a scraggly cat on a leash.

Abruptly, Calvin jaywalked and opened a plate-glass door to let himself into one of the buildings. Libby and I watched him disappear inside.

``Now what?'' Libby asked.

From behind us, a male voice said, ``Ho, ho, ho, girls. Want some company?''

It was Santa. He carried his collection bucket in one hand, and his eyes twinkled roguishly behind his synthetic beard.

``Are you following us?'' I demanded, prepared to play tough in order to get rid of him. ``Because we'll call a cop if you are.''

``No need for that.'' He held up one hand to calm me. ``I am a cop. Or was. Retired after twenty-two years of service in the Lancaster County sheriff's department.''

``Well, you can't give speeding tickets to any Amish bug- gies around here,'' Libby snapped. ``We're on a serious mission.''

``Me, too,'' said Santa. ``I'll do anything to have lunch with you, doll face. Even lend a hand in your covert operation.''

``How old are you?'' Libby asked. ``Take off that beard.''

Santa pulled the beard down low enough so we could get a better look at his face. He wasn't bad, actually. Kind of wrinkled, maybe fifty-something. He said, ``Don't get fooled by the false teeth. I got my real ones kicked out by a kid who resisted arrest.''

``All right, you can stay,'' Libby said.

``No, he can't,'' I said.

``I can be helpful.''

I sighed. ``You two wait out here and flirt with each other. I'm going into the building.''

Libby said, ``My sister is very impulsive. I have to keep an eye on her.''

``And I'll keep an eye on you,'' said Santa. ``See? Things are starting to work out for us already.'' 76 Nancy Martin

We went into the apartment building and found our- selves in a small lobby with plate-glass doors on both sides, one of them cracked as if it had been kicked. Someone had tried to repair it with masking tape. A line of mailboxes with buzzers greeted us from one wall.

I read the names on the mailboxes, hoping to find Cal- vin's. My finger stopped on apartment 3B, however.

Cindie Rae Smith.

``I'll be damned,'' said Santa, tilting his head to read through his bifocals. ``Is this the real Cindie Rae Smith?''

``How would you know her?'' Libby asked with a new edge in her voice.

``She's in the papers all the time. She's the one, right? The Penthouse girl?''

``Yes,'' I said.

``How do we get into this building?'' Libby asked. ``With- out letting Cindie Rae know?''

I laid my hand flat on six buzzer buttons at the same time and leaned on them all. Seconds later, a variety of voices squawked on the intercom.

``UPS!'' I yelled. ``Delivery!''

Immediately, the door buzzed open and we went inside.

``Stairs or elevator?'' I asked.

``Definitely the stairs,'' Santa said with new respect.

Libby eyed him doubtfully. ``Can you make it three flights?''

``Can you?'' he asked.

We trooped up three flights with Libby bringing up the rear. To lighten her load, Santa and I split her remaining shopping bags between the two of us.

The third-floor hallway was L-shaped and smelled like incontinence. We checked the numbers on the doors and found Cindie Rae's apartment at the end of the hall. We edged closer leaned close to listen, but a television blared in the next apartment, drowning out all other sound.

``I can't hear anything,'' Libby whispered.

``Shh.''

``I don't mean to stick my nose in your business,'' Santa said, ``but is anyone armed in this situation?''

``Calvin is,'' I said. ``At least, he was wearing a gun in the store.''

``Jeez,'' said Santa. ``I was afraid of that. We need to call SLAY BELLES 77 the Philly cops. It's foolhardy to bust in on somebody with a gun.''

Libby pulled out her cell phone and checked the screen. ``I'm not getting a signal in here.''

``You should get a new service,'' Santa advised. ``My ex- wife uses Verizon and gets great reception.''

Libby glanced up from her phone. ``You're divorced?''

``Three years,'' Santa reported. ``I hate living alone, but what's a guy with false teeth supposed to do? I volunteer for the Salvation Army and the Meals on Wheels and the--''

``Could we get back to business here?'' I asked. ``Some- body go call the police.''

Libby said, ``She has man trouble. It makes her testy. I'll go down the hall to see if I can get a signal there.''

``I'll help you,'' said Santa.

They walked away, leaving me in front of Cindie Rae's apartment door holding shopping bags. I listened for voices, but across the hall