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- 02/12/2017
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Dame - 9. Chapter 9
At dinner, things turn deadly.
"Seth Graham"
I stuck my hand out waiting for him to respond. The guy didn't disappoint as he ignored me focusing on Dorothy.
"Since when did you need muscle to fight your battles, David?"
"Danny, I'm trying to make this right," she hissed.
"By showing up here?... like this?" Realizing his volume, he looked around, fear of discovery no doubt on his mind.
I jumped in with my own questions; the end of my patience had come and gone.
"Would someone like to paint me a picture? What did Damian do this time?"
I glared at Danny who glared at Dorothy who stared right back at him. It was a battle of wills I imagined had played out since their childhood, brother against brother. On a huff, Dorothy gave out first and addressed me.
"Danny works on Senator Metcalf's staff. Damian threatened to tell the Senator about me if Danny didn't pay him to keep quiet."
"And you paid him?" I asked Danny incredulously.
"Like I had a choice!" Danny scoffed, "It's not enough you have to get up like that is it, David? You had to threaten everything I've worked for. What are my chances with a dirty secret for a brother!?"
"What the hell!" I exploded, ready to tear into this guy, brother or not.
Dorothy spoke over me, "I figured if I found Damian I could-- "
"Damian's here!?!" Danny interrupted loudly, "What the hell is he doing here?! The senator’s here!"
"Danny, I'm sorry " Dorothy pleaded, "You gotta believe me, he just guessed. I wasn't trying to -- "
"I'm gonna kill him!" With that Danny spun around and stalked back to the ballroom.
Dorothy moved to go after him but I grabbed her arm, pulling her toward me, "Let him go."
She didn't resist for which I was grateful but the spark had left her face.
“He hates me,” she whispered into the crook of my neck.
Unable to take any tears without wanting bloodshed or at least some serious knuckle busting, my mouth ran with the moment.
“Maybe but I don’t’. Why don’t you buy this fellow a drink?” Then I kissed her soundly before we returned to our seats.
It was only about a half hour later as dinner was being served, Dorothy leaned over to me. “I thought I saw Danny and Damian by the side of the stage. I’m going to go talk to them.”
I rose to follow her but she stayed me with a strong hand, “No, I should do this alone. You’ll just … intimidate them.” Part of me didn’t care how either man felt; the other part of me just wanted this over with and if that meant letting Dorothy handle it her way then I would. Sitting back down, I just nodded and kissed her hand.
She returned to our table not 15 minutes later, a red palm print clearly visible on the side of her face. I nearly exploded.
“What that hell happened?” I whispered furiously.
“Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m okay.” Her eyes darted around the room warily.
The bartender fix a bundle of ice in a napkin for Dorothy who discretely applied it to her face during the main course. I tried to get her to leave but she insisted we stay until the end of the meal otherwise it would look too obvious to which I reluctantly agreed. The steak and lobster looked first class but sat uneasily in my stomach with each bite.
The scream came during dessert, followed by the shattering of glass. In the silence, I looked at Dorothy who was searching the diners for a face, whose I wasn’t sure. Touching her hand I nodded in the direction of the commotion and left the table to find out more. A crowd had gathered in a short hallway leading to the bathrooms off the main corridor.
Leaning into the crowd I asked, “What’s going on?”
“An accident.”
“Someone’s hurt…or worse.”
“There’s a body.”
I could feel the tension like a cat clawing up my spine. This was not good.
Trying to keep calm, I pushed my way forward. Part of me wanted to return to Dorothy and leave, the instinct to protect my dame almost overwhelming me. Still I had to see, had to know.
He lay face down, limbs askew. There was a pool of blood on the rug near his left ear, his face turned as if surprised to see he’d managed to make such a mess. Recognition was immediate even as I moved my position to an angle that would keep me from denying it.
Damian’s attacker came at him from behind in the same alcove that Dorothy and I had stood arguing with Danny not an hour before. For all his good looks, it was not pretty.
“Where’s the manager?” I asked aloud.
A nervous, balding man emerged from the crowd reluctantly, hands wringing. “I am --” he gaped in horror at the body like a fish caught out of water, mouth trying to suck in air.
“You called the cops?”
Bulging eyes pulled away, he seemed relieved to have someone else thinking this through.
“No, uh, no. I’ll go do that.” He turned but stopped to look back at me, “Did you know him?”
I rubbed my face and nodded, “Yeah, I knew him.”
Some minutes later someone brought a hotel bed sheet so I knelt down and draped it over Damian. In doing so I noticed trapped in the clasp of one hand was a single diamond earring. I froze with the knowledge that I’d seen this particular earring on a particular ear lobe before, one my lips were familiar with, intimately. Palming the jewelry, I finished covering the body and rose to return to our table in the ballroom.
Without sitting I pulled Dorothy to her feet and moved us toward the bar.
“What happened?” her brows strained to keep those beautiful green eyes from showing the alarm I felt in her arms.
Shielding her from the rest of the diners, I shoved the earring into her hand. “Put this on.”
She looked down and gasped while feeling her lobes, then replaced the jewel on her left ear.
“Where did you - “
“I didn’t. That’s the story.” I interrupted tersely.
“What happened?” she repeated in a whisper.
I stared into those eyes all innocent looking and wondered just how much of a sap I had been.
“You tell me, Miss James.”
“Seth, I don’t ... what happened?!!”
My heart raced with such desire to hold this dame, to protect her, to believe her.
“Damian’s dead.”
She gasped. It felt real; it looked real; I wanted it to be real.
We stared at one another, her beautiful face a mask of anxiety and fear.
“Where did you find my earring?”
“In his hand.”
She glazed off trying to remember when she’d dropped it or maybe construct the lie she’d need to reassure me. Either way, her reply was a brief, “Thank you.”
She reached out and pulled me into a hug, her hands sliding around to the small of my back. She rest her head against my shoulder. Despite knowing I shouldn’t my reaction was to return the clasp with gentle, reassuring strength.
The police arrived minutes later.
The hotel staff had continued to server coffee and the bar remained open as they asked everyone to remain in the ballroom. I noticed the Senator’s table was empty, his party including the Rutherfords had gone. This left me wondering when, before or after Damian’s murder.
The manager approached our table with two officers in tow and spoke discretely.
“Could you come with me? The police would like to speak with you.”
I followed them to an office off the main hall but in the opposite direction from the body. Behind the desk sat an older gentleman in a rumpled suit still wearing his hat, a cigarette burned in the ashtray on the desk. He looked completely out of place even in the relatively conservative decor of the room.
“I’m Detective Cavanaugh. I hear you know the victim.”
“Seth Graham, and I did. His name is Milton Guisti and he works, uh, worked for me. Went by the name Damian Slick.” I fished a business card from my pocket and handed him one. An event like tonight, it never hurt to be prepared.
“So he was one of the models working tonight?”
“No, at least I don’t think so. I didn’t even know he was here until I saw him lying there.” The lie fell smoothly from my lips.
“Any idea what happened?” The detective’s manner was laconic but his eyes were shrewd.
“None,” I lied again. I had lots of ideas just nothing I wanted to share with the police.
“Know who he might have been here with?”
“Not at all. This isn’t Damian’s usual sort of thing.”
“So what is Damian’s usual thing?”
“Less formal, more single ladies.” Or men. I could feel my nose growing.
The detective grunted. “Anyone here you know might have wanted him dead?”
“Not really. Damian was well liked, pretty much got along with everyone.” That is if you had something he wanted.
He asked me a few more questions about Damian’s recent work and who might have had a grudge against him. I gave him the address of Damian’s family, trying not to imagine how hard this was going to hit them.
As I walked out of the office, Detective Cavanaugh rose but I turned at the door. “How did he die?”
The detective hesitated but eventually said, “Stabbed. Kitchen knife by the looks of it but we haven’t found the actual weapon yet. Whoever did it was angry. Very angry.” He looked at me with those knowing eyes and I had to wonder if he was fitting me for prison stripes.
As soon as we got into the car, she made her case. “Seth, Danny had nothing to do with Damian’s death.”
I couldn’t respond. My head was too crowded with conflicting emotions. Between my desire to know the truth and a driving need to keep her safe even from my own suspicions lay a vast minefield of unanswered questions with potentially deadly consequences.
And here she was defending her brother instead of herself.
“How sure are you of that, hon?” I tried.
“Danny wouldn’t...he couldn’t...”
“He threatened.”
“No, no, I know my brother,” she pleaded with me.
“Because from my view I gotta wonder just how your earring ended up on a dead body.”
Dorothy’s eyes grew big as her pupils dilated. Then she went quiet, thinking this over. “You mean, someone put it there on purpose.” It was a statement not a question.
“Anything you want to tell me, sweetheart?”
She opened her mouth but didn’t respond and I allowed the silence until we reached her street. The parking wasn’t in our favor this evening so I offered to drop her off but she insisted I park and walk with her.
Who didn't see this coming?
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5
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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