R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “All I remember is thinking that it would be a horrible way to go.”

Yeah.

Right.

He didn’t care.

At this second he cared about one thing and one thing only.

His mouth went to hers.

His hand went between her thighs.

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Afternoon

The talk at Fisherman’s Wharfwas small and inconsequential, neither focused on business nor anything of significance. In the end, Waverly wasn’t sure if Bristol’s appearance was planned or accidental. When she got back to the office, however, the top sheet of the scratch pad-the one she wrote Bristol’s home number on-was gone.

Had Bristol spotted it as he walked past?

Did he wonder what his home phone number was doing on Waverly’s desk?

Did he tail her and swing by, as if by chance, to get a feel for her?

Did he connect the dots between the number and the events of last night?

Bolt.

That’s what her gut said, bolt.

Something ugly was headed her way.

The phone rang with calls all afternoon. A good number of them were for Bristol who never tipped a hand when Waverly patched them through. Then an unexpected call came, for none other than Waverly herself, from Su-Moon.

“I’m outsidethe building on the street,” she said. “Find an excuse to come down here. I need to talk to you.”

Five minutes later Waverly slipped out, bypassed the elevator and bounded down the stairs two at a time to street level.

Su-Moon was clearly excited.

“Big news,” she said. “I wasn’t finding anything, not for a long time, but my mind kept going back to this Land Camera that was stashed in the top dresser drawer. At first I didn’t know why it kept nagging me, then I realized that it was because I hadn’t come across any photos-only the camera, no photos. That’s when I started to dig deeper.”

She pulled an envelope out of her purse.

“I found this taped underneath the bottom drawer of the dresser. Take a look.”

Waverly opened it.

Inside were dozens upon dozens of black-and-white Polaroid film photos.

All of them were of women.

Most of them were naked or close to it, posing in lewd positions.

“There are at least five different women in these photos,” Su-Moon said. “I’ll bet dollars to donuts that one of them is Kava Every. That’s what you need to find out.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, just do it.”

Waverly handed the envelope back.

Su-Moon wouldn’t take it.

“You keep it,” she said.

Waverly shook her head.

“You need to go put it back,” she said. “He’s going to find it missing.”

“Who cares?”

“We care.”

“No we don’t,” Su-Moon said. “Wait, give it to me a minute.” She took it, flipped through the photos until she got to one near the back and said, “These. These are the ones that interest me.”

Waverly studied them.

There were seven or eight photos.In each one the woman wore a dress. A fan was underneath her, blowing the dress up.

They were very erotic.

“What about them?” Waverly said.

“Look at their dresses.”

“I am.”

“And what do you see?”

“They’re blowing up.”

“Does that strike you as strange?”

“They all strike me as strange.”

“Let me put it this way,” Su-Moon said. “That’s what their dresses would look like if they were falling off a building.”

She handed the envelope back to Waverly.

“Go find out if one of these women is Kava Every.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

Alexa Blankwas a blue-eyed princess with strawberry pigtails and a spring in her step. Looking into her eyes, River was glad the contract was rescinded. She’d be a hard one to kill. She pulled a pencil and pad out of her apron and said, “What’ll it be, cowboy?”

“Coffee.” A beat, then he added, “But not here.”

She wrinkled her forehead.

“Not here?”

“No, not here,” he said. “Down the street.”

“Down the street?”

He nodded.

“At a different restaurant. With you.”

She shifted into a sexier position, edging in ever so slightly.

“With me, huh?”

“Right. With you.”

“You’re hitting on me.”

“I am.”

She studied his eyes and found no lies. A smile worked its way onto her mouth.

“Be careful,” she said. “I might call your bluff.”

“Start calling because I’m dead serious.”

She stood there deciding, then slipped out of her apron, tossed it across the counter next to the donuts and said, “Mary, I got to run a quick errand. Be a peach and take my tables for ten minutes, will you?”

Outsideshe locked her arm through River’s as they headed down the street.

“I don’t do this with just anybody,” she said.

“Me either.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She moved her hand up and felt his muscles. “You remind me of Tarzan.”

“You mean I’m someone who belongs in a jungle?”

She punched his arm.

“No, I mean it in a good way. What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“River,” he said. “Dayton River.”

She shook his hand.

“I’m Alexa Blank.”

“I know.”

She furrowed her eyes.

“You know? How do you know?”

“I know because someone hired me to abduct you,” he said.

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

Alabama was sittingbehind the desk munching on a donut with her feet propped up when Wilde opened the door into the main room. By the look on her face she was getting a kick out of the one on his. “How long have you been here?”

She ignored him, looked at Secret and said, “I hope he’s better than he sounds.”

Secret smiled.

“He was okay.”

Wilde looked at her.

“Okay?”

She nodded.

“Just okay?”

“There’s nothing wrong with okay,” she said, “Especially for your first time. You’ll get better.”

“My first time?”

“Right,” she said. “We all have one. We’re clumsy and awkward then we improve.”

Wilde lit a cigarette and blew smoke at her.

“Not funny.”

Alabama picked a tie off the desk and threw it to Wilde. “You forgot that on the doorknob.” To Secret, “Don’t count on him improving. He’s not all that trainable.”

“I already figured that out.”

Wilde hated libraries.

He hated the musty smells and the squeaky wheels of the shelving carts and most of all he hated the quiet air. He couldn’t think when it was that quiet. Well, that wasn’t completely true, he could think but what he usually thought about was the fact that he needed to keep quiet.

After Secret left, Wilde told Alabama that Secret remembered reading something about a woman falling from a building in New York two or three years ago.

“Go down to the library, dig through the old New York papers and see what you can find out about it.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious if the woman was wearing a red dress.”

“You think there’s a connection to what happened here?”

He shrugged.

“That’s what you’re going to find out.”

She pecked a kiss on his cheek and headed for the door

“Yes, master.”

Then she was gone.

He stood there in silence.

Something was wrong.