“Yeah. He’s giving it to Scat. Can you believe that? Giving my solo to Scat. Those two sons of bitches are conspiring against me!” He stomped away.
Paula peered across at Ben, obviously waiting for an explanation. “People here seem to have no trouble confiding in you.”
Ben laughed nervously. “Isn’t that strange? I guess I just have one of those faces people trust. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
He had barely finished his sentence when Diane came racing up to their table. Her lipstick was smeared and her hair was even more of a mess than usual. “Earl’s changed the schedule, Ben,” she said, almost out of breath. “We’re on in twenty minutes.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Don’t be late. We’re gonna try the ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’ set again. Hope we get further than we did last time.” She skittered away. “Gotta tell the rest of the guys.”
Ben turned back to find Paula gaping at him. “You’re a musician?”
Ben cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly. “I guess there’s no point in denying it, is there?”
“I never pictured you as a musician. You never mentioned it.”
“Well …”
“Why didn’t you tell me? You know I love music.”
“I guess it never came up.”
“Never came up? We’ve spent hours talking about—” She snapped her fingers. “That’s where I’ve seen you. You play the piano!”
“Well … yes.”
“You’re the one who found the corpse the other night!”
“You were here?”
“Of course I was. Remember? That’s why I was late for our first private chat date. The police held us for questioning. But—if you were here too, you must’ve also been late.”
“Uh … yeah. I guess I was.”
“But you said you’d been waiting for me for more than an hour.”
“Did I?” Ben could feel red splotches starting up his neck. “I have a tendency to exaggerate.”
“Exaggerate is not the word I would have used.” She lifted her glass and finished the Scotch in a single gulp. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” She leaned forward, a mischievous smile illuminating her face. “All right, Jones. Ben. Whatever. Tell me your fantasy again.”
Ben felt his throat go dry. “My … fantasy?”
“Your guilty pleasure fantasy.” She leered. “You remember. The one with the cucumbers. And the grapes.”
“Cucumbers and grapes? Is this a fantasy or a recipe?”
She jabbed him in the side. “You remember. The cucumbers and the grapes. And the vestal virgins.”
Dizziness began to set in. Ben gripped the edge of the table. “Vestal virgins?”
“Right. And then I come in riding the unicorn.” She giggled. “Stark naked.”
“Oh, that fantasy.” He signaled for the waiter, who appeared almost instantly. “I’m going to need something a little stronger.”
Ten minutes later, Ben was still trying to reconstruct Jones’s guilty pleasure fantasy. “So then, after I rescue you from the fire-breathing dragon, I sweep you off your feet and carry you into the cave. Without saying a word, you remove that tall pointed hat, unfasten a single button, and your gown drops to the ground, revealing you wearing nothing but a sheer diaphanous teddy.” He wiped his brow. Although the air conditioner was pumping away, he seemed to be sweating profusely. “You look me in the eyes and pull me toward you, and I’m powerless to resist—”
He realized she was pouting. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?”
“You’re leaving out all the best parts.”
“The best parts? I worked in the vestal virgins.”
“But you left out the body paint.”
“Did I? How careless of me.”
“And Merlin’s medieval petroleum jelly.”
Ben cleared his throat. “That too?”
“And the edible underwear.”
“The—” Ben rose to his feet, his knees trembling. “Jones!”
Paula stared at him as if he were a few fries short of a Happy Meal. “Have you totally taken leave of—”
“Jones!” Ben’s face was flushed red. “I’m not doing this anymore!”
A moment later, Jones slithered out of the crowd. “You called, Boss?”
Paula looked more confused by the second. “Jones? Boss? What in the hell—”
Ben grabbed Jones by the shoulders. “Paula, this is Jones. Fingers. Whatever you want to call him. This is the man with whom you’ve been spinning fantasies on the Net.”
“But you—”
“You heard me correctly. It was him. Not me, him. I had nothing to do with it. Ben is my name, not his. I’m a musician, he’s not. He was the executive office manager at my former law office. A fine human being. But he had some crazy idea you might not like him, so he asked me—”
“You mean it wasn’t you?” She slowly rose out of her chair. “The man I chatted with online. It was him.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Paula looked at Jones. “Is that true?”
Jones averted his eyes. “Mm-mmm.”
“Oh, thank God.” Paula fell forward and clutched Jones’s shoulders. “Oh, thank you, God.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I was just so distraught.” Relief washed across her face. “I was so looking forward to this meeting. And then to find that the words I had fallen for”—she held her hand limply out toward Ben—“came from this … this …”
“I beg your pardon?” Ben said.
“Well, I mean, really.” She grabbed Jones’s hand and pulled him down to the table. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”
Jones peered up at her. “It does?”
“I knew something was wrong the second I saw him.”
“You did?”
“I’m sure he’s a fine person and all that, but when I heard he was a musician—brrrr!” She did a mock shiver from head to toe. “Musicians are so self-absorbed, you know? Always looking for the limelight. Never giving a moment’s thought to other people’s needs.”
“I’m not like that at all,” Ben said, but he had the distinct impression no one was listening.
“I like men who are down-to-earth. Men who are doing things that really matter.”
Jones swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “I’m—” He took a deep breath. “I’m not really a private investigator.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course you’re not. We were just playing around. Sharing fantasies.”
“We were?”
“Sure. But you don’t have to pretend anymore with me. I just want you to be who you really are. So you’re an office manager?”
Another deep breath. “I’m a secretary.”
“Really!” She squeezed his hand. “So you work with words, too. I should have known—you’re so literate.” She scooted her chair closer to his. “You know, Jones, I have a very good feeling about this.”
“Well,” Ben said, “I guess if I’m no longer needed …”
Paula didn’t look up. “Don’t you have some piano-playing to do?”
Couldn’t be much less subtle than that, Ben thought. “Right. I’ll go … tune my piano.”
Ben started toward the stage. He met Gordo on his way up. “How’s it hanging?”
“Not well. This is craziness, man.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“This place is nuts. Nuts. No one’s promise is worth anything. No one can be trusted. Death is in the air.”
“Ah. But from your standpoint, that’s a good thing, right?”
They stepped onto the stage, behind the curtain. Denny was already there, but Scat’s sax was unattended. Ben was halfway to the piano when, out of nowhere, he heard a bloodcurdling scream.
“What in the name of—” He whirled around.
“It’s blood! Blood!”