The Temporary Detective Read online

  “Ms. Spice said you took a chance on her, that she had no office experience. Is that true?”

  James cleared his throat. “Yes.” He had learned long ago that lying to cops was never a good idea, even though in this case, telling the truth would mean having to explain to Ginger if she got wind of it.

  “Why?”

  “Ginger likes our temps to have plenty of office experience before we send them out. But Isobel seemed very bright, with a lot on the ball, and…” he paused. May as well continue with the truth. “If I’d turned her away, that would have meant not being able to fill the position. Last-minute placements always make you look good, like you’ve got a ready stable of skilled and available talent. Since Ginger would have been disappointed either way, I decided to give Isobel a chance.”

  “So you broke the rules. Do you often break the rules?” Detective Harvey asked, an unpleasant edge to his voice.

  James felt the anger rise out of nowhere. He swallowed hard and counted to five before he answered. “No, I don’t. But there are times when I feel it’s appropriate to consider extenuating circumstances.”

  Detective Harvey leaned toward James, his palms on the desk. “Isobel Spice found the dead woman’s body. Not only that, her fingerprints were on the murder weapon.”

  James’s breath caught. “She didn’t—um—I didn’t know that.”

  “Do you think it was a coincidence that a last-minute call came in from the bank, just as Ms. Spice was sitting in your office ready to take the job?”

  James returned Detective Harvey’s gaze with a steadiness he didn’t feel. “Yes, I do. How could anybody have known I would decide to take a risk and send her out? I almost didn’t.”

  And boy, do I wish I hadn’t, he thought.

  He continued, “So if you’re suggesting that Isobel came to me as a way to get to that bank so she could kill that woman, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Did you know Doreen Fink, Mr. Cooke?” Detective Kozinski asked.

  “Is that the secretary?”

  “Good guess.”

  “You used the past tense,” James said, mentally ticking off a mark in his column. “The only person I know at InterBank Switzerland is Felice Edwards, the human resources director. And I’ve only ever spoken to her on the phone. We’ve never met in person.”

  Detective Harvey gave a sharp nod, and Detective Kozinski followed him to the door.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Cooke. We’ll let you know if we have any further questions.”

  He followed them out, willing them to complete their disappearing act before Ginger returned.

  “One more thing,” Detective Harvey said, holding the door open. “Do you think Isobel Spice is capable of murder?”

  James shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. She’s one of those people who is honest to a fault. A wide-open, ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of person. Sometimes you get more than you want, but she’s real.”

  “Unless she’s just a very good actress,” Detective Harvey said, letting the door slam in James’s face.

  EIGHT

  The sidewalk in front of the audition studio was empty except for passers-by, which Isobel considered a promising sign. The hallway was another story. Bleary-eyed actors leaned against the wall or squatted on the floor. Some chatted amiably, while others were buried in loose-leaf binders silently mouthing song lyrics, their eyebrows rising as they reached for imaginary high notes. The monitor was napping, face down, on the table. Isobel nudged him.

  “Excuse me?”

  He jerked awake. “What?”

  “My name is on the waiting list. Any chance I’ll get in?”

  He rubbed his neck and pushed the grubby legal pad toward her. Many of the names were crossed out.

  “Did they all get seen?” Isobel asked hopefully.

  “No, they gave up and went home.”

  “Hey!”

  Isobel turned around to see Delphi emerging from the restroom. She waved as Delphi made her way down the hall.

  “Did you get in?” Isobel asked.

  “Nah. We’re wasting our time,” Delphi said, indicating the tired, waiting actors lining the walls. “You took off in such a hurry this morning, I didn’t think you’d bother to come back.”

  “It wasn’t easy to get away.”

  “Tough day at the office?”

  “You might say that,” Isobel said. Then she started to laugh. And laugh. She got so hysterical she couldn’t stop. Every time she tried to say something, waves of mirth attacked her again, until tears were running down her face and her stomach cramped.

  “Look at the ceiling,” Delphi instructed.

  “Wh-wh-at?”

  “Look at the ceiling. It makes you stop laughing. It’s a great trick onstage when you’re afraid you’re going to crack up.”

  Isobel looked at the ceiling and found that her body did, indeed, relax its helpless spasms.

  “Oh…my…God,” she panted. “Why does that work?”

  “I have no idea.” Delphi said, bemused. “What was so funny?”

  Before Isobel could answer, a robust, stirring tenor voice invaded the dull hum of the hallway.

  “Sit do-o-o-o-wn, you’re rockin’ the bo-o-o-at!” the voice sang.

  The monitor gave an appreciative nod. “That’s the best sound I’ve heard all day.”

  A few moments later, the door opened and Sunil came out.

  “That was you?” Isobel cried.

  “How did you get in?” asked Delphi, cutting to the real point.

  Sunil smiled ruefully. “A lot fewer guys than dolls.”

  Delphi and Isobel whirled on the monitor, who held up his hands in self-defense. “Another guy didn’t show up, so I slipped him in. It was a fair trade!”

  Isobel looked around. It was true; she counted roughly one man for every five women.

  “You sounded amazing,” she said to Sunil, as they all headed back toward the stairwell.

  He made a face. “Yeah. Fat lot of good it did me. They asked if I’d be interested in playing Ali Hakim when they do Oklahoma in the spring.”

  “But he doesn’t sing,” Delphi said. “How could they waste that glorious voice on a speaking role?”

  Sunil stopped. “Look at me,” he said.

  “What? You’re too good-looking?”

  “I’m too Indian.”

  Isobel glanced at Delphi and they both looked away, unsure what to say.

  “I’m not exactly as corny as Kansas in August,” he went on.

  “Wrong show,” Delphi pointed out.

  Sunil shrugged. “Same difference.”

  “I thought people were casting non-traditionally these days,” ventured Isobel.

  “Call me racist, but I think some minorities make out better than others.”

  “Isn’t a bit too early to be bitter?” Delphi asked.

  “I’ve been in New York for a year already,” he said gloomily.

  “I meant that it’s only four-thirty. I try not to get jaded and cynical until after eight.”

  Sunil managed a chuckle, but they soon fell silent. At the corner, they stopped for the light, and Delphi turned to Isobel.

  “You never told me what was so funny before. Maybe it will cheer up Sunil.”

  “It wasn’t funny exactly,” Isobel said. “More ironic.”

  As Isobel described the events of the last two days, she couldn’t help but be satisfied at the looks of shock on her new friends’ faces. Unpleasant as it all was, she knew it made her more interesting.

  “That’s why when you said ‘tough day at the office,’ I kind of lost it,” Isobel finished.

  Sunil nodded. “I think I saw that on the news last night. Some Swiss bank?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’ve never temped, but from what I’ve heard, offices are not generally breeding grounds for murder. Looks like you hit the jackpot first time out,” said Delphi.

  “Yeah, luc
ky me,” Isobel said. “What do you do for money?”

  “I wait tables at Vino Rosso on Restaurant Row. Sometimes lunch, sometimes dinner. Tips are decent and,” Delphi smiled slyly, “I’m picking up a little Italian from the maître d’.”

  As they continued walking toward the subway, Sunil asked, “You’re not really going back there, are you?”

  “I have to.”

  Delphi stopped her. “No, you don’t. It’s dangerous.”

  “I wouldn’t go back if I thought there were an insane murderer on the loose,” Isobel said. “On the contrary, whoever did this was very sane. Let me tell you, I wanted to kill that woman after three hours.”

  Delphi looked askance at Isobel. “You…didn’t, right?”

  For some reason, Delphi asking her point-blank bothered her less than James’s confused hinting. “Of course I didn’t. But I don’t blame you for asking. You hardly know me.”

  “It sounds like whoever did it also wanted to humiliate her,” Sunil mused. “I mean, think about it. Captured for all eternity on the pot!”

  “Could it have been somebody from outside who came in, waylaid her in the bathroom, pulled the emergency bell and left?” Delphi asked.

  Isobel shook her head. “She was such an unpleasant person that it just doesn’t seem random.”

  “Then you definitely should not go back there, paycheck or no paycheck,” Delphi said.

  Sunil nodded. “Delphi’s right.”

  “You’re sweet to be so concerned, but I’ll be fine.” Isobel smiled. “It was really nice meeting you both. Good luck with everything.”

  “I think you need it more than we do,” Sunil said.

  As Isobel rode south on the subway, sardined between a bike messenger in need of deodorant and a young mother juggling twin toddlers, she wondered whether to take her new friends’ advice. No job was worth risking her life. But what about the other people at the bank? They were all continuing to show up for work, weren’t they? They had no choice. They all had jobs to do.

  Well, so did she. She needed the money. James didn’t have anything else for her, and even if he did, he might not send her out again. She still hadn’t proven herself, not really.

  And that was what she had come to New York to do. Prove herself.

  NINE

  Despite the fact that the Evangeline Residence had the benefit of being practically around the corner from her new job, Isobel couldn’t wait to get her own apartment. She knew it probably meant sharing an illegal sublet with a stranger, but that was all part of the romance of being a struggling actor in New York, and she was one hundred percent committed to that romance, hardships and all. As she reclined on a sofa in the parlor, partially hidden by a potted palm, she scoured apartment rentals on her laptop, while one of the other residents tinkered with a Chopin étude on the grand piano.

  After bookmarking a few possibilities to inspect on the weekend, Isobel closed her computer. The Guys and Dolls audition had been a bust, but she was glad she’d gone back. Sunil really had a gorgeous voice, and he seemed like a sweet guy. Delphi was offbeat, but Isobel liked her. She was genuinely touched by their concern. Of course, she hadn’t told them that her prints were on the murder weapon. That was worrying. Coupled with the fact that she’d been the one to find Doreen, it didn’t look good. Perhaps if she could come up with some tidbit of information that pointed to someone else, she’d be able to convince the police she was innocent.

  Then again, if going back to the bank was a bad idea, nosing around into this Doreen business was a worse one. She didn’t want to wind up with her head stapled to a desk. But how much harm was there in asking a few questions?

  Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up from the side of the settee.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s James. I need to talk to you.”

  “Was I supposed to call you again? Everything’s fine. I mean, they officially asked me to stay on, so—”

  “You didn’t tell me you found Doreen’s body and your fingerprints were on the scissors!”

  Isobel inhaled sharply. “How do you know that?”

  “How do you think? I had a little visit from the cops today. Do you realize you put my ass on the line? I wasn’t supposed to send you out in the first place!”

  Isobel sat up. “Now, wait a minute. It’s not my fault that cow got herself killed.”

  “If Ginger finds out that I broke the rules and you’re involved in this mess, I’m history!”

  “As the person working alongside a cold-blooded murderer, I’d say I’m the one with my ass on the line!” The girl playing Chopin stopped mid-phrase and gaped at her. “Sorry,” Isobel whispered.

  “At least you could have warned me before the cops showed up!”

  “You didn’t give me a chance! Besides, when I talked to you, they hadn’t found the scissors.”

  “But you must have known your prints were on them!”

  “If I stopped to think about everything I happened to touch my first day rummaging through that stupid desk drawer, I might have thought of it. But since I’m not the one who plunged the fucking scissors into her chest, it wasn’t exactly top of mind!” Isobel shouted.

  The Chopin girl got up from the piano bench and hurried out of the room, glancing furtively at Isobel over her shoulder.

  “Did you have anything at all to do with Doreen’s murder?”

  Isobel was so shocked, it took her a minute to reply. Then she let him have it.

  “Well, what the hell took you so long? Were you just too chickenshit to ask? Of course I didn’t! I’d never met that woman before—I’d never been in an office before, as you well know—and any idiot knows that it’s poor form to kill your co-workers, especially on the first day!”

  Isobel was standing now, and she kicked the potted palm with her foot to punctuate her anger. The effect, of course, was lost on James. Too bad, because it hurt like hell.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. “It’s just hard to know. And, I mean…”

  “What? What exactly do you mean?”

  “You’re an actress. You could be totally bullshitting me,” James said, finally.

  “You don’t really believe that,” she said, although as she spoke, she found herself perversely wishing she were that good an actress.

  “No,” James said. He spoke so softly she wasn’t sure she had heard him properly.

  “What was that?” she pressed.

  “No, I don’t think you killed her. Damn cops! They get in your head and mess with you. I’m sorry.”

  “And here I thought you were worried about me.”

  “I am.”

  “Fine way to show it!”

  Isobel caught a movement by the door of the parlor and saw the Chopin girl enter with the director of the residence.

  “I have to go,” she whispered.

  Before James could answer, she hung up and sat down again on the settee.

  “Excuse me,” said the director, a prim, unsmiling woman with her hair in a tight, black bun. “I understand you were using your cell phone in a public room and screaming obscenities into it. We can’t have that here, as I’m sure you understand. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “The room or the residence?” Isobel asked, her blood still boiling.

  “The room for now, the residence if your behavior is repeated.”

  Isobel snatched up her things and stalked across the well-worn carpet. “That’s fine with me,” she called out haughtily as she left. “I don’t intend to stay in this dump any longer than I have to!”

  It was unfortunate, she realized later, that the person for whom she had really intended her dramatic exit hadn’t seen or heard her make it.

  TEN

  “Baby doll!” James slid onto the bar stool next to Jayla’s.

  She was halfway through a glass of white wine, and there was already a Coke waiting for him. He leaned over and shimmied his lips up her neck to her earlobe. That usually dro
ve her wild, but now she turned her hazel cat-eyes on him in a glare of fury.

  “You gonna tell me who that was who called you?”

  “Honey, she’s just a new temp who started with us yesterday. Right out of school, totally green, and we sent her out to InterBank Switzerland, of all places.”

  Jayla folded her arms across her chest. “What’s your point?”

  “InterBank Switzerland? It was all over the news yesterday. Don’t you read the paper or watch television?”

  “I don’t like your tone. You know I do, but I was tired last night.”

  “A secretary was killed there yesterday, and Isobel was working with her. I didn’t hear about it until late when I saw it on the news, and I wanted to make sure…” He hesitated. There were several possible ways to finish that sentence. Knowing Jayla would never know the difference, he chose the one least flattering to Isobel. “I wanted to make sure she didn’t do it.”

  “Killed a secretary? That little pipsqueaky thing who called? She could no more kill a cockroach than a person. I don’t even know her, but I can tell you that much. Miss Namby-Pamby, ‘Um, excuse me, but did y’all call my cell phone?’” She raised her voice to a pitch only dogs could hear.

  James bounced a cardboard coaster on the bar. “You don’t understand. She’s kind of a walking disaster. She doesn’t waitress, because she…” He paused again. Nothing wrong with stretching the truth a little. “She almost killed a nun with a lobster.”

  Jayla tossed her head to one side, her beautiful long dreadlocks making a slapping noise against her bare shoulder. “If she’s such a disaster, why on earth did you hire her?”

  Good question, thought James, but of course he couldn’t say that. Or could he?

  “Good question,” he said.

  “Well, something made you. And something made you call her last night, and it wasn’t because you think she murdered someone!”

  James took Jayla’s hand and twined his fingers in hers. He stroked her cheek with both their hands and murmured, “Jay-Jay, baby doll, you know you’re the only woman in my life!”

  “Whenever a man says that, you know it ain’t true!”