Page 42 of The Mermaid Murder

“You went to her dorm room.”

“I’m sleeping in her dorm room. She’s not using it, why would I pay for a motel?”

“You can stay with us,” I said.

“In your love nest? No thanks. I’m not a third wheel.” That with a pointed look at Jeremy.

Mason missed the whole exchange. He was shaking his head. “She left her fucking phone behind.”

Mason never said fucking. I said fucking. If I were a mermaid, “Fuck” would be the catchphrase under my glamour shot.

“We need to get a look at the employee files,” Christy said. “Get an address on Eva Quaid and head there next.”

“Why there?” I asked.

“Because the husband still lives there,” Christy said. “And what better suspect than the spouse?”

“Employee files it is,” I said. “Lead the way.”

Christy gave a nod, not even slightly surprised that I’d agreed to trespass. But then she glanced at Jeremy and gave a little shrug. “Maybe you cop types should step outside? Wait in the cars. Plausible deniability or whatever.”

Jeremy sucked in a breath, then exhaled, “That’s the reason.”

“What?” I asked. But Mason was nodding as if he already knew.

“She broke up with Jeremy to keep him out of it if she gets into trouble.”

I blinked. “It’s plausible. It also suggests she’s doing something illegal.” Then I said, “Must run in the family. Come to think of it, so do cops.”

Mason took a deep breath. “I’m going outside to… check on the car. And I require your assistance on that, Jere.” Because you know, they were cops, out of their jurisdiction, without a warrant, and Christy and I were about to go snooping.

We stepped out of the private dining room and into the main dining room. The guys headed across toward the front doors. Christy led me down a hall that led left from the big room.

“That’s the office, there,” Christy said, pointing at a closed door that I immediately approached. “But it’s probably lock?—”

I turned the knob. The door swung open. We stepped inside. A green four-drawer filing cabinet stood there just asking to be rifled. I opened the third drawer in search of the Qs.

“What the hell is this?” said a gruff and angry male voice from right behind us.

I spun around and slammed the file drawer shut in a single, guilty-looking move. Christy was saying, “Um… We were… uh?—”

I took a long step toward him and pointed my finger at his round, unshaven face. He had the beginnings of bulldog jowls just starting to droop. “You’re in big trouble, mister. If you’re trying to take advantage of your employees, that is.” I had no idea where I was going, I was just going.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m a lawyer and I want to see this young woman’s contract.”

Christy rolled her eyes and sent her boss a pleading look. “She’s my aunt. I’m sorry Mr. Mackey,” she said in her softer, slightly higher pitched Misty-voice. “She wanted to see my contract, and I thought it was the easiest way to uh…” She gave a delicate shrug.

“Shut her up?” he filled in. Then he shouldered past us, reached for a different drawer. He pulled the file out almost without looking and handed it to me. “Have at it, Auntie Lawyer. And as for you,” he said to Christy, “This is the second time I’ve caught you in my office when I wasn’t. Once more, you’re fired. If the owners weren’t coming tonight, I’d fire you right now. Shit.”

“The owners? The owners are the VIPs who are coming tonight?” Christy asked. “I thought that was in two weeks.”

“Well, it’s tonight. They wanted to catch the performers off guard, see how you look when you haven’t had any prior warning they’d be there.”

“What a bunch of assholes,” she said in a voice entirely un-Misty like.

“Hey!” The boss barked, so I stepped between them. “This is actually an amazing contract.” Because it was.

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