Page 15 of Copper

“We don’t talk about you,” Aaron says in a clipped tone. Seriously, does Murphy think he’s the topic of every conversation? “Did you know the man that died recently? George Cannon? I think he was a member of the club, right?”

Murphy’s too smart to fall for it. He makes a clicking noise with his mouth. “We didn’t have a member by that name, but I read about that in the press. Damn shame. Didn’t seem like the motorcycle type.”

“Really? You didn’t know him? That’s so weird.” Aaron goes back to his cheesecake.

Murphy leans forward, not blinking. “What’s weird?”

“Well, my detective on the case, Coleson, found some evidence that showed a payment from Cannon to your club. My deputy told me about it, but maybe he got the information wrong.”

“Obviously. I don’t know George Cannon. We don’t deal in his kind.”

Aaron tilts his head to the side. “What kind is that?”

Murphy sputters a laugh, and it almost sounds evil. Every set of shoulders at the table tenses. “Old. The guy was past our prime member age requirement. All members are under fifty. There’s another club we partner with for older riders.”

“I didn’t say how old he was, and I’m not sure if we released that to the press. So you knew him?”

Murphy takes his cloth napkin off his lap and throws it on the table. “I already said I didn’t know him. If the press got his age right, we wouldn’t have let him in. I’m sure I saw it in the news. Your deputy and your detective don’t have shit right.”

Aaron takes a drink of his coffee. “That must be true. My mistake. How is the club doing? Good membership levels? Incidentally, why are there two clubs?”

“It’s just the way I do things, Sheriff Dwyer. I’m sure you and Lucy have your…ways.” He leers at my tits, completely ignoring his date and her wide eyes. She may be a hooker, but she knows something is up, and she wants nothing to do with it. “Why can’t you solve the case of who killed George Cannon? In fact, I think there was another murder recently. Sounds like you don’t have control of your county.”

“Who’s excited for dancing?” I ask, pressing hard on Aaron’s thigh under the table. “I need to use the restroom first.”

I stand and place my napkin on top of my half-eaten plate of cheesecake. Aaron respectfully stands as I rise from the table. “I’ll be back.” I lean in closer to Aaron’s jaw. “I’m going to walk around and see if I see anything else odd. Try not to kill him while I’m gone.”

Taking a deep breath, I walk down a marble staircase to the downstairs ladies’ room. Rounding the corner, the breath knocks out of me as I’m pushed against the wall so fast that my vision blurs. I open my mouth to scream, but it’s fruitless. A hand that smells like cigarette smoke and raw onions covers my mouth. It’s not like anyone would hear me anyway since thunderous applause comes from upstairs as another speaker takes the podium.

“Funny seeing you here, bitch,” the voice says. “I nearly shit when I saw you.”

I blink twice, clearing my vision, and find the mafia-hired help with his face three inches from mine. I didn’t see him at dinner. Was he waiting for me to use the bathroom all night, or did he follow me out of the dining room?

“We need to have a little chat about money.” Something cold and sharp is pushed against my pelvic region. “If you value your clit, you’ll talk to me like a good little girl.”

My stomach roils, and I look around the area for any asset. A vase I could smash over his head. Someone walking nearby.

But everyone is upstairs. The man grabs my elbow and roughly drags me to the corner past the bathroom door and pushes me up against old-fashioned, salmon-colored wallpaper. This is obviously the least cared-for area of the event hall. To anyone passing by, we’d look like lovers making out against a wall.

He digs the knife between my legs, and I yelp. “If anyone comes down here, you’ll be quiet. Understand? I know where the artery is.”

I nod. Play dumb, Lucy. It’s saved you before with them.

He smiles and licks my face again as I cringe from his saliva. “You owe me money.”

“I don’t have it. I’m a stripper and have to pay the bills.”

“You’re Beck’s wife. You have money.”

“Beck wasn’t wealthy. He probably borrowed money from you guys and scrimped to pay it back. He’s still missing. Take it up with him. If you find him, let him know I want a divorce. I told you I’d try to get you the money, but I have bills to pay.”

“Not my problem.” He leers down my dress. “But we’ll make a deal. I want half of it or this clit you like gets removed. Capiche?”

“I don’t even know how to contact you,” I say. Maybe I can get some useful information here. Names. Places. If they work for or with Murphy. “Who are you people?”

That earns me a chokehold. He grips my throat tight, and I gasp, inhaling air. “My name is Geoffrey, and that’s all you need to know. You know Murphy Beckett, too. I saw you at dinner.”

“He’s Beck’s cousin,” I whisper, barely getting the words out.

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