Page 15 of Bringing Chelsea Home

“You’ve got that right,” Elizabeth agreed, opened her fisted hands. “Yeah, I heard something. There were these two strippers next to me, getting face-packs. I was too, and I had my eyes closed, so I guess they thought I was sleeping ‘cause I don’t think they’d want me hearing what they were saying about some guys bringing really young strippers to town to dance atSapphire’s, their club sometime soon, like next weekend.”

“How do you know they were strippers?” Elaine asked, marveling at Griff’s skill to get Elizabeth to talk.

Elizabeth’s grin broadened and her shoulders relaxed. “‘Cause they were talking about how pissed they were at their manager for maybe thinking they were getting too old for the job when they were both only twenty-four and that they’d had their boobs and butts done last year, and they could still take it off and shake their moneymakers with the best of them.”

Griff grabbed a bottle of water from the interior pocket of his jacket, unscrewed the top and chugged several swallows as Elaine turned her rising laugh into a cough. Ex-Marine he might be, but when was the last time he had a conversation about strippers’ bodies?

“I didn’t know strippers-or do they call themselves exotic dancers-made that kind of money,” he gasped.

A scowl replaced Elizabeth’s smile.“Sapphire’sis not your typical strip joint,” she explained. “It calls itself a ‘gentlemen’s club’ and becoming a member will set you back four figures a year. It will cost you fifty bucks to get in if you’re not a member. House drinks start at ten dollars, but the bartenders will cut you off after four singles unless you can prove someone else is doing the driving because they don’t want any PI or DUI charges coming back to haunt them. But the girls are gorgeous and make a fortune in tips. I guess some of what they do could be called exotic dancing, if you like that kind of thing.”

“Any prostitution?” Elaine asked bluntly. No sense in mincing words. Not if underage girls were involved.

“I don’t know for sure,” Elizabeth admitted. “At I didn’t hear the girls mention it, but then again, who knows? There are other places in town with strippers that aren’t nearly as nice asSapphire’s.And I’ve heard there’s some hooking going on there.”

“Sounds like you Knoxville well,” Griff commented. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost five years.”

“Did those women say how young these girls are?” Elaine asked.

Elizabeth’s scowl deepened. “Some as young as fifteen.”

Thinking of Chelsea’s postcard, Elaine fought to keep her voice level. “Did they say where the girls were coming from?”

“I don’t think so,” Elizabeth admitted. “They were too busy bitching about their manager.” Her fingers strayed to play with a rolled napkin. “Do you think I might be able to see you for counseling?” she asked shyly. If you were Sister Bernie’s friend, then I think I could trust you.”

“You’ve not seen a counselor in all this time?” Elaine’s heart ached for her. “Absolutely.” She fished a business card out of her purse, wrote something on the back and handed it over. “When you call the number on the front, ask for Leanne. She keeps my schedule, and she can work you in sometime after Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks.” Elizabeth pocketed the card as Elaine’s phone beeped. She took it from her purse and reading the screen, her mouth went dry. Looking at Griff, she said. “Would you text Patrick, please? We need to go see Miller.”

She put the phone away and looked back at Elizabeth. “Thank you for telling us about this. Could you, would you let us know if you learn exactly when these girls will be arriving?”

For a second, fear glittered in Elizabeth’s eyes only to be replaced by something dangerous. “Will it help find who killed Sister Bernie?”

Recognizing ferocity when she saw it, Elaine said, “That’s what we’re hoping for.”

“Then count me in,” Elizabeth declared. “If I need you, I’ll send another menu to Mother Winnifred at St. Nicholas since she knew about the arrangement.”

“We’ll check daily,” Griff said, scribbling on a napkin. “Here’s my number too. I’d get a burner phone if I were you, so no one can trace your calls to us. Let me know if you need help paying for them.”

They wove their way among the tables to the foyer. Outside, Griff stopped her, curiosity pulling his eyebrows together. “Did you give her your actual cell number?”

“I did.” Elaine raised her chin. “With everything going on, I’m not going to trust missing a call from her if she needs us with a burner phone. My gut tells me she only uses it if she absolutely needs me. I mean, us.”

“Ok,” Griff said, texting Patrick. “What did Miller want?”

“A body was brought into the morgue this morning,” she said, pulling in a long breath. “He thinks it’s the man who attacked me.”

CHAPTER8

A short timelater

“Haveyou ever seen a dead body before?” Sergeant Grant Miller asked. The atmosphere in the morgue’s hallway reeked of bleach and a popular scented floor cleaner, but it was cold, colder than it was outside, and Griff regretted forgetting his gloves.

Beside him, Elaine stiffened. “At funerals of course,” she said. “But right after they died? Only Sister Bernie. When was the body brought in?”

“Just after five o’clock this morning,” Miller said. “We’d faxed a copy of the police sketch over here just in case he turned up.”

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