My name is Jane Rizzoli. I'm a Detective.
But I don't investigate cheating spouses or crooked business partners.
I investigate things that go bump in the night.
How do you got stared in paranormal investigations is a long story.
Something took my wife from me.
Rose was my whole world.
Now she's gone. I've been running down leads ever since.
It's a though racket, looking into the dark and creeping things.
Most people won't even admit they believe in ghosts and goblins, much less consult a Detective about it.
And the cops?
They aren't interested in solving the strange side.
I know, because I used to be one of them.
Now I work for yourself, which means most months the bills go unpaid.
This month being no exception.
I'm at the office, feet up on the desk, paperback novel in hand when a leggy blonde in a pinstripe mini-skirt and a black fedora with lipstick the color of temptation saunters in.
My eyes make a slow trip up those long legs to a narrow waist and then linger on her ... lips before settling onto a pair of eyes that promise sin.
She gives me the same treatment.
I can't tell is she if likes what she sees or if she's seizing me up, questioning whether I am up to the job.
Ignoring a pair if tatty office chairs, she perches herself on the edge of the corner of your desk instead and crosses one leg over the other, revealing a lot of thigh.
It's kind of late night rerun I never get tired of watching.
She takes a cigarette from her purse and I flick open my Zippo.
She takes a long drag, blows a steam of blue smoke up toward the cracked ceiling and says, "So you're a private dick?"
"Public dick as well." I say. "What can I do for you?"
"Someone's trying to kill me." she says.
"Why would anyone want to kill you?"
"That's what I want you to find out."
I chuckle. "Fair enough. But we haven't been introduced yet."
"Maura Isles."
I clear my throat. It's suddenly hot in here.
I resist the urge to put a finger in the collar of my white blouse and tug. "And why do you think someone is trying to kill you?"
She doesn't answer right away.
She shrudders almost imperceptibly, I pretend not to notice. I wait her out.
Finally she says, "Mrs. Rizzoli. In fact I've just become the headline act."
My curious at the way her face pinches as she admits this, but I merely say, "Call me Jane", and lean back in my chair, knowing she's about to explain herself.
She nodes and takes a breath. "Okay, Jane. Like I said, I'm now the top dancer - the reason they sell tickets. That's why someone is trying to kill me. Only not in a normal sense. You see, the other headliners have all died."
"How's that?"
Maura shrugs. "Different ways. Joanie got run over by bus, and Deedee fell out of a sixth floor window."
"Sounds like a pair of unfortunate accidents." I tell her
"That's just what the boys,down at the police station said." she gets up and paces the floor. "But you don't know all the facts. Joanie was paranoid about crossing traffic. It was practically a phobia with her. She had a brother, see. He got run over and killed when Joanie was only ten. It stuck with her."
"That sort of things always does."
"There's no way Joanie walked out into traffic without looking first."
"Either of them take drugs? Or drink?"
She gives me an exasperated look. "Just because we are dancers doesn't mean we are booze hounds as well, Mrs. Rizzoli."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Joanie liked to hit the bottle, but she wasn't drinking that night. I know that for a fact. I was with her fifteen minutes before she died. She hadn't touched a drop. And Deedee, she was straight-laced. A good kid. She fell out of a hotel window that doesn't open. Just fell right out. Even the police couldn't explain it."
I lean back and make a steeple of my fingers. "That is suspicious. The cops look into it?"
She snorts, "In a city like Boston? Couple of dancers turn up dead, no one cares. The police put it down to a accident."
"They aren't very open-minded about this sort of thing." I agree. "What do their deaths have to do with you? Why do you believe you are next?"
"Both had my part before they died. Someone or something killed them, Jane. I just know it. Won't you help me?"
I weight my options.
This is the first paying gig I've seen in a while and I could really use the money.
"Keep your shirt on, sweetheart. I can help you. But it ain't cheap."
"I have money." Maura says. She glance down at the fashionably small handbag she's clinching. "How much do you charge?"
"Fifty Dollars a day, plus one hundred up front."
Her lips press together in a small frown.
It's a hefty fee, but she nods all the same.
If there really is more to these deaths than accident, I won't know until I investigate. But Maura believes there is and that's usually enough to separate a client from the greenbacks.
Hey, I've got bills to pay.
She goes into her purse and counts out one hundred.
With the money part out if the way, I turn to the real business. I say, "So did Joanie and Deedee have any enemies? Jealous ex-boyfriends? Money problems?"
Maura only shakes her head.
"What about you? Any enemies?"
"No, but there is this one guy ..."
"Go on."
"He is a regular at the club. Comes in every Friday night. Kind of a quiet guy. He asked Joanie out a couple of times."
"She go out with him?"
"Of course not." Maura almost laughs "He's real creep."
"How's that?"
"He never looks you in the eye, but he's always looking. Kinda like he's undressing you with his eyes."
"It's a burlesque show." you say. "Is there much to undress?"
Maura narrows her eyes at you.
I shrug, "Tell me more."
"He's pale with watery eyes and a ring on his pinky, with one of those five pointed stars."
"A pentagram?"
"Yes, that's it."
Now we are getting somewhere.
He could be an occultist of some kind, worshiping some forgotten evil god.
The girls might be blood sacrifices, though most of those old time evils prefer virgin blood.
I've spent long enough in this business to learn things like this.
This guy might be worth checking into. You ask, "Know where he lives?"
"No. But today is Friday. He'll be at the club at 8 o'clock sharp."
"Good. That will give me a chance to check out the rest of the clientele."
"Thanks for taking my case, Jane. I'll see you tonight?"
"Count on it, sweetheart."
I appreciate the view as she walks out and then stack my feet back onto the desk.
There is a better than average chance it's all coincidence, but I don't like the idea of this funny costumer with a pentagram on his pinky.
Either way, I'll find out more come 8 o'clock.
I open the paperback novel I'd been reading before Maura came in and try to find where I left off.
Before I can do that, the coo-coo clock on the wall chimes.
A little door at the top opens and the wooden bird pops out to tweet.
It's no ordinary coo-coo clock.
In fact, I were told it was extraordinary when you acquired it from that gypsy with the mesmerizing stare and equally mesmerizing curves.
I thought I'd been swindled, but over time I've come to realize that this clock has a sort of premonitory power.
In short, it's basically a warning system.
The chime means some unfriendly visitor is on the way.
I hurry to the window for a look down at the street and spot my landlady's car parked at the curb.
I am two weeks behind on the rent.
I can't go out the front.
You'd have to pass her on the stairs.
I can stay here - but that would mean surrending some of the cash I just received from Maura Isles.
And I can lock the door and pretend I'm gone.
Another option is to go out the window and down the fire escape.
Finally, I can just face your landlady and try to negotiate half.
Wasting no time, I take my coat from the rack near the door and then retrieve your Glock from the desk before unlatching the window.
A cool breeze floods the office and riffles case notes on the desk.
I've got one leg over the ledge when Mrs. Stonthammer rasps on the frosted glass window pane set in the office door.
"Mrs. Rizzoli?" her shrill voice is muffled by the door. "You are two weeks late with the rent. Again."
I duck out onto the fire escape, close the window behind me and climb down the rusting ladder to the ladder to the alley.
I drop the last few feet to the asphalt and scare away a cat that had been nosing through the garbage.
The tabby goes streaking down the alley.
I follow it.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A five Dollar cab ride puts me out front of the club.
The last rays of the setting sun turn to the marquee liquid gold.
A cool breeze off the harbor lifts your hair.
I hear a buoy clanging and the soft rumble of the trawler returning from a long day shrimping.
A horn echoes across the cove.
The marquee reads See the Taboo Crew live! Every Friday and Saturday night.
I push through the double doors into a small lobby, suffused with red light and occupied by a large surly-looking bouncer.
He's got a bald head and shoulders in two different time zones.
"Five Dollars." he informs me in a low voice that perfectly matches his appearance.
Maura forgot to mention the cover charge.
I need to get inside if I want to check out the costumer.
I stroll around in the back of the club, along a litter-strewn alley, and find a metal door that only opens from the inside and a small window set high on the wall.
A pair of trashcans sit under the window.
I knock, then stuff my hands in my coat pockets and try to look bored.
The door is opened by a young fella with a large nose wearing a cook's apron.
He's holding a spatula and looks at you with raised eyebrows.
"Fire marshal." I tell him. "Running a little late, son. Can you let me in so I can get this inspection over with?"
"Didn't know we had an inspection today.", he tells you.
"Wouldn't be much of a surprise inspection then, would it?"
The cook presses his lips together.
I stand there, trying to look you belong.
Finally he nods. "Alright, but make it quick. The show starts in a few minutes."
He stands back and I slip past him into the kitchen.
I stroll around the dirty space, make a show of inspecting the stove and then take a cursory glance at the fire extinguisher.
Far as I can tell, the whole place might be a fiery death trap.
I turn to the cook. "Where's the toilet?"
"What do you have to inspect in there?"
"I have to pee, kid."
He laughs, "Oh, sure. Through that door in your right."
Although this whole acting bit was a bit much to save myself measly five bucks, it was rather fun.
I smile to myself as I walk down the hall.
I follow his directions, stopping briefly in the jalm, and then find my way to the main room.
I walk into a wall of smoke and sound.
A lot of guys and even a few girls populate the tables.
Mist of the lighting is centered on the stage.
Small candles on each table illuminate the expectant smiles on the faces of the guests.
The bar man is busy but you manage to get his attention.
"What'll you have?"
I shall out a two clams scotch on the rocks, thank him and then turn my attention back to the crowd, looking for anyone that stands out.
I don't have to wait before a lanky man in a powder blue tux struts on the stage, a microphone in his hand.
He's got receding hair and beady eyes set too close to his nose.
"Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to the show!"
The crowd shows their enthusiasm.
"Are you ready to be captivated?"
More cheers.
"Mesmerized?"
This gets a louder cheer.
"Titillated?"
Loudest applause yet.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer says, "please put your hands together for the lovely, the sensual, the sexy Lora Lust!"
The velvet curtain draws apart and a single spot light illuminates the talk blonde with her back to the audience.
She's in a backless black cocktail dress.
A dark dreary jazz tune starts up.
She exposes one long white leg through a slit in her dress and looks over her shoulder at the crowd.
She belts out a better than average version of My Man Ain't No Good.
She got a husky voice, like smoke and silk, that does things to your imagination.
It takes years of hard drinking to get a voice like that.
Miss Lust knows how to work the crowd.
She comes off stage, threading her way through the tables, while she sings.
The backless dress with the slits up either side shows just enough leg to make the men shift in their seats.
Her eyes do the rest.
She's not as young, like Maura Isles.
Must be in her late thirties, but she sure can turn on the charm.
The song ends.
The spot light winks out and the curtain falls closed.
The audience does their part with claps and whistles.
The announcer comes back, encourages another round of applause for Miss Lora Lust and then introduces the next act.
"Let's hear it for our very own Russian trapeze girl, Ivana Vivacious!"
When the curtain opens again, a wisp of a girl in stockings and garters is swinging back and forth on a trapeze.
Lora was seductive, even classy.
Ivana's pure lust.
She twists and contorts on her trapeze as first one socking and then the other peels off.
Her sequined bra follows.
By the time the curtain comes down, Ivana is wearing panties and pasties.
The crowd is eating it up.
"Like what you see?", a husky voice purrs in my ear.
While I were distracted by Ivana, Lora Lust planted herself on the bar stool next to me.
She's got a drink in hand, her back to the bar.
One carefully sculpted eyebrow arches.
"The first act was better.", I tell her.
"Don't patronize me."
"No, really. You have a great voice. When do you go on again?"
She smiles, "That's it for me. I'm a one-trick pony. Jeffrey thinks I'm getting too old for burlesque."
"Jeffrey's the manager?"
"That's right." she says. "And who are you?"
I give her a once over and say, " I'm looking for someone just like you."
"Honey, I hope that's not the vest line you've got." she says with a smile.
"I got a whole book of them back at my place." you tell her. "We could find one you like better."
She laughs, "Afraid I can't help you there, Casanova. But you might have better luck with one of the other girls." she looks me over and adds. "Maybe."
"What if I told you I wasn't here for the show?"
"You wouldn't be telling me anything I didn't already know." she says. " You a cop?"
"The name is Jane Rizzoli. I'm a private investigator. I'm looking into the deaths of Joanie and Deedee. Know anything?"
She takes a sip from her drink, "They were good girls. Broke my heart when I found out. Guess you could say I'm kind of the mother hen around here. I watch out for these girls." she shrugs. "Guess I didn't do such a good job."
"Got any theories?"
Lora lets out a bitter little laugh, "Dozens, each as unlikely as the next. How do you explain someone falling out a window that doesn't open? It makes no sense. All I know is the girls are scared." after a moment she admits. "I'm scared too."
"Well, if it was murder." I tell her. "I'll catch the one that did it."
Lora looks up at you.
Her red lips parted slightly.
I can see cow's feet just beginning at the corner of her green eyes, but age hasn't caught up with her yet.
She nods slowly and says, "You know, I almost want to believe you."
"Any reason not to?"
"You already lied to me once. And a girl like me has been lied to by a lot of people, Ms. Rizzoli."
"Call me Jane."
"Call me Lora." she says.
While I and Lora chat, the effeminate Jeffrey takes the stage again and introduce Maura Isles.
Only this time the curtain doesn't part.
The spot light creates a bright round disk on the crimson folds.
The first thrumming base note rings out and a slender leg pokes through the curtain.
An arm, holding an oriental fan, follows.
Now the curtain draws apart to reveal Maura.
A pair of matching fan is her entire outfit.
Somehow she manages to sing and dance without ever baring the goods.
I watch the fan play with rapt attention, only coming back to reality when Lora Lust snaps her fingers under my nose. "Guess we know what you like." she says.
I shrug, "She's got plenty of ..."
Lora raises an eyebrow.
"Talent." I finish.
"She's alright." Lora says. "I was better."
I grin.
Lora's got spirit.
Moreover, she's got a certain light in her eyes, especially when she looks at you.
It's been a while since a good-looking dame gave me the come-hither.
Might be worth my time and effort.
But right now I've got a job to do.
"Let me ask you a question." I peel my eyes off the floor show and say, "Maura told me about a fella, a customer, that makes the girls nervous. Was wearing a ring with a five pointed star on his pinky. Know him?"
Lora thrusts her chin at a guy in the back row.
He's in a dark coat with his shoulders pulled up and his head ducked forward like an overgrown vulture.
He's got a hook nose and beady eyes to complete the comparison.
He watches the stage, while you watch him, and he keeps toying the pentagram on his pinky finger.
"That's him." Lora says. "He gives off a real creep vibe. You think he has something to do with all the strange stuff going on?"
"Right now I'm not ruling anybody out." I tell her.
Lora checks the clock on the wall behind the bar. "I've got to go backstage and make sure all mt ladies are ready. The next act is a real show stopper . Stick around and maybe we can chat after, yeah?"
"Alright, honey."
Lora uses a side door and you return your attention to the vulture in the back row.
Maura's on the stage doing her thing.
It's hard to keep my eyes on him and off the show, but I manage. And a good thing too.
While I watch, he starts muttering to himself.
The music is too loud to hear what he's saying, but his lips are moving and he starts rocking back and forth in his seat.
Sweat beads on his forehead.
The air around me starts to crackle and hiss.
The hairs at the back of my neck stand to end.
This is black magic.
I've felt it before.
It's like standing too close to an open electrical line.
Gooseflesh breaks out on my arms and a shiver runs up my spine.
The crowd can feel it.
They shift in their seats, a few know what to make of this strange uneasy feeling that suddenly enveloped them.
Most will pass it off as a sudden cold spell or too much drink.
A few of the more sensitive ones will be extra-sure to lock the door when they get home.
Remembering the last time I dealt with black magic will keep me awake tonight.
If Mr. Vulture is casting a spell, tackling him should end it.
On the other hand, although Mr. Vulture is acting suspicious, I've been wrong about people before.
Besides, he's father away from me than Maura is.
Maybe my priority should be to protect my client first and worry about the bad guy later.
The steady crescendo of Maura's song and the feeling of wild electricity in the air weave together into something palpable.
Whatever is going on, it's going to happen before Maua finish her act.
I run for the stage, weaving between tables, ignoring angry shouts from jostled costumers and leap onto the raised platform.
Maura sees me and her eyes goes wide.
Overhead metal twists and shrieks.
An amplifier sparks and shorts out.
I barrel into Maura, wrapping my arms around her narrow waist.
Her fans go sailing through the air.
I land on top of her.
The lighting scaffold tears away from the ceiling with a terrific screech and crashes down the stage in a shower of twisted metal and broken glass.
Maura and I are safe, but just barely.
The scaffolder came down where she stood only seconds ago.
The music has stopped and,the customers, most of them, are running for the exit.
I cough to clear the smoke and dust from my lungs and manage to choke out, "You alright?"
"I'm alive." she looks up into your eyes and ads. "Because of you."
"Thank me later." I scramble off Maura and climb over the wreck of the scaffold, looking for Mr. Vulture.
He's on his feet, staring up at the stage, the fingers if his left hand still toying with the pentagram ring on his right pinky.
Me and he locks eyes.
For a moment, those dark bore into mine.
In that moment, he turns and flees.
I could run him down and beat the crap out of him or I could try to follow him from a distance.
He went out the front door and I hurry after him.
But you leave some distance.
No need to let him know he's got a tail.
The guy pulled down a lighting raffer with a few whispered words.
He's throwing around serious magic.
Way out of my league.
A face confrontation probably wouldn't go well for me.
He's headed north on the boulevard and you stroll along, trying to look like another scared costumer exiting the club after the accident.
Two blocks up, he stops and hails a taxi.
I sight the nearest cab and hop in. "Follow that guy."
The cabbie turns in his seat.
He's got a stub of cigar between his teeth and a five o'clock shadow. "You serious, hun?"
"Yeah. Only don't get too close, okay?"
The cabbie shrugs. "You're the boss."
