Chapter 17

I THREW MYSELF DOWN ON THE COUCH, tucked my icy feet under my bottom, reached for the ringing phone, and snatched the receiver up to my ear. “Hellohhhhh,” I cooed, breathing directly into the mouthpiece, doing my best to sound sexy but probably sounding like a hoot owl with a head cold.

“Hi, babe,” said Dan. “You sound terrible. Are you drunk again, sick, or just tired? I hope you haven’t caught the flu from Lenny.”

(See, I told you!)

“I’m not drunk or sick,” I said (although I was probably a bit of both), “but I am pretty tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Really? That surprises me. The state you were in, I figured you’d be down for the count.” I couldn’t see Dan’s expression, of course, but I had a strong suspicion he was grinning.

Struck with an overwhelming desire to feast my eyes (and lips) on his gorgeous face, I said, “On second thought, I am feeling a little feverish, Doctor. I think you’d better hurry over here and take my temperature right now. I’m hot all over and I might need a thorough examination.” I was shocked by my provocative response. All of a sudden I was sounding like Abby.

Dan let out a deep, slow, sensual moan. “Don’t tempt me, babe. You have no idea how much I’d rather be with you than where I am. Can’t do it, though. I’m working on a big case, and I can’t leave my station.”

“What? You’re still at the station? I thought you were going to be out tracking some Mafia goons.”

“I didn’t mean station house, Paige,” he said, chuckling. Then he lowered his voice and confided, “I’m doing double-duty surveillance tonight, and I’ve stationed myself in a certain place where I can keep an eye on some underworld hotshots. I’ll be here for another few hours at least.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed that-after my brief but bold career at Daring Detective (not to mention my brief but bold romance with Detective Street)-I wasn’t an expert in police jargon. “So, where are you?” I asked, growing curious about his location and concerned about his safety.

Dan laughed out loud. “You think I’m crazy enough to tell you that? Next thing I know, you’ll be rushing uptown in a trench coat, wig, and sunglasses to take over the investigation.”

“Hardeeharhar.” My ego was sagging, but my curiosity was climbing the rafters. So, he’s uptown, not down, I noted, stationed in ‘a certain place’ where mobsters tend to congregate. I screwed my ear tight to the phone, listening for more clues to his mysterious whereabouts.

There was a lot of noise in the background: people talking and laughing; faint scraping, knocking, tinkling, and whirring sounds. I could hear glasses clinking and fingers snapping. Was he in a bar? Music was playing in the distance. A jazzy saxophone riff. Was it live or coming from a jukebox?

“You can’t fool me, Dan Street,” I said, acting mad, pretending that I’d flown into a jealous tizzy. “I hear people laughing and music swinging. You’re not working on a case! You’re carousing in a nightclub!”

Dan laughed again. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know,” he said, inadvertently answering my unspoken questions. “But I can assure you there’s no carousing going on. Not on my part, anyway.”

“That’s what they all say,” I grumbled, continuing my petulant charade, still straining my ears for acoustical clues. The band was in full force now, and a strong male voice was belting out the lyrics to a popular song I’d heard before but couldn’t name.

“Cut it out, Paige,” Dan said, getting annoyed. “You have no reason to be upset. I’m working, not playing-and you know it.”

“Well, couldn’t you knock off early and-”

“No, I couldn’t.” His breathing was heavy and his voice was stern. “I have a job to do, and I’m not leaving here until it’s done.”

The vocalist began singing the song’s familiar chorus, and a portion of the audience chimed in.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked.

Dan was an avid interrogator, but he didn’t like being questioned himself. “Can’t say,” he grunted. “It depends on how things go here tonight. And how much your lousy mood improves.”

The singer and the musicians brought the song to an explosive, drum-rolling, cymbal-crashing finish, and the audience broke out in wild applause.

“I’m sorry I doubted you, Dan,” I said, eager to make amends. “Please forgive me. I’m not myself. I’ve been out of sorts all day. Chalk it up to loneliness, exhaustion, and a hangover that just won’t quit.”

“Forget about it, babe,” he said, granting me an immediate pardon. (Dan can be very understanding-sometimes.) “I miss you, too. And I’m itching to take your temperature.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Come hell or high water. It’ll be late, though. Look for me around midnight.”

Not until after we’d hung up did it dawn on me that the song the band had been playing was “Love on the Rocks,” and the man who’d been singing it was Tony Corona.

“ABBY!” I CRIED, LEAPING BACK ACROSS THE hall and into her kitchen like a demented kangaroo. “The most incredible thing just happened! I was talking to Dan on the phone, and listening to the music in the background, and Tony Corona was singing ‘Love on the Rocks’!”

She looked up from her place at the table and stared at me as if I’d lost my marbles. “What’s so incredible about that? That song is number two on the charts, right under “Rock Around the Clock.” They play it on the radio all the time.”

“It wasn’t on the radio, it was live!”

“You mean a live broadcast,” she said, convinced that I was confused and making a fuss over nothing.

“No!” I shrieked, flailing my arms in the air for emphasis. “I mean a live performance-in person!”

“Oh?” She raised one eyebrow and curled her lips in a big fat smirk. “Tony Corona was singing his hot new hit in your boyfriend’s living room?”

By this point I really was losing my marbles. “Okay, let’s start over again,” I said, heaving a big sigh and flopping down in the same chair I’d been sitting in before. “I’ll take it from the top, but you have to shut your mouth and listen. No interruptions.”

Abby kept on smirking, but-wonder of wonders!-she didn’t say a word.

“Dan’s working tonight,” I began, “and he called me from a place he wouldn’t identify, where he’s spying on some mobsters. All I could find out from our conversation was that the place is uptown. I kept him on the phone as long as I could, though, listening hard to the background noise, trying to figure out where he is. I’m pretty sure he’s in a big nightclub or someplace like that, because I heard people laughing, chatting, and ordering drinks, and music playing, and a man singing, and an audience cheering and clapping. The song being sung was “Love on the Rocks,” and the singer was none other than Tony Corona. Live and in person. I’m certain of it.” I sat back and smugly crossed my arms over my chest. “So, what do you think about that, Pat?”

She was still smirking. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

“Please do,” I urged, eager to get her reaction to this incredible, mind-blowing coincidence.

“Dan’s at the Copa,” she said.

And that was all she said.

“What?” I screeched. “The Copacabana? Are you kidding me? How the hell do you know that?” The last of my marbles dropped out of my head and rolled across the floor.

“I read it in the papers.” Her tone and demeanor were dispassionate, but she looked pleased with herself nonetheless.

“They said Dan was going to be at the Copa tonight?” I sputtered. (Look, I know that was a really dumb response, but give me a break, okay? It’s hard to hit the mark when all your shooters are gone.)

“No, silly! They said Corona was going to be there. He’s headlining for two weeks. Two shows a night, three on the weekends. He opened last Saturday.”