A Body to die for

Branford.
    “Or what?” Branford asked, regaining some composure.
    “Or I’ll shoot to kill that ceramic pasta server.”
    Branford seemed confused. He said, “You’re a cop?”
    “A lawyer,” I lied, thinking that more threatening.
    “Perhaps we should discuss this in the store manager’s office.”
    “Fine with me,” I said. “I’ll be sure to mention to him or her that you practically drooled all over my client—Mr. Watson. I’m sure your manager will appreciate the personal interest you show in your customers.”
    Branford swallowed hard. He growled a bit and stalked behind the counter. He hit some buttons on the computer, and in a few seconds, paper started spinning out of the printer. “This is a personal favor from me to Jack.”
    With the info in my hand, I said, “Branford. I think Jack might really like you. He thought you were cute. I’d watch that phone.” I winked. Branford nearly fell off his feet. I giggled as I walked away. There’s no greater torture known to man (and woman) than waiting by the phone.
    Jack was in the plants section, behind a large ficus tree. We had what we wanted and we were leaving. Jack complained that Molly was in the lamps section and we could take her down on the Oriental rugs if we acted now. I told him if he wanted to walk back to New York, that was fine with me.
    We caught the 1:00 bus back to Port Authority. Jack dozed on the ride. I wasn’t sure if we should go back to Brooklyn Heights or try to contact Alex from my office. Jack wanted to sneak back into the club to find Ameleth. He wanted her to know he was all right. I overruled that suggestion. I promised we’d hit the Herman’s sporting goods store on Forty-second and Sixth so he could get something to wear.
    While Jack napped, I checked the printout from the Ikea computer for any familiar names. The only two I recognized were Alex Beaudine and Molly Mahoney. I wondered why Molly would want to kill Barney. Was there a connection? Jack stirred and then settled. I tried to picture it: Molly, gripping the handle like a lover, slamming the knife into Barney’s chest. Her thin-lipped smile and big plans of paradise. I shook it off. I dosed myself. Visions of coffee tables danced in my head.

    We made it to the Herman’s all right. Jack took a few pairs of parachute material sweats into the dressing room. I hung around the discount Rollerblades racks for a few minutes, then wandered over to examine the skiing equipment. What was keeping him, I wondered. Sporting goods had little appeal to me, except for the cool goggles. After a few more minutes as Superfly, I got a bad feeling. I barged into each dressing room. In the last was a shoplifter stuffing a baseball glove down his pants.
    Jack was gone. I ran out of the store and into Forty-second Street. The sun made distortion waves. The bright light blinded me. I wished I had my Batwoman glasses, even broken. I thought I saw a blond man running toward the subway. I ran for the train, too. I hopped on the Number 2 bound for Brooklyn. I got off at the Clark Street station—only two blocks from the Western Athletic Club.
    Ergort stood outside like a cigar store Buddha in blue bike shorts, breathing hard like he’d just pumped some major iron. He had a golf ball-size boil on his cheek. I tried to get around him, but he stopped me. “I got instructions to keep you out.”
    “From whom?” I demanded.
    “Who cares?” he grunted. His arms hung from his shoulders like sides of beef.
    “I care or I wouldn’t have asked. And obviously you care, or you wouldn’t be following the orders.” My logic dumbfounded him. His eyes went from comfortable and calm to raging in seconds. “You don’t, perchance, suffer from violent mood swings?” I asked. Ergort’s boil throbbed.
    I said, “I see you’ve not quite mastered the art of conversation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment.”
    Ergort took a step toward me. I got the idea that he’d very much like to introduce my face to the brick facade. Two men in tennis shorts walked up the street. They smiled at Ergort as he held the door open for them. I smiled wide and slipped an arm around one of the men. He nicely escorted me across the threshold. I was in. I wouldn’t love facing Ergort when I had to come out. I’d worry about that later.
    Janey was at the reception desk. I said, “Janey. How’s tricks?” I saw her give Ergort the okay sign. He ducked back outside.
    Janey smiled