Lust and Lies 04 - Pretty Maids in a Row

or how she had focused on the piece about O'Day the week before. It reminded him of her reaction at the fund-raiser when someone brought up the Ziegler murder. He had gotten the impression then that it was something more than an objection to the topic as unsuitable dinner conversation. Now that he knew her better, he would bet there was more to it—something more personal.
    He was certain she was lying about not knowing O'Day. Had she known Ziegler also? He doubted if murder in general made her that squeamish. Obviously, he was going to have to wait to get back before the answers could be unearthed, but he still had a strong feeling her connection to Donner was an important key. If only he could figure out what all the cast of characters had in common!
    The feelers he sent out about Mick D'Angelo paid off that evening. While chewing on a juicy rib in a restaurant on Biscayne, a fairly attractive brunette sat down at his table. Her teased, shoulder-length hair, makeup, and attire were flashy without being obscene—just the right amount of blatant sexuality to operate successfully in the restaurant's busy cocktail lounge. From where he sat, he had seen her approach two different men at the bar, one of whom slid his hand over her buttocks while she negotiated with him. David acknowledged her with a nod as his teeth tugged a piece of meat off the bone.
    "Buy me a drink?" Her eyes traced his face and dallied over his mouth and hands in a provocative manner. David motioned to a waitress and waited for the redhead to speak.
    "My name's Cinnamon. I can't help but wonder what such a gorgeous man is doing all alone."
    "Maybe I was looking for someone to keep me company." David dropped the picked bone onto his plate, tore open the wet-wipe, and meticulously cleaned each finger. His gaze traveled from her eyes, to her mouth, to the pointed nipples beneath her thin sweater.
    She watched each movement, as practiced as her own, and let out a husky laugh. "Not bad. But tell me this, which one of us is workin' this table?"
    He returned her easy smile. "I guess that all depends on who wants what from whom."
    She leaned forward, retaining the expression and body language of her profession, but her voice altered from suggestive to serious. "I heard you've been lookin' for Mick D'Angelo. Word is you're heat of some kind."
    "I'm not. But I'll pay for information about him. Are you selling?"
    "Come with me and find out."
    David's life lessons had been learned on the streets of a lower-class neighborhood. He automatically weighed his chances of getting what he wanted against the possibility of getting mugged.
    Cinnamon reacted predictably to his hesitation. "Listen, I can't just sit here and bullshit with you. Either we leave here with you looking like you're about to get laid or I'm movin' on."
    He let his instincts make the decision. Without answering, he rose, pulled out his wallet and placed several bills next to his plate.
    Once outside, she suggested they take his car. Following her succinct directions for about fifteen minutes, David found himself in an almost vacant parking lot of a shopping mall.
    "Nice location you've got here. Cinnamon. I assume you don't normally conduct business until all the kiddies have been taken home."
    "Don't be an asshole. If you want to do somethin' besides talk, we can go to my place. But I'd bet a night's wages you ain't never paid for it in your life."
    Holly's face flickered in his mind. "There's paying, and there's paying."
    She gave him another knowing smile. "No kiddin'. Okay, as of fifteen minutes ago, you went on my clock. It's two hundred an hour. Why don't you start by tellin' me who and what you are and why you're looking for Mick."
    Something told him to play it straight with her. "I'm a reporter, doing a story on an acquaintance of D'Angelo's. I was hoping he could give me a little insight."
    "Lots of luck. The only time his acquaintances make the news is when they get arrested, and even then, they're usually too small-time for anybody to cover their story."
    "That's not what I heard. In fact, the one I'm interested in is quite well known—Jerry Frampton, publisher of Jock magazine."
    She frowned in concentration. "Now that you mention it, I did hear somethin' a while back about him, but it's old gossip. I couldn't help you there and I'm not sure anybody else would either. But if you want a story on D'Angelo, I've got one so hot it could singe you just knowin' about it."
    "Go on."
    "You