Jackie squeaked out a sound like a faulty vacuum cleaner leaking air. “There’s absolutely no picture-taking in the Red Light District, Mrs. S. None. Nada. Forget it. Show up with a camera anywhere in that part of the city at night and you could be flirting with serious consequences.”
“Red Light District?” hooted Dick. “Hell, I vote we cancel dessert. I didn’t know we had another choice.”
“You don’t got no other choice,” Nana informed him as she dragged him toward the waiting group. “You’re married to Grace.”
“Call me when you’re done eating to let me know you’re all back safely,” I called after her.
Jackie splayed her hand over her heart and smiled. “She handles disappointment so well. She’s an inspiration to us all.” She leveled her gaze on me, brows arched and sparks flying in her eyes. “So, would you care to explain?”
Even though we’d been husband and wife only briefly, we still retained the ability to discuss serious issues like veterans of a much longer marriage. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The earmuff business?”
“Oh, that.”
I looked to see who was within earshot, then motioned her to an isolated corner of the room. “Okay, Jack, here’s the deal. If I have to explain your flip-flops to Nana yet again, I’ll probably overload her circuits and cause her to have a stroke. Or acid reflux. Or something equally life altering.”
“Flip-flops?” She stuck out her foot. “Hel-looo? I’m wearing boots.”
“Flip-flops, Jack. You’ve developed a pattern. When you were a he, you married me but ran off with another guy. When you became a she, you married a guy, but now you’ve run off with another woman. What is it with you? Back and forth and back and forth. Can’t you just make up your mind and live with it?”
“Emily Andrew! Are you accusing me of leaving my adoring husband to engage in a tawdry affair with—with?” She paused, elongating her eyes to tiny slits. “Refresh my memory. Who have I run away with?”
“Duh? Beth Ann Oliver?”
“What?”
“Maybe you can’t help it, Jack. Maybe your brain chemistry is so out of whack that it’s caused an irreparable tear in your moral fabric.”
She circled her hand around her throat as if trying to hold together the fabric that hadn’t already split apart. “Oh, my God. This sounds serious.” She grew silent, then perked up again, as if her brain were rebooting itself. “Wait a minute. My moral fabric isn’t coming apart at the seams. You know why? Because I’m not cheating on my husband. You know why? Because Beth Ann isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Then who is she?”
“My client.”
“What kind of client tags along with you on a European vacation?”
“The kind who pays me to give her advice on a daily basis!”
I blinked my surprise. “You mean, like Dear Abby?”
“Oh, please. I blow Abby out of the water with all the services I offer. I’m available to accompany my clients to any location in the world. My advice is individual and immediate. I’m equipped to handle any problem from what book you should read next, to how to prevent yourself from falling apart when you smudge a fresh manicure. And as a special bonus, I offer professional fashion advice, lessons in makeup application, and best of all, free foot massages. I’d like to see Abby top that.”
“So, you’re like a globetrotting Dear Abby?”
She fisted her hand on her hip. “What I am, Emily, is an honest to goodness, card-carrying, board-certified … life coach!”
“Wow.”
“Isn’t that awesome?”
“Awesome. What’s a life coach?”
She groaned in disgust. “Have you people in the Midwest ever heard about any popular trend before it became passé?”
“Mom says we were ahead of the curve with the hula hoop.”
“Being a life coach is only the most thrilling job I’ve ever had, Emily. Better than acting off-Broadway. Better than caulking bathroom and kitchen tile. Better than writing a romance novel. People pay me to tell them what to do. And they don’t snarl at me to butt out or get lost. They want me to make decisions for them. It’s the dream job of every control freak. It’s like—like being a parent, with financial benefits!”
Or a psychologist without a license. “Did you say you were actually certified to do this?”
“I most certainly am. It usually takes six months to complete the course work, but I took the accelerated course on the Web, so I was certified in two short weeks!”
I shuddered with terror. Jack telling people how they should live their lives was like Donald Trump telling men how to style their hair. “Two weeks and bam—a whole new career. I’m—I’m speechless.”
“I know. Isn’t it amazing? Internet training allows just about anyone to hang out a shingle these days.”
“How many clients do you have?”
“Well, only one so far, but I’ll probably have to beat them off with a stick when word gets out how good I am.”
“How did Beth Ann find you?”
“She read the ad I stuck up on the bulletin board at the salon. She asked Tom for particulars, he said he thought we’d hit it off, and here we are.”
I glanced across the room to find Beth Ann chatting with Mike and Mary Lou McManus and several other Mainers. “Actually, I’m surprised she responded to your ad. She seems so together. It’s hard to believe she needs help making everyday decisions.”
Jackie flicked her hand back and forth at the wrist. “Honey, the poor girl is a mess. Tom has done her hair for years, so he’s gotten an earful. Her husband left her. She got laid off from her job. Her father died. She might look cool, calm, and confident, but trust me, she’s being held together by piano wire.”
“She doesn’t seem to have any trouble mingling with people.”
“That’s because she’s on special assignment. If we’re going to nail the killer, we have to infiltrate the enemy camp, so she’s practicing her infiltration techniques—smiles, flattery, and a wad of Euros to defray the cost of Dietger’s tip. Money always talks.”
“Whoa! I never said anything about a killer.”
“You didn’t have to. Our dinner companions told us all about Charlotte’s dictatorship, so it was pretty obvious. Take it from me, there’s a killer. And since you have such a lousy record for apprehending criminals, I’ve decided you need more boots on the ground to assist with the investigation, so Beth Ann and I are teaming up to help you.”
Oh, God. Just what I needed. Scooby-Doo and friend turning my subtle fact-finding mission into an afternoon soap opera.
“So …” she leaned over close to my ear, “who do we think did it?”
Was I starting to question my own suspicions? Or was I simply afraid what Pete Finnegan might do if he found himself being stalked by a six-foot transsexual with a penchant for playing dress-up?
One thing was for sure though. If I refused Jackie’s help, she’d find a way to play detective anyway, so if I couldn’t talk her out of it, I’d be better off giving her my blessing to get into it … with a few guidelines. “Okay, Jack, you and Beth are in, but you need to follow the ground rules.”
“Yes! I love ground rules!”
“You hate ground rules.”