Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,47

few of the bloodsuckers lifted their heads up. It seems challenging Mr. Armbruster wasn’t the typical modus operandi.

“You’re direct,” he said. “I like that.”

He fixed those baby blues on me and said, “Did you get all of your questions answered? With Shannon?”

“For now,” I said.

“See, that’s why I wanted to talk to you,” he said. He set the cane on the desk behind him and folded his arms across his chest. It was quite a feat. Both his arms and his chest were pretty thick. I bet he had a Bowflex on his private plane.

Teddy said, “Shannon has to concentrate on the concert, which is only a week away. It’s a big deal, back home in front of all her friends. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“She’s used to it by now, isn’t she?” I said.

“As well as a million other things,” he continued, ignoring my question. “I thought it would be good for you to get these questions in, but from here on out, maybe you should run them by Molly who’ll run them by me first and then at the appropriate time, I’ll talk to Shannon.”

He was a college football coach, I thought. He just diagrammed a perfect case of running interference. Or the famous end-around.

“I know it’s your job to make your client’s life easier,” I said. “But I have a client, too. And it’s my job to find out who bashed his daughter’s head in. So I’ll take your request into consideration, but let’s not forget where it falls in terms of priority, okay?”

By now, all the hangers-on were looking at me. I looked over and watched them back. One in particular, a woman in a white silk blouse and red velvet pants, walked over to me.

“Why don’t you stay and have a drink,” she said.

“Memphis,” Teddy said, a stern warning. “I’m sure Mr. Rockne has better things to do.”

The woman held out her hand. “Memphis Bornais. I’m Shannon’s songwriter.”

I took her hand. “John Rockne, private investigator.”

“Come along, Mr. Rockne,” I heard a voice say behind me. Molly had reappeared.

“Thanks again, Mr. Rockne,” Teddy said. “I’ve enjoyed your directness.” Teddy smiled, nodded his head like he’d enjoyed the fuck out of my company. “You don’t hesitate, either. I really like that.”

Without hesitation I said, “Plenty more where that came from.”

• • •

I went back to the office and worked the phones. Oddly enough, my mind wasn’t on the case, despite the unsettling meetings with Shannon Sparrow and her slimeball manager.

I decided to call Clarence Barre. He wasn’t home, but I left a message telling him I wanted to ask him a few questions about how well he knew, and how well Jesse knew, Shannon Sparrow.

My last call went to Nate. I wanted to ask him what he knew about Shannon Sparrow and her entourage. Nate had an encyclopedic knowledge of local history. He knew anyone and everyone that ever had a significant connection with Detroit.

And on the unlikely occasion in which he didn’t know the answer or answers, he could almost always point me in the direction of someone who did.

But I’d be goddamned if I was going to commit to another meal. At this point, I could be labeled an ‘enabler’ by a psychologist. I felt like Nate was a drunk and as long as he kept helping me, I kept buying him shopping carts full of Budweiser. I’d have to figure something else out.

I punched in his number on my phone.

“I was just about to call you,” he said. I could hear background voices, maybe even a siren.

“What, were you going to dicker with me over whether or not an aperitif could technically be considered dessert?”

“No,” he said. “And it obviously isn’t a dessert as it’s consumed before a meal. Jesus, haven’t you learned anything?”

“Yeah, I now know the difference between pâté and a patty melt.”

He ignored me and said, “Where the hell have you been?” This time, I definitely heard a siren.

“Data entry. It’s a part-time job I had to take in order to pay for your restaurant expenses,” I said. “I get three cents a word.”

“Good, don’t be afraid to work extra hours.”

“Thanks for the advice. Where are you, by the way?”

“Hey, have you talked to your sister lately?” he said.

“Define lately.”

“Like…today?”

“No,” I said, wishing he’d get to the point. “Nate, where are you? What’s going on?”

He laughed, a low, deep chuckle, obviously relishing the news. What reporter doesn’t love breaking a story?

“Once again she’s proven why she’s Chief of Police,” he said.

“How