Chapter 7

"Not every suspect is guilty," I explained to Stella as we made our way up the elevator to Barnabas Blake's apartment on the Upper Wilde Side.

Stella plonked her hands firmly on her hips like the annoying, tantrum-throwing, three-foot-small kid I never wanted. "You know what they say, Buck. Guilty until proven innocent."

"It's supposed to be the other way around."

"Says the guy who pokes men's bottoms. Everything's bent in your head. It's a good thing you got me to help you straighten things out, toots."

The elevator doors opened and we knocked on Blake's apartment door. It took him a while to answer, and when he did he was wearing a bathrobe and looking distinctly put out by our presence.

"I'm sorry, this is not a good time," he said firmly.

"A-ha! Guilty!" Stella shouted with a pointing finger.

I slapped Stella's finger down and said, "Mr. Blake, there's no point avoiding this. If you're innocent, you have nothing to hide. The sooner you answer our questions and tell your side of the story, the better."

Blake let out a sigh of annoyance. "Very well. But make it short." He glanced down at Stella with disdain and added, "And yes, I'm looking at you when I say that!"

As he turned to leave, Stella simmered. "Damn he rubs me the wrong way! I mean like a dog rubs your leg the wrong way. You catch my drift?"

I said nothing. It was hard not to disagree.

Blake took us into the living room and offered us a seat on his sofa, but that was all. No drink. No cigarette, although he lit one for himself. Playbill posters of the productions he'd directed over the years hung in frames on the walls. A few feet behind him was a closed door.

I flipped open my notebook but before I could open my mouth, Stella piped up.

"So, Mr. Blake. What was your motivation for stalkin' Miss Duprey down the back alley of the theater, stranglin' her with a feather boa and crammin' her body into a trunk like stuffin' in a turkey for Thanksgiving?"

Barnabas Blake let out an impatient groan and looked me square in the eyes. "Mr. Baxter, if you don't mind, I'd rather answer your questions. Otherwise you can pack up your ventriloquist's dummy here and leave."

Stella glanced at me, outraged. "Dog. Leg. Rub," was all she muttered.

"Let me take it from here," I suggested diplomatically to all involved. I wet the tip of my pencil with my tongue. "Mr. Blake, tell us about your relationship with Miss Duprey."

Blake looked as though he wasn't exactly sure where I was coming from. "In what respect?" he asked.

"How was your professional relationship? Did you ever argue? Was there anything personal going on between the two of you?"

At that moment, the door behind Blake opened and a handsome young man stumbled out, trying to pull on one shoe and button up his shirt at the same time. Blake, Stella and I all turned to the man, eyebrows raised. The man froze on the spot as soon as he realized he was the center of attention.

"Oh, I thought I heard voices," was all he said, before looking at us nervously. "Are you guys cops?"

"Detectives," I said.

Panic turned the young man's face white. "I'm so sorry, Barnabas, but I have to go. I've got to…" His eyes looked left and right, as though he were trying to find a tactful excuse scrawled on the walls. Suddenly one dawned on him. "I've got to feed my neighbor's cat. Before it starves to death." He laughed anxiously, "That darn cat, it'll be howling the whole apartment building down by now. Gotta go! Bye!"

With that, he hightailed it outta there like a pussy being chased by a hungry hound.

As the front door slammed shut, Blake composed himself as though nothing had just happened. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baxter. Where were we?"

"I was asking if you and Miss Duprey may perhaps have had a personal…"

Before I could finish my sentence, the door behind Blake opened again and another handsome young man came stumbling out, pulling his socks on and tucking in his shirt. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me and Stella sitting on the sofa.

Blake simply sighed. "No, they're not the police."

"Oh, that's a good thing," the young man laughed nervously. "I was just in there checking on… pests! Mr. Blake hired me to rid his place of pests! Termites, cockroaches… darn things will eat you out of house and home. But I'm happy to see you got no pests, Mr. Blake. You're clean as a whistle!"

Stella shot a sarcastic look at Blake. "Is he talkin' about what's in your room, or what's up your ass?"

With that one remark the young man scampered out of Blake's apartment faster than a cockroach escaping a shoe trying to squish it.

Stella asked Blake flatly, "What's next? A goat?"

Blake eyed Stella with a squint of scorn. "How did a little thing like you end up with a trap so big?"

"I guess I just got lucky," Stella snipped back. "Now answer the question. Were you and Miss Duprey catchin' the Chattanooga Choo-Choo to Hoo-Hoo Town or not?"

I whispered to Stella behind my hand. "I hate to break it to ya, but I don't think the Chattanooga Choo-Choo has been invented yet."

Stella trumped up and said, "Don't blame me, toots! Blame the hack who's writin' this story! Now back to the question. Mr. Blake, did you or did you not murder Miss Dominique Duprey?"

Blake had already started filing his nails. "Actually, I don't think that was the question at all. I think the question was whether Miss Duprey and I were having an affair. To which the answer is…"

Barnabas Blake twisted his palm as if to present something. On cue, a third young handsome man exited the door behind Blake. "I promise, he's the last one," Blake muttered.

I instantly recognized the third guy. It was Finnian, the new kid behind the bar at the Velvet Viper. He instantly recognized me too. "Hey, Buck! How you doin'?" he asked with an easygoing smile. He wasn't ready to flee like the other two guys. Finnian was way too relaxed for that.

"I'm good," I replied. "Workin' a case."

"I won't hold you up then," Finnian said casually. "Say, it's been a while since we saw you at the Viper. You comin' back anytime soon?"

Was I? It was a good question. I was beginning to feel like Harry was starting to slip from my tobacco and pot-stained fingertips. Was I losing him? Would I one day be walking again through the dimly lit corridors of the Velvet Viper in search of cheap sex and the delusion that someone—anyone—might be able to fill the void that I thought Harry had filled inside me?

When my silence lingered a little too long, Stella answered for me. "He's taken, you flea-bitten floozy! Can't you see the stupid look on his face? He's in love. Now beat it!"

Finnian chuckled, not in the least bit offended by Stella's tone, and winked at me on his way out the door. "Good for you, lover boy. Can't say I'm not jealous."

I might have been in love, but I couldn't help question right now whether I was being loved right back. Or why I was being so damn paranoid!

Stella clicked her fingers in front of my face. "Mind on the job, lover boy! You keep gettin' a faraway look in your eye like you've suddenly gone blind. You can see, can't you? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Stella was giving me the bird. I pushed her hand out of the way as Barnabas sighed then groaned with impatience.

"This really is becoming quite excruciating on a number of levels," he said. "Are you quite through interrogating me yet?"

"Snap it shut, twinkle toes!" ordered Stella.

"I'd be happy to," Barnabas said, getting up off the sofa and heading for the door. He opened it and held it open, gesturing for the two of us to leave. "Quite frankly this whole murder business has left me exhausted. If you don't mind, I'd rather do this some other time."

I stood, knowing we weren't going to get a dime outta Barnabas Blake this evening. "We appreciate your time," I said as I met him at the door. "You'll be hearing from us."

"I can't wait," he replied in a droll tone.

With that, Stella and I left… but not before Stella managed to whisper loudly once more before the door closed—"He's sooo guilty!"