11

Jude

Jude woke up the next morning feeling like he hadn't slept at all. He'd fallen asleep with his usual ease but was up again at least once, sometimes twice an hour. Each time he woke up, there was nothing going on that would have disturbed him. Cope was sleeping quietly. So were the kids. There was no loud noise coming from the beach, and he couldn't hear any sound coming from Ten and Ronan's room.

While Jude was staring up at the ceiling, hoping to fall asleep again, his mind had returned to the bizarre phone call with Alexandria Longfellow. The longer he analyzed the conversation, the more bothered Jude was. With only months to live, the widow had only reached out for help because it had arrived on Jake Powell's reservation log. What the hell would have happened if Jude and Cope had gone to the White Mountains in New Hampshire or down to the Cape for the long weekend? Would Alexandria have just played out her remaining days without knowing who killed her son?

Jude knew all families had their own challenges. Some dealt with drug, alcohol, or violence issues, while others didn't have enough money to make ends meet. People could go years or even decades without speaking to each other but always seemed to show up when the chips were down, wanting to do anything they could to help. That scenario obviously hadn't happened with Alexandria Longfellow and her son. Cyrus died while mother and son were still estranged.

"What's on your mind?" Cope asked after he'd come out of the bathroom wearing his bathing suit and a T-shirt.

Jude dropped the thoughts revolving through his head to focus on his husband. "I keep thinking about that call last night. One question kept revolving around in my head."

"Just one?" Cope asked before kissing Jude's cheek.

Jude's look turned serious. "Yeah. Do we tell you-know-who what we learned?"

Cope sighed and took a seat by Jude on the bed. "I've been thinking about the same thing myself. I think you and Ronan need to run your errand today. Once we have the results of that, then we'll address what to do. Ronan always talks about how the passage of time can weigh on a guilty person's mind. Vixen had been tight-lipped when Cyrus was killed; maybe she'll be more open to speaking with you today."

"If she's still here." Jude sighed. "It's been fifteen years since the murder. I can't imagine strippers with that kind of longevity in the business. Not to mention that people move around all the time. It's fucking cold in Maine. This is one of the last places I'd want to spend my winters."

"Massachusetts isn't much warmer, you know." Cope nudged Jude with his shoulder.

"I know, but we've got our warm and cozy home with our family and friends, which makes the cold days not feel as frigid." Jude missed the desert southwest in the middle of January when temperatures in Massachusetts were below zero and there was a foot of snow on the ground.

"Ten, Jace and I are going to take the kids to the beach this morning. After lunch, we're gonna do mini golf. Do you think you, Ronan, and Fitz will be back by then?" Cope asked.

"I hope so. We've got to reach out to the strip club to see if there's any reason worth stopping by."

Cope snorted. "You mean aside from the hunky, half-dressed men?"

"You're the only hunky, half-dressed man for me, babe. No one else could ever compare to you." Jude wrapped an arm around Cope and gave him a squeeze. He was about to add a kiss into the mix when his phone dinged. It was a text message from Ronan saying he had some information.

Getting up from the bed, Jude opened the adjoining door and found Ronan and Fitzgibbon waiting for him. "What's up, guys?"

"I spoke with the owner of the Jungle. A woman by the name of Samantha Dixon," Fitzgibbon said. "I mentioned I was with a cold case unit that was having one last go at the Cyrus Longfellow case. I told her we were looking for Vixen and Baked Alaska because they had been with Cyrus in the Champagne Room before his death. I made sure she understood we didn't consider either person a suspect but were hoping they could give us a lead or two that we didn't have because the police hadn't interviewed them at the time of the murder."

"Do I want to know her answer?" Jude shut his eyes and crossed his fingers.

Ronan snorted. "You're not going to believe this, but Samantha is Vixen. She hung up her dancing shoes five years ago when the old owner decided to sell the place and move to Florida. She bought the place and has been running it ever since."

"Holy shit!" Jude couldn't believe his ears. "That's one hell of a stroke of luck."

"You're telling me." Fitzgibbon's grin brightened. "The downside is that Samantha didn't sound scared of meeting with us. She sounded more resigned than anything."

Jude could understand her stance. He turned to Cope. "Are you going to be okay with the kids while we're gone?"

Cope nodded. "Yeah, we're gonna play on the beach. Hopefully, you guys will be back in time for lunch, and after that, we'll play mini golf."

"You're going down, Ronan," Jude chuckled. "I'm pretty handy with a club."

"Yeah, but the one in your pants doesn't count," Ronan smirked, looking as if he had more to say on the matter, but kept his peace.

"We'll call you when we're on our way back." Jude pressed a kiss to Cope's cheek and walked out of the motel room with Ronan behind them. Fitzgibbon was waiting for them in the corridor.

Five minutes later, they were traveling south on Route 1. Jude was feeling uncharacteristically nervous. "When was the last time you were in a strip club?"

"Why, are you worried you won't be able to keep your money in your pocket?" Ronan snickered.

"I hardly think there's going to be anyone on the main stage at half past ten on a Sunday morning. All the good little strippers are in church."

Fitzgibbon barked out a laugh. "I don't have the best memories of strip clubs. The guys from the academy and then in patrol would drag me out to the straight clubs. There's nothing worse than getting lap dances from a chick who's doing nothing for me."

"Same," Ronan agreed. "The Boston Police Department was toxically straight. The slightest hint that you were anything other than hetero could land you in a world of trouble. It wasn't until after Josh dumped me that I went to male strip clubs. It was a whole new world, which I'm sure I would have appreciated a lot more if I hadn't been wasted all the time."

"I went to my first one in Los Angeles. It was called Blue Balls, and let me tell you, the name was fitting. I loved watching the hard bodies move on the dance floor. Loved it even more when they worked the room and would sit on my lap, but there was a no-sexual-contact rule in place. So, at the end of the night, I'd leave the club a couple hundred dollars poorer and with the worst case of blue balls I'd ever had in my life. After going a few times, I hit the gay clubs instead. There were always willing hands, mouths, and holes in those places." Jude waggled his eyebrows.

"So the man-whore thing was real, not just to prop up your ego?" Fitzgibbon asked, eyeing Jude in the rearview mirror.

Jude nodded. "I was always safe, but I got as much action as I could. I was either working or getting laid until I landed in Massachusetts. I was getting older and realized that I didn't want to be in my forties without a place to call home. Seeing the way Ronan was with Ten also made me realize I wanted someone in my life."

"I recall you being a bit of a stubborn asshole when you met Cope." Ronan snickered.

"I was," Jude agreed, remembering the way his heart would feel like a jackhammer in his chest whenever he was around Cope. "Can you believe he agreed to be friends with benefits?"

It was Fitzgibbon's turn to laugh. "You two were never friends with benefits. You might have called yourself that, but you were a couple from the start."

"Cope knew you were scared of commitment, so he played it off like he was too." Ronan shook his head. "I thought the two of you were nuts, but Ten told me to keep my big, fat mouth shut. For once, I listened to him, and here you two are, married with two kids."

"Thank Christ," Jude muttered. "I know Cyrus Longfellow was only in his mid-twenties, but I feel bad that he never got to experience the kinds of relationships we have with our husbands. He had his entire future laid out in front of him, and in an instant, it was gone."

Fitzgibbon pulled into the Jungle's parking lot. There was only one other car there. Jude assumed it belonged to the dancer formerly known as Vixen. "Remember, Samantha is just a witness. We're not going hard at her. We'll ask about Cyrus and let her talk from there."

"Got it," Ronan agreed, while Jude nodded.

Fitzgibbon opened the door and walked inside. "Samantha?" he called.

"Be right out," a voice called from the vicinity of the bar.

Jude took a moment to look around the room. The main stage was at the back of the club. The stripper pole gleamed under the LED lights. Part of him wanted to hop up on the stage and give it a whirl.

"Do it!" Ronan snickered.

"How did you know?" Jude asked. Knowing Ronan, he'd probably been thinking the same thing. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Jude climbed up on the stage and grabbed the pole.

Ronan held up his phone as if he were going to record the performance while Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" blasted from Fitzgibbon's phone.

Jude twirled his body, hooking his left leg around the pole, and swung himself out. Ronan and Fitz hooted and hollered for him. Feeling a bit more confident, Jude climbed up the pole like a middle-schooler scaling the rope in gym class. He slid partway down, dropped a saucy wink at his friends, and let go of the pole with his hands. Letting gravity do the work, Jude lowered himself to the stage until his fingers touched the floor. He pushed into what looked like an effortless handstand before lowering his legs to the ground.

Ronan and Fitz cheered his name. Jude bowed gracefully. Why the hell hadn't he done this before? He could have had an entire career dancing instead of spending lonely nights in the Thunderbird on stakeouts. Jude went to take a step forward and promptly fell flat on his face. His legs were screaming in pain.

Female laughter from the bar caught Jude's attention. "Yeah, that's what happens when forty-year-old men try to relive their glory days without stretching first."

"You must be Samantha Dixon. I'm Kevin Fitzgibbon. This is Ronan O'Mara, and the dancing queen is Jude Byrne."

Jude raised his arm from the floor in a quick wave, whether it was to say hello or ask for help, he wasn't quite sure. Slowly pulling his legs under him, he attempted to stand and kept his balance. After a few ginger steps, Jude headed off the stage and joined the others at the bar.

"You okay?" Ronan asked with a snicker.

"I'll live," Jude muttered.

"So will your face-plant! I already sent it to everyone!" Ronan held up the phone to show him.

"Asshole," Jude muttered. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Dixon." It was time to get down to business. The sooner they finished speaking with Samantha, the sooner they could get back to the beach and the kids.

"You're welcome. I have to say it was a surprise to get your call. It was an even bigger surprise when I googled the three of you and found out who you are when you're not on vacation. Pretty damn impressive, boys."

Fitzgibbon nodded. "Thank you."

"It's too bad you didn't bring your husbands. I would have loved a reading." Samantha grinned at the detectives.

"I think we can arrange that for you," Jude said confidently. "I'm glad you believe in my husband's gift. It's going to make this conversation a whole lot easier."

"Can I get you anything to drink before we start?" Samantha signaled to the brightly colored bottles of booze behind her.

"No, thanks. We're heading back to the beach and our kids after this meeting," Ronan said.

"Gotcha. What happened at the Four Star to bring the three of you to my door?"

"Chet Hines, believe it or not." Jude quickly recapped how he'd been duped into booking into the motel. "We decided to make the best of it when we got here and saw the place wasn't what we'd been expecting."

"That place hasn't changed in the fifty years since it was built. It got a new roof after a bad nor'easter hit about ten years ago and some updates to the rooms, but other than that, it looks the same way it did in 1975."

"I believe it," Ronan said.

Jude believed it too. The Four Star definitely looked like it was stuck in time. "We'd gone over to the pier for lunch, and when we came back, there was a crowd of reporters waiting for us, shouting questions about the Case of the Penniless Playboy."

"I can't believe that name stuck. Like we're living in some sort of Sherlock Holmes mystery." Samantha rolled her eyes.

"After we got away from the media, my husband was able to speak to Cyrus Longfellow. He said he knows who killed him but won't tell anyone who it was." If Jude lived to be one hundred, he would never understand why Cyrus was being so stubborn.

"Holy shit!" Samantha wore a stunned look.

Jude grinned at the former dancer. He sometimes forgot how incredible people thought Cope's gifts were. "He also said he was more famous as a ghost than he ever was when he was alive and just wanted to be left in peace at the motel, which we were more than happy to do."

"Yet here you are." Samantha arched a quizzical brow. "What happened to change your mind?"

Jude barked a quick laugh. "We got a phone call from Alexandria Longfellow last night. She said she's dying from cancer and asked us if we could possibly solve the case before she passes."

"Shit, that sucks. I met her once after Cyrus died. She came out here after the funeral, when some of the hype had died down. Seemed like a nice enough lady. She left a big tip for me to split among the dancers to thank them for being kind to her son. She's one hell of a lady." Samantha swiped at her moist eyes and cleared her throat. "Are you here because you think I have something to do with Cyrus's death?"

Fitzgibbon shook his head. "Not at all. We just wanted to hear what you knew or maybe saw around the time of the murder."

Samantha took a deep breath. "My life was very different back then than it is now. I was strung out on drugs and willing to do anything to get my next fix. Cyrus was a good man who spent his money lavishly and kindly, if that makes sense. I'd had clients over the years who'd been willing to pay a shit ton of money to abuse and humiliate me, promising more cash if I did more depraved things with them or for them. Cyrus wasn't like that. He just wanted a blowie in the Champagne Room and loved to play with my tits." She looked down at her chest. "He actually bought me this pair. Sent me to the best surgeon in southern Maine too."

Jude was glad Cyrus had been a nice guy, but this story wasn't getting them any closer to identifying his killer. "He also spent time with the male strippers too, right?"

"Yeah, he loved to swing both ways, and the dancers loved him. We all knew the money Cyrus spent here at the club would be what got us through the tough months when the tourists had all gone home. He'd treat us all to dinner at the steak house up on Hilldale, and we could order whatever we wanted. Cyrus encouraged us to get two entrees. One to have at the restaurant and one to bring home."

"Did you notice anyone in the club who didn't like Cyrus?" Fitzgibbon asked. "Or anyone in town, for that matter?"

"No." Samantha ducked her head in obvious shame. "I was really messed up at the time. I don't remember Cyrus mentioning that anyone was bothering him. As for this town, there are haters everywhere. They hate us because we dance for money. Hated him because he was rich and bi. All people do nowadays is hate each other."

"I hear that," Jude said gently. "It says in the police report that Cyrus's satchel filled with cash was taken at the time of the murder. Do you think he was killed for the money? Or for some other reason, and the robbery was a crime of opportunity?"

"I don't know. It would be so much easier if it was a robbery gone bad, to think that Cyrus was a victim of dirtbag who needed to score, instead of the killer being someone who had a beef against him." Samantha sighed heavily. "I wish there was more I could do to help you guys. If I'd known something back in the day, I would have told Alexandria Longfellow. He was her only child. I've never seen a woman more devastated by the loss of her child."

Jude didn't even want to try to imagine what it would be like to lose his kids. He wouldn't survive, that was for damn sure. "We'll be in town for two more days. If you think of anything else, please let us know. Sometimes it's the smallest detail that blows a case wide open."

Samantha nodded.

"I've got one last question," Ronan began.

"If you want to take a spin on the pole, it's all yours. Just stretch beforehand."

Ronan blushed. "That was my second question. The first has to do with Cyrus. He knows who killed him but won't tell us who did it. Do you have any idea why? Most spirits want their killers caught. In all the years I've been working with psychics, this is the first time this situation has ever come up."

"Cyrus was a kind and generous soul. The only reason I can think that he'd keep the killer's name to himself is that outing this person would do more harm than good. You said he was happy haunting the Four Star. I would leave it at that." Samantha shrugged, as if to say she had nothing else for them. "Be well, guys." With those words, she headed into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her.

"That's an interesting theory," Ronan said, eyeing the stage.

"Give it a whirl, tiny dancer!" Jude gave Ronan's shoulder a shove. He pulled out his phone to record what was about to go down and found himself hoping that he and Fitz weren't going to have to carry Ronan out on their shoulders.

As for Cyrus Longfellow, they were no closer to identifying his killer now than they had been before.