Free Tango Key by T. J. MacGregor Page B

bucks."
    Aline changed the subject. "Want to drive into town with me?"
    "Can't. The chief got back. He put me on shit patrol up in the Cove. Cooper's murder has made some of the rich folks real nervous. I'm supposed to cruise up there from three to eleven, and then Dobbs takes over, eleven to seven. Who're you going to see?"
    "Doug Cooper's mistress."
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    F rom the outside, Safari Travels didn't look like much. It was just your typical travel agency with colorful posters in the window. But it was at the corner of Banyan Boulevard and Canal Street, a prime piece of real estate because of its central location. But then, the entire island was prime real estate, Aline thought, and shuddered to think what she would've paid for her place at today's prices.
    No wonder a loaf of bread here cost two-fifty.
    It occurred to her that Lucy Meadows might be at home grieving, but in that case, she would simply ask for the woman's home address. The best time to get answers from people was when they were at their most vulnerable—a rather callous approach she didn't care for, but a fact nonetheless. But when she introduced herself as Detective Scott to the receptionist and explained that she wanted to speak to Ms. Meadows, the woman said, "Just go on back through the hall, Detective. She's in her office."
    "Thanks."
    The hall was thickly carpeted, which masked the sound of Aline's footsteps. She paused outside a door that was partially ajar. Inside, a woman with curly, honey-colored hair sat with her back to the door, talking on the phone.
    ". . . how should I know, Ed?" Lucy was saying.
    Ed? Ed Waite?
    "Look, the ticket I made up for him was Miami to Barranquilla on May 30, with a return on June 3. He said you'd pick him up in Barranquilla and the two of you would drive to Santa Marta and go on to the Lost City the next day. I assumed that's what happened, except that he got back a day early." She stopped. When she spoke again, a surfeit of emotion laced her voice. "And now he's dead, so why don't you go bug his goddamn wife and leave me alone." She slammed down the phone.
    Two women—a wife and a mistress—who may have killed Cooper out of jealousy or for money. She made a mental note to ask Cooper's attorney, when she spoke to him, about any provisions he might have made in his will for Lucy Meadows.
    Soft, pathetic cries inside the office slapped the air like tiny hands. Aline waited a moment, then knocked. "Come on in."
    Lucy swiveled around as Aline entered the office. She really did look like the ex-model Ferret said she was. Besides her luxurious honey-hued hair, she had those classical features of an ageless beauty, a face that would photograph well. Pale blue eyes, a complexion so white, so flawless, it seemed translucent, the sort of skin maintained with mud baths and esoteric things like live lamb cell shots, Aline thought. But she didn't hold a candle to Eve. Aline suddenly doubted that there was a woman on Tango who was Eve's physical equal. Eve was the quintessence of all that was feminine. The perfect yin. Like Monica .
    Murphy didn't stand a chance. He would capitulate to Eve with all the aplomb of Adam in Eden. It was as inevitable as the heat.
    "Yes? May I help you?" asked an impatient Lucy.
    Aline introduced herself. The moment Lucy heard the word, Detective , she reached for the pack of Marlboro Lights on her desk. "What can I do for you, Detective Scott?" She sat back, lighting her butt, trying her best to look phlegmatic, contained, and not doing a very good job of it.
    "I think you know why I'm here. It's about Doug Cooper."
    "What about him?"
    My, aren't we friendly. Aline got right to the point. "It's my understanding that you were Mr. Cooper's mistress. For about twelve, fourteen years."
    Lucy's mouth curled around her cigarette. "I don't know where you heard that, Detective." The words issued forth in a cloud of smoke.
    "Ms. Meadows, I don't have time for games. I'd like to know where you were