staring at a man who spent so much time on my television screen, I felt like I already knew him. He was strikingly handsome.
Debbie introduced us.
I watched as Keith advanced toward me. His pace was smooth, his pants fell meticulously over his shiny black wing tip shoes, his gray suit jacket fit perfectly on his muscular torso, and the elegant white shirt contrasted nicely with his skin. If he has a girlfriend, she must spend a lot of time worrying about the effect his looks and fame have on other women, I thought.
He extended his hand. âPleased to meet you, Miss Blue.â
âThank you,â I replied, unable to take my eyes off him.
He was a handsome man, over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His skin was the color of butterscotch with a spoonful of cream; the eyes were dark and probing. He carried himself in a sturdy, confident manner.
âI really appreciate your seeing me, Mr. Williams.â
âPlease call me Keith.â
The woman left us alone, closing the door behind her.
âI love the blues,â I said nervously.
âHave a seat,â Keith said, indicating a burgundy visitorâs chair which faced his desk.
I sat.
âWho is your favorite bluesman?â Keith asked, sitting down in the plush white chair behind his glass desk, which had lots of neat stacks of paper on it.
âRobert Johnson,â I replied.
âGood choice. I havenât been able to make up my mind. Some days itâs Blind Lemon Jefferson, then Bobby Bland. Today, itâs B.B.â He leaned back and smiled. âWell, Miss Blue, tell me how you got yourself into such a mess.â
âCall me Jackie, okay?â
He nodded.
âIâm not really in a mess. Iâm only here because this detective came to my job with a videotape that might be taken the wrong way. Plus, I have to go to the police station to make a statement and Iâm scared.â
He held up a hand. âWhoa. Start from the beginning. What were you doing in the victimâs building?â
âI went there to get my appointment book. Iâd left it in her apartment two days before.â
âWhat were you doing in her apartment two days before?â
âWorking on a book about Moms Mabley.â
He chuckled. âOh, yeah. Paul mentioned something like that when he called. What made you decide to do a book about her?â
âI didnât. Annabelleâs husband was doing her life story. I was there to edit the project.â
âTell me everything.â
I talked for fifteen minutes without stopping. Keith never took his eyes from my face. His expression was bland, so I couldnât tell whether he believed me or not. When I finished, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pressed a button on his telephone system.
A male voice came over the speakerphone. âYes?â
Keith said, âI need you to look into a situation for me. Itâs not urgent but I donât want to get caught unprepared.â
âWhat is the situation?â
âI have a young woman in my office who has stumbled into an unfortunate set of circumstances. Have you been keeping up with that story of the publishing executive who was strangled?â
The voice replied. âDid I have a choice? Itâs on every station. CNN ran a segment on it just last night.â
âGood. I want you to find out everything there is to know about the victim and her husband. Where they were born, married, lived, who their friends were, who loved them, hated them. Get the picture?â
âGot it.â
Keith released the button and swiveled around back to me.
âWho was that?â I asked.
âOne of my best detectives.â
I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. âHow many do you have?â
âSix at last count.â
âWho are all the other people milling around?â
He raised an eyebrow. âWhy are you so interested?â
â âImpressedâ