And he had a point. If Calvin wasn’t remotely interested in my being a part of this case, he wouldn’t have actively discussed the handwritten notes on the car ride to the hotel. He wouldn’t have told me details about Frank Newell beyond “he’s missing, so you may, by extension, be in danger.”
“That’s true,” I said in agreement. I set the beer down. “But Neil is outright showing me crime-scene photos.”
“Has he been dropped on his head recently?”
“I don’t know. But he’s pretty insistent that I’d actually be beneficial to the investigation.”
Max made a sound under his breath. “I admit I’m intrigued, but defying Calvin in this instance seems like a pretty surefire way to end up on his shit-list for life.”
“I don’t like that list,” I answered.
“Who would?”
I stuffed the last wedge of cheesecake in my mouth and said between bites, “Have you ever read the phrase, ‘Hope you’re satisfied’?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like in a historical context. That’s what Frank’s second note said. I don’t think it’s an original phrase from the Collector. I think it’s a reference, or a quote even.”
“Nothing comes to mind.” I heard the sound of a keyboard after Max fell quiet for a moment. “It’s a song. ‘Hope You’re Satisfied,’ by Betty and Dupree.”
“Etta James,” I replied. I picked up the remote and flipped channels to something not so bright and flashy. World Poker Tournament? Sure.
“It says Betty and Dupree,” Max was saying.
“That was a onetime release under aliases for Etta James and Harvey Fuqua. It’s a good song. You should listen to it.”
“Well… anyway. That’s all that shows up when you google it.”
I sighed. “I feel like I should recognize it.”
“Me too. You’re oh-for-two today.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your support…,” I began. I climbed off the bed and picked up my beer. “But I’m going to finish this overpriced Guinness and get some sleep. I don’t know if we’ve been cleared to open the Emporium tomorrow, so enjoy your day off.”
“Cool. Lock your door, boss.”
“Already done.”
“Check the closet.”
“What’s going to be in it, an ironing board?”
Max snorted. “This isyouwe’re talking about. Check the damn closet.”
I rolled my eyes and walked across the room, beer in hand. I opened the door. “Nada,” I called loudly.
“All right,” Max answered. “Give Calvin a kiss for me.”
“Will do.”
“With tongue.”
I shut the closet door and walked back to the bed. “No.”
“Squeeze his butt.”
“Max.”
