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Jo jotted information from the screen in front of her onto her notes. “I’m sorry, Soph. I know it’s not easy. But if you let her drive you crazy, isn’t she winning?”
“Oh, please. She doesn’t give a red rat’s tush about me or my mental state. It’s David she wants.”
Jo glanced resentfully at the monitor and struggled to remain patient. “But if you’re at David’s throat every five minutes about Chelsea, isn’t she turning you into the sort of harpy-shrew wife that pushes her husband away?”
Sophie went silent.
Jo swore to herself—now Sophie was angry. She rubbed her hand over her brow, bracing for the pending explosion.
“You know what?” Sophie finally responded. “You’re exactly right. I’m just playing into it, aren’t I?”
Jo released the breath she’d been holding. “You’re notnotplaying into it,” she said tentatively.
“Thank you, Jo. That’s just what I needed to hear. I’ll let you know what happens.” She hung up.
Jo stared down at the phone, now worried she’d released some sort of soccer-mom kraken onto Chelsea—no matter how she followed that scenario through, it didn’t end well for anyone involved.
Arnett’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Three-thirty. We need to get a move on if we’re going to go meet that waitress.” He registered the expression on her face. “Unless you’re in the middle of something and want me to go alone?”
“No, I’m good.” She pushed her chair away from the desk and stood up. “Just a weird phone call from my sister. She’s worried Chelsea is trying to steal her husband.”
“And you think she’s not?” Arnett looked amused.
“I believe you can’t steal a man who doesn’t want to be stolen. But that’s a helluva lot easier to believe when the husband in question isn’t mine.”
* * *
By the time they pulled up to Starbucks, the bright, crisp skies of the Pioneer Valley morning had turned to steely gray, portending the sort of soul-sucking icy rain that burrowed itself into your hair and clothes and stripped the trees of all remaining leaves. Jo pulled her jacket closer around her as she pushed through the door.
Once inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee laced with seasonal pumpkin spice greeted her like an old friend, filling her with happy memories of falls past. She drew in a second greedy breath as she scanned the cafe.
A petite blonde in the back raised one hand. Jo nearly did a double take; the woman last night had been slashed with garish make-up, hair teased to high heaven, large breasts cinched so high they constantly threatened to fall out of her tiny corseted dress. This woman wore an elegant chignon, the barest hint of tasteful make-up on her face, and a cream-top-tan-pants ensemble so elegantly understated Sophie would envy them. If it weren’t for the large, frightened brown eyes poking out of it all, she’d swear this was a different woman.
Jo chastised herself mentally. She knew better than to assume people only had one side. She made her way to the table with Arnett behind her.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” the woman said, gesturing to the empty chairs. “Nobody from the club comes here.”
“Not a problem.” Jo slid onto one of the black metal chairs, and Arnett took another. “I’m Detective Josette Fournier, and this is Detective Bob Arnett. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name last night.”
“No, sorry. I’m Hailey. Hailey Chartrain.” She shifted her chair so she could continue to watch the door.
“I’m glad to meet you, Hailey.” Jo slipped into a voice she hoped projected confidence and security. “What did you want to talk to us about?”
“The guys said Amber had been killed. Is that right?” Her eyes widened still further.
“The guys?” Arnett asked.
“Chuck the security guard and Dan the bartender.”
“We know her as Madison, but, yes, that’s right. Were you friends?” Jo asked.
“Not friends exactly, because she kept mostly to herself. But I liked her.” Her long nails tore at the cardboard sleeve on her cup. “She didn’t belong at the club.”
“I’m not sure any womanbelongsin a strip club,” Jo said. “But sometimes life forces us to make hard decisions.”
“You can say that again.” Hailey took a deep breath. “But there are strip clubs and there are strip clubs, if you get my meaning. Amber—Madison—got more than she bargained for.”
“What’s different about this strip club?” Jo asked.
