The Body in Witch Elm by Stephen John

Author:Stephen John
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy murder mystery, Women Sleuths, Strong female character, Cozy, Thriller, Crime, detective, deleon, women's fiction, light and funny
Publisher: J&R Fan Fiction
Published: 2020-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

I ARRIVED AT THE SHOWCASE GENTLEMEN’S CLUB about ten minutes after nine o’clock. I wore simple jeans and a plain top. I didn’t want to look slutty or prudish. I thought if I dressed too slutty it would look unnatural, like I was trying too hard. A professional look was out. I didn’t want to be recognized as a cop or investigator. I decided ‘plain’ was the best option.

A fiftyish year-old man sat on a stool inside the door. He was reading a book, Cannery Row, by John Steinbeck. His face was careworn. He brandished a military tattoo on his forearm. He was not a big guy, but looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight. I expected to see a creepy guy at the door, but this man seemed rather normal, out of place for his surroundings. His deep-set eyes were piercing, and his expression was serious.

He didn’t look up as I approached. I cleared my throat, which seemed to get his attention . . . barely.

He looked over the top of his reading glasses. His eyes caught mine momentarily. His expression never changed. After a second, he turned his face down toward the book.

“Are you in the right place, miss?” he asked, not bothering to look up again.

“I am.”

“You sure?”

“Is this the Showcase Gentlemen’s Club?” I replied.

“It is.”

“Then I’m at the right place.”

He looked up at me again, this time removing his glasses.

“Are you a cop?” he asked.

The question startled me. So much for the long, thoughtful approach to my appearance. I did my best to recover, “What? No. I’m not a cop.”

“C’mon,” he continued. “Don’t BS me. Vice? Am I right?”

“No. I am not in law enforcement of any kind.”

He sighed, “Uh, huh. Well, the cover charge is ten bucks.”

I pulled a ten from my pocket and handed it to him, “How’s the show, here?”

“It’s a work of art. You’ll love it,” he said, slipping his readers back on and turning his attention back to his book. I leaned in just a little.

“Steinbeck? That’s an unusual book for a strip club bouncer, isn’t it?” I asked.

He looked up once again. His expression changed from total disinterest to mild disdain, “So, you’re an expert on the reading habits of strip club employees, are you?”

“No. I just wasn’t expecting Steinbeck, that’s all.”

He sat the book down on the counter, looked at me again and shrugged, “Sorry to disappoint you, but when I got to the library someone already checked out Green Eggs and Ham.”

“No . . . uh . . . I meant. . . Never mind. Is the owner in?”

“Nope. He doesn’t come here often. The manager is in the back, though.”

“Good. What’s his name?”

“Skip. Miss, can I ask, what are you doing here?”

“I’m . . . I’m looking for a job.”

For the first time he glanced at me from eyes to toes. It was a cursory glance, an analytical glance . . . a judgmental glance.

“You? Looking for a job? Here?” he asked in disbelief.

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