The Pinch of Death – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

Chapter 21. Connections

At The Royal Mess, Honey was agog to hear that possibly D.L. LeRoi had some connection to an exotic dancer named Roxelle Shields.

“I’ve seen her!” she gasped. “Maybe you have too. That cheesy shriek-fest movie Dark Turning a few years back. Traveling theatre company gets stranded in the back of beyond?”

“Never saw it,” said Jacquetta, who hated movies like that. “D.L. LeRoi is really some woman impersonating three other women – Roxelle Shields, Roxelle Shield’s secretary, and Avalon Powell. So she probably isn’t any of them.”

“But we won’t know till we ask,” insisted Honey. “This detecting is so much fun! I mean, there must be a connection, we just don’t know what it is. Give me that number.”

“Don’t you want me to call?”

“Heck no. Suppose it’s someone you’ve already met? It’s NOT going to REALLY be Avalon Powell who’s the only one who knows me. I can do voices. You can’t do voices. You don’t realize how distinctive your voice is.”

“My voice?” Jacquetta felt oddly pleased.

Honey slammed the bar phone down on the Plexiglas so noisily the single patron stirred, then disappeared back into his alcoholic coma.

“Hello? I was told I could reach Roxelle Shields at this number. No? How about Avalon Powell?

No? To whom –“

She looked at the phone with considerable surprise. “She hung up on me.”

“Well, where the heck were you calling? Maybe you should have asked that first!”

“Some lawyer’s office. Ummm “ Honey cast her eyes upward, remembering.

“Neil Dettler?”

“That was it!” Honey barked so triumphantly the old soak moved several seats down where his sleep would remain uninterrupted.

“It can’t have been his office, they wouldn’t have hung up on you. It must have been his wife. Rose-Alice said he and Avalon were having an affair.”

“Rumor confirmed,” said Honey, dialing a new number.

“Somewhere in New Jersey, a business called The Brass Ass.” She covered the speaker to hiss, “It’s in Wildwood.”

“Sure you can dial that for me. Thanks.” A momentary wait. “Hello? I’m looking for Roxelle Shields’ secretary. Oh, she doesn’t? How about Avalon Powell? Does that ring a bell? Well, may I speak to Miss Shields? May I leave a message then? All righty then!” She hung up briskly.

“Roxelle Shields doesn’t have a secretary. That guy seems to think the mere idea is hilarious. He doesn’t recognize the name Avalon and Roxelle doesn’t come in Mondays. But he didn’t rule out me speaking to her. I mean, we could call back tomorrow maybe. But he won’t take messages, that’s for sure. He’s probably illiterate!”

“Wow,” said Jacquetta. “You’ve been really helpful. We’ve got SOME kind of connection to Neil Dettler, but what is it exactly?”

“You mean someone could be trying to get him into trouble,” said Honey. “Him and Avalon. What does his wife look like?”

“God,” returned Jacquetta, “I did meet her but she looked so depressed I was scared to meet her eyes.”

“Could she get herself up all young and pretty?”

Jacquetta wasn’t used to looking at people in this way.

“I guess she must have been able to at one point. Her husband says she’s agoraphobic.”
Honey snorted. “Husbands don’t know anything!”

“But why would she use her own number?” Jacquetta was thinking, Mrs. Dettler could probably get her hands on a piece of Avalon’s broken jewelry, too.

“I guess to contain any inquiries – you know, if somebody comes looking for her she’d be forewarned. Don’t ask me.”

“And now she’s forewarned,” Jacquetta said sadly.

“Let me know if you’ve got any more detecting for me to do,” Honey begged her departing roommate. “I just love it! We should open our own detective agency!”

“Honey and Sister?” Jacquetta teased.

“Don’t scoff,” said Honey. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”