“That was good,”  Steve said as he threw his napkin on the plate and

pushed it back from the edge of the table.  Everyone nodded in agreement

and in relief to see that the food and a change of clothes had put Steve in

a better mood.

	“So tell me about this case you’re on, Stephanie,”  Jack said.  He had

finished his sandwich a few minutes before and was sitting with his chair

pushed back from the table, CJ on his lap.  “Er,  I  mean, Steve.” 
	Steve curled his lip at his old pal.  “Well, Jacqueline, since I still

work in Homicide, it won’t surprise you to hear that it’s a homicide

investigation.”.  

	Jack smiled sweetly back at him.  “So, someone died?  From something

besides laughing at you in a dress?”

	“I don’t think he was laughing much as he was being beaten to death,” 

Steve responded soberly.

	“Who was it?”

	“One of the owners of Chez Felicity.  A rooming house for women,”  Steve

explained.  “He was found beaten to a pulp in an alley a few blocks from

the place.”

	“Robbed?”  Jack asked.

	“Picked clean.”  Steve responded.

	“Sounds like a mugging gone wrong,”  Amanda commented.  “What makes them

think there’s more to it?”

	“They didn’t,”  Steve answered.  “That’s exactly the conclusion the

officers who originally worked the case came to.  But then word came down

from above that I was to go undercover at Chez Felicity and see if I could

find any leads that might throw some more light on the murder.”

	“And he roped me into helping him,”  Jesse chimed in, between bites of a

big dill pickle.

	“Didn’t take a whole lot of rope,”  Steve said, raising an eyebrow in

Jesse’s direction.

	“Above?”  Mark asked.  “How far above?”

	“Don’t ask,”  Steve responded.  “Unless you want an unemployed son to

support.”

	“Consider the question unasked,”  Mark replied with a grin.  The phone

rang, and he left the table to get it.  A moment later, they all heard his

voice from the living room.  

	“I’m sorry, but you must have a wrong number.  There’s no Stephanie at

this address.”  

	“Dad!”  Steve called in a loud, urgent whisper as he jumped up out of his

chair. His father looked at him, then said, “Oh, hold on,”  into the phone

and covered the mouthpiece.

	Steve pointed at himself, mouthed “Stephanie”, and took the receiver from

his father.  He stood facing the table at first, but the four sets of eyes

glued on him were daunting.  He turned away, and in a high voice said into

the phone, “This is Stephanie.”  Giggles broke out behind him, and he

turned to glare them into silence before he continued.  “I’m sorry, my

uncle gets a little confused sometimes.  Elderly man, you know.”  He smiled

wickedly at his father, who covered his mouth with a napkin in a vain

effort to hide his smile.  “Yes, Matilda.  I know, cookies.  Peanut butter?

 Fine.  Okay.  Yes, Jessica is a dear, isn’t she?”  He turned his smile on

Jesse, who didn’t even try to hide his grin.  “She will be a big help with

the cookies, I know.”  Steve was silent for a moment, listening, and the

smile left his face.  “She does?  Do you know why?”  More silence, as

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in thought.  “Okay, we’ll get there as soon as we

can.  Thanks for calling.”   He clicked off the phone.  “Suit up, Jess,

we’re on.”

	“What’s up?”  Jesse asked as he rose from his seat at the table.

	“Felicity wants to talk to us.”

	“Felicity?  As in Chez Felicity?”

	“That’s the one.”

	“I didn’t even know there was a Felicity!”

	“And you call yourself a detective.”

	“No, I call myself a doctor.  You call yourself a detective.”

	Their bickering faded as they both headed down the stairs  to Steve’s

apartment to transform themselves back into Stephanie and Jessica.



	*	*	*



	“Thank you for coming,”  Felicity greeted them as they were ushered into

her apartment.  Steve and Jesse both glanced around the posh penthouse in

awe, taking in the gaudy and yet somehow elegant sofas, chairs, drapes,

lamps, and rugs.  A crystal chandelier illuminated the room with a soft

pink glow, and knick-knacks covered every horizontal surface.  Two Italian

Greyhounds danced frantically around their legs, patting their thighs with

their tiny paws in a bid for attention.  “Down, boys,”  Felicity said to

her pets in a gently forceful tone.”Go to your baskets.”  The dogs

reluctantly complied, each going to a different ornate basket and curling

up on the velvet cushion inside.  Their eyes still snapped with excitement

and the desire to make friends with the visitors.  “Please, sit down,”

Felicity invited Steve and Jesse with a graceful sweep of her arm toward

the sofa.  She sat in the heavily-embroidered armchair opposite, her

floor-length chiffon skirts billowing gently, then settling into elegant

lines.

	Steve and Jesse did their best to sit modestly, draping their skirts

tastefully over their knees and crossing their legs demurely.

	“Oh, please, get comfortable,”  Felicity said.  Steve and Jesse looked

questioningly at each other, and then at their hostess.  She smiled back at

them, the pink light from the chandelier reflecting off her diamond

necklace.  “Surely you don’t think you’ve fooled me?”  When Jesse and Steve

continued to look baffled, she shook her head ruefully, making her earrings

dance.  “Boys, you can’t kid a kidder.”  With that, she reached up, took a

firm grip on the hair on top of her head, and pulled it off, revealing a

bald head.  “Just call me Felix,”  their host said to his dumbfounded

guests.

	“Uh...uh...uh...”  was the best Jesse could come up with.

	“Felix?”  Steve asked.

	“Felix.  And please don’t ask where Oscar is.  I’ve heard it too many

times.  Besides,”  he said, and paused.  “Oscar is dead.  That’s why you’re

here.”

	“Oscar?”  Steve asked, still stunned beyond much rational thought.

	“My partner.  Oh, his name wasn’t really Oscar, of course.  It was

Harold.”

	“Harold Singleton?  The mugging victim?”  Steve’s brain was starting to

kick into gear.

	Felix nodded sadly.  “Everyone called him Oscar because of me being Felix.

 He really wasn’t that untidy, though.”  He smiled.  “He was a wonderful

man.”  His face grew hard as he continued.  “And those animals who killed

him must be brought to justice.  That’s why I called my brother and asked

him to put his best man on the case.”

	“Brother?”  Steve choked the word out, sounding so distressed that Jesse

turned to him in concern, ready to perform a Heimlich maneuver if needed.

	“Gerald isn’t very proud of me,”  Felix said, his head held high.  “But he

always said that I could call on him if I needed him.  And I did, and he

came through.  Here you are.”

	“Gerald,”  Steve repeated, catching his breath.  He shook his head,

uncrossed his legs, and sat, man-fashion, knees apart, hands on his thighs,

elbows akimbo.  “Okay.”  He reached down the neck of his dress and pulled a

police notebook and pen from his bra. 

	“Steve!”  Jesse protested.  

	“What?”  Steve asked.  “Good Lord, Jesse.  We’re all men here.”  He

flipped open the notebook and became all business.  “Tell me about Harold.”

	“He was a wonderful man,”  Felix repeated.

	“Did he have any enemies?”

	“No more than any gay man has,”  Felix commented bitterly.  “Fewer,

actually.  He was very well liked in both the straight and gay community. 

I was lucky to have him.”

	“We’re sorry about your loss,”  Jesse stated softly.  “But we have to ask

these questions to find his killer.”

	“Well put, detective,”  Steve commented wryly.  “What happened the night

Harold was killed?”

	“He went out for a quart of ice cream.  Java Chip. Starbucks. It was our

favorite.”  Felix paused for a moment to compose himself. “When he didn’t

return, I called the police.  They wouldn’t even start looking for him

until he had been missing twenty-four hours, so I didn’t know he was dead

until the next morning, when he was found in that alley by a garbage man.”

	“So you have no evidence to support the theory that this was anything

other than a routine mugging.”

	“A routine gay-bashing, more likely.”

	“Hate criminals don’t usually rob their victims.”

	“Maybe they did it just for that reason, to throw you off,”  Felix

suggested.

	“Maybe.”  Steve looked at his notes thoughtfully for a moment.  “What

about the phone calls you reported getting?”

	“Hang-ups,”  Felix answered.  “Two or three a night.  I’ve started letting

the answering machine get every call just because it’s so unnerving to hear

that silence and then the click.”

	Steve nodded and made some notes.  “And the man who was hanging around the

other day?”

	Felix looked puzzled.  “What man?”

	Steve looked at Jesse for confirmation.  “Matilda said that there was a

man hanging out across the street two nights ago,”  Jesse explained to

Felix.  “She thought he was a drunk, but then decided she recognized him. 

He’s been in a few times looking for you.”  	Felix looked worried and shook

his head.  “She never mentioned it to me.”

	“Maybe she didn’t want to worry you,”  Jesse offered.  “She said she

thought he might be an old boyfriend of yours.”

	“It would have to be a very old boyfriend,”  Felix responded.  “Harold and

I were together for fifteen years.  Exclusively.”

	“Would Matilda know that?”  Steve asked. 

	“No, she’s only been here a few years.”

	“Would she know that you are . . .”  Steve let the question trail off.

	“No.  I don’t think any of the girls know. I’ve certainly never told them.

 I’m their happy housemother, as far as they know.  And I’d like to keep it

that way,”  he said, eyebrows raised, looking pointedly at first Steve,

then Jesse.  They both nodded their consent to keeping his secret, and he

sighed with relief.

	“Well, I guess we’ll just continue to keep an eye out and see if we can

come up with anything,”  Steve said as he rose from the sofa, closed his

notebook, and tucked it back down the front of his dress.  Jesse rolled his

eyes, but also stood and shook Felix’s hand.  “Let us know if you think of

anything else that might help.”

	“I will,”  Felix said, as he ushered them to the door.  The Italian

Greyhounds popped out of their baskets and once again jumped happily on

Steve and Jesse, who this time bent to pet the little dogs’ silky heads.

	“Cute,”  Jesse commented.

	“Yes, they were Harolds’ and my children,” Felix said, picking up one of

the dogs and rubbing his cheek on its soft neck.  “This is Donatelli, and

that’s Leonardo.”  

	Steve gave Leonardo another pat, then straightened up.  “You might want to

consider getting a bigger pet, if Harold’s killer is still out there and is

after you now.”

	“Oh, my, no,”  Felix said. “I’m afraid of big dogs.  Besides, they have to

be walked.  The boys never go out.  They have,” Felix paused, searching for

a tactful term.  “Facilities right here in the apartment.  Behind that

screen.”  He gestured towards a bamboo screen with an oriental design

sweeping across it that blocked off one corner of the room.  “We never go

outside.  It’s a cold world out there, isn’t it boys?”  He picked up

Leonardo and tucked each little dog under an arm as Steve and Jesse opened

the door and moved to leave.

	“You know,”  Felix stated thoughtfully as they turned to listen.  “There

is one other thing that might be important.”  He stopped as Steve and Jesse

looked at him expectantly.  “No, I can’t say it.  It’s probably nothing.”

	“Felix, anything could be a clue.  Tell us,”  Jesse encouraged him.

	Felix opened his mouth to speak, then bit back the words.  “No, I really

can’t.  Not to you.  Not alone.”

	Steve frowned.  “Is there someone you would feel more comfortable talking

to?  We could take you to him.”

	“Oh, no, I never go out,”  Felix reminded Steve.  “You would have to bring

him here.”

	“Okay, we can do that.  Who is it?”

	Felix looked at them for a long moment, his eyes filled with longing and

trepidation.  “My brother,”  he finally said, and Steve choked.



	*	*	*



	“I don’t believe I’m doing this.”

	“Well, they say blood is thicker than water,”  Steve said, trying to

suppress a grin as he stood back from his handiwork and appraised it. 

“God, and Natalie thought I was a challenge,”  he mused.  Jesse snickered,

then quickly sobered as he caught a ferocious glare from their new partner

in skirts.

	“No one will ever believe I’m a woman.”

	“You’d better hope they do for long enough to get into Chez Felicity,” 

Steve contradicted him.  “Men aren’t allowed beyond the lobby, and your

brother refuses to go out.  Besides, you don’t want to go as yourself and

have people recognize you, do you?”  He earned a glare for that comment,

but shrugged it off.  He had this man over a barrel and he knew it.  “He

has some information he’ll only give us if you’re there, so you’re going to

be there.”

	“Here, try this,” Jesse suggested as he reached up and, on tiptoe, wrapped

a paisley scarf around their victim’s head.  

	“Oh, much better.”  Steve nodded his approval, then reached over and

pulled the scarf forward, hiding more of the face beneath it.  “Even

better.”

	“Cut it out, Lieutenant.”

	“Sorry, Gerald,”  Steve smirked.  “Or should I say Geraldine?”

	“You will continue to address me as Chief if you want to keep your shield,

Detective,”  Chief Masters snapped.   He glared at the full-length mirror

opposite, taking in the burgundy pumps, the queen-sized nylons, the black

skirt and burgundy blouse, the salt and pepper wig and the paisley scarf. 

He shook his head in disgust.  “Except when we’re in Chez Felicity, when

you may address me as Geraldine.”

Part 7 Back to DM