Killer Eyeshadow and a Cold Espresso (A Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery)

by Traci Andrighetti

  "Maybe her mom is British."

  "I'd guess Russian. Katrina is so KGB, like Putin. If you ask me, she's the one stalking us, not a hit man."

  I'd come to the same conclusion. Katrina suspected we were onto her, and she'd been keeping tabs on us ever since she'd spotted Gia wearing the cameo at the Rothman mansion. "We have to link her to Vinnie's murder."

  "Let's draw up a battle plan." She bounced down and grabbed a pen and notebook from her nightstand.

  I sat beside her. "The strongest evidence would be the other stocking."

  "Katrina would've tossed that by now. Or torched it."

  "Not if she was afraid it would be found, or kept it as a memento."

  "She'd have to be pretty stupid or sick to do that. Then again, her brain probably turned to muscle, and she definitely could've used steroids."

  Once again, I couldn't argue. Katrina's body was unusually developed, and it was well known that steroids altered the brain. "I'll go to Lily's Lingerie this morning and update Donna on Katrina. That could help her trace the return order for the stockings."

  "Woman Mouth is like Flavia, except that she's got two enlarged nostrils. So if anyone can sniff out a connection between those stockings and Katrina, it's her."

  Aunt Carla might've been Gia's stepmother, but the two had a lot in common. "If she can't connect them, that leaves the cameo."

  She scribbled a note. "Let's hope Rhys didn't pitch it into the bay when he swiped the rowboat."

  "I think he was doing something else, like disposing of yew berries. What I don't get is why he would cover for Katrina."

  Gia chewed the pen. "Because his crazy sister likes her for some unfathomable reason?"

  "But he doesn't like Elise. Even Bree said so."

  "Then maybe, and get ready to be grossed out, Rhys and Katrina have a thing."

  "They don't strike me as each other's types."

  My message tone beeped. I climbed from the bed and retrieved my phone from the pillows.

  "Who is it?"

  "Amy. She's on her way over, and she says not to leave because she has something to show us."

  "Where are we going to go with the muscled murderer stalking us?"

  "She doesn't know about that." I tossed my phone onto the bed. "I haven't talked to her since she told me about A Pocket Full of Rye."

  "That reminds me, remember that day Katrina was spying on us from the library parking lot, and she left without returning the poetry book Amy brought to Elise? She was stalking us back then—she just wasn't wearing the trench coat."

  "I don't know, G. I almost got the feeling she was surprised to run into us. But I remember thinking it was weird that she would return a library book right after her boss was murdered."

  A jolt sent me into the pillows.

  The book.

  "Oh my God." Gia jumped to my side. "Are you having a heart attack?"

  I squeezed her hand. "Katrina was trying to return the missing copy of A Pocket Full of Rye, not the poetry book for the vow renewal. She's the one who took it from the library."

  Gia jumped onto the mattress. "That'll prove she knew about taxine and tried to hide it."

  A knock interrupted our excitement.

  I looked at my cousin. "Do you think that's Amy already?"

  The knocking became pounding.

  She hopped to the floor. "Katrina could be after her."

  We fled downstairs to the break room.

  Amy was at the back door pressing her hands to the window to see inside. Her breath was so labored it fogged up the glass and her glasses.

  I turned the lock, and she burst inside. Her cross-body satchel was crooked, and the seam of her denim skirt was twisted.

  "I pedaled as fast as I could."

  Gia secured the bolt. "Was a trench coat following you?"

  Amy defogged her lenses on her shirt. "I think you're missing a person in that question." She gulped down some air. "It was the newspaper boy."

  Gia's head fell forward. "He's in on this?"

  "No, George Fontaine."

  I grabbed her by the shoulders. "What about George? Did you see him?"

  "On the subject of seeing, can I put on my glasses?"

  I released her.

  She slipped them on and pulled a newspaper from her satchel. "I went to work early, and Ralph Bailey, the kid who fills the Cove Chronicles kiosk, followed me inside to show me the lead story."

  I took the paper and unfolded it to the front page.

  We found out where George was.

  His arms were behind his back, and his eyes were closed. Above his picture, the headline read OOPS-A-DAISY! Florist Arrested in Rothman Murder.

  * * *

  "What's Woman Mouth doing back there?" Gia stared at the stockroom door from the counter of Lily's Lingerie. "Inventorying the store?"

  I glanced at my phone. It was twenty past noon, which meant we'd only been waiting ten minutes. "She said she had to take a call, and you know she likes to chat."

  "Uh, the whole town is painfully aware of that."

  The dressing room curtains parted, and Mallory Winchester exited in mom jeans and a wide-necked turtleneck. She carried an armload of lingerie to a rack of nightgowns.

  Gia sidled up to me. "The two biggest gossips in Danger Cove under the same roof? That's no accident, but those granny gowns she's holding are."

  Mallory had probably come to confer with Donna about George's arrest, and she'd stayed to look around. Normally I would have avoided her, but the newspaper article had been scant on details. "Hello, Mallory."

  She hung the last gown on the rack and turned. Her face lit up like she'd scored seventy-five percent off her next purchase. "Oh, Cassidi. Isn't it awful about George Fontaine? I always said he was no florist, but I never thought he was an assassin."

  Gia gave a frustrated hair flip. "Don't you have a PTA meeting to dominate?"

  Mallory's mouth didn't move from its fixed flat line, but her eyes frowned at the embellished bra beneath Gia's leather jacket.

  I gave my cousin the elbow, her cue to rein it in until I got my gossip. "Nothing has been proven yet, so we should wait to hear the evidence against him."

  "Well, I heard they arrested him at the Seattle airport getting off a plane to London. Fleeing town is all the evidence I need to convict him."

  It must've had something to do with the stolen painting. "They pulled him off the flight before it took off?"

  "No, he was on a return flight."

  Gia guffawed. "A guy fleeing a murder rap doesn't come back, Mallory."

  Her chin retracted into the turtleneck. "Unless he came back to turn himself in."

  Detective Marshall had told us all not to leave town, so the trip must've been urgent. "Maybe he had a family emergency. His parents live there."

  "He's in jail, so he must've killed Jesse Rothman." Mallory's eyes assumed a sly slant. "I noticed the Finials and Facades truck outside your salon. What does Alex Jordan have to say about this?"

  I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of knowing Alex was upset, so I concocted a fib. "I have no idea. I told her to take the day off, but that wasn't because of George."

  "Oh?" Her brow lifted. "Does it have anything to do with that squad car you've had parked out front?"

  Gia held up a finger—to show off a red-lace nail that matched her bra. "One, that's none of your business. And two, have you been casing our house? Because you seem to know a lot about it, and yet I haven't seen you in the salon." She eyed Mallory's mom hair. "You should make an appointment, by the way. I might be able to help you look somewhat attractive."

  Mallory's mouth twitched. "For your information, I went to Filly's a couple of times to buy seafood for a dinner party."

  "Why don't you go again so you can stop fishing for info from us?"

  A cord protruded from Mallory's neck, and she spun on her loafers and stormed from the boutique.

  Gia adjusted her leather collar. "I feel like a mushroom cloud
has been lifted. What do you make of George's trip?"

  "He said his parents had been avoiding his calls, so he might've gone to confront them about selling the painting to Jesse."

  "Is that important enough for him to risk getting arrested? I mean, he already knew they sold it to him."

  I leaned on the counter. If Katrina was the killer, why would George need to go to London? It wasn't like he needed to hunt down a member of the British firms, unless… "This is a long shot, but what if George went to London to track down the source of the English yew berries in your floral arrangement?"

  "It sounds kind of out there, Cass, but it's possible."

  The stockroom door hit the doorjamb with the sound of a shot, and Gia and I took cover behind the counter.

  "You two are jumpy. Is it your guilty consciences?"

  Gia gritted her teeth while we were still out of Donna's sight, so I mouthed be nice, and we rose to face her.

  I looked into Donna's wide-set eyes. "We had nothing to do with Jesse's death, which is why we're here."

  "I thought this was just about your uncle's murder." Her nostrils flared. She was on the scent—and not of Gia's Prada Candy perfume. "Are you saying the two murders are related?"

  I had to be more careful. "I meant that we're honest people. We're trying to solve a crime. We don't commit them."

  "That's so wholesome and sweet I'm gagging on it." She stuck out her tongue. "Anyway, I've got news so huge I'm tempted to sell it to Duncan Pickles."

  Her tone had a hum, and my brain began singing. "If it's about the stockings, remember our deal. Cut-and-dye appointments for life are worth more than any amount you'd get from Duncan."

  "Don't forget the free mustache and beard waxes," Gia chimed.

  Donna's jowls dropped, and I skipped the elbow and stomped on my cousin's foot.

  "Owww," Gia howled.

  Donna's nostrils flared, this time with satisfaction. "Unfortunately, I have to tell the police what I've learned, which is such a waste of a scintillating tidbit." She tapped her stubbled chin while giving me the eye. "But, I suppose I could tell you before I call Detective Marshall."

  My chest constricted with fear and anticipation. I was finally going to get the proof I'd been searching for since I moved to Danger Cove. "My entire family would be so grateful."

  "I went through the old records, but the box with the return special order records for the period in question was missing."

  Gia and I shared a side-eye. Katrina had stolen the records like she'd stolen the cameo.

  "Not one to back down in the hunt for information—"

  Gia snorted but turned it into a fake sneeze to avoid further injury.

  "—I left a message with the company that manufactured the stockings." Donna gestured to the stockroom. "That's who I was on the phone with a minute ago. And guess what?"

  "What?" Gia sounded irritated.

  "All of their records are on computer."

  "So they were able to pull it up?" My voice was a whisper. The fear and anticipation had pushed the breath from my lungs.

  "On the spot."

  Gia moved away from me. "If you don't hurry up and tell us what you found out, you won't live to gossip another day."

  "And you wonder why you're a suspect in so many murders?" Donna exclaimed. "I'll tell you, Cassidi, because you have manners. The credit card used to make the purchase belonged to Jesse Rothman."

  I made like a tree. "The stockings were for Elise?"

  Donna tittered. "I doubt that. Jesse and your uncle had a lot in common. He collected women and used Vinnie's Viagra to seduce them. And like Vinnie, he carried on with Katrina for years."

  "How do you know all of that?"

  "The Rothmans' chef. He spilled some serious secrets when I gave him a lingerie discount. This was right before he went to see his girlfriend a few weeks ago in London."

  London? "Chef Paul went to England?"

  Donna scratched her cheek. "Now that I think about it, a lot of roads are leading to London, aren't they? I'll have to ask around about a connection. But yes, he got back a couple of days before the vow renewal ceremony."

  Gia's head tilted backwards, and she caught my gaze.

  I knew what her stare said. Either the chef had something to do with the stolen painting, which seemed unlikely, or I hadn't been barking up the wrong tree with my English yew berry theory.

  * * *

  "Okay, but you've got to make this quick." Zac glanced out the window from our table at the Lobster Pot. "It's getting dark, and I want to get you home."

  After a lot of convincing, he'd agreed to keep our date. But he was uneasy about it. I appreciated his concern, but I was positive that Gia and I were safe in light of the arrest. "Remember, it's in Katrina's interest to let the police think George was the trench coat stalker."

  He nodded but turned his gaze toward the street.

  I weaved through packed tables and peered into the wait station. A young waitress in the restaurant's signature lobster hat loaded a tray with food and left to serve her customers.

  I slipped through a swing door.

  Despite the aroma of seafood and garlic bread, the men in the kitchen didn't promise anything appetizing. With long hair, missing teeth, and sallow skin, they looked more like pirates than cooks. One even had an eye patch, and yet he chopped corn on the cob with a cleaver.

  I wanted to tell him about Tommy Two Fingers, but it was hard to hear over the whacking and the heavy metal blasting from a jam box.

  "Bathroom's that way, darlin'." Holding a potato peeler, a squat male with bowlegs pointed to the swing door.

  "I'm looking for Chef Paul."

  The chopping ceased, and leers spread across the men's mouths.

  A tall, lanky thirtysomething with Robert Plant hair stepped from behind the stove. In place of a chef's hat, he wore a black polyester skullcap that tied in the back. He slung a greasy towel over his shoulder and strutted toward me in a food-stained apron. He stopped, crossed his arms, and gave me a cool once-over. "What can I do you for, beautiful?"

  "I'd like to talk to you about the Rothmans."

  His leer fell, and so did those of his mates. "Can't help ya." He returned to the stove. "Got fish to fry."

  As if I didn't. "Please, can we talk in private? I really need your help."

  The leers rebounded, as did the chef's strut. He led me to a dry-goods room with a walk-in freezer that had a picture of Christopher Walken above the handle. The chef shot me a grin.

  I did the same, except mine was upside down. "I'll make this fast. George Fontaine didn't kill Jesse, and I'm hoping you can help me clear his name."

  "What am I gettin' out of this?"

  He'd directed his question to my chest. "Don't you have a girlfriend in London?"

  "I've got a woman in every port, baby." He whipped off his apron and made a grab for my waist.

  I slapped down his hands. "I've got a boyfriend who'll come looking for me if I'm not back at the table in five minutes."

  He took a step back.

  Some swashbuckler. Won't even fight for a wench. "Speaking of boyfriends, is it true Katrina and Jesse were having an affair?"

  "That ended a couple of years ago. They had some kind of falling out, and she hated him after that."

  "Then why'd she continue working for him?"

  "He had something on her." Chef Paul shook out his rock-star locks. "The dude was evil like that. He kept records and things on people out in his man cabin in case he needed to blackmail them."

  Things like the other fishnet stocking? Or the cameo? "Why didn't you cook for the Rothmans' vow renewal? I heard you were in town."

  "'Cause Elise came up with the shindig plan while I was in London, and I was already scheduled to work here that Saturday." He grimaced. "Katrina fired me for that."

  "Why? Don't you make the kitchen schedule?"

  "Yeah, so I could've had someone cover my shift, but I was tired of her drama." He smoothed his skull
cap. "The Lobster Pot gives me the freedom I crave, and my band of merry men."

  Horny men was more appropriate.

  "But hey, I got a free trip to London out of it."

  "How? Did your girlfriend pay for your ticket?"

  "Nah, the Rothmans needed a package picked up. They couldn't use the mail like regular folks. You know how rich people are."

  I also knew how corrupt people were, especially Jesse Rothman. And a package from London set off police sirens in my head. "Was it the size of a painting, by chance?"

  "Nah, a medium-sized envelope."

  "Any idea what was in it?"

  "Plant one right here"—he tapped his lips—"and I'll dish."

  My abdomen clenched, and my hands went to his pecs.

  "Now that's what I'm talkin' about."

  I stared into his black eyes. "Was it a frond with narrow green leaves and red berries?"

  He pushed me back. "How'd you know that?"

  "It's a branch from an English yew tree." My voice was calm even though I felt like I'd been poisoned. "Someone put it in my cousin's flower arrangement to frame George Fontaine."

  He went as white as his apron should have been. "It wasn't me, lady. I thought that stuff was some exotic European spice I was supposed to cook with. I delivered it to Katrina, and she canned me right after that."

  Like George, he'd been a pawn in Katrina's scheme.

  "Cassidi?"

  Zac rushed in, fists clenched, and Chef Paul yanked open the "Walken" freezer and cowered behind the metal door.

  I was tempted to follow the chef's lead when I saw the anger on Zac's face. "What's the matter?"

  "We've got to go." He pulled me through the kitchen and out the restaurant entrance.

  I wasn't sure what had gotten into him, but I knew he would've taken me out the back exit if he'd seen Katrina. "Are you jealous of Chef Paul?"

  He gave me a you-know-better-than-that look and opened the door of the Jeep. "Your phone rang while you were in the kitchen. It was Gia, so I answered it."

  I climbed in and fastened my seat belt. "Is this about one of Harriet's tours?"

  "Gia wasn't calling from the salon." He slammed my door and walked around to the driver's seat.