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

by Traci Andrighetti

  That explained how he'd bought the place.

  Aunt Carla sniffed. "That bum really loved this house."

  Tears welled in my eyes, so I changed the subject. "What about Rhys? What's his role in all of this?"

  "Mr. Ingall knew Jesse had stolen Sonny's investment capital and figured that since he was out of prison, he would lead him to it."

  I reached for a cannolo. "But he spotted the painting during questioning and realized Jesse had hidden the money in plain sight." I looked at George. "That's also when he recognized you."

  George inhaled. "Yes, because my parents were supposed to sell that painting to Rhys years ago, but I'd stopped the sale when I figured out what they were doing."

  Big Ron narrowed his eyes. "Is that why you flew to London during the investigation? To ask your parents if they'd sold it to Jesse?"

  "They weren't answering my calls, so I went to confront them in person. They'd sworn to me that they would stay out of the business." He bit his lower lip and sighed. "Now they're in legal trouble, I'm afraid."

  I thought of Rhys in sunglasses on the rowboat. "Where is the painting?"

  "In police custody," Detective Ohlsen said. "When Elise went to the mansion last night, it was gone. She was certain Rhys had stolen it."

  Zac looked at him. "With our rowboat."

  "Yes, and your company name gave him the idea to hide the painting on Pirate's Hook."

  Where I'd discovered the peso with the treasure map so long ago. If only Zac had found loot in Bart Coffyn's chest, then everything would have been perfect.

  Gia opened her Badass Blue Rose eyeshadow palette to start a smoky eye. "I hope Rhys rots in my jail cell."

  Detective Ohlsen adjusted his belt. "He's awaiting extradition to England for stealing from a gallery, among other things."

  "The gallery." I looked at George. "You said your parents own the Leach Gallery. Is that your real last name?"

  "Leach? Ugh." Gia stuck out her tongue. "If it is your name, that's one international mystery you should leave unsolved."

  "Hm." Alex eyed George. "I might agree with her."

  "Well, people." The detective consulted his watch. "I need to get back to the station. But before I go, I have a request for all of you. Should you stumble into trouble again, and I sincerely hope you don't, please call the police."

  Cheeks went hot pinker than Gia's blush, and promises were mumbled.

  He took his leave, and Tommy slid from the barstool. "I'd best check them traps. Got critters to catch."

  Alex rose and approached Big Ron. "And we have renovations to finish."

  I stood. "Absolutely not. All of you need to take a few days off."

  Alex winked at George. "I could use some sleep."

  "I thought you'd never ask." He took her in his arms, leaned her backwards, and kissed her lips.

  Big Ron rolled his eyes, but grinned. Then he rose to his six-feet-eight inches. "Before I go, I might as well take down this Bottoms Up sign."

  My stomach gave a tug. My uncle had loved his painted lady, and she was part of his history too.

  Big Ron pulled a crowbar from his tool sack and jammed it under one end.

  "Stop." I held up my hand. "I want to preserve the painted lady as is—except for Hope, Faith, and Charity. They can advertise their wares in the attic."

  Alex's eyes twinkled. "I think you've made the right choice."

  "I'm not so sure about that." Big Ron eyed the opening he'd made with the crowbar. "There's something green poking out, and it's got a hundred on it."

  Gia leapt off the couch, her half-smokyed eyes wide. "Don't listen to Cassidi. Hanging upside down scrambled her brain." She clamped her hand over my mouth. "Bottoms Up be gone, Big Ron."

  He looked at me for permission, and I gave him a thumbs-up—because my cousin's hand prevented me from speaking or moving my head.

  Big Ron pried the sign from the wall. Then he inserted his crowbar into the opening and moved it around.

  Stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills hit the floor like the hail I'd seen pelting the ground.

  Uncle Vinnie's stash.

  A boom resounded in the living room.

  It wasn't a clap thunder.

  Gia had gone down for the count.

  * * *

  My eyes popped open, and I shot straight up.

  In bed in my room.

  "Someone has a little PTSD," I muttered and glanced at the clock. It was four thirty. I'd overslept from a nap.

  I followed the aroma of garlic and sausage downstairs to the break room.

  Aunt Carla stood at the stove in a tight yellow zebra dress, breaking up the meat with a spatula. "How's your back, Cassidi Lee?"

  "Fairly decent."

  Gia strutted in from the salon. "Major news. People are so shocked and outraged by Elise killing Vinnie that they've been calling to offer condolences—and book appointments."

  "How did word get out so fast? It only happened about twelve hours ago."

  My aunt looked over her shoulder. "While you were napping, I paid a visit to that Duncan Pickles."

  Gia's brown eyes sparkled as much as her blue glitter lip gloss. "Carla made the Cove Chronicles put out the first ever early afternoon edition. It was only one page, but the whole thing was about Vinnie and The Clip and Sip." She squeezed my hands. "And they retracted every negative thing they ever published."

  I stared at my aunt. "How did you accomplish that?"

  She flashed her nails, and the ones on the left hand were broken. "I gave Mr. Pickles the same demonstration I did for Elise last night."

  That was better than releasing rats in his room.

  Gia took a seat at the table. "I've been running some numbers, and we could go ahead and hire four more stylists to fill the other stations if we offered an additional service."

  I marched to the stove and held up my aunt's free hand to flash her Mafia nails. "We're not doing Mystery Spa Day. Besides, we just found eight hundred thousand dollars, so we can hire those stylists."

  Gia's lower lip protruded. "You're so puhrack…puhrack…"

  "Practical." I pulled out a chair. "And yes, I am. We'll pay for the renovations, put a chunk of money into the salon account, and split the rest. I'm going to use some of my half to cover the rest of the tuition for my business degree, and then I'm going to invest."

  "That's smart." My aunt pointed the spatula. "G, you should do that."

  The back door opened, and Amy Spannagel rushed in. "I'm so relieved everyone's okay and no one's in jail." She stopped to catch a breath. "But I hereby call an emergency meeting of Operation Goldfinger."

  Something big had happened with Harriet McCudgeon. "Okay, but aren't you supposed to be at the library?"

  "Ben's back as of this morning, and he thinks I'm at the police station." She collapsed into a chair. "His first order of business was to demand that I go and get the library copy of A Pocket Full of Rye."

  "I guess he 'found himself,'" I joked.

  Gia smirked. "And he can hardly afford to lose a book given his book-burning ancestor."

  "No." Amy pushed up her glasses. "Tongues would wag."

  As if they didn't already. "So, what's the emergency?"

  "You remember that I've been researching Harriet's family tree?"

  My aunt stuck her spatula in Amy's line of vision. "Is this that broad with the red tour bus?"

  "Have you seen her?" I asked.

  Gia twisted her mouth to one side. "She did quite a tour while you were napping."

  I must've been sleeping hard if I'd slept through the McCurmudgeon's bull and bullhorn.

  My aunt wrinkled her upper lip as though she smelled bad salami. "She's got no business sense, that one. I mean, why not paint her bus gold like my Caddy?"

  Gia nodded. "It is a missed opportunity."

  I bit my upper lip. "So, what about Harriet's genealogy?"

  A smile spread across Amy's face that reached from glasses rim to rim. "Her great-grandmother, Lola Tu
rnblatt, was a prostitute at the brothel."

  "No!" I slammed my palms on the table.

  "A whoruh? Get outta heuh."

  Gia's mouth was open, but she wasn't breathing.

  Amy gave her a slap.

  She gasped for air like she'd been choking. "What time is it?"

  My eyes went to the clock. "One minute till five."

  Gia looked at me. "Harriet's evening tour time."

  "Aunt Carla, give me your grease funnel."

  She rinsed it and handed it to me.

  "What are you going to do, Cass?" Amy asked.

  "Follow me outside."

  We filed through the salon and down the porch steps just as the Gold Rush History Tours bus pulled in front of the house.

  Harriet spotted us from her seat behind the wheel. She rubbed her hands together, as though she had something planned to get even with us.

  I gripped the funnel.

  She threw open the doors and descended with her bullhorn and gestured in our direction. "Prospectors, this is a rare sighting of the owners of the old LaSalle House brothel—"

  The funnel went to my lips. "—the place your tour guide's great-grandmother, Lola Turnblatt, proudly served the miners. Oops! I mean, serviced."

  The gasps and cries from Harriet's clients were drowned out by the whimper amplified through the bullhorn.

  As fast as she'd exited the bus, Harriet was back on it.

  Tires squealed, prospectors screamed, and smoke rose up.

  And the Gold Rush History Tours bus was gone.

  * * *

  Zac leaned back from the break room table and put his hands on his stomach. "That's the most amazing meal I've ever eaten."

  Aunt Carla glowed as bright as the yellow of her zebra dress. "It's my special ragù, but Cassidi made it."

  I hadn't. I opened my mouth to confess, but my aunt flicked her nails at me.

  She rose from the table. "I've got to be back in Atlantic City tomorrow for my confirmation sponsor's nephew's birthday party, so I'm off to bed. Why don't you two get some tiramisu, which Cassidi also made, and go onto the porch?"

  My cheeks burned, probably as red as the ragù I hadn't made. I turned and spooned two servings of the tiramisu, which I also hadn't made, and Zac carried them out to the porch.

  I turned to wish my aunt good night, and Gia came downstairs in a tight red satin dress and matching heels.

  "You look nice, G. Are you goin' out with Donatello?"

  "I broke up with him." She ran her fingers through her satin-black locks.

  I gasped. "Because of the flower arrangement?"

  "Nah. It's just too dangerous to date a cop. I mean, look at me—I ended up in the joint."

  Aunt Carla's lips thinned—into a smile. "That's my girl."

  I wondered again about my aunt and her Mafia side.

  "Do you need the Ferrari, Cass?"

  "Zac and I are staying in. Where are you going?"

  "I've got a date with Quadzilla." Gia gave her Chicken Fillets a bump. "Don't wait up." She sashayed out the back door.

  Shaking my head, I went out to the porch and settled into the swing beside Zac. With our thighs touching, we dug into our desserts.

  "Whoa." He jerked back from the dish.

  I coughed.

  My aunt had loaded it with brandy, trying to get us drunk and hyped up on caffeine.

  "It really picks you up, as the name suggests," I said to cover my embarrassment. Then I ditched mine on an end table.

  He exhaled into a laugh. "I was just thinking about Harriet. I still wish I could've seen her peel out of here today."

  "The best part was when she came back and tore up the contract as though I was the one losing out."

  "She's something else."

  "Entirely. But the irony is that her tours are what prompted us to do the renovations that led to Uncle Vinnie's money."

  "Funny how life works out, isn't it?"

  I gave him the eye. Something about the question struck me as odd.

  We sat for a moment, holding hands and gazing at the stars.

  Zac put his dish on the porch and slipped his arm around me. "I'm sorry about your uncle."

  "I know."

  "I'm also sorry I got knocked out like an idiot and couldn't help you last night."

  I rested my head on his shoulder. "You've been there every time I've needed you, starting with the day you helped Tucker Sloan move my uncle's nudie statues from the house."

  He chuckled. "That was a spectacle, wasn't it? But an enjoyable one."

  I pulled away and punched his arm.

  "Hey." He rubbed his bicep. "I was talking about you—you were the spectacle, an awesome one."

  "I'm glad you added that last part." I cuddled into his side. "But there's something I'm sorry about."

  He kissed the top of my head. "What?"

  "That you never found the treasure."

  "Oh, I had it the whole time."

  I lurched up. "Huh?"

  "You. I'm talking about you again. You're the treasure."

  "Oh." I settled into his side. Maybe my brain had gotten scrambled from hanging upside down.

  Zac leaned over and gave me a kiss that made me sorry about one other thing—that my aunt Carla was in the house.

  I pulled away and looked up at him, trying not to smile. "Well, it's good that you think I'm a treasure, because there's something I need your help with."

  His head tilted backwards. "Didn't you tell Detective Ohlsen that you were retiring from sleuthing?"

  "This isn't about crime, Zac. I need help investing my half of my uncle's money."

  "I know a little about stocks and mutual funds, but you'd be better off talking to a financial advisor."

  I elbowed his side. "I'm talking about you, Zac. And Pirate's Hook Marine Services."

  He blinked.

  "I've got serious capital to invest, and I don't want to end up like Sonny Torlone. I trust you, and I believe in the business."

  "Cassidi, I don't know."

  "I do. It's what I want, and I have the money for the down payment. Besides, I would be buying it from Clark, so you can't tell me no. And, after the log downed the boat and the fire took out three more, he'll probably lower the price, which means I need to act before someone buys it out from under us both."

  He looked away and flicked his thumb across his lashes.

  And my heart melted.

  Zac inhaled, and his chest expanded. "Actually, I could use a partner," he said softly, "but not just in business."

  Was he…

  I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes. His pupils were dilated.

  He was.

  I straightened and adjusted my sweater. "Well, you can't expect me to produce a down payment without putting one down yourself."

  "Sounds fair. I can do that." He leaned back and reached into his front pants pocket.

  And pulled out a Tiffany & Co. box.

  I gasped and looked at the house.

  Aunt Carla was right. That ragù really worked.

  * * * * *

  RECIPES

  Italian Sunrise

  This drink just screams "Aunt Carla" to me because she's so colorful and so over the top. I had my first Italian Sunrise (yes, I've had more than one!) at Riondo's Ristorante in Galveston. It's pretty much the ideal drink for me because it has Limoncello and Campari, two of my favorite Italian liqueurs (and Franki Amato book titles).

  Ingredients

  1 oz Limoncello

  1 oz vodka

  ¼ oz Campari

  2 oz orange juice

  Directions

  Fill a highball or Collins glass with ice. Add the Limoncello and vodka. Add about two ounces of orange juice, leaving just enough room for the Campari. Gently pour in the Campari so that it will sink to the bottom of the glass. Do not stir, and drink immediately!

  Ragù

  If you're wondering about Aunt Carla's proposal-inducing pasta sauce—or desperate to get your hands o
n it—she uses the late Marcella Hazan's classic Bolognese recipe (Sh! That's a secret!). If you've never heard of Marcella, she has the distinction of being the cook that introduced the United States to authentic Italian cuisine. Buon appetito!

  Ingredients

  1 tablespoon vegetable oil

  3 tablespoons butter, plus 1 for the pasta

  ½ cup chopped onion

  ⅔ cup chopped celery

  ⅔ cup chopped carrot

  ¾ pound ground beef chuck

  salt

  black pepper, freshly ground

  1 cup whole milk

  whole nutmeg

  1 cup dry white wine

  1½ cups canned imported Italian plum tomatoes with their juice

  1¼ to 1½ pounds tagliatelle or fettuccine

  parmigiano-reggiano, freshly grated

  Directions

  Put the oil, butter, and chopped onion into a saucepot. Cook at a medium heat, stirring the onion until translucent. Add the chopped celery and carrot, and cook for two minutes.

  Add ground beef, a large pinch of salt, and a few grindings of pepper. Break up the meat with a fork, stir well, and cook until the beef has lost its raw, red color.

  Add milk and simmer gently, stirring frequently, until it has evaporated. Grate and add ⅛ of a teaspoon of nutmeg, and stir.

  Add the wine and let it simmer until evaporated. Then add the tomatoes, and stir. When the tomatoes begin to bubble, reduce the heat to a low simmer (bubbles will intermittently break to the surface). Cook uncovered for three hours, stirring occasionally. If the meat begins to dry out while cooking, add ½ cup water as needed to keep it moist. At the end of the cooking time, water must be completely evaporated and the fat must separate from the sauce. Taste and correct for salt.