Mission Inn-possible 01 - Vanilla Vendetta
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“That covers it,” Smulder said, “but I would’ve liked a little more poison in the way you said it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Smith.” A pause, followed by a heavy breath. “What were you thinking? Have you lost all concept of how dangerous your mission is?”
“How is this a mission?” I asked. “I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere waiting. Waiting. That’s all I’m doing.” I spun away from the mirror and marched back to the window. “You of all people should know how much I despise resting on my laurels.”
“And you of all people should know how dangerous Turner is.”
That would’ve shut me up, but I was terminally stubborn. “Tell me you found out something about the man in the picture.”
Smulder’s silence was doom in its own right.
“Tell me.”
“No,” he said. “I shouldn’t have even searched for an ID on the guy.”
“But you did. Did you find anything on him?”
Another quiet.
“Come on, Smully,” I said, softening my tone. I’d only used it on him a few times and then only when we’d been relaxed after a long day of work. “Level with me here. You know, you can trust me to—”
“Get involved and potentially get yourself murdered by your ex?”
“No.” It was my turn to grow exasperated. “Look, we were careful.”
“We? What ‘we’ are you referring to exactly?”
Ugh, of course. I hadn’t told him that Gamma had been involved. I couldn’t afford to out her and her collection of fantastic weapons and equipment either. “Uh… that’s just how I talk about myself,” I said. “We nearly found it?”
“Oh come on, Smith, you can’t be serious. Do you really think I’m going to buy that you speak about yourself in plural? You’re not Gollum from Lord of the Rings.”
“Give us the identification of the suspect, my precious,” I said.
Smulder laughed.
Ha, got him! “Seriously, though. I’m getting antsy. The cops are paying closer attention to the inn, especially since there have been a couple break-ins in some of the rooms. It’s only a matter of time until they haul me in for questioning, and what happens then? I doubt my cover will remain intact.”
“No, it won’t.”
“So, let me check this out. You know I have the skills to do it. I’ll be discreet.” I sat down on the edge of the bed and Coco immediately purred his way over and started rubbing his face against my arm. “Please?”
“You’re begging now?” Smulder asked.
“I’m that desperate.”
“All right. I’ll give you the information.”
“Yesss!”
“On one condition.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t to plan. “What is it?”
“You change your appearance,” Smulder said. “And don’t tell me you’ve already dyed your hair, Smith. I know that’s a lie.”
I didn’t bother asking how he’d figured that out. He was an agent, for goodness sake. And he had worked with me for a long time.
“Do we have a deal?” Smulder asked.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go tomorrow. But I’m going to hate you for it.”
“That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
“All right, so what do you got?” I asked.
“The guy who was talking to your suspect is Jason Frederickson. He’s got a rap sheet the length of two arms, a leg and a hunting rifle.”
“What for?”
Smulder clicked his mouse in the background. “Agg assault, battery, grand theft auto, theft, you name it, he’s done it. The guy isn’t a part of a gang, as far as I can tell, and there’s no current warrant out for his arrest. It looks like he got out of prison and is on parole, staying under the radar.”
“Apart from the whole murder at the inn, you mean.”
“Right,” Smulder said. “If he was involved.”
“Does he deal in anything dangerous? Illegal substances? Poison?”
“Nothing like that on here,” he said. “But he’s got one heckuva ugly mugshot.”
“I never took you for the judgmental type.”
“What? Of course, I am. You have to be in this business.” Smulder clicked and typed on the other end of the line. “That’s all I have for you now, apart from the advice that if you’re going to go against your better instincts and investigate what happened to the victim, don’t do anything obvious. Stay under the radar as much as possible.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, sarcastically.
“I’ll be in touch. Try not to get yourself caught or killed.”
I hung up before he could, stabbing my thumb onto the plastic screen, then slid the phone back into my bedside table. I stroked Cocoa Puff’s furry black head, drawing my fingers over his silken ears. He purred and caught my hand with his paw.
“Well, there we have it. Evidence that Bella has been consorting with seriously bad dudes. Or one seriously bad dude.” She was officially my prime suspect.
Now, I just had to find evidence linking her to the crime scene, and my name would be clear. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Wasn’t it?
16
I was one of those women. The type who went into a salon with a book to avoid making eye contact with the chatty hairdresser. It wasn’t that I hated social interactions, it was just that I couldn’t stand small talk.
Did I care about the weather today? No.
Did it matter to me that my hair was in terrible condition with split ends? Definitely not.
But I had to pretend I did today.
I sat with my hands in my lap, underneath the apron my hairdresser had tied around my neck, craving a good book. No chance. Gamma had rightfully assessed that Gossip’s true cesspool of information was located in this place.
The Cut It Out or Dye Salon.
If I wanted to find out anything about anybody, my hairdresser, Magdalena, would have the juice. She was in her late thirties, her face pulled taut near the eyes as if she’d had a pre-emptive face-lift, with a shock of platinum blonde hair, sporting a single purple streak in the fringe.
“You came to the right place,” Maggie said, pulling on a tuft of my hair and holding it out. Her voice was encouraging, her expression said she’d never seen anything quite as disgusting as my locks. “Boy, you really need a makeover.”
I struggled to find a positive response to that. Was I meant to say? Thank you so much for insulting the hairstyle I’ve had for the last ten years?
“I thought it was about time for a change,” I replied, despising my reflection in the mirror at Maggie’s station.
There were a couple other women lined up in the cushy swivel chairs around the room, a few of them with their heads trapped beneath plastic dome hair-dryers. They brought to mind torture devices or mind control or a combination of both.
“You were right, honey bunny.” Maggie wafted around the chair, scrutinizing me. “So, what are you looking for?”
“I was thinking of, uh, getting extensions. And coloring my hair dark brown. I want to really flip my look from this to… um… to dark?” Boy, I was bad at this.
“Oh, totally. I get that. OK. We can do that for you, but don’t you think you’d prefer something like…” Maggie grabbed the massive file she’d brought out the minute I’d sat down. She flipped through it, and I caught sight of images of women wearing outrageous hairstyles.
“I just want the—”
“What about this?” Maggie stopped and spun the file toward me, placing one finger, tipped in a magenta nail atop a picture of a lady with a Dolly Parton blowout in a violent shade of lavender. “You’ll look like a new woman.”
I’ll also look like I belong in the circus.
“Um, wow, very nice,” I said, weakly. “But I think I’m going to stick with the whole long brown hair look. I’ve always wanted it.” A blatant lie, but suddenly my cover and disguise didn’t seem as vile as it had a few days ago.
“Right.”
“Working up at the Gossip Inn?”
“How did you know that?” I had to play the innocent new-to-town dope.
“Oh, I know everything that goes on in this town,” Maggie said, running her fingers through my hair. “You’re the new maid from what I hear tell. And you were there on the morning that Pete died.”
A few of the others in the salon perked up at the mention of Pete’s murder.
Under scrutiny again.
“Yes, I was. It was terrible,” I managed. “Really terrible. He just dropped dead right there on the dining room floor.”
Maggie pursed her lips, shaking her head again. “Can you believe that? And right here in Gossip. Now, we’ve got our problems, of course, every small town does, but murder? That’s just crazy. How’s old Georgina taking it?”
“Oh, she’s, uh, soldiering on.”
“Oh, that’s good. Such a sweet woman. She deserves better than to have her inn’s name dragged through the mud.”
“Yeah.”
Maggie fluffed my hair one last time then clicked her fingers at another lady standing near a row of basins. “Get me the cart.”
The woman hurried to do her bidding and reappeared with a rolling tray full of potions and concoctions I assumed were hair dyes and not modern witchery. Maggie hummed and moved around, mixing things together, the sharp scent of chemicals mingling with the wash of kiwi conditioner in the salon.
Before I could probe Maggie for more answers or gossip, she set to work plastering my hair in brown-black sludge. It burned slightly which she assured me was totally normal. If I had a real problem, I would’ve broken out in hives.
She’d just about finished gooping the dye onto my head, and I had a question about Bella Rodriguez on the tip of my tongue when my phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans. It could only be one person.
I wormed it out and lurched out of the chair. “I’m sorry,” I said, gesturing with the phone. “I have to take this. It’s, uh, it’s my boyfriend.”
“New love,” Maggie purred and offered me an approving smile.
I slipped away before she could probe me for details, and answered out in the street, ignoring the odd looks from passersby. “What’s going on?” I asked. “If you’re calling to check whether I’m following through on the deal to change my hairstyle, you shouldn’t have bothered. I’ve got a head full of dye right now.” I scratched near my hair and my fingernails came away smeared brown.
“You’ve been exposed,” Smulder said, stiffly. “One of the town tabloids, the Gossip Rag, has just released your image online. As a suspect in the murder of Pete Ball.”
My stomach dropped. “What? How? When?” And why didn’t I know about it?
“It happened about fifteen minutes ago. I’m working on suppressing their website, right now, but I’m not going to be able to do it for long. You’re on borrowed time, Smith. You’d better get to the bottom of this or you’re out of there.”
Out of there.
I’d been so set on wanting to get out of Gossip and the inn, I hadn’t thought of what that might look like: leaving to go somewhere worse. Going into hiding underground. Now, the best I could do was clear my name so I could hide out here.
“We need to do damage control,” I said, grasping at straws.
“I’m already on it. What you need to do is stay out of the police’s way and find the person who’s really responsible. Charlie, I can’t keep this quiet for long. I’m doing you a favor by suppressing that website, but if the Special Agent in Charge finds out…”
My butt would be toast. “I’ve got it,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Good. You have a week. I can’t keep this up for longer than that, or hidden from Grant for that matter.” He hung up.
I stared at the phone’s screen, my heart pattering against the inside of my chest. If Kyle saw those pictures, he’d find me. It was a miracle that Smulder had managed to get rid of them so fast.
Get it together, Charlie.
I set my jaw, trying to dismiss the lingering fears, and pushed the glass door of the salon open. I returned to Maggie’s waiting hands, thoughts of dark times, secrets, and danger dominating my mind.
17
“You’re too stressed,” Gamma said, standing at the end of my bed.
It was just past 7 am, and I held Cocoa Puff in my lap and a book in my free hand—one of my favorites by Susan Grafton. “I’m not stressed, I’m fine. I’m reading with a cat for company. How is this stressed?”
“Please, Charlotte,” Gamma replied. “I cleaned your poopy bottom when you were a baby. I think I know you well enough by now. You’re not the type to languish in bed on a Saturday.”
“I hardly think reading a book at 7 am counts as languishing,” I replied.
“It’s your day off. We need to do something. Keep you busy. I know you’re just going to obsess over the case if you don’t stay active.”
Just the mention of it had my brain whirring away. Bella, our prime suspect, had been cavorting with a known criminal, but it wasn’t as if I could march down there and confront her about it. Not without exposing myself further.
Patience was the name of the game. Unfortunately, it also wasn’t my strength.
“I’m really fine,” I said and marked my place in the paperback. “I don’t often get the opportunity to relax in bed. Today, I’m taking it.” That and I now had a head of brown hair that fell to my waist. It was surprisingly annoying to manage.
Gamma narrowed her too-sharp eyes at me. “I don’t believe that for a second. You have half an hour.”
“To do what?” I’d never let anyone ‘boss’ me around. Of course, Gamma was… well, Gamma. She was the matriarch. Bossing around came with the territory.
“Get your swimsuit and put on something comfy. Lauren and I are taking you to the swimming hole.”
“Brilliant idea.” I clicked my fingers. “We might find some evidence or spot this Frederickson guy and—”
“No.” Gamma put up a hand. “You’re not going to do any investigating today. You’re going to blow off some steam.”
“I can’t afford to blow off steam,” I replied. “If I don’t figure out—”
“Sweetheart, I know.” Gamma came over and sat down on the bed. “Trust me, I know. But you’re too close to the case. You couldn’t even garner any valuable information from Maggie at the salon, yesterday, and she’s practically a walking gossip magazine.”
“I was too distracted by all of this.” I pointed at my head. “And the fact that I’ve been exposed.”
“Not yet, you haven’t. You need to give your brain a break. At least for a few hours. After that, you can get back to snooping around.”
I rolled my lips against each other. “I’m going to have to leave Gossip if the case isn’t solved soon.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Gamma replied. “You’re a terrible waitress, and you dust far too much instead of vacuuming, but good heavens, you’re my flesh and blood, and I will help to keep you safe.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Do you want to be a pro waiter and maid?” Gamma asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Then take it as a compliment.” My grandmother rose and strode to the door. She paused, her wizened hand on the doorknob. “Half an hour, dear. Meet Lauren and me downstairs.”
“But who will cook breakfast?”
“Lauren’s sister is coming in to help out. She does it every Saturday morning.” And with that, she was gone, and I was left to scramble into a bikini that was too pink, and a cream beach cover-up that fell just below my knees. I tied my dark hair back and glared at myself in the mirror. “Someone will pay for this,” I hissed.
I wasn’t a particularly girly girl, but I did enjoy the occasional p
amper session. Changing my entire hairstyle and going from functional clothing like yoga pants and comfy t-shirts to high heels and tight, rib-crushing dresses was another thing, though.
I gave Cocoa a quick pat on the head then hurried downstairs, noting the closed doors to the guestrooms on my way down.
Where’s Bella?
Oof, Gamma was right. I needed to get out. I was no detective, but it probably wasn’t a good idea that I was so focused on one suspect. Just because Ms. Rodriguez had been hanging out with seedy characters didn’t mean she was the murderer.
“Good morning,” Lauren called, merrily. The chef had dressed in a pair of glittery purple flip-flops, a tent-like blue dress and wore her red hair in their usual pigtails. She carried a tote over one arm. “Are you ready to go swimming?”
“I take it swimming is an exciting event in Gossip?”
“Of course,” Lauren said. “It’s the place to be on a Saturday morning in summer. And there are plenty of hunky guys around for single ladies like you.” She winked at me. “I’m sure we can find someone to make your time in Gossip a little sweeter.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Oh?” Lauren’s disappointment was palpable. “But I’m the pro at fixing people up, you know. I fixed my sister up on a date. And then I met my hubby through her boyfriend. The rest is history.” She twiddled her ring finger at me. “There’s nothing that settles a woman more than finding the right man.”
“Don’t start.” Gamma had appeared in the kitchen doorway. She wore a lime green one-piece and a pair of khaki shorts, a towel slung over one shoulder. Gamma shifted her sunglasses down her nose. “Lauren, not every woman needs a man. In fact, some women need women. Or no one at all.”
“I’ll opt for the no one at all category,” I said. “At least in the romantic capacity. Let’s just say, I’ve learned my lesson.” The only men I’d ever dated had wound up being major disappointments—not that all men were. Apparently, that was just my type.
“Enough lovey-dovey stuff. Let’s go.” Gamma led us out to Lauren’s VW Beetle, and we clambered inside. It was hotter than a rock on Mercury, but we rolled down the windows, and I rested my arm on the door, absorbing the sun and the sights of the town.