“Good idea. We should have a special. How about dead man stew? Half the people I served wanted a firsthand account of how I found Perry Flint.”
“You didn’t find Perry Flint,” I’m quick to inform her.
“Yeah”—she wrinkles her nose—“but they don’t know that.”
A couple of the waitresses, Thea and Flo, head this way. I’d say they were both in their early twenties. Thea has reddish-brown hair, long and glossy. Her face is covered with a healthy dusting of freckles, and she has a white picket fence smile for just about everyone she greets.
And for as sunny as Thea can be, Flo is just that dark. She’s basically a Goth girl with black harshly dyed hair and eyebrows that I think are tattooed onto her forehead in the shape of sharp pointy peaks. Her perpetual frown is painted black, and she has that overall look in her eyes that says I just might kill you in your sleep.
She grunts my way, “The place is empty. What do we do now?”
“I know.” Opal gives a silent clap. “Bash men.”
Tilly clucks her tongue. “If we bash men now, what will we do at the Stitch and Witch?”
“Stitch Witchery,” Opal corrects as she gives King a quick stroke over his pleasantly spotted back. “And you’re so right.”
“We can think of a monthly special,” I say just as the bell on the door chimes and in strides a familiar face.
It’s Nicki Magnolia.
“Nicki,” I say as I head her way. After my little thrift shop adventure, I did a quick change before coming back to the café, and now I’m feeling cute in my skinny jeans and blue-checkered top. My mother would say I looked like a country bumpkin, but I’d rather look like anything that belonged in the country than something that belonged in a women’s correctional facility. “How can I help you? Would you like a table or a booth?”
Tilly and Opal swarm around me as we await her answer.
“Neither.” She makes a face. Her dark hair is pulled back tight into a bun, and she’s dressed as if she’s off to corporate America in a navy blouse and matching skirt. “I was told by the sheriff’s department that I could pick up any of Perry’s things they didn’t take.”
“Oh, sure.” Tilly waves for her to follow and both Opal and I tag along as well.
Tilly leads us out of the café and through the maroon carpeted hall where hordes of cats lounge on their bloated bellies. I scoop up a tan furry cat that looks like a miniature bear with an adorably smushed face, and already I’ve decided to try my best to lure this sweet thing back to the cabin. I give a quick glance down south and note she’s a she.
Opal leans in. “That’s Molly and I can tell by that gleam in your eye you’re quietly staging a catnapping. You’ll have to try harder. Molly is one of my prized possessions.”
I make a face at the older and somehow significantly wiser woman.
“You’re intuitive,” I say. “Oh, I almost forgot.” I lean her way and whisper, “I had another spell.” I tick my head as if that would aid in alluding to what I meant to say. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Ooh!” She gives an enthusiastic clap just as we arrive at the back room where Perry had set his things before heading on stage. It’s a small space with nothing more than the table and a few chairs. There’s a fake ficus in the corner, an attached bathroom, and a water cooler. A green room of sorts for whoever is about to take the stage.
“Thank you,” Nicki says with marked relief as she picks up a backpack off the table in the middle of the room. “I was actually worried someone would break in here and try to steal Perry’s memorabilia. You know, it goes up in value considerably once someone like Perry passes away.”
Tilly nods her way. “And I bet it skyrockets once a homicide takes place. You know, it gives it that whole creep factor.”
Nicki looks as if she’s about to be sick. “I guess I didn’t think of that.”
Opal groans, “How I wish I would have thought about killing my ex. He was in prison for taking advantage of the IRS, or was it the government?” She taps a finger to her chin. “Or maybe it was both?”
“Nicki”—I step in—“you have my condolences. What are you going to do now? You know, for work?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I have some money saved up. I think I’ll need a minute to get my head together.”
“Good plan,” I say. “Did you and Perry get along for the most part? I mean, you were his personal assistant. He was probably the most comfortable with you, so you saw him at his worst. That could be tough on any relationship.”
“I did see him at his worst.” She glances to the ceiling. “And I guess he saw me at my worst, too. We were practically inseparable.”
Tilly juts her head forward. “I’m guessing his girlfriend didn’t really like that. Another woman in close proximity. You’re a pretty girl. He was a good-looking guy. You ever knock boots with the country crooner? You can tell us. It won’t leave this room.”
Nicki belts out a soft laugh. “No, actually, that never happened.” Her cheeks ignite into pink flares. “But if I’m being truthful, it did cross my mind. He was with Devin, though.” Her jaw clenches a moment. “Don’t get me wrong. Devin is pretty, and fun, and flirty, but I never thought she deserved him.” She begins to head for the door and I casually block her path.
“Why is that?” I ask, trying not to sound too hostile. A part of me wants to shake the girl because she just might hold the key between me and an orange jumpsuit that’s to be worn in and out of season.
Her shoulders lift to her ears. “Have you ever just had a feeling about someone?”
“Yes,” I say a little too quickly. But what I won’t tell her is that I usually get that feeling when it’s far too late. If only I had that feeling about Johnny Rizzo about two years ago, I wouldn’t be wearing secondhand clothes in a glorified litter box while starring as a murder suspect in my very own nightmare. Not that the manor is a glorified litter box, but it fit the description and at the moment I needed a good sarcastic moniker for this place. A thought comes to me. “Hey, Nicki? Where can I find Devin? She took off her earrings earlier in the night while we were talking. She said they were too heavy. Anyway, she set them down and walked away. I’d really like to give them back.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s Devin in a nutshell.” She glances to the floor a moment. “She doesn’t really work, unless you call spending all of Perry’s money a job. She hangs out at a country western bar down in Scooter Springs called the Tumbleweed Tavern a lot. She’s forever talking about it. She even tried to get me to go once, but I told her I didn’t mix business with pleasure.” A small laugh evicts from her. “Truth is, I couldn’t stand to see her slobber all over Perry. I was embarrassed for the both of them.” She hikes her backpack up a notch. “Thanks, ladies. I’ll show myself out.”
Tilly gives a little hop on her feet as she looks my way. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Opal lifts a brow with her crimson lips swimming with glee. “Yes. We’ll spike the monthly special with whiskey and garner twice the tips. I’ll take ten percent off the top since I came up with the idea, of course.”
Why do I get the feeling in six months’ time, I’ll be wishing I had a feeling about Opal Mortimer?
I shake my head at her. “We head over to the Tumbleweed Tavern.”
Opal gives a solid blink. “Only if they have whiskey.”
I press a quick kiss to Molly’s furry forehead. “It looks as if we’re about to two-step our way to a suspect, and just maybe the killer.”
Chapter 8
It turns out, Scooter Springs is only twenty minutes away from Starry falls, but it took us forty due to the fact we needed to feed every feline in the state of Vermont. But once we flew into town—and I do mean flew, considering Tilly drove as if all four tires were on fire—we arrived at our destination no worse for wear and about fifty pounds lighter once we dumped all that kitty kibble.
The Tumbleweed Tavern is more or le
ss a theme restaurant slash bar with wooden shutters for doors and sawdust on the floor, country music twanging at top volume, and bodies swiftly moving in a choreographed rhythm across a plywood dance floor. It’s hot and sweaty and the scent of cheap booze and hot wings permeates the place.
Opal has donned a long, black, glittery number with a pair of hot pink leggings underneath it. Nice to know she’s as fearless in fashion as she is with her liver. She’s been nipping off a sterling silver flask ever since we left and her breath is enough to inebriate everyone in this tawdry tavern.
Tilly squeals as she takes the place in—excited for all the untapped coital potential, no doubt. Tilly has donned a skirt so short I’m too embarrassed to look at the hemline, and her top is more of a concept than a reality, but I’m not one to talk. I may or may not have pulled out a slinky red dress out of my thrift store haul I scored this afternoon. It’s adorable and sexy all at the same time, has an edginess about it typically only found in Christmas tinsel, and if all goes well, by the end of the night, I just might want to marry it.
Tilly bumps her hip to mine. “Fingerprinted in the afternoon, taking a bite out of crime and hunky men in the evening.”
“That’s worrisome.” I swat the air between us. “Speaking of things that are worrisome, I had another preview.” I say preview in air quotes. To be honest, I’ve never liked calling them visions. It makes me sound as if I’ve gone pro. I consider myself more of an accidental voyeur as far as future events are concerned, and due to my more than dicey track record, I have no business paying attention to my futuristic musings, let alone verbalizing them for others.
Tilly gasps as she grabs onto Opal.
“Tell us,” she demands as we step out of the line of traffic streaming in.
“Okay, Shep told me he’s having a book signing this Thursday. And no sooner did he mention it than I saw a blonde attacking him at the signing and wrapping her hands around his neck.”
Opal grunts as if she were shot. “Oh dear heavens, we’ve got a serial killer on the loose and she’s about to strike down our Shepherd.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Newsflash: I’m not always right.”
Opal’s eyes enlarge. “You were right about me—sort of.”
“And in those last two words lies the caveat,” I say. “My prediction was wildly misconstrued.”
Tilly presses her watery blue eyes into mine. “Bowie, how do you have this ability? Were you electrocuted as a child? Cursed by a powerful witch? Did you kick a dog in the cookies?”
Opal groans, “Hurting an animal would really tick off the universe.”
“Well, I didn’t kick a dog in the cookies, but I’m not so sure about that ticking off the universe part. My grandmother and sister have this—thing. It actually has a name. It’s called transmundane, and I fall under the umbrella of something called sibylline. From what I understand, there are other supernatural abilities, too. Some can read minds; others can see the dead—”
“What?” Tilly squawks. “Hey, I want that one. I want to see the dead!”
Opal clutches at that cuff of baubles around her neck. “I saw the dead a couple of days ago and, believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Tilly swats her on the arm. “She’s talking ghosts.”
“Ooh.” Opal taps the tips of her fingers together in a show of excitement. “Trade your gift in, Bowie, and get that one. I’m positive the manor is haunted. I’d like for you to confirm it for me. I’ve heard rumors of a haunted B&B down in Honey Hollow and they’re making a killing off tourists. Pardon the pun. That would be a wonderful revenue maker for me. You can’t always think of yourself, you know. See about getting a refund for that psychic gone wrong gig. Or maybe there’s an exchange program you can look into?”
My mouth hangs open.
“Ugh,” Tilly moans at something over my shoulder. “Jessie’s here, showing off the turquoise cowboy boots I picked up in Nashville last summer. And is that my ex she’s dancing with?” She zips off to scold her teen gone wild while Opal and I plop down at the bar.
I don’t see a single sign of Devin and I’m beginning to wonder if my time would have been better spent trying to lure Molly the teddy bear cat out to the cabin with me. I could have taken off a few layers of clothing… knocked on Shep’s door…
“Earth to David Bowie.” Opal knocks her shoulder to mine as she quickly navigates us to the bar. “Bartender, two whiskey sours, please.”
I’m quick to shake my head. “Oh, I don’t drink.”
“You do if you want to work for me,” she drones it out in that socialite accent I’ve come to adore.
“Are you kidding?” I balk at the thought of lighting up my liver. “That brown liquid is tantamount to truth serum.” And Lord knows there are some truths nobody should know about. Not to mention my sibylline superpowers tend to go haywire if I have too much caffeine or alcohol. My mind has been known to go on lockdown for eight hours of defective divination. “So tell me, Opal, what’s going on with the manor?”
“Oh, it’s a heap of junk. The only thing my husband left me with. Sure, he said it’s mine free and clear, but I still have to come up with the taxes for the place.” The bartender slides the drinks our way and Opal scoops them both up for herself. “And I’ve yet to live the way as to which I’m accustomed. If only there was a way to bilk the residents of Starry Falls for all they’re worth.”
“I take it you’re not from Starry Falls?”
She lifts her whiskey sour as if to toast me. “Sterling Lake born and bred. About an hour’s drive from Starry Falls.” She makes a face. “Starry Falls may as well be a third-world country compared to Sterling—land where the champagne flows freely and the foie gras is served breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She gives a wistful shake of the head. “I’d give anything to have a reversal of fortune.”
“How about fifty percent?”
She gives me the side-eye. “For what?”
“For me to triple your profit at the manor with a few minor changes.”
“Fifteen, final offer.”
“I’ll take it.” I hold out my hand and she shakes it. The way I look at it, it’s fifteen percent more than I had to begin with. Besides, I see lots of legal potential in that old place. I hope.
“So what’s your proper name, Bowie Binx? Bowden? Bowella? Bobo, perhaps?” She takes a sip of her drink.
“Just Bowie. We’re not really fancy people down in—”
“Chicago, Connecticut.” She waves me off. “Shepherd filled me in.” She leans my way. “And I’m fully aware it’s a cover. You might have the good detective fooled, but you can’t pull the wool sweater over this old biddy’s peepers.”
I clamp my lips shut. She might have pinned the tail on this fugitive donkey, but I’m not taking the bait.
Speaking of the good detective, I’m about to ask her a few innocuous questions about Nora Grimsley when I spot the hot-to-trot blonde that dragged me out to this boot scootin’ establishment to begin with.
“I see Devin O’Malley at six o’clock. It looks like it’s go time, Opal.”
“Oh good.” She glances over her shoulder. “I’ll stay here and make sure the bartender is safe. Try not to get yourself killed.”
“You bet.”
Devin has her hair up in a waterfall of curls. She’s donned a short denim skirt and is wearing a blue and white checkered top that’s tied off just above her belly button, and I can’t help but note that’s essentially what I was wearing earlier. If it wasn’t for my longing to wear something sultry, we could have been twins. I pull my red dress down a notch and head her way.
Devin is already two-stepping with the best of them, with her hands on her hips, her whole body rocking with the motion. She’s standing in a long line of people as they rock back and forth, so I cut right in front of her and go with the rockin’ flow.
“Hey? I think I’m getting the hang of it,” I shout up above the music at her and she laughs.
“No, you’re actually not.” She grabs ahold of my hips and tweaks them until I’m swinging in the other direction. “It’s called the Sugar Shuffle. Now put some sugar into it. Move that body like you mean it.”
I do as I’m told, and soon she’s moving with a fire of her own right in front of me. The song mercifully comes to a conclusion, and I take a cue from her and clap with my hands high above my head as if a rock deity just stepped into the room.
Her eyes square over mine. “Don’t I know you?”
I squint over at her a moment before slapping my thigh. “Starry Falls. We met before Perry Flint took the stage.”
She cringes and I gasp as if it just dawned on me what it means.
“I’m so sorry.” I gently place my hand over her shoulder as I offer my condolences. “How are you doing?”
A man pops up next to her, holding out a bottle of beer her way. That red hair, those heavily carved crow’s feet, that scraggly beard—I recognize him, too.
“You’re the brother, right?” I point his way.
Devin snatches the beer from his hands. “Bud, why don’t you get another? This is for my friend.” She winks my way as she hands it over and Bud takes off like a dutiful retriever. “I’m doing as well as can be expected. My brother didn’t think it would do me any good to stay home and wallow, so here I am. What’s your name again?” She takes a quick swig, keeping one eye on me at all times.
“Bowie. Bowie Binx. I work down at the Mortimer Manor.”
“Sorry right back at you.” She shudders before taking a much longer hit off her bottle.
“Nicki came by this afternoon.” I try to connect my gaze to hers. “She picked up the rest of Perry’s things in case you were wondering what happened to them.”
“Oh good.” She gives a quick blink. “I’ve got half my stuff at his place. The sheriff’s department had it off limits. I don’t know what they could have been looking for. Perry was a good guy. On the up and up.” She pauses as if she caught herself in a lie. “Everyone knew that—everyone but Richard Broadman.”
Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set Page 6