He turned and the two Thundermen marched out the front door.
For a few minutes, the place was deadly quiet. Half the patrons had left. The rest sat wide-eyed staring at the Sisterhood.
“Well done, Havoc.” Labrys clapped Shea on the back as they returned to their seats. “I named you well.”
“You sure can throw down,” said Indigo. “We could use your street smarts.”
Savage appeared with a bar towel wrapped in ice. “Here, put this on your lip. Should reduce the swelling.”
“Thanks. I should really get home.” Shea wiped the blood from her chin and pressed the cool, damp cloth to her face. Her jaw was still in one piece, but her lip and cheek felt fat and numb. “Y’all may think being in a motorcycle club is cool…” Her mouth hurt to talk. “But a fucking MC patch ain’t worth dying for.”
“That’s why we need you,” said Labrys. “You know the Thunder better than anyone.”
Shea’s phone vibrated again. A text message from Jessica asking if she was okay. “I gotta head out. It’s late.”
“Aw, come on, Havoc,” said Indigo. “One more round at least. My treat.”
“Another time.” She took a step toward the door, then stopped and turned. “And in case you’re interested, Iron Goddess Custom Motorcycles is hosting a women’s bike night event tomorrow. Would love to see y’all there.”
Indigo gave her a mock salute. “We’ll be there.”
Chapter 12
When she arrived home, Shea immediately pulled a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and placed it against her aching jaw. She shuddered from the sudden jolt of cold and pain before the numbing effects of the frozen peas took the edge off. With her free hand, she grabbed a bottle of vodka, closed the freezer with her elbow, and ambled toward the love seat where Jessica sat, her face a mask of resentment.
“What happened to your face?” Jessica’s harsh tone felt like nails in Shea’s aching skull.
She considered telling Jessica the truth but didn’t want her to worry. “Tripped and banged my chin on a table. Hurts,” Shea mumbled. She plopped down next to Jessica and took a long drag of vodka.
“Maybe if you’d stayed home in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.” Jessica peeked under the bag of peas. “Goodness, this is really swollen. And you smell like a still.” Her nose crinkled as she sat back.
“Just trying to get that bitch Rios off my back. She’s so mean.”
“I called you a dozen times. Why didn’t you answer?”
Guilt intensified the pain in Shea’s head. “It was just so loud in there. So loud. Must not have heard the phone ring.”
“Is this what I have to look forward to from now on? Taking care of Annie by myself while you go out drinking and come home looking like you’ve been in a fight?”
“Jess, can we not do this now? My head is killing me.” Shea took another pull on the vodka, enjoying the bite at the back of her throat. Jessica grabbed the bottle and slammed it onto the coffee table.
“Hey, I was drinking that,” Shea slurred, reaching for the bottle.
Jessica moved it out of reach. “You’ve had enough for one night, I think.”
Shea pouted. “Don’t be mad at me, Jess. I’m sorry I was out so late. But I don’t wanna go back to prison. Rios is just mean. So mean.”
“You spent more time with her tonight than you did with me.”
“Rios? She wasn’t there.”
“No. Your ex-girlfriend. Debbie.” Jess practically spat the name.
“I invited you along but you didn’t want to come.”
“ ’Cause it’s our anniversary.”
“Well, six-month anniversary.” Shea made a goofy face. “Is that really a thing? I don’t think it’s a thing. I mean, do they even sell Hallmark cards for that?”
Jessica’s eyes watered. “I wanted some alone time with my girlfriend for once. Is that a crime? The past few months have revolved almost entirely around Annie. You and I need some couple time.”
Shea struggled to focus on what Jessica was saying, but random thoughts chased each other through her inebriated mind like rabid squirrels. Her jaw throbbed relentlessly. Her stomach was turning somersaults. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She struggled to her feet and the room swayed.
Jessica magically appeared in front of her. “We need to discuss this.”
“Jesus Christ on a cracker, Jess. I’m tired. I’m drunk. My jaw’s killing me. And if you don’t move outta my way, I’m gonna hurl all over you. Now piss off!”
“Fine.” Jess stepped out of the way.
Shea went to take a step and stopped short when her niece appeared in the hallway between the bedrooms. “Annie?”
“Why are y’all fighting?”
“Oh shit. Sorry, Annie.” Shea stumbled toward her. Annie backed up, eyes wary.
“What’s wrong with you, Aunt Shea?”
“Rough night, kiddo.”
Jessica stepped between them. “Go back to bed, sweetie. We’re sorry we woke you.” The two of them disappeared into Annie’s room.
Shea leaned against the wall to steady herself against the swirling sensation. “Shit, Wendy.” She tried to remember her sister’s face before she was killed. But the only images that came up were the ones with half her face blown off by a cop’s bullet.
Shea’s stomach lurched and she threw herself into the hallway bathroom, splattering the floor and toilet lid with the liquefied remnants of dinner. The reek of tomato sauce and bile only made the memories of Wendy’s shattered face more vivid. Shea heaved again as she struggled to lift the toilet lid.
So sorry. So, so sorry, she thought, struggling to stop the dry heaves several minutes later.
“Oh, Shea, what’d you do?” asked Jessica, entering the bathroom.
“I messed up.”
“I’d say you threw up.”
Shea wiped her mouth with her arm. Something cool and wet was wiping across her face and body. “Jess.” She reached out to cup her girlfriend’s face, but Jessica pulled away in time to avoid getting smeared with vomit.
“Why do I put up with you, you dopey girl?” Jessica’s voice was kind once again, mothering.
Shea pointed to deep scars crisscrossing her face. “ ’Cause chicks dig butches with scars.”
Jessica chuckled. “Oh, is that it? Well, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Kiss me, baby.”
“Ugh, I don’t think so.” Jessica scrunched her nose and turned away as she pulled off Shea’s soiled shirt.
Shea pouted as she sat in just her bra and jeans on the floor. “But it’s our six-month-iversary. We should have sex.”
“Shoulda thought about that before you went drinking with your biker buddies. Come on, get up.” Jessica lifted Shea off the floor and steered her out of the bathroom and into their bedroom.
“We gonna have sex?”
“Darling, that ship has sailed. You need sleep and I gotta clean up the mess you just made in Annie’s bathroom.”
Chapter 13
At seven thirty the next morning, Shea was using an angle grinder to cut a stock motorcycle frame to fit the specs for the Stansbury bike, when Terrance walked into the shop. Her jaw still ached from getting punched the night before, and the vibrations from the grinder weren’t helping her hangover any.
“Geez, Shea, you look like hell,” said Terrance as Shea finished a cut and set down the grinder.
She pulled off her gloves and rubbed her temples. “Rough night hanging out with the Athena Sisterhood.”
“Athena Sisterhood? You and Jessica were supposed to be celebrating your anniversary.”
“ ‘Supposed to be’ being the operative words.”
“I don’t understand. What happened?”
“Well for one, no one told me Jessica was planning a special evening. I didn’t even know six-month anniversaries were a thing.”
“So you made other plans.”
“Detective Rios has been pressing m
e to spend time with the Sisterhood. She thinks one of them’s selling hex. So last night I hung out with them and had a few drinks.”
“I bet that went over like a lead balloon. What’d she say when you told her your ex is their president?”
“She already knew. Sorry you and your boyfriend got roped into watching Annie for nothing.”
“Damn, girl,” said Terrance with a chuckle. “You are seriously deep in the shit.”
“To make matters worse, One-Shot and Mackey showed up demanding the Sisterhood stop calling themselves an MC or wearing outlaw cuts.”
“And you got in the middle of it?”
“What was I supposed to do, T? Those gals are nice, but they ain’t hardcore bikers like the Thunder. They’re college kids and office workers who think it’s cool to wear outlaw-style cuts. If I didn’t step in, Mackey and his crew woulda mopped the floor with them.”
“Don’t go looking for trouble with them, Shea.”
“I don’t go looking for it. It finds me all on its own.” Shea leaned against the bike.
“Just make sure the Thundermen don’t show up here looking to settle scores. We have enough to deal with without a bunch of redneck bikers shooting up the place.”
“Trust me, if I had my druthers, I’d have nothing to do with either club. I just want to build bikes, make love to my girlfriend, and help Annie get over her issues.”
“She still having problems?”
Shea nodded. “Bad dreams at night. Trouble at school. And she keeps begging to see Monster and his old lady.”
“Tough being a parent, isn’t it.”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for it, honestly.”
Terrance clapped her on the back. “We all feel that way. You’ll figure it out.”
At ten o’clock, Rios arrived at a small tan stucco house in Ironwood’s historic Winslow district, after Dispatch called her about another suspected poisoning. Three patrol cars sat parked along the street, all with lights flashing. People from neighboring houses stood in their yards looking for clues into the drama inside. Rios pulled on a pair of latex gloves, gathered her leather-bound notebook, and approached the house.
Deputies Graham and Cruz were talking with a petite Asian woman just outside the carport where a black and chrome Honda Shadow Phantom motorcycle sat next to a faded blue eighties model Toyota Corolla hatchback. Aguilar stood guard just outside the crime scene tape, which stretched between the front porch’s wooden supports.
Rios walked up the lantana-lined driveway to steps leading up to the porch, bracing herself against another hostile confrontation.
Aguilar shook his head like a disapproving father. “Still haven’t figured out who’s dealing this bad dope, eh, Detective? The bodies are piling up. Goodman’s gonna have your ass if you don’t wrap this thing up soon.”
“Shut up, Aguilar, and stick to what you’re good at: standing around doing nothing.” Rios glared at him. It took all of her willpower not to punch that smirk off his face.
“Maybe if you weren’t a rat you’d ’ave gotten more cooperation from your squad.”
“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole, you would have made detective by now.”
Rios pushed past him and stepped through the open front door to find herself in the house’s living room. The midcentury modern furniture surrounding a thirty-six-inch television screen felt straight out of Leave It to Beaver. The place wasn’t terribly worn, but definitely lived in. A few dozen books, ceramic pots, and other knickknacks filled a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that separated the living room from the kitchen, where the center of activity seemed to be.
A round maple table with matching chairs and cabinets dominated the kitchen. The back door leading outside was ajar with a shattered windowpane nearest the lock.
Johnson, Winslow, and Tobias, the crime scene photographer, had gathered around a woman’s body on the floor. She was wearing an Athena Sisterhood vest over a purple check flannel shirt and lay on her side next to a chair in an all-too-familiar arched posture. Elbows sharply bent, fists held against her chest. Froth and vomit covered her face. No doubt another hex-related death.
A thick paperback book lay open near the center of the kitchen table. Orange juice surrounded a knocked-over cup and had dribbled off the table’s edge to form a secondary puddle on the scuffed linoleum.
“Morning, everyone. What do we know?” asked Rios.
“The victim is Piper Anderson,” said Johnson consulting her notes. “Ms. Mikiko Sakamoto, the victim’s neighbor, called 911 after she broke through the back door and found the deceased unresponsive.”
“According to the patches on the front of her vest,” chimed in Winslow, “she went by the nickname Pipes and was the Athena Sisterhood’s road captain, whatever that is.”
Rios carefully lifted the front of the book by the edge and leaned over to glance at the cover. “Looks like the Narcotics Anonymous big book.”
Johnson crinkled her nose. “Kinda strange.”
“What do you mean?” Rios looked up at her.
“Hex is a party drug, not something you’d take alone sitting at the kitchen table.”
“You’re thinking she was intentionally poisoned?”
“I have no idea. You’re lead detective on this, so I defer to you.”
“Definitely something to consider.” Rios bent down to examine the body. The eerie grin caused by the strychnine threatened to unsettle her stomach. She shifted her focus to the clothing, reaching into pockets, half expecting to find a bag of hex or other drugs. But the only things that turned up were a canvas wallet, a black pocketknife, and a set of keys. The wallet held a driver’s license, a debit card, thirty dollars in cash, and discount cards to Safeway, Walgreens, and Target.
Rios stood back up, considering Johnson’s observation about the book and hex being an odd combination. Why would someone use hex to kill someone? Unless they wanted to cover it up as another overdose. If that was the case, were the other cases also intentional?
“I’m going outside and talk to the neighbor. Winslow, work the scene around the house, particularly the carport, driveway, and entryways. Look for anything indicating recent visitors. Johnson, work the scene in here. Let’s get fingerprints and DNA from all doorknobs, kitchen surfaces, any cups or silverware in the sink or dishwasher. Get a sample of the liquid from the drinking glass and bag anything that might explain how she died. Tobias, I want photos of the deceased, the book, the door, and anything else Johnson or Winslow find.”
Rios walked out the back door, ducking under the crime scene tape and around the house where she found the neighbor still standing with Graham and Cruz. “Gentlemen, can you give Detective Winslow a hand canvassing the yard for evidence? I think he’s around back.”
“Sure thing,” said Graham as the two of them hustled toward the backyard.
“Mrs. Sakamoto?”
The woman looked up with a sad smile. “Yes?” she asked. Her silver hair was tied in a bun. Her pale skin had the texture of wrinkled tissue paper.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Rios. Could you tell me what happened this morning?”
Ms. Sakamoto nodded. “As I was telling those deputies, I called Piper to see if she was ready to go for coffee. We often grab a cup over at LezBeans Coffee and Books. Have you ever been there?”
Rios’ face grew warm. She didn’t like discussing her sexuality at work and this was getting uncomfortably close to admitting she was a lesbian. “I’ve heard of it.”
“LezBeans is a such a lovely café, so much nicer than Starbucks. Piper and I kind of have a standing coffee date there.”
Rios arched an eyebrow. “You two were dating?”
“Oh heavens no. I’m happily married to my husband, Joe. Piper and I have sort of a mother-daughter bond. We like to get together and ‘shoot the shit,’ as she likes to say.”
“When did you call her?”
“Eight o’clock. When she didn’t answer, I walked over because I could see her
motorcycle and car were still in the driveway. I went around to the back door and that’s when I saw her…lying on the floor. I…I…” Her voice choked with emotion, she bowed her head, covered her mouth, and took a deep breath. “I could tell something was wrong, so I broke in hoping I could save her. They taught a first-aid course at our church a month ago. I was best in my class, if you can believe it.”
Rios offered a sympathetic smile. “So you broke in…”
“Oh…” Ms. Sakamoto shook her head. “She didn’t have a pulse and her skin was cool. I knew she was gone. So I called the police.”
“Did Piper ever take drugs?”
“Well, I think she did take something regularly, what was it? One of those medicines that sounds like a creature from a Gojira movie. Lipitor maybe? It was for cholesterol, I think.”
“I’m more interested in whether she was taking any illegal drugs. Heroin, marijuana, ecstasy?”
“No, well, not recently. She was addicted to meth before I met her. But she’s been clean for—what?—five years I think it was on her last sobriety birthday.”
“Could she have relapsed?”
“I suppose it’s possible. But if she had, I never saw it.”
“Did she go out to the clubs much?”
“No, not really. I’m part of a local canasta club myself. Every Wednesday. They say it’s good for the mind, especially at my age.”
“I meant does she ever go to bars?”
“Only one that I know of: Gertie’s. She said that’s where her motorcycle gang met.”
“How often did she go there?”
“Oh, I really don’t know, maybe once a week. They’re not like those bikers you see on TV or hear about on the news getting into trouble. They put on rallies to support women’s causes.”
“When you get together for coffee, what do you discuss?”
“Oh, everything. Movies, politics, art, just whatever.”
“Have you seen anyone hanging around lately?”
“No, not really. There’s one gal who comes around every so often. Real tall, like one of those women basketball players. I think she was Piper’s NA sponsor.”
“Did she ever have any of her fellow members of the Athena Sisterhood stop by? Did you hear any motorcycles recently?”
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