by Sophie Sharp
Molly shook her head. “No. What happens in Glam Van, stays in Glam Van. Rule Number One.” But she would prod Doug for some information later. Veronica and the mayor? Her gut said this link had something to do with the mayor changing his tune on what should happen to the lot.
After they settled the bill, hugged, and wished each other some much needed luck, Molly tidied up. Nell had forgotten the card with the mayor’s meeting address. Without eyeing it closely, Molly put it in a drawer so no one would see it. Molly would give it back to Nell next time she saw her alone. She put a back in ten minutes note on her door, leaving Nell out front to answer a few questions by arriving reporters. With the help of a police officer, they shortly directed the reporters to the station for answers.
Molly brushed past any laggers and rushed to Asil’s truck. She needed to talk to him before her next client arrived.
Chapter Four
You found her?” Damion said when Mia relayed the morning’s events to him. Above his black bushy beard, his already pale face turned at least three shades whiter.
“It was crazy horrible,” said Mia. “Not at all like you see on TV. There was so much …” But she couldn’t finish the sentence. She shivered. She didn’t want to replay the scene again and again. Instead, she needed to think about not looking very, very guilty.
Damion spooned the last of the chickpea curry onto his plate. He didn’t offer Mia seconds, but she couldn’t have eaten any more than the few bites she’d managed already. Her insides felt like the giant rubber-band ball she’d seen that time Aunt Molly and Uncle Doug had taken her on a cross-country road trip to visit Lacy on location. It was a huge tangle of strands, all bunched together, but hard as a rock and impossible to move, just like the lump in her gut. And, like the giant rubber-band ball, if Detective Mean Goat started accusing Mia of Veronica’s murder, people would be rushing to take her photo too. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be more famous than her mother, but for all the wrong reasons. She didn’t even want to think about her mother finding out about this fiasco. All the more reason to keep ignoring her calls this morning.
“And they say there’s no such thing as karma,” Damion said.
“I don’t think karma actually works like that,” she said, trying to keep the snark out of her voice. “Buddhists don’t believe in an eye-for-an-eye, and they certainly don’t think it’s okay to bump off someone, even if she was a total cow.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Damion sniffed. “But I’m not the only one who thinks she had it coming, even if other people aren’t honest enough to say it.”
Damion was right, of course. Mia could think of a whole list of people who might wish Veronica Corsello would go away. Mia’s own dislike had not started with the ostrich boots. It had started with the photograph that had zipped around the internet like a kitten after a laser toy: Veronica posing with her safari trophy.
Mia had barely been able to look at the photo of the smug woman in her designer pink camo, her glossy chestnut hair extensions tumbling over one shoulder. Her plumped-up lips shimmered with gloss and her obsidian eyes were rimmed with long fake eyelashes. Who, I mean, WHO wears fake eyelashes in the wilds of Africa?
But it hadn’t been Veronica’s poor fashion choices that had gotten to Mia. It had been the body of the giraffe posed at Veronica’s feet. Mia had sobbed and sobbed at the sight of the long, beautiful neck wrapped around Veronica, the elegant jigsaw pattern of the hide that Veronica would no doubt use to cover a couch, and the huge gentle long-lashed eyes of that beautiful creature closed forever. Mia’s heart had broken into a million pieces that day. Only Damion had been able to console her by holding her close and assuring her they were doing everything they could to stop big game hunting.
She wished he’d console her now. She wished he’d get up and hold her tight, tell her she would be okay, that it wasn’t her fault Veronica was dead, that it was a terrible tragedy but they’d get through it together. But instead he was consoling himself with food, shoveling vegan curry into his mouth. No matter what he felt about karma, it was clear he too was upset about a murder in a quiet town like San Cosmas, especially if his girlfriend (was she his girlfriend? She still wasn’t sure after four months) was Detective Mean Goat’s only suspect.
Thinking about Veronica and the giraffe got Mia’s blood boiling all over again. But she had to keep her cool. She had been a bit feisty and impetuous with Detective Moat, and now it was going to get her into trouble. She had always been quick to go to war for the underdog—or undercat—but she always meant well. She hated injustice, hated seeing defenseless creatures hurt, but sometimes her good intentions came out all wrong.
Mia supposed she got her big mouth from her father, although there was no way to know, as she’d never met him. She didn’t even know for certain who he was. She’d spent an unhealthy amount of her childhood playing amateur detective, trying to work out where in the world (literally) her mother had been when Mia was conceived, and who her father could be. She’d made some guesses, but Lacy refused to relent on the story that Mia had been a well-thought-out blessing, conceived anonymously for her own protection. Lacy claimed she’d chosen single motherhood to save Mia from a messy divorce and a screwed-up childhood, and, “I’m a woman of my own making. We didn’t need a man.” Well, that hadn’t gone well, had it? What a messed- up way to come into the world. Thank goodness she had her aunt and uncle to provide some degree of stability and normalcy in her life. They would have been great parents. There, right there, was one more mark against karma.
But she did wish she wasn’t so impulsive sometimes—acting without thinking or blurting things that hurt peoples’ feelings. She probably shouldn’t have yelled at Veronica that day, or added the ostrich-boot rule to Aunt Molly’s sign (that was bad luck). And she probably shouldn’t have been pissy with Detective Moat, telling him it was his job to detect. She just got so passionate, especially about living things being treated badly. But now Veronica had received the ultimate bad treatment. Damion was wrong about karma. There was nothing karmic about Veronica Corsello showing up dead behind Glam Van. Especially when Mia had been the one to find her. Especially when it could hurt her aunt’s business.
“I have to go down to the station tomorrow,” Mia said. “Detective Mean Goat is going to grill me, and I just know I’m going to say the wrong thing.”
Damion knew about the nickname. He’d laughed and thanked her with a big strong hug—and a lingering kiss—when she’d told him the name was given in his honor after Moat had slandered him.
“Just tell him you were with me last night. I’ll vouch for you.”
“But I was with you,” Mia said, feeling desperation in her chest. Most of the night, anyway.
“Exactly. So just tell him the truth.”
Telling the truth would also mean telling Aunt Molly the truth. Mia had gone back to her studio apartment at the end of Aunt Molly and Uncle Doug’s garden after dinner. Uncle Doug had made chicken pot pies with fresh parsley and rosemary from his herb boxes (which Mia had to admit had smelled amazing) and had made her a portobello mushroom version, which had been to die for (no pun intended). Aunt Molly probably assumed she had stayed in the studio all night, but she hadn’t. She’d taken a quick shower and ridden her bike over to Damion’s. They had laid on his couch and talked about changing the world until after midnight; then Damion had driven her home.
“I’m not letting you ride home alone at this hour,” he’d said, getting all gallant on her. “You can pick your bike up in the morning.”
She loved that he was thoughtful that way, and now after what had happened to Veronica, she was even more grateful for his chivalry.
The trouble was, they had done a little bit more than talk when they got back to her place before he left. It was nobody’s business but hers, but she still didn’t want to have to admit that in front of Detective Mean Goat—or Aunt Molly and Uncle Doug. She could picture Uncle Doug leaping into protective uncle mode and demanding t
o know Damion’s intentions toward his niece. Talk about embarrassing. She was an adult, after all, and fully within her rights to embark on an adult relationship with a grown man. But not everyone in her family remembered that.
It had been a pretty amazing evening, though. She knew her aunt didn’t get her attraction to Damion. Aunt Molly always tilted her head when she looked at him, the way she assessed clients who needed a makeover but couldn’t yet see it for themselves. Okay, so Damion was a bit thin and pale. He had a tangle of black hair and a beard that wasn’t quite hipster. He had a swirl of black hair across his narrow chest that faded out across his pale stomach. An image flashed across her mind of Detective Moat’s tight chest straining at the buttons of his shirt like some movie superhero. But Detective Mean Goat was no Batman. He lived his life by the book and acted like a freshly scrubbed Boy Scout. Damion was his polar opposite. He was passionate and opinionated, flowed with life, and was always full of surprises. And, as it turned out, he was a pretty epic kisser.
“I’ll tell them I was here with you,” Mia said, suddenly feeling a wave of confidence and assertiveness.
“Right,” said Damion.
“I’ll tell them we stayed up talking …”
“Talking?” he said, giving her a wry smile.
“Talking. And then you took me home.”
“Right,” he said.
Mia’s smile dropped.
“What?” Damion asked.
“The trouble is,” Mia said, “that means no one but you saw me between then and me finding the body. Detective Moat didn’t say what time Veronica was killed, but if it was between those times, I’m toast.”
Damion twirled a finger in his beard, and Mia willed him to say, “Just tell them you spent the entire night with me.” It would be a lie, of course, but without an alibi she looked so guilty, she was even starting to doubt herself.
“It would give you an alibi too,” she said, trying to look innocent rather than questioning.
Damion’s head snapped up. “I don’t need an alibi. I’m not a suspect.”
“Not yet,” said Mia. “But you have as much motive as I do. You were the one who organized the protest. You helped circulate the photo. You weren’t at Opal May’s funeral either. You can’t explain where you were when you weren’t with me either.”
“I didn’t even know Opal May.”
Hmph. She didn’t like how he had skirted the topic. Where had he gone after he left her studio?
“If Detective Moat asks me where you were last night, I wouldn’t have the first clue,” Mia said.
She knew she was fishing for more than just an alibi. The truth was, Damion had been acting weird lately. They had spent plenty of nights together in the four months since they’d met, but lately he’d asked to take her home at night. Sometimes he said he needed to pick up some extra rides as a Lyft driver, which always seemed odd, considering San Cosmas more or less rolled up the sidewalks at 9 p.m. Other times he simply claimed he had somewhere to be, but he’d never say where he was going. If her mother had had a boyfriend who acted like this, Lacy would have flat-out accused him of cheating. But Mia wasn’t her mother, and she never would be. She didn’t want to start acting jealous and possessive, or pick a fight where there wasn’t one. She just wished Damion would be honest … well, honest about everything but her alibi.
Damion thought for a moment and then he sighed. “Forget it. I don’t think it’s a good idea to start lying to the police. It always comes back to bite you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “I didn’t kill her.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “Look, just tell the truth. You were here, I took you home. You stayed there and I stayed here.”
“Right,” said Mia. But she didn’t like the way this conversation was going. It was starting to make her feel like Damion had something to hide.
Chapter Five
Molly avoided making eye contact with everyone as she made her way to Asil’s. Who knew a murder could make so many people crave Turkish food for lunch? The line at Asil’s was longer than the commuter traffic line between San Francisco and Palo Alto on a Monday. Asil was handling the extra business well, even if he seemed surprised. Gyro shaving after gyro shaving came off his shiny new spit roaster faster than Molly could have shaved someone’s head for a military boot camp. Was it wrong to be happy for him? Asil was one of the dearest men she knew, and he worked so hard to put his children through college.
It wasn’t going to be easy to get information out of him with so many nosy bodies around. Perhaps she should pull her “I’m a trucky” card and go through the side door to grill him with questions, but she didn’t want to interrupt him when business was booming, so she waited in line.
The thought of food made her want to vomit more than ever. As if Opal May hadn’t already done wonders for her diet, Mia’s impending interview at the police department tomorrow was going to make Molly loose that extra twenty pounds she’d been trying to shed for the past ten years.
When she got to the front of the line, Asil’s eyes widened with relief. “Molly, I am very glad to see you. This terrible thing …”
Molly shot a look at the person behind her. The woman got the message and stepped back to give her and Asil some breathing room.
“Asil, you were the only one here before me this morning. Did you see anything?”
Asil leaned forward as he made her a gyro. She hadn’t ordered one, but they were creating an image of her as a customer after all. It was just the way she normally liked it, but there was no way she could stomach a bite today. She’d offer it to the police officer guarding the crime scene. Or was that illegal, buttering up an officer?
“I didn’t see anyone. Only Brody with UPS when he delivered my new roaster.”
Excellent. Molly made a mental note to talk to Brody as soon as she could. He’d been her best friend since childhood.
“But, Molly,” Asil leaned closer to whisper, “Ms. Corsello came here yesterday when I was closing up. She shoved this envelope at me.” He handed it to Molly. “Careful. No one can see inside. I was going to show you tonight at our meeting. Maybe the others have received threats too.”
Threats? Molly peeked inside the 9x12 manila envelope so no one else could see. Inside was an offer, an insultingly low offer, to give up his lease and move his truck by the end of the month and to support Corsello Development’s proposal to the planning commission. And it included a picture of a dead rat on Asil’s grill.
“That”—he stabbed the envelope with his finger—“never happened.” He said for Molly’s ears only, “The dangalak must have used Photoshop or something, but how do I prove my innocence?”
“Dangalak?” Molly asked.
“Horse thief in Turkish.” He took the envelope back, folded it, and shoved it in his large apron pocket. “She said if I didn’t cooperate, she’d ruin me. I only have forty-eight hours to decide.”
“Had,” Molly said. “You won’t have to worry about her deadline anymore.”
Why had Veronica singled out Asil? Or had more of her dear trucksters been threatened? Molly hoped they would have come to her. Their community was tight knit, and they’d always looked out for each other. Had someone in the lot looked out too much for them all?
Oh, messy manicures. Had Veronica Corsello had anything on her, Doug, or Mia? Is that why she was at Molly’s trailer? Had Veronica Corsello been trying to set her up or knock on her door and offer her a letter to leave? Had the murderer intercepted her? The situation was getting messier than a DIY home perm and color kit.
The crowd was getting ready to kick her gyro butt out if she took any more of Asil’s time, so she hurried. “Did you show Detective Moat this?”
“Not yet. I know I should have, but I am scared. How will I support myself if this gets out and I lose my truck? I thought losing the lot was bad, but my truck? Plan B always was that we’d all figure out where to park throughout San Cosmas. But this? If I lose my busi
ness because of the dangalak’s lies,” his voice trailed off. He shook his head. “How will I pay for my daughter’s education?”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him, but it was worse than he realized. That photo gives you a motive for murder, Asil.
“I’ll see you tonight. Bring your letter. We’ll fix this, Asil, I promise.”
She grabbed her gyro and headed back to Glam Van. It was time to call Doug. Suspects and motives were cropping up faster than unwanted chin hairs. If there were two things that should never be ignored, they were murder and women’s chin hairs. Her husband was the only one she could truly trust.
Halfway across the lot, Molly’s cell phone rang. No doubt her hunk of a loving husband calling to check in. What would I do without him? He hadn’t been able to attend the funeral due to the latest construction deadline but had promised to call and check on her. Now she had a lot more to tell him.
“Hi,” she said without checking the display first.
“Why isn’t Mia returning my calls?” Molly’s older sister Lacy cried in her ear.
Oh, fruit cakes. Lacy was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Note to self: Must take Mia up on her offer to set unique ring tones on my phone.
“Hello, Lacy. Because your daughter is an adult and is busy finding her way as an adult,” Molly said to her sister, who had grown up with everyone paying immediate attention to her wants and needs.
“But I’m her mother,” Lacy whined.
“More like her smother mother,” Molly said. “This is exactly why she asked if she could move here with Doug and me. You won’t give her room to breathe.” And because you need so much attention. You make everything about you.
“Buy why did she pick you? You smother her too.”
Far from it. But Molly wasn’t going down this rabbit hole of a discussion and pity party again. It had been Mia’s choice. “Lacy, I can’t talk right now. I’ve got a few things going on here today.” Like a body behind my salon and your daughter as suspect number one.