Deadly Dirty Martinis

by Nicole Leiren

  Anger warred with sadness. All this time. She knew about me. Knew what I was doing, but it hadn't been enough. I had a million questions but narrowed it down to just one. "What do you want from me now?"

  "I'd like your forgiveness."

  Before she could say anything more, I shouted, "Mandi!"

  My BFF came running from the kitchen. "What's wrong? You okay?"

  I wasn't okay but didn't want to get into that right now. "What would you say the statistics are on abandoned children forgiving their parents the first time they asked?"

  She hesitated, but my intense gaze in her direction tried to convey how much I needed her trivia-loving detail knowledge right now. Needed her to help me tell my mother it wasn't going to be that easy. Needed a little of her comedic relief to this scenario. She picked up on my vibe. Thank God for BFF wavelength. Yeah, it was a thing. Just ask anyone who was lucky enough to have a true best friend.

  Mandi placed her hand under her chin and looked up, pretending to think. When she looked down, she gazed straight at Harmony. "Though I don't have exact numbers, I'd say the odds are pretty high it's not going to happen on your first try." Then she leveled her ice blue gaze at me and smiled softly. "Though I think the probability is pretty high it can and should happen eventually."

  I returned her smile before crossing my arms and directing my attention back to Harmony. "We can talk more about your odds later. First, I have some questions I need to ask you."

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but Mandi cleared her throat at that precise moment, which got Harmony to hold her tongue. "Ask away."

  "Where did you go last night after you left the tavern?"

  Her gaze widened and her postured stiffened at my question. "Back to the Ocean View Bed & Breakfast. That's where we're staying. It's a nice place." She shrugged and smiled. "And the fact it's the only game in town didn't hurt either. This was home for me many years ago. I thought it would be nice to find that feeling again." She smiled brightly. "And I found home by finding you."

  Nice try. I ignored her little olive branch. Branches have bugs. Not interested. "Did you see Donny again?"

  "No. Brock and I fought, something we do more and more these days." She sighed and wiped another errant tear. "Then I went to bed. Why are you asking? Is Donny bothering you?" The red crept up her fair skin like mercury on a hot, summer day. "I swear. I'll kill him if he's bothering you."

  Not a sentiment that served her well at the moment, considering the reasoning for my questions. "You can't kill him. Someone already did."

  The red in her face paled to white-washed pink. "What? Why would you say that? Why are you lying?"

  Though I've told some lies by withholding the truth or, from time to time, delaying the truth, being dishonest was not something I practiced. I stood and put my hands on the table and leaned toward her. "Maybe you didn't bother reading the letters Gram sent you. If you had, and they really told you about me, you'd know lying isn't really my thing." Notice I didn't say was never my thing. In this case, I was telling the truth.

  Harmony's tears continued to fall. She gathered her things, including the letters and pictures. "I need to find Brock and tell him. This could change everything."

  Harmony hurried out the door. I turned to look at Mandi. "Do you think she did it?"

  Mandi shrugged. "I'd say the odds are clearly sitting at fifty-fifty."

  Her estimation brought a small smile to my face. She gave her much higher odds of innocence than I did. Right now, she was at the top of a very important list. It wasn't a good one—the list of people who could've killed Donny.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two hours later, Detective Marshall finally cleared us for business. We'd cleaned, prepped, cleaned again, and played some cards while we waited for the green light. The patrons had been patient and returned about a half hour after opening, their stomachs ready to be filled.

  Tommy, the guitar player, came in about an hour after opening. He sat down in front of me. The curls on his head framed his face in limp, lifeless rings. Maybe he should borrow some of Freddie's product. "Would you like your usual? A DC Dirty Martini, extra olives?" I did my best not to wrinkle my nose at the pungent aroma originating from his body. Either the newest cologne for rockers needed a formula adjustment, or he had the same chest cold Harmony did and had turned to vapor rub to ease the tightness in his chest. Maybe the whole band was getting sick?

  My remembering his order from the previous night seemed to brighten his mood a little. He removed his jean jacket and rewarded me with a small smile, accompanied by a slight cough. "That would be nice, thank you."

  Chest cold, most likely. I admit to being surprised by how soft his voice came across. Made me wonder if he added vocals to the band or just played guitar. Once his drink was ready, I set it down and asked, "How long have you been with the band?"

  The answer to my question had to wait until he finished off the drink and gestured for another. Party on, rock star. Maybe some stereotypes were earned. As he waited for his refill, he put his elbows on the bar and leaned forward as he asked, "Do you ever go out and stand at the edge of the cliffs and look over into the water?"

  It was an odd question and certainly not the answer to my question, but my job was to make the customers happy. As I mixed his drink I answered, "Honestly, I haven't. With my work schedule, there's not a lot of free time. I've been to the pier to hang out though."

  He stared off into space, seemingly a million miles away. "I'd love to just dive off the edge, flying in the mist of the water that rises up from the depths below."

  I hesitated before placing the drink in front of him. If he had taken some type of drug, alcohol would not be a good combination. When he realized my fingers were still on the drink, his jade green eyes brightened, and a genuine smile appeared on his face. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I go off on tangents. To answer your question, Brock and I have been together since the beginning. Even before your mom. We played in garage bands in high school. We're rock-n-roll bros."

  Didn't know that was a thing, but okay. Since he was waxing all nostalgic and mentioned her first, maybe he might be the guy to provide some insight into my mother. A fresh drink delivered, I wiped the bar area around him. "What can you tell me about Harmony and Brock? My mom mentioned they'd been fighting. Do you know what that's about?" I wanted to ask about Donny but didn't want to push my luck or give him the impression he was being interrogated. Even if maybe he was…just a little.

  He sipped his drink slower this time. I took that as a good sign. "Harmony and Brock are tight. Kind of a Romeo and Juliet vibe going on if you ask me."

  "If they're so tight, how come they've never married?" That question had been burning a hole in my brain since I was old enough to understand that they'd never taken the final step many couples take to solidify the I only have eyes for you bond.

  He chuckled. "They can't get married."

  At least five different responses raced to the tip of my tongue, but I decided to keep the ball in his court and locked the gathering questions behind my pearly whites, only allowing one to pass. "Why not?" If Brock was married to someone else and my mom had been following him around for decades now… Well, that would put her at an all-time low on the pathetic scale.

  "I bet you hate rock and roll music and everything it stands for, don't you?"

  For a deadhead guitarist, he was spot-on perceptive. "Maybe."

  He picked up a menu and gave it a quick once-over. "Can I get the deconstructed turkey sandwich with regular fries?" The callouses on his fingers looked painful to me as he pointed to the selection.

  Could I get an answer to my question? First things first—customer service. "Sure." I put his order in and poured him a glass of water, which widened his smile as he pushed his martini glass in my direction and pointed to the lack of liquid.

  While I made his drink, he finally explained. "Brock is the lead singer of the band. He needs to appear available so the ladies will throw their
bras and panties at him on the stage, even if he's not available. Follow?"

  I nodded. It made sense, I guess. It may not put Harmony at the bottom of the pathetic scale, but this revelation didn't move her much higher. "They must have something pretty special."

  Before he could answer, his attention was drawn to the door. Liza sashayed—yes, that was how I would describe her walk—into the dining room. If I was being honest (and I resolved to be more honest than I'd managed lately—especially when the police are involved), it was hard for her to walk straight with her body draped all over Brock's. Surprising he could even stand upright while supporting so much of her weight.

  Maybe that was what Harmony and he had been fighting about. She'd mentioned blaming Donny for bringing Liza in. Liza's black leather pants, red tank top, and studded jacket made her look like she belonged on the cover of Biker Babe. Of course, Brock was sporting leather pants and jacket as well.

  Tommy stood, pushing the barstool back hard. The scrape against the floor resonated loud and deep, garnering attention in his direction. He didn't seem to mind. He tossed some cash in my direction. "Keep the change."

  "But your food…"

  "Give it to someone else. Hell, give it to Brock. He's the kind of guy that gets everything, even if it belongs to someone else. I'm sure he'll eat it right up."

  He pulled his jean jacket tighter around his thickening frame. He was probably lean, even skinny in his younger years, but time had added a few pounds directly to his midsection. Note to self—don't let that happen. Tommy stormed by Brock and Liza, shooting one final glare at them. If looks could kill, they'd both be pushing up daisies about now. The door slammed behind him.

  A moment later the door opened. If Tommy was back to start a fight and I had to call the police again…ugh. I needed this band to leave Danger Cove. Since they'd arrived, there'd been nothing but trouble. Instead of Two-Tone Tommy Trouble, my current sight for sore eyes walked in. My not-boyfriend, Tanner. I swear he made denim and cotton sexy. His golden brown skin offset the always crisp white of his T-shirt perfectly. And don't even get me started on how good he looked in those jeans. He is hard to resist.

  Brock and Liza arrived in the spot Tommy had just vacated, effectively cutting off my view. How irritating. I consoled myself with thoughts of welcome-home kisses later after my shift ended. Yeah, that made me smile. It also helped me lessen the growl in my next statement. "Can I get either of you something to drink?"

  Liza tossed her hair and gave Brock a wide grin. "I'm parched after that jam session. We got some great stuff though. Our next album will be kick-ass."

  Great. Lousy taste in clothes and a potty mouth. What would Gram think? She'd raised me in a strict no-cursing zone. As a result, I'd developed substitute words when I felt the urge to swear.

  I could see the excitement in Brock's expression. "It wasn't good…"

  He waited for her pout to form and then touched his index finger to those ruby red lips, keeping her quiet. Bonus. "It wasn't good. It was great. I like the direction the new album is taking."

  She practically melted from his praise. Meanwhile, I fought my breakfast from making a return trip. I won that battle—for now. "Drinks?"

  Brock finally noticed me, and his demeanor changed. Nervous and unsettled. Yeah, I didn't know what to say to him either. "Vodka lemonade for me, and…" He turned to Liza and gestured for her to place her order.

  "A Dirty Martini for me." She shot Brock a look and moved closer into his personal space. That move on her part did cause me to taste a little of my breakfast. No more scrambled egg microwave meals to start my day, no matter how late I was running.

  I ignored them and the fact Brock chose the drink he'd shared with Harmony on Friday night while cuddling with Liza. Tanner walked by the bar on his way to the kitchen. He flashed me a confident smile. I nodded and smiled in return. I looked forward to him providing the best medicine and distraction for my family challenges. Once Tan disappeared through the swinging doors to the back, I placed the drinks in front of Brock and Liza. I fixed my gaze on Brock. "Sooner, rather than later, you and I should talk."

  His fake tan paled. It might be real, but I preferred to think of all of him as fake right now. Helped me stay on task. He gulped down half the drink before answering. "What do you want to talk about?"

  I shook my head and cast a glance in Liza's direction. Her lipstick was going to prove a challenge to get off my martini glass. Fantastic. "It's not about me nominating you for father of the year or anything, so don't worry."

  He inclined his head in a direction away from Liza and moved to the right, expecting me to follow. Which, like a sucker, I did. "Look, I'm sorry about all of that. I'm not father material, no more than Harmony is mother material. Rock and roll, life on the road, and parenting don't mix."

  Unprotected sex and not wanting to be parents didn't mix either, but that didn't seem to stop them. Since I was sure he wouldn't be interested in hearing that lesson from me, I gave him an out. "From what I've been told and have learned, being with Gram was a blessing compared to you two, so thanks for that. I wanted to talk to you about Donny."

  "Brock, are you coming? We need to eat before we go back to rehearsal." Liza's semi-whiny voice interrupted our conversation.

  His attention was torn between Liza and me. I could fix that for him. "Go. Eat. Make music. Soon, though…"

  He nodded and finished his drink. "Right. We talk." He offered a faint smile. "You remind me of her when she was your age."

  Not what I wanted to hear. "Bossy and afraid of bugs?"

  He laughed. "You have no idea how much she hates those little things."

  I bet I did. I wasn't going to admit to it, but a small part of me was glad my mom and I had some kind of connection, even if I didn't know about it until now. Our mini father-daughter moment was interrupted when Officer Faria, my favorite member of the Danger Cove police force, came into the dining room. "I have to get back." I made one last glance in Liza's direction, her lips now formed in a not-so-adorable pout. "Looks like you do too."

  He sighed and nodded. Did I detect a little remorse in his body language? Instead of heading to the other end of the bar, I headed to the kitchen. "Clara? Do you have any of those cookies you keep for emergency purposes?"

  She laughed. "Just made up a fresh batch to send with you for the pizza gathering tonight, since Tara and I won't be able to make it."

  Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies equaled good news. Clara and Tara not making it to my place tonight, not so good. Since finding my home here in Danger Cove, the friends I'd made, mostly those I worked with here at the tavern, had become my family. "Oh no. Why can't you make it?" Not sure I managed to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  Clara removed the latex gloves she always used when working in the kitchen. Hope and I agreed fastidious dedication to cleanliness needed to be supported. She gave me a hug. "Thanksgiving is next week. Out-of-town family arrived early and are visiting. We need to be there. I'm sorry."

  Oh, right. Family outside of our little circle of friends. Got it. Sucked to be me right now, but that wasn't her fault. "No worries. I understand. We'll miss you." Offering them both a slight smile, I added. "The cookies will help make up for your absence."

  They both laughed. "We thought—" Clara started.

  "—that might help," Tara finished.

  I grabbed a couple cookies and slid them into a to-go bag. I loved that they were still warm. Officer Richie Faria, one of three members of the Danger Cove police force I'd had interactions with, tended to be more tolerant of me and my meddling in police business when I provided either information to help him with a case or, when that wasn't available, sweets—specifically, chocolate chip cookies. Since Detective Marshall preferred pizza, maybe I should keep some on standby for him, as well. "Thanks, ladies. Talk to you later."

  Back at the bar, Officer Faria appeared to be waiting for someone. I handed him the treats. "A little something for you."


  He opened the bag and inhaled deeply. I swear his eyes rolled back in his head. Too funny. This man loved this particular treat. I gave him the time necessary to fully appreciate Clara's and Tara's hard work and skill. He lifted one of the cookies and took a large bite. "Mmmm, so good," he mumbled around the food.

  "Glad you enjoyed it. I'll be sure to let the girls know."

  He nodded and then put the rest of the cookie away. His attention had drifted away from the cookies and toward a man dressed in a black aviator jacket and khaki pants who'd just come in. "Thanks again, Lilly. Okay if my friend and I sit at the end of the bar by the serving station?"

  Anything for my favorite. "Sure, just let me know if you need something to drink."

  "Thanks." He caught the man's attention and motioned to the spot he'd just mentioned. Since no one else needed me, I moved a little closer and began to clean the martini glasses. The men spoke in hushed tones, but I was close enough to hear.

  "Hi, Mac. Good to see you. Though your request to get together on such short notice has me wondering what's going on," Richie started.

  "Hey, thanks for agreeing to meet me off the grid. I wish I could stay and enjoy your town's hospitality, but I need to get back before I'm missed."

  Danger Cove off the grid? Where was this guy from? If I hadn't been eavesdropping, I might have challenged him on the detail. But since I was, I kept my mouth shut.

  "What do you know?"

  Mac lowered his voice a little more, but I had very good hearing. Whether I had Harmony or Brock to thank for that, I couldn't be sure. Not that I was actually going to thank them, but should the need arise…

  "A private plane landed in Seattle."

  Richie leaned in, his full attention on the man's words. "And?"

  "And, the plane is registered to Antonio Giovanni Sr."

  I didn't know who that was, but Richie did, if the expression on his face was any indication. "Was he…? Who was on the plane?"