I turned around and gasped. Marsha had donned a long blond wig. She wore a white cotton button-up with a bust-slimming tank underneath and a pair of worn, snug jeans. Her curves were disguised effectively by the outfit and the platform sandals made her height a closer match to my own.
"Impressive," Andre said with unabashed appreciation.
"Close enough, I guess," I replied.
"Thanks, I'll be sure to trip over my own feet a couple of times to keep it real."
"And spill your drink on your shirt," Ashley added.
Mark stepped between us before I could respond. My sister and my arch enemy were in cahoots? Arrr!
Carlos was back, dressed to the nines and in full pirate mode. "Why m'ladies! Am I to escort twins this evening? It's been awhile since I had twins on my arm. Makes quite an entrance." He grinned wolfishly.
By the sudden glazed-over looks on their faces, I could tell all the men in the room suddenly had a life-sized picture of us as "twins" floating through their perverted brains. I looked at Marsha. She shook her head in disgust. Men!
It was the first time we'd agreed on anything.
"No, Carlos. I'm stuck here with Mark."
"Hey!" Mark gave me a wounded look. "I thought we'd have some quality hot tub time together."
There was a terrific hot tub on the deck. It had a waterfall and colored lights. "We'll see," I replied, not ready to make up yet.
"I'll take the other arm, Carlos." Ashley flipped her long blonde hair out and added, "I might not pass as a tall, willowy rock goddess, but I don't think I'll hurt your entrance."
Marsha laughed. "You'll be my mini-me." She stood a full six inches above Ashley.
"More like Skipper to your Barbie." I needled Ashley with an old family jibe that never failed to get her fur up.
She didn't take the bait. "I'm fine with that. Tonight I'm rollin' like a rock star."
I didn't like the sound of that. "You just remember we've got a busy day tomorrow," I chided.
"You know you sound just like Mom." Ashley grinned. "In your face!" She high-fived Marsha.
I turned on my heel and stalked from the room. My sister, the turncoat!
* * *
Up to my neck in warm, bubbling water and sipping an ice cold martini, I finally started to unwind from the run-in with Ashley and Marsha. Mark seemed less relaxed as he rubbed my feet and brewed over our possible mole problem.
"It has to be someone in the band," he said for the tenth time.
"My money's on Roger and Phil," I joked. "They've been trying to get rid of me since they met me."
"Well, if that's how you're thinking, then Mrs. Kester should be our main suspect."
I groaned at the mention of my mean, old cuss of a neighbor. I hadn't seen her for months. Mark, on the hand, ran into her on a regular basis while staying in Annapolis.
"Nah, she's too busy making goo-goo eyes at Uncle Grover." The December-December romance that had sprouted last spring had continued to flourish with daily phone calls and occasional visits.
Mark considered that. "She was almost cordial when she yelled out the window last week for me to 'get that damned dog' off her grass. Quite a charmer—I can see why Grover likes her."
I giggled. Mrs. Kester hated Max and made a fuss over where he did his business. Max felt the same about Mrs. Kester and made sure to lift his leg on every blade of grass on her lawn.
"I'm turning into a prune." I waved wrinkled fingers at Mark. "Let's get a midnight snack and turn in."
Mark looked at the time on his phone. "I was hoping to get a report from our decoy."
I stepped out, toweled off, and pulled on a big fluffy white robe. It was so nice, I wondered if I could get away with wearing it around all day tomorrow.
A commotion at the front door announced the return of the revelers. Marsha and Ashley led the way looking quite a bit worse for wear. Marsha's blonde wig was slightly askew, and her white blouse was streaked with dirt. Ashley was covered in a fine layer of dust like she'd spent the evening at a rodeo.
"What happened?" Mark asked.
Marsha glared at him. "I hate pirates!" she shouted and stalked off.
I raised my eyebrow at Ashley. "She had to rescue me from some nut calling me his wench and trying to carry me out the door of the restaurant."
"We thought she was being kidnapped," Andre interjected. "Carlos went all pirate-king on the guy, and the band followed him off the plank."
Carlos and The Brethren were looking sheepishly at the walls. "We might have been a wee bit hasty," said Carlos.
"Hasty!" Ashley cried. "You pulled a knife out of your boot and chased the guy down the street."
"At which point," Andre continued, "the 'pirate' who was actually a motorcycle gang member came back with his posse. There were three police cars at the scene before everyone finally went on their way."
"Marsha was the real hero. She saw the guy go out the door with me over his shoulder and took him down to his knees with a kick to the gut."
A sinister thought occurred to me. "Maybe this was more than just a guy getting too frisky with Ashley. Do you think he could've been trying to kidnap her? Maybe use her as some kind of leverage to get to me?"
Andre thought about it for a few seconds. "Possibly. He did lure Marsha out into the street when she followed him. Of course, he hadn't been counting on getting his ass kicked by her." Andre grinned. "She's something else."
I rolled my eyes. She was something else alright. Grrr.
Mark turned to Ashley. "Did he say anything? Signal anybody?"
Ashley shook her head. "I was upside down, staring at the ground most of the time. We were flirting and dancing together. He bought me a drink. He seemed nice enough."
"He was on his phone a lot," Auggie, the drummer, added. "Every time Ashley left, he got on his phone. Thought that was a little strange."
"So you'd been dancing and having a good time, and then he just scooped you up and carried you out?" Mark asked.
"Pretty much. He danced me over towards the door and then threw me over his shoulder without a word. I guessed he was just your run-of-the-mill bar creep."
"I've spent years dodging them at gigs, and no one ever tried to throw me over their shoulder." I was getting more worried by the second.
Marsha rejoined us. She had changed into boy shorts and a bosom hugging t-shirt. She seemed oblivious to the spike in male libido her attire had triggered.
"What's your gut on this?" Mark asked her.
"I don't believe in coincidences. It felt a little contrived. The fact that he had a gang waiting down the street was way too convenient. I think he was a hired hand. He could've been the guy who drugged Diana."
"The hitman hires out his dirty work?" I asked.
"It happens in some cases," Marsha replied. "How a killer gets the job done is up to him."
"We haven't been able to get much information on The Spider," Mark added. "The name seems to shut people down. My contacts in Miami said he works mainly on the East Coast. He's very expensive and never misses."
"Oh, great." I shook my head.
"One interesting tidbit. The Spider has been around for years. He's been credited with hits in the sixties and seventies. Could be it's a name that's been passed down a generation."
I made a face. "Like a family business?"
Marsha shrugged. "Like father, like son. It makes sense."
So I could have multiple generations of hitmen chasing after me? Not exactly a comforting thought.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I grimaced at my reflection. I promised myself that this would be my last time on stage as a pirate. I was wearing tight black pants tucked into high black boots with a blousy white shirt tied at the waist. My hat lay on the bed next to me. I swore it was laughing at me, the feather all merry and jaunty. We only had one costume change. I would be wearing a wench outfit for the second half. Oh joy.
The street festival was already underway. Pirates had been roaming the streets with the chicke
ns and roosters since dawn.
"You ready?" Mark asked, popping his head in the doorway.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He gave me a thumbs-up. "Last pirate gig."
"Aye, aye!"
Andre had doubled our security detail to six men. Carlos and the band had already headed down to the festival. Andre and three of the guards, including Marsha and Mark, were waiting for me.
"Don't be late," I called to Ashley as I headed to the front door.
"Like I haven't heard you sing 'The Rum Song' a thousand times," she snarked, her head buried in paperwork.
"This is my last performance. It would be nice if you got a few pictures."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n." She gave me a mock salute and continued to work. Even though the event was only a few streets away, Andre drove us in the SUV. In case we needed to make a quick getaway, he'd said. I was starting to get nervous about the performance.
"I'm basically a sitting duck on the stage, aren't I?" I asked once we had all piled into the car.
There was a second or two of silence. "Our men are securing the area. There are no tall buildings to shoot from. We will have full control of the scene." Andre sounded confident.
I gulped. "Maybe he's getting desperate. He sure changed it up last time with the machine gun in a public place. Not much of an accident there and no scrapbook message." This had been worrying me all morning.
Andre turned towards me. "You're right. It shows desperation. And the more desperate, the more unpredictable. I'm confident that we have the area secured, but if you don't want to do this, Diana, you don't have to." This sent Roger and Phil into fits.
Mark held up a hand. "Andre's right. No contract or amount of money is worth putting yourself at risk."
I thought about it for a minute. I really wanted one last performance to finish up my singing pirate career. And I trusted Andre's opinion. "I'm doing it. I can't let him scare me off."
Roger and Phil uttered sighs of relief.
Marsha shot me a keen look. "You're braver than you look. Not real smart, but—"
Mark gave her a not-too-gentle elbow in the side.
"Hey, I've been shot at on stage before and lived to tell the tale." I gave a nervous laugh.
Nobody else cracked a smile.
* * *
"M'lady," Carlos called and swept me a low bow. He patted his cutlass. "The boys and I have yer back if the bilge rats are about."
I smiled. "Thanks. Let's do this thing."
I pulled my guitar out of its case and began to tune it. I put a tick mark in the lid next to the hundreds of other marks. Each time I performed, I put a mark in the lid of the case. I hoped this wasn't the last.
I relaxed as I ran through the chords of a couple of songs. With my guitar in hand I felt almost invincible.
The street was a sea of pirates and wenches. The stage was directly across from Eli Prattley's bar. If I lived through this performance, I was going to stop in to see Eli and down an ice cold martini. I saw our security guys stationed strategically around the stage. Andre was taking no chances. Maybe I'd be having that martini after all.
Mark was at my side, eyes scanning the audience. He leaned over and kissed me. "The area's secure. Just get up there and give them a great show."
The audience roared as I joined Carlos on the stage. They chanted: Rum Song, Rum Song, Rum Song! We opened with one of my originals and then rolled through several of Carlos' Spanish numbers. The first set went off without a hitch. During the intermission, I changed into my wench costume and bumped into a roadie I hadn't seen before. He was carrying a bundle of fake swords.
At the sight of me, he dropped his bundle and gushed, "You were so awesome, Ms. Hudson. I know you're busy, but could I get your autograph?"
My spidey-senses were aroused. I glanced nervously around for Andre or Mark. I took a step back from the guy, saying, "Catch me after the show. They're waiting for me."
He started to reach into his pocket, and I freaked. "Help! He's got a gun! Ahhh!"
I closed my eyes, flailing and kicking at him.
I heard shrieking and screaming coming from somewhere other than my mouth. And then strong arms wrapped themselves around me, and the scent of eau de Mark filled my nostrils.
I opened my eyes to the see the roadie cowering in the corner. "Get her off of me! I'm suing! This is workman's comp."
Andre was now on the scene as well. "What's going on?"
"He pulled a gun on me," I croaked out in a high, strained voice.
The guy held a pen in his hand. "I was only trying to get her autograph. She's a nut. I'm sick of working for rock stars. They're all nuts." The guy kicked the plastic swords and stalked off.
Andre pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was Eddie. He's been with Carlos since Puerto Rico. Didn't you recognize him?"
"No," I mumbled. I was feeling pretty stupid at this point.
"It's okay, Diana," Mark said, giving me a squeeze. "We're all a little jumpy. I'm sure Eddie'll get over it."
We heard cussing in the distance and saw Eddie gesturing wildly to Roger and Phil. "Or not," Andre added.
"It's show time," called a stagehand.
As I took the stage, he handed me my electric guitar.
"Why isn't it plugged in already?" I asked.
He shrugged and held up his hands as he walked away.
I shook my head and took the stage. The audience cheered. Carlos quipped some pirate pleasantries into the mike, and the audience roared with laughter.
As I bent down to plug in my electric guitar, I heard high-pitched shrieking. I looked out to see Ashley racing down the street, screaming like a banshee, and waving a piece of paper in her hand.
What now? The longer I was on the stage, the more I felt like a sitting duck. I leaned forward to plug in the guitar.
More screaming, and then I was knocked off my feet and thrown to the ground. A blur of red hair flashed before my eyes. Marsha had tackled me. I knew it! She was the assassin. It all made sense now!
I fought back scratching and clawing at her.
She seemed surprised. "What the hell's wrong with you? Get off me!"
The audience cheered, chanting: Cat fight! Cat fight!
I growled and got her in a choke hold. "I knew you were the killer," I ground out. "You were going to kill me and have Mark all to yourself."
She elbowed me in the gut, and I lost my breath.
"If that'd been the case, you'd already be dead. Now get off me before I have to hurt you," she shot back.
I was riding an adrenaline high and not thinking clearly. I threw a long leg over her, grabbed a handful of her red, glossy hair, and gave a satisfying tug.
The audience went wild.
Carlos had started emceeing the fight, like it was all part of the show.
"Diana's got the wily, buxom wench by the hair. Finish her off, M'lady!"
I felt arms grab me from behind and lift me off of Marsha.
"Let go of her," Mark ordered.
"She's trying to kill me. She knocked me down," I panted.
Andre helped Marsha to her feet. The audience booed at the interference.
"No, she just saved your life," Mark said in my ear. He pointed at the amp I was going to plug my guitar into. "We think it's been tampered with. Ashley just got another letter."
I blanched and looked abashedly at Marsha and then down at the handful of red hair in my fist. "Uh-oh."
"Just play along like this was all part of the show and use your acoustic guitar." He pointed to the guitar I had used for the last set, still sitting next to my mike.
I nodded numbly. I raised my hands like I was the victor and pranced around the stage. "Take that you red-headed minx!" I crowed into the mike.
The audience howled with laughter.
Carlos gave me a wink and played the opening notes to "The Rum Song." The audience went crazy, forgetting the cat fight as they lost themselves in the pirate anthem.
I played alon
g, but the sight of my electric guitar lying next to the amp filled me with dread. The world was closing in around me. If he could tamper with the amp, what else could he do? The brakes on the SUV? A wall switch? My mind raced.
Had The Spider struck again?
* * *
We finished the set to thunderous applause and quickly exited the stage so the next band could set up. Mark and Andre were waiting for me with equally severe faces. Ashley was with them.
"This was under the door as I was leaving today." She waved a large sheet of paper and an envelope.
It was another scrapbook page depicting me prostrate on the stage, my electric guitar and amp smoking beside me.
I shook my head in disbelief. "Why would he do this?"
Marsha snorted behind me. "It's so ridiculous. This hitman has watched one too many cartoons. Next thing you know, he'll try to drop an anvil on your head. You're lucky you were almost electrocuted, or I'd be looking for some payback for my hair."
"I am sorry about that." I turned to face her. "I guess I'm getting paranoid."
"Ya think?" she said.
"Well, Marsha," Ashley said, "you can hardly blame her. I mean it's bad enough to have a hitman after you, but it seems like Diana's hitman is nuttier than most. If it hadn't been for that scrapbook letter, she might be dead now."
Ashley sticking up for me made the whole situation seem more real. It was definitely not the norm for our relationship. Geez, she must think I didn't have a chance. I shuddered again.
Mark came forward and hugged me to his chest. "If he is like Wile E. Coyote, then that makes Diana the Roadrunner. And that's a good thing. The Roadrunner sidesteps the anvil every time."
I breathed in Mark's scent and felt myself relaxing. The performance was done. I was still alive. And there was a martini calling my name. A thought occurred to me. "What if someone's trying to stop him by sending these messages? Maybe someone close to him who doesn't want to see me hurt?"
"Worth looking into," Mark said thoughtfully. "It just doesn't make sense that a hitman of this caliber would warn his victims."
Glenn, our lights and sound guy, called for Andre. "You need to check out this amp, man."
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