A Killer Margarita (Nikki Sands'/Wine Lover's Mystery Series)

by Michele Scott

  “Because I asked Tim what it was.” He pinched her lightly on the rear. “You have a suspicious mind.”

  “True. Sorry. Continue please.”

  “Yes, ma’am. As I was saying, Paul met this Dream on the Eros dating site.”

  “Maybe that’s what she meant when she said to him that he was nothing like she’d heard.”

  “Could be. Kind of a strange way to put it, because usually you read that information and I assume go back and forth with the person on the site via e-mails or phone calls.”

  “They were all pretty hammered,” Nikki said. “It could have just come out that way. I don’t know.”

  “This girl agreed to meet him down here.”

  “Interesting. Why come so far to meet a guy from an online dating site? Why not meet him locally? I assume that she may have lived in the same town.”

  “That I didn’t get. I know Carrigan and Tim are both from L.A. As far as Dream, I don’t know. Tim seemed to think she was using the guy for a free vacation because I guess he paid her airfare.”

  “Was she staying with him then? I assume she didn’t have her own room or one of the villas there at The Four Seasons.”

  “She was staying with him. Whether she slept with him is anyone’s guess, but yes, they did stay in the same villa.”

  “Did you get how well Tim knew Paul?”

  Derek nodded. “Not that well, apparently. Carrigan was into film production. Low-budget horror flicks, and he’d hired Tim to do the music for it.”

  “He is a regular Eminem.” Nikki chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Tim is a musician.”

  “He’s a music producer. Not anyone famous, I guess. Just getting by.”

  Nikki leaned back against the edge of the Jacuzzi and thought for a minute. “It doesn’t add up,” she finally said, swirling a finger around the water.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “You know I did some acting in my day. A low-budget horror flick producer, and a nobody music producer don’t make a fortune. We know what the Four Seasons was costing.”

  “Is costing, and yes we do.”

  “Right. Well, how is it that those guys can afford that place—and a villa there no less?”

  “Good point. Tim said that Carrigan paid for all of them, and now he doesn’t know what to do because the guy is dead. He wants to get back to the states but says they flew down in a private jet, and his bank account doesn’t cover that kind of expense. He said that he and Becky were leaving the five-star hotel and going into town to stay at a hostel.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about helping them out.”

  “You can’t. Not until we solve this thing! We don’t know if Tim or Becky is involved in either murder. Did he say anything more about the police? What they asked him?”

  “Trust me, I’d already thought of that. It’s why I didn’t offer. He said that he told the cops all that he knew, but that he felt like Martinez was suspicious of him and Becky.”

  “Interesting but not surprising. The police arrested Juanita for Paul’s murder, but maybe the cops have their doubts. Or, maybe they are looking at Tim and his girlfriend for possibly killing Dream. What else? Did you ask him if he knew what happened to Carrigan after they left the restaurant? I know that Tim told him they should go into town after you knocked him silly.”

  “They did. Tim says they continued to party well into the night, going from bar to bar.”

  “What about Becky?”

  He shook his head. “She went back to the hotel.”

  “Okay. So Paul wound up dead and Tim is alive and well. Did he have any thoughts on that? Because I’m thinking that Tim looks like a suspect to me, too.”

  “According to Tim, Becky called him on his cell around 2 a.m. and told him that he better get back to the hotel, or she was going to leave him. He insisted Carrigan come too, but apparently he had other ideas. He’d found a new señorita to party with.”

  “Really? Do you believe that?”

  “I have no idea. I’m not quite the expert in these things like you are, but if I had to go with my gut, I think I believed the guy. I don’t think he killed his friend. They both agreed to take a cab back to the hotel because neither one was in any shape to drive the Caddy.”

  “Well, somebody drove the Caddy,” Nikki said.

  “Right. Tim says the last he saw of Carrigan was at the last bar they went to.”

  “Did he remember the name of the bar?”

  “Nope. I asked. And let me tell you, asking questions like I did was not easy without rousing suspicion. Good thing he was on his way to No Painville.”

  “See? This isn’t easy. I usually have to do this with people completely sober!”

  “You shouldn’t be doing this at all. Ever.”

  “I know. We’ve had this discussion before. Back to the topic. Was there anything else?”

  “No. You called about that time, and got me worried. He started slurring words and said that he needed to find Becky and check out of the hotel. Where do we go from here?”

  “To the table,” Simon said from the doorway. “My darling Marco has made us Pasta Pollo espicy.”

  Nikki and Derek looked at him. “What?”

  “It’s Mexi-Italian fusion. You are going to love it. Now come on. Be nice. Very, very nice. And, what’s this about? ‘Where do we go from here?’”

  “After dinner, we’re going out,” Nikki said.

  “We are?” Simon and Derek replied in unison.

  “Yes. Now let’s eat,” she said. “I’ll explain over Pasta Pollo Espicy.”

  Espicy Chicken Pasta

  Can’t really blame Marco for being irritated by the family. What has Nikki gotten them all into? At least Marco loves to cook and knows how to handle Simon—maybe not so much Nikki or Derek. This easy-to-prepare, tasty blend of Italian and Mexican fare will smooth over a day’s argument, or in this case the fact that Nikki has turned the vacation into a murder investigation.

  A peppery zinfandel would go nicely with this dish.

  Ingredients:

  3/4 pound penne rigate

  5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

  1 pound skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch dice

  Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

  1 onion, cut into 1/4-inch dice

  1 large garlic clove, minced

  One 28-ounce can diced tomatoes, drained

  1 large chipotle in adobo sauce, seeded and minced, plus 2 teaspoons adobo sauce

  1/2 cup frozen corn

  1/4 pound queso blanco or mozzarella cheese, coarsely grated (1 1/3 cups)

  1/4 cup coarsely chopped cilantro leaves

  Directions:

  Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the penne and cook until al dente. Drain the penne. Meanwhile, in a large, deep skillet, heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil. Season the chicken with salt and pepper, add it to the skillet and cook over moderately high heat until lightly browned, about 4 minutes. Add the onion and garlic and cook over moderate heat until the onion is softened and the chicken is cooked through, about 4 minutes. Add the diced tomatoes, chipotle and adobo sauce and cook until heated through, about 2 minutes. Add the corn, season with salt and pepper and cook until the corn is heated through, about 1 minute.

  Add the penne and the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil to the sauce and toss to coat. Add 1 cup of the queso blanco and toss. Transfer the pasta to bowls, sprinkle with the remaining queso blanco and the cilantro and serve.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Who would’ve guessed that Mexi-Italian fusion would taste so good?” Nikki said.

  “Duh. My man made it,” Simon replied.

  “Yeah, well I am almost too stuffed to do what we need to do.”

  “And what is that?” Derek asked. “Because I am too stuffed to do anything.”

  Marco smiled as they sat around the dining room table. A lazy Susan
on top of the table contained empty bowls from the pasta and a Caesar salad that had also been to die for. “That’s my plan: keep you eating so you are occupied with food and not murders.”

  “Not going to happen,” Nikki said.

  Marco sighed. “A man can try. Okay, since I have been reconciled to this now, what is your master plan, Bellissima?”

  “Well, you two need to go get primped because we are going clubbing and I know how long it takes Simon to get ready.”

  “Clubbing? How is that going to help?” Simon asked.

  “Get dressed, and I’ll explain in a bit. I have something that I need to do first.” She headed to the elevator with Derek at her heels. She pressed the button to ride up to the third floor. Yes—the villa had an elevator and three floors! “Chop chop boys. I expect you back here in one hour.”

  On the way up Derek asked, “What are we doing?”

  “You’ll see.” She stepped off the elevator and instead of heading into the master bedroom that they had claimed, she took a right down the hall and went into an office that was adorned in cherry woods and looked more Hemingwayesque than Don Juan-ish, as the rest of the villa did. She sat down behind a desk and got onto a Mac. Derek came around behind her as she typed in the IP address for eros.com. “Voila. Now we get a photo of Paul Carrigan.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Oh. Looks like I need to create a profile.”

  “What? No way, Nik! I’m not letting you do that. And, why don’t we just pull up a Google image. If the guy had any kind of public persona we should be able to find it.”

  “I have another idea is why. And, you’re probably right. I’m sure we could get a Goodle image. But, let me try this first.”

  “No. Let me create a profile if we’re going to do this on this cheesy site.”

  “Well, you can’t do it. Read the overview here.”

  Derek began reading out loud: “‘Eros.com is like no other dating site. We match you with your perfect sexual partner. You can “friend” as many men or women as you want. We pair both heterosexual couples and homosexual couples together. Whatever your preference, we cater to it.’”

  “You see, Paul was straight. It might be odd for you to friend him.”

  “Why are we doing this anyway? I think you should explain why we aren’t going with my plan.”

  “I need a fake profile to see if I can locate Dream on here, but first things first. Let’s get to Paul’s profile and see what he’d written about himself.” Nikki opened up another tab and went to Google images where she found a photo of a buxom platinum blonde and downloaded it. “What shall we name her?”

  “Nicoletta,” he replied.

  “You came up with that quick.”

  “Just added to your name.”

  “Okay. Now I need to pay first. Do you have your wallet on you?”

  He handed her a credit card. “I can’t believe we are doing this.”

  Nikki filled in the necessary information and then went back to creating a profile. After ten minutes she was now a performing artist who liked to dance, take long walks on the beach, drink tequila, and party hard, and have her photo taken in the nude.

  “I feel like I need a shower reading that,” Derek said.

  “You?! Okay, now let’s see if we can do some trolling and find Paul.” She typed his name in the search engine and as easy as one, two, three, there he was on the screen. “That wasn’t so hard. Looks like he actually cleaned up some for his photo.” Carrigan had his hair pulled back and was clean shaven. “Check out his profile. She read it out loud. “‘Loves to travel. Produces movies. Want to be the next star and well taken care of by a real man? Let’s hook up. I’ve got what you need, and I can make you a lot of money! And, show you a real good time.’” A shiver went down Nikki’s spine. “Now, I really do need a shower.”

  “Yeah. Print the photo. What are we doing anyway?”

  “Going to see if we can find out where the last place was that Carrigan was clubbing at, and see if anyone saw who he might have left with.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Does this face look like it’s lying to you?” She circled her face with her finger.

  Derek took her face in his hands and kissed her. “No. You have the face of an angel.”

  She smiled. “I do?”

  He nodded. “But the insides of a little devil.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “I learned it all from you.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Shall we go get ready for our night on the town?” he asked.

  “We should, but we need to hurry, so to save time we should probably shower together.”

  “Not sure how that’s going to save us any time, but works for me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  They decided to split up couple-wise. Nikki had printed up a list of the hot clubs in town and gave Simon and Marco their copy plus Paul Carrigan’s photo. She reminded them to watch their backs.

  Nikki and Derek had drifted through three clubs already by eleven o’clock. They finally had a hit at the next bar, where the bartender recognized the photo.

  “Yes. I saw that man. He came here with another man. A lot of tattoos. Why?”

  For once Nikki did not have a quick response.

  “See, this guy here was married to my baby sister,” Derek interjected.

  Nikki snapped her head around and looked at her husband with a wide-eyed expression.

  “And, he skipped out on her and his four kids and hasn’t sent them a dime. My sister is sick and needs care. My wife and I heard he was down here partying and decided to come find the bastard ourselves.”

  Nikki nodded vehemently and muttered, “Bastard.”

  The bartender shook his head. “Terrible! He was here and he and the other man drank some beers, and talked to some girls. But none of the girls were interested. They were young Americans and were with some college guys who I think nearly started a fight. Maybe I should have let them. But, my job is worth a lot to me. I have my own family to take care of. I try to get trouble out of here as fast as I can when I see it. I saw that man and his friend were trouble.”

  “Right,” Derek said. “Do you know where they were going after here?”

  The bartender leaned over the counter and lowered his voice, which made it difficult to hear him because the music was loud. “I might.”

  Derek took out his wallet and handed him a twenty.

  “I got four kids of my own,” the bartender said.

  Derek then handed him a hundred-dollar bill. The bartender pocketed the twenty and the Benjamin. “As I said, I don’t like trouble and we don’t want it in our town. I sent him to a place that I thought if he caused trouble, he might be—ah, taken care of.”

  “What do you mean?” Nikki asked.

  “The place is called El Corazon, and it is underground. There are sometimes men there who take care of problem people. If this man who was married to your sister was not a problem, then he might have also found some company. That was what he was looking for. Good female company. For the information, he had to pay me.” He smiled widely and went to attend to a customer.

  Nikki looked at Derek. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That Paul pissed off the wrong person at El Corazon.”

  “Yep. We have to go there,” Nikki said.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  The bartender returned. “I can tell you where to go and you can see maybe if your sister’s husband got into any trouble—the good or bad kind. Maybe someone saw him and you can get the money for her.”

  “Yes. Please,” Nikki blurted.

  The bartender wrote an address down on a napkin. “In case you want to go. When you get to the door, you say that you are a guest of Ricardo and Deanna.”

  “Who are Ricardo and Deanna?”

  “Doesn’t matter. They will let you in.”

  “Okay then. Thank you,” Nikki said.

  The
bartender nodded. “Hope you find the bastard.”

  Derek took her hand. Nikki glanced back and couldn’t help notice that the bartender was still watching them. He smiled at her, and it seriously gave her a case of the willies.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “This doesn’t feel right, Nik. I mean, what if Carrigan came here and got into the wrong kind of trouble, and now we’re going to be asking around and showing his photo? I don’t know how much I trust the bartender back there.”

  Nikki sighed. “I think we have to give this a try. It’s our best lead yet. What I don’t understand is how Tim could have left this El Corazon place out. He claimed he couldn’t remember the last bar they went to. But wouldn’t you remember going to an underground club?”

  “You’d think so, but I have to say that Tim didn’t exactly strike me as the brightest bulb in the chandelier and he said that he was really messed up.”

  “Maybe. I am just not sure that I’m buying it.”

  They reached the front door of the club. It was painted a bright red and was guarded by a large bouncer dressed in Mexican wrestling-style fashion, at the moment chatting it up with a pretty, scantily clad young woman. Nikki didn’t give Derek any more time to think. She pulled him by the arm, walked up to Señor Lucha Libre and told him they were guests of Ricardo and Deanna. He opened the door and immediately went back to flirting with the girl.

  The music was not as loud as in the other clubs. It also wasn’t rap, or dance, but more sultry—kind of soft jazz. A haze of smoke filled the air as they walked through velvet curtains. Half-naked women danced on beams that were illuminated by torches on the walls behind them. Some wore leather and chains. Nikki didn’t like any of this and started to have second thoughts when they were approached by a cocktail waitress who was blonde, blue eyed and spoke with what Nikki guessed was a slight Russian or other Eastern European accent. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked. “Margaritas, maybe? Wine, brandy, gin?”

  “Margaritas on the rocks,” Derek replied. The woman nodded and walked away. “Why don’t we take a seat on one of the couches and try and blend in some.”

  Nikki held his arm a little tighter and they found a spot on a red velvet sofa in the corner.