A Berry Clever Corpse: A Laugh-Out-Loud Kylie Berry Mystery (Kylie Berry Mysteries Book 3)

by A. R. Winters

  “Well I never!” Clara said, indignant.

  “We think you have,” Zoey said.

  Clara’s indignation shifted to venomous ire, and I wondered how Clara would manage to slip a laxative into Zoey’s coffee. “Well it doesn’t matter what you think, now does it? Mike is dead and buried in the ground. Whatever you think was between us—which was nothing—doesn’t matter.”

  “Unless it happened to matter to whoever killed him,” I said.

  Clara’s mouth opened and shut several times before she found her words again. “Are you insinuating that I killed Mike?” Again, she’d called him by his first name only. It was a very personal thing to do, and it belied a relationship that was more casual than others had felt that they had with him. For instance, Susie tended to call him Mr. Pratt. She didn’t use his first name at all, instead staying very formal.

  Zoey shrugged. “We wouldn’t blame you. We’re sure you had your reasons. Was he sleeping around on you?”

  “No, he wasn’t sleeping around on me!”

  “So he was faithful to you?” Zoey asked.

  “No… no. Stop putting words in my mouth. Mike and I were not and never had been in a relationship.”

  Zoey and I looked at each other, then I said, “Well, a relationship… We didn’t ask you about a relationship. We’d asked if you were having an affair.”

  “You two are the worst. Why hasn’t someone killed you yet? Half the town would get together and have a party. I’d host… I did not kill Mike. I did not have an affair or a relationship with him. If you want to know who killed Mike, then you need to start paying closer attention to your girl Susie and spend less time trying to pin Mike’s murder on somebody else. And his neighbor! My God! That creepy little ghost of a woman. There is something wrong with her! She’s weird. Why aren’t you at her house, harassing her? And what about Mae, next door to me? Why aren’t you grilling her? What’s so special about me?”

  “I don’t like you, but I respect you,” Zoey said.

  “Huh?” Clara said, and I almost said it with her.

  “When somebody wrongs you, you do something about it. You take action. You make them pay a price.”

  Ohhhh, right! I jumped in. “You accosted one of your customers.”

  “I did no such thing.” Indignant Clara was back.

  “You drugged her drink.”

  Clara looked confused.

  Zoey spelled it out. “You put Ex-lax in her coffee.”

  Clara’s confusion was instantly replaced with amusement, but then she seemed to remember who she was talking to. “You can’t prove anything.”

  It was my turn. “There were witnesses. And you called the police on her and her husband when they rushed out without paying. There would be a police report. I’m sure that the couple had a lot to say when the police caught up with them.”

  Clara scowled and slouched a little.

  “Then there was Terrance, at the Saucy Dog.” Zoey said. “He stole one of your waitresses. You went in during the busiest part of his day and claimed that he’d given you food poisoning. Told him you’d put him out of business if he ever tried to steal one of your waitresses again.”

  “So. What?” Clara did not look impressed.

  “The so what,” I said, “is that you like your vengeance. Mike died… Someone took vengeance on him. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m seeing a pattern here.”

  Clara leaned forward, and her voice lowered. “If you’re seeing a pattern, then where are the cops? They’re not here, ‘cause you got nothing. Now get out of my shop before I do decide to do something to you.”

  When we got back outside into the cold, early evening air, I asked, “Think she did it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But we need to go talk to Mike’s neighbor.”

  “I agree, but I want to talk to Betty first.” Her beauty salon was nearly directly across from where we were standing. She would have been able to see everything that happened on this side of the street. I had a hunch that she held our next clue.

  Chapter 22

  The door of Betty’s Beauties chimed as Zoey and I stepped inside. There was easy listening music playing with the volume low and the gentle burbling of a waterfall in the corner. Live plants gave warmth and life to the place, and it smelled of apples and cinnamon. Everything about the salon was tasteful, and no part of the salon’s welcoming features overwhelmed any of the others.

  There were three beauticians working. The nearest had thick black hair with a vivid strand of blue and a couple of strands of white weaving through it, all pulled up into a messy up-do that looked good on the thirty-something woman. She had a body reminiscent of a Grecian goddess—a voluptuous softness and grace.

  Across the room from her were two other beauticians, both with wicker privacy barriers that gave them their own private space. They didn’t have a clear view of each other, the rest of the shop or what was going on outside beyond the shop’s glass front windows. But the black-haired lady could see everything. She could see who walked in, what the other beauticians were doing, and she had a clear view out the front of the shop.

  It was my guess that she was the illustrious Betty, customer thief and archrival of Susie. I didn’t want to like her or her shop, yet I instantly did. This woman was on top of her game. Her salon was lovely, inviting and relaxing. I could already feel the tension draining away from my shoulders. If Susie weren’t my friend, I’d want to come to get my hair done in Betty’s salon just for the chance to sit in its quiet tranquility.

  “I’ll be right with you,” the black-haired lady said. Her customer handed over some money, then got up out of her chair and gave the woman a hug. She was obviously happy with the service she’d gotten. I was pretty sure I’d never gotten a random hug from a customer, and I had to say it made me a little jealous. This woman seemed to have life all figured out, and I instantly wanted to be her when I grew up.

  The customer smiled as she walked past us and out the door. We were standing in the salon’s front lobby area. There were a couple of coffee tables strewn with a wide collection of hairstyle books and magazines, and it was the only area of the salon that was covered in carpet instead of white tile.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” the black-haired woman asked with a smile as she came to where we stood.

  “Are you Betty?” I asked. It really didn’t matter if she was Betty or not. Her work station had a clear view of everything across the street. She was definitely the person we wanted to speak to.

  “I am,” she said, and that was a relief. If we were talking with the owner of the shop, she wouldn’t have a boss looking over her shoulder and telling her to get back to work.

  “We were hoping to have a few minutes to talk to you,” I said.

  “Oh!” Betty blinked, but then followed up with a disarming and charming smile. “That sounds so ominous, but you two get comfortable”—she waved toward the thickly cushioned chairs near one of the coffee tables—“and I’ll be right back.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared into a room at the back of the shop. Zoey and I got comfortable. We didn’t have to wait long. Almost as quickly as Betty had gone into the back room, she was back, carrying a tray with her. She set it down on the coffee table. On it were delicious looking finger sandwiches—I guessed cream cheese and cucumber—and a couple of cans of ice cold soda.

  Not wanting to offend her sense of hospitality, I picked up a soda and handed it to Zoey before getting one for myself. Then I got one of the finger sandwiches. I bit into it and then groaned. What I’d thought was a simple sandwich of cream cheese and cucumbers actually had hints of dill and garlic.

  “Oh my God, these are so good!” Was everyone a better cook than me? Okay… I was better off not answering that question.

  “Oh, you’re too kind,” Betty said, giving me a beauty contestant smile. “But I must know, you have me so curious. What is it that you’re wanting to talk to me about?”

  I suddenl
y felt awkward. I liked this woman, and I immediately felt myself looking up to her as a possible mentor. She was so vibrant and strong, a successful business owner, a person who understood the value of customer relations. I didn’t feel comfortable picking through her brain to see what dirt she knew. It felt debasing.

  I glanced over at Zoey, and Zoey gave a nod, understanding that I wanted her to take the lead.

  “Did you know Mike Pratt?” Zoey asked.

  “Why, sure. All of us shop owners around here knew Mike.” Her face grew long. “So sad about what happened to him.”

  “Do you happen to remember anything about the day he died?”

  “Hmm, that was what? Last Monday? Let’s see…” She took a moment to think. “I had a perm, three haircuts, a color and a hair consultation. Renee had mostly cuts, and Jenny had cuts and a late perm.”

  “Good memory,” I said. It was an excellent sign. If there was anything else memorable about the day, there was a good chance that she’d be able to recall it. “Do you happen to remember anything else about the day? Do you remember by any chance Susie or Clara leaving their shops?” Per her own words, we already knew that Susie had left her shop, twice. She’d gone over to see Mike at his home office. They’d had a fight, she’d left, and then she’d gone back again. It was when she’d gone back again that she’d found Mike dead.

  “Mmm, nooo… I don’t recall her coming and going. Oh,” she chuckled, “but there was that huge fight between her and Mike out in front of her place.” Her face lost its humor. “Well, I found it funny at the time. I guess in retrospect, given what happened to Mike only an hour or two later, maybe it’s not so funny.”

  “What?” This was news to me. Susie hadn’t said anything about it. “Susie and Mike had a fight on Monday?”

  “Mmhmm, right out in front of her salon. I guess she probably had somebody in the chair or else why take such a thing outdoors, but they did. Susie wasn’t even wearing a coat. She was just standing out there in the cold, waving her arms around and yelling.”

  “You could hear them?” Zoey asked.

  “Nooo,” she said, drawing the word out.

  “Then how do you know that Susie was yelling?”

  “Well, it was her body language! She had her hands up in the air”—Betty demonstrated by lifting her arms so that her hands were up near her head—“and she was leaning forward real aggressive like. It was obvious. She was yelling. Poor girl.”

  “You felt sorry for her?” I asked, surprised. According to Susie, Betty had aggressively campaigned to steal her clients away. She’d made up stories that Susie had left someone with bald patches and had ruined people’s hair.

  Remembering who I was talking to, my instant like of her started to dim.

  “Oh, yes! When she opened her shop right across from mine, I thought, well good for you! You go girl! But, this is a demanding profession.” She shook her head, her face sad. “It’s not for everyone. And, well, some people peak in high school and then spend the whole rest of their lives coming to terms that they’ve already seen the best they’re ever going to be.”

  Oh… burn. I could almost feel the dagger sinking into Susie’s back myself. I hadn’t even seen it coming until Betty was sliding it in. She was good!

  “Do you have any idea what the fight between her and Mike was about?” Zoey asked.

  “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  “What happened next?” I asked.

  “Well, Susie was out there yelling and waving her arms—bless her heart—and Mike just turned around and walked away. Just like that. Turned around and left her yelling in the street.”

  “What’d they do?” I asked.

  “Mike, he went on into Clara’s place, and Susie stood outside her place for about a minute, staring where Mike had been, and then finally stomped off inside her own place. Oh! And then, after Mike came out of Clara’s place, he went into Mae’s florist shop. Why, when he came out his arms were plum full of long-stem roses!” Her eyes twinkled. “I wonder what lucky girl got those.” Then as if remembering what had happened to Mike a little while later, she said, “I mean, you know, if anyone had the chance to get them.”

  Long-stem roses were expensive. Really expensive. Mike wasn’t known for being a generous person, at least not unless he was taking some almost-too-young beauty on a country-hopping vacation. We still had no idea who Mike was involved with, if anyone. But him buying roses certainly did lend credence to the idea that he did have a special someone in his life.

  I didn’t have proof that there wasn’t a romantic relationship between Mike and Susie, but I also had heard absolutely nothing to support that idea. In contrast, Susie had said that Clara would practically hang off the man’s arm and would have him blushing like a school girl.

  “Do you have any idea who the roses might have been for?” I asked.

  “Could have been Tina—she is… was his neighbor.”

  My mouth almost fell open. Clara had talked Tina up like she was a total loon. Here Betty was talking about Tina as a possible romantic partner of Mike’s.

  “What makes you think that?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You pick up things, tidbits. I mean, yeah, Tina’s an odd duck. Honestly, she’s a little stalkerish if you ask me. I did her hair a few times, and Mike was all she would talk about. I’d change the subject, and she’d go right back to talking about him. Obsessed, I’m tellin’ you. The girl was two steps away from needing psychiatric care or an intervention, if you ask me. Oh, and jealous! My word. She mentioned something about getting wind that Mike had taken someone out on a couple of dates, so this girl stalks her, night and day.”

  “She told you that?” It was hard to believe that someone would tell something like that on themselves.

  “Oh, honey!” Betty laughed. “Owning a salon has its perks. People get in that chair and it’s like they got injected with truth serum. It alll comes out.” She laughed again. “I know who’s having an affair with who, who got busted for DUI, who’s been hitting their wives, who’s addicted to painkillers, who’s selling painkillers, and who’s got a bag packed with plans to leave it all behind. Sweetie, I know more than the cops do. They’ve got nothin’ on me. This place is like grapevine central. Everybody tells everything in here.” She shrugged. “It feels like a safe space. And it is. This is where people can come to get away from their lives, their worries and their problems, if even for a little while. It’s what I give back to the community. It’s my contribution.”

  Her gaze became unfocused as she looked past Zoey and me where we sat in front of the windows. I turned around a looked. Clara was crossing the street, a to-go cup in each hand. We were about to get interrupted, and this little heart-to-heart was about to end. I had to hurry if I wanted to learn anything else.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about Clara?” I asked.

  Betty made a face, kind of like she’d bitten into a lemon. But she didn’t offer up any words.

  “You don’t like her?” I pressed.

  “Well, like… it’s such a grade school thing to say.” She shrugged. “Clara’s okay. Not very trustworthy, but okay.”

  “Not trustworthy?”

  “Life is hard. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and Clara’s not willing to be a victim. I can respect that.” Then she hedged, cringing. “But she can be a bit heavy-handed in her reactions. If she feels an offense, she’ll cut your throat. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said, not convinced. We had maybe seconds left. I spoke quickly. “Do you think she could have killed Mike?”

  “Clara? Noooo. Clara’s got a temper.”

  I was failing to see how that was making an argument in her defense. “And?”

  “And… you don’t go through life with a temper like hers and not have a rap sheet ten miles long if you don’t know how to manage yourself. No, Clara wouldn’t have done it. She’s too self-serving. Facing prison for murd
er would not be something she’d be interested in risking.”

  “And what about Susie?” Zoey asked.

  Betty burst out in laughter, like she’d just heard the punch line of an unexpected joke. “That girl’s a titmouse. Doesn’t have it in her. She’s… well, like I said, bless her heart, she just doesn’t have the backbone to stand up to someone like Mike Pratt.”

  The door chimed. Without looking, I knew that Clara had arrived.

  “You two digging up more dirt on me?” Clara asked drolly. Without saying anything directly to Betty, she handed her the to-go cup of what I assumed was coffee that she carried in her hand. “These two are awful,” she said to Betty. “You should kick them out.”

  Betty laughed. “Clara, be nice,” she chided. “Here, have one of these and tell me what you think.” She picked up the plate of finger sandwiches and held it out to Clara. Clara took one, took a bite, and her brows went up.

  “Very nice!” she said. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

  “I thought you might like those,” Betty said, smiling and as at ease as she was the first moment we’d seen her.

  Zoey and I stood. It was clear that we wouldn’t be learning anything more.

  “Mmmm, you two giving up trying to clear Susie’s of murder and pin it on me instead?” Clara goaded as we headed for the door. “Don’t stop on my account. By all means, you must save your precious Susie!”

  I was going to say something to placate Clara, but Zoey spoke first, and she spoke to me.

  “Let’s go get some coffee. Yours is so much better than anywhere else.”

  Clara’s hand tightened around her cup so hard that the lid popped off and the contents sloshed out. She hissed as it burned her hand.

  Zoey looked her up and down. “Couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

  Chapter 23