“There’s more than one Catwoman. Last night they were superheroes instead of supervillains.”
Sterling scanned the room. “And tonight?”
I shrugged. “Party Barn has terrible record keeping. And they’re sold out of most everything.”
“That explains your fortune telling costume.”
I bit the inside of my lip to keep my mouth shut. “Do you come to Honkers often? Because I’m looking for Christopher Dozen, the owner, and a woman named Katty, who could be a waitress.”
“Sure. Chris’s on the historic preservation trust with me.”
“Is Josiah Sweeton and Captain Morgan’s ancestor also in this club?” Excitement swelled my voice and I bounced on my toes.
“Not a club. It’s a county-wide board. Sweetens on it, of course. I don’t know anyone named Captain Morgan. Sounds familiar, though.”
“And when is your next meeting?”
“First Thursday evening of each month at Line Creek courthouse.”
“Dammit. That’s November third. Do you know about a secret antique auction?”
Sterling shook his head. “Chris might. I just inherit. He collects.”
We found Chris at the bar, encouraging a purple suited pimp, Darth Vader, and Walter White to try the Love Potion drink. Judging by the revelry, plenty had already imbibed. Chris had dressed as a German beer hall wench. Blonde braids, drindl, and watermelon-sized breasts bulging out of his peasant blouse. Considering his establishment, he seemed stuck on the cleavage and drink theme.
Sterling introduced us and explained my interest in the auction.
“You have an invitation to the auction? Those are hard to get.” He scanned me. “I don’t recognize your name from the preservation groups.”
If he knew of the auction, I assumed he knew some of the artifacts were illegally gained. Chris Dozen had gone from semi-sleazy bar owner to possible historic larceny ring suspect on my list. He could be my link to the Catwomen.
“I know Max Avtaikin. As Sterling said, I have an interest in historical artifacts,” I hedged. “I’m wondering about a piece that might be at auction. Actually, I’m hoping to get the piece without going to the auction.”
Chris eyeballed me again.
I didn’t give off antiquity lover vibes, despite my Renaissance styled costume. I also didn’t give off the other vibe I figured Chris would appreciate, the money vibe. My feminine wiles couldn’t compete with Honker girls. They couldn’t even compete with Chris’s barmaid costume. But what I lacked in sexy distraction, I could make up for in creativity. “I’m an artist. I’d love to do a quick sketch of you in that costume. It’s so funny.”
He squeezed his faux bosom and winked. “Glad you like it. After that, we can chat in my office.”
In high school, I made college money working as a Six Flags caricature artist. Using the back of a Love Potion flyer, I drew Chris and his girls. Both the rubber ones attached to the costume’s décolletage and the skimpy outfitted waitresses. He hung the sketch behind the bar for all to admire. Sufficiently flattered, we moved through the crowds toward his office to discuss our mutual love of historic art.
As we passed the restrooms, the homewrecker Katty walked out of the ladies’. As I suspected, she wore the regulation Daisy Duke’s but had not yet slipped on her mask.
“Miss Bomar, the Love Potion won’t sell itself,” said Chris. “And we’re out of twenty-five cent wings.”
“Katty?” I said. “Don’t I know you from somewhere? Didn’t you wear a Catwoman costume at the country club party?”
“She’s just wait staff,” said Chris. “Come on.”
I looked from Chris to Katty. Bust a larceny ring or bust Luke’s side of fries. I couldn’t do both at the same time. I followed Chris but gave Katty the “watching you” fingers.
She returned the look and swung her Daisy Duke derriere toward the restaurant.
TEN
CHRIS DOZEN HAD a collection of geese in his office. Not literal. Antique brass. He sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms under his barmaid bosom.
“Now lookee here, if you know about the auction, you’d know to not go blabbing about it. So you need to explain yourself.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“If your friends with Avtaikin, he’ll tell you.”
“Why weren’t you at his party?”
“Avtaikin can verify for me as a collector, but we’re not friends.” He drew his arms tighter and pushed the faux cleavage toward his neck. “We both collect artifacts of the confederacy.”
Rival collectors. The Bear must hate this guy. “Were you at the country club party?”
He shook his head. “Why are you so interested in where I recreate?”
“Because someone used your invitation to the country club party. Did you give it to someone? Maybe Katty?”
“I didn’t give that invitation to anyone. I’m a member. It wouldn’t do.” He pushed off the edge of his desk and began to pace. “Kat worked that night. Couldn’t have been her.”
Dangit.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” I mentally slapped myself, wishing my mouth would ask my brain permission before speaking.
“She’s seeing John Smith, but what does that have to do with the price of cheese?” Chris stopped before me to glower. “What’s going on?”
John Smith. I bared a toothy smile while I mentally seethed. Could Luke get more unoriginal in the fake name department?
“Someone is stealing antiquities from the preservation members and likely selling them at the auction,” I said. “If the same people stole your invitation for the country club party, maybe it was someone from Honkers. Like Katty?”
“Makes no sense. You got something against Kat? You wasting my time with some kind of girl thing?”
Possibly, but I kept that to myself, too. “Who could’ve stolen your invitation? They’d also know about this supposed secret auction.”
“I don’t think any of the girls know about the auction. I did take Jenice to it once, though.”
“I need to talk to Jenice. Is she here?”
“She’s my ex. I hope to hell she ain’t here.”
Even better. Jenice sounded like she had motive written all over her. “Tell me about Jenice.”
A rap on the door ended our chat. The hostess poked her head inside the office. “They need you in the kitchen, Chris.”
“We’re done here.” Chris glowered. “Keep this under your hat.”
“The more things are kept quiet, the more likely the thieves will get away with this.” I studied him. “You haven’t been stolen from, have you? What about roofies? Any incidents with that here?”
“What the hell are you insinuating?” He stood over me, a vein throbbing in his neck. His bosoms heaved. “Get out.”
“But—”
“Now.” He yanked open the office door.
I stalked through the door and into the party. No Kat. Looked harder for Luke, but didn’t find him. I settled onto a bar stool and ordered a beer.
“How about a Love Potion?” asked the bartender. “Try a sample.”
“I’m not the one who needs it.” I sighed but accepted the shot glass of black liquid. “Tasty. You hear about anybody getting roofied?”
“Here?” The bartender glanced around. “Not customers. But there was a party at the college once. Heard a bunch of frat guys got the tables turned on them.”
“Interesting.” I slid forward on my seat. “What frat?”
“I forget. But one of our prep cooks belongs. He was working and missed the party but told me about it.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Sure, I’ll send one of the waitresses to get him.” She handed me an orange-sugar-rimmed margarita glass filled with the black potion. “Enjoy.”
“I didn’t order—”
“I thought you wanted to talk to Pete? Come on, I need to sell these. Help a girl out?”
I grudgingly handed her five dollars. Whil
e I waited, I turned on my stool to watch Kat swoop around the room, setting down drinks and exchanging remarks with the boozy clientele.
As she passed, I called out to her. “So how do you know John Smith?”
Behind her purple masquerade mask, her eyes narrowed.
“Did you just meet him or have you known him for a while?”
“A while. Not that it’s your business. I don’t know you. And if you know John, you better stay away.” She whirled from me.
I clamped my fingers to the edges of my bar stool to keep from shooting off the seat and doing something I’d regret.
Another waitress appeared. “Pete’s on the back step taking his break if you want to talk to him.”
Stomping through the parking lot to the back of the restaurant did little to help me cool off. On the kitchen stoop, I found the young cook. Same kid I saw looking like trouble on the back stoop the first time I arrived at Honkers.
“I heard about your frat party,” I said. “Who roofied your friends?”
He sucked on his cigarette and took his time exhaling. Through his squint, he eyed me. “What are you supposed to be?”
It took me a moment to realize he spoke of my costume. “Girl with a Pearl Earring.”
“You should’ve picked a more popular ScarJo movie. That costume’s too hard to guess.”
This was not my night. This was also not my Halloween. “Back to the roofies. Where do you get them?”
“I don’t get them. But people can get them online. Like from China or something.”
“Was that frat party a Halloween party?”
“No, man. This was like last summer. The annual pool party. We fill up all these kiddy pools with beer. It’s big.”
“Damn, I thought it was more recent. I’m looking for women who use roofies to rob rich men at Halloween parties.”
He sucked on his smoke. “The one who drugged my friends was a chick. She stole their clothes and left them on the front lawn nekkid. One guy woke with a scary sunburn on his—”
“No need for details.” I swayed and grabbed the door frame to steady myself. “Was this a revenge type of drugging? Or did she steal anything?”
“Stole their clothes.” He blew out his smoke. “No wait, they found the clothes in the dumpster. Does that count as stealing?”
“Technically, I suppose. I guess you feel bad for your friends.”
He shrugged. “One had it coming to him. The others got caught in the crossfire.”
“What did he do? The one who deserved it?”
“Took Snapchat pictures of her after she passed out. She had this amazing—”
“I don’t want details.” I pressed a hand against my stomach, feeling sick. “I want her name, though.”
“Melissa Bomar.”
“Bomar. Why is that name familiar?”
He blew out a ring of smoke. “Katty Bomar works here. It’s her cousin or something.”
“Katty’s cousin did a revenge roofie?” My nerves felt tingly. Tingly but oddly numb. I forced myself not to smile. Or cackle. But a giggle escaped. Also odd. For me, anyway.
“I guess so.” Pete dropped the cigarette and ground it with his foot. “Black Widow.”
“What?”
“Next time. For your ScarJo costume. Black Widow. She’s hotter. And easier to guess.”
* * *
I RETURNED TO the bar with two leads. Chris’s ex-wife Jenice and Melissa Bomar. My love potion sat before me. Feeling revved up, I ordered another beer.
“I’ve got to change the keg,” said the bartender. “Back in a minute.”
“Can you tell Kat I want to ask her something?” Unfortunately, I had not made a good first impression on Katty. That happens when speaking to a homewrecker.
I sipped my drink, licked orange sugar off my lips, and thought about Melissa Bomar. Maybe she and Katty worked the burglary trio together. Except Chris Dozen had said she worked the night of the country club party. But there had to be a connection. A cousin connection.
I giggled. Cousin connection. Too funny.
Funny like how my lips felt with all the orange sugar. I licked them again, then rubbed them with a bar napkin. Then repeated.
Darth Vader eased onto the stool next to me.
“Darth,” I said. “I can’t remember if you have a cousin. But I know your son. Not literally. But he wanted revenge.”
A guy wearing plastic chickens glued to a cardboard magnet sat on my other side.
“Have you tried the love potion?” I said. “So, so, so good. Like oranges and rainbows.”
“What do rainbows taste like?” said the Chick Magnet.
“Good.” I blinked, then pointed at the caricature of Chris Dozen hanging above the tappers. “I drew that. He likes swords. I should’ve drawn a sword.”
“You want another love potion?”
I shook my head. The tassel of my turban tickled my nose and I yanked the scarf into my lap.
Chick Magnet grinned.
“I know why they call it a love potion.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t remember why. Propping my head in my hand, I stared at Darth Vader. “You like swords, too. ’Cept yours lights up.”
Darth’s reply was muffled by the mask. Or by my ears. The room sounded submerged in water.
Kat leaned over, her face too close to mine. “What do you want?”
“I wanna know ’bout your cousin. An’ your boyfrien’.” My elbow slipped, sending my empty glass rolling.
Chick Magnet grabbed the glass, then caught my shoulder before my chin hit the bar. I slid off my stool and fell into Vader’s lap.
The last thing I remembered was his cape smelled like plastic and orange sugar.
ELEVEN
I WOKE THE next morning. In my bed. Still wearing my costume. Most of it, anyway. Luke sat in the chair across from my bed, his arms folded, his chiseled jaw more rigid than normal.
“What were you doing at Honkers?” he said.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?” I placed two hands on my head to keep it from rolling off my neck. “And how did I get here?”
“I took you home. The bartender called you a cab, but you got surly with the driver and he called the authorities. You were lucky I was working.”
“This is why I stick to beer,” I moaned. Except I suspected it hadn’t been the alcohol. Either the bartender or Kat the homewrecker had slipped me a Mickey. Such a rookie mistake, leaving my drink unattended. What an idiot I was. Fury swelled in my chest. Catwoman had warned me, then poisoned me.
I turned my bile toward the cheating heart. “I need to get back to Honkers to get my truck.” I left off the part about cornering a certain waitress into a confession.
“Not until you tell me why you were at Honkers.”
“I think Catwoman could be a Honkers’ waitress.” I rose onto my elbows to watch him. “Katty Bomar.”
“Katty Bomar is not—”
“You do know her. And how would you know she’s not seducing men like my neighbor? Because she’s seducing someone else?”
His lips tightened. His jaw could slice tomatoes.
“So how do you know Katty? Spending a lot of time at Honkers? Is that why they called you? Not knowing their helpful officer friend knew the drunk? Honkers is in Line Creek PD’s jurisdiction, not yours.”
“You were trying to assault a cab driver with your head scarf. You’re lucky it was me.”
“You better leave.” I forced my voice back to a normal octave. “I can’t even look at you, let alone want to talk to you.”
“I got you home safely last night. Who knows what could have happened to you.”
“Go ask your girlfriend what could’ve happened.” The intensity of my glare made my head hurt. “She’s the one who drugged me.”
* * *
TATER DID NOT care about my tears. Nor did he care about the second notification in my mailbox, reminding me of the upcoming zoning commission meeting on Novemb
er third.
I gave Tater a sketch of Luke on an old canvas for horn-butting practice. Instead, he tried to eat it. I took it as a sign to get on with my life. The professional life I would lose if I didn’t get Josiah’s help. I no longer cared about a love life. The men I had met in this treasure hunt had not made a good impression.
I had a few leads and an auction. Honkers had sealed their fate. Someone had stolen Chris Dozen’s invitation to the country club party, where two preservation board members were roofied and robbed. If it wasn’t Honkers-related, it had to be ex-wife related. And no coincidence that a home wrecking Honkers waitress had a cousin who knew how to roofie frat boys. Jenice Dozen and Melissa Bomar were on my Honey-Do list.
Josiah wanted the codpiece. I wanted Catwoman. I was determined to get both. Even if I had to do it with a doozy of a hangover.
* * *
JENICE DOZEN LIVED in a Line Creek McMiniMansion. Meaning ginormous house on a smallish lot attached to a golf and swim subdivision. Considering Jenice only had tropical fish—a built-in wall aquarium for each room—it was a lot of house for one person. For which she was proud.
“Not only did I screw Chris out of this house, I replaced his stupid antiques’ cases in each room. That’s why I got all these fish.” She waved a hand at the foyer’s wall tank where the cast of Finding Nemo swam amid a pirate’s shipwreck.
“You’re not a fan of antiques, I take it. How about antique auctions?”
“Boring as hell. I hate them. Chris made me go to one and it was stupid. Never again.”
“I bet you can make serious cash if you know where to sell them...”
“Dammit, I wish I could’ve sold those stupid swords. But he made me sign a pre-nup, so I couldn’t touch them.” Jenice crossed her arms over her yoga shirt. “Stupid swords.”
“Do you know Sterling Childs or Josiah Sweeton? They were on the preservation board with Mr. Dozen.”
“No idea. I didn’t like his stupid preservation board friends. Or the stupid preservation board.”
“I’m looking for an heirloom that belonged to a friend. He’s on the board. There was a mix-up at the country club party and I think it got into the wrong hands.”
The Vigilante Vignette Page 5