A Poison Manicure & Peach Liqueur

by Traci Andrighetti

  An attractive fortysomething Asian woman in a white wool suit was sitting at a manicure station fit for Aphrodite.

  "Not exactly feng shui, is it?" Gia drolled.

  Ivy appeared with a glass of wine and took a seat across from the woman.

  "That must be her client," Amy whispered.

  "On a Sunday?" Gia semi-screeched. "That goes against all that's holy in the hair industry." She stood and put her hand on Athena's spear. "This means war."

  "Shh. We can't wage war while she's doing business." I watched the client turn the pages of a magazine with one hand while the other rested in a gel nail dryer. "I didn't know Ivy was a manicurist."

  "Hey." Amy beamed at Gia. "That's another thing you have in common."

  Gia did her best Athena impression—sans spear but with a brocade bolero that could've been a breastplate—and Amy cower-crouched behind her column.

  Returning my gaze to the window, I saw the client emptying the contents of a gold liqueur glass. Ivy picked up a white ceramic bottle adorned with hand-painted peaches and held it toward her.

  I gasped. "That's my peach liqueur!"

  Amy put a hand to her mouth. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course." I squeezed the ridges of a column to keep from screaming. "I bought that bottle at an antique store in Fredericksburg."

  Gia grabbed onto a fold of Athena's toga. "She must have stolen it from the salon."

  When I looked into the window again, I saw the client rise and retrieve her purse. "She's coming out. Hide."

  We ran to the side of the building, and the three of us and peered around the corner, our heads one above the other like building blocks.

  The woman exited the salon, clutching her stomach as though she were ill, and gave a couple of raspy coughs as she walked to a white BMW SUV parked behind Ivy's Lexus. She stumbled as she got into the driver's seat. Then she closed the car door and bowed her head.

  I balled my fists at my mouth. "Something's wrong with her."

  Amy glanced up at me from her crouched position. "Maybe she's dissatisfied with her manicure."

  "She's probably traumatized after spending an hour with Ivy," Gia grumbled from above.

  "I'm serious." I looked up at her.

  Gia smirked. "So are we."

  I turned my attention back to the car and watched as the woman touched her throat. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. "Do either of you have your phone? I think we should call 9-1-1."

  Amy shook her head. "My mother says they cause brain damage."

  "Too late to worry about that, isn't it?" Gia gave her a pointed look. "I'll go get mine from the Ferrari."

  A car horn blared, and the three of us jumped like kids who'd been caught peeking at their Christmas presents.

  The woman's forehead was resting on the steering wheel.

  No longer caring whether Ivy saw me or not, I ran to the BMW and pulled open the door. To my horror, the woman slumped toward me and hung, suspended by her seat belt, with her torso toward the ground. In a state of shock, I stood staring at her red-manicured fingertips. Even though they swayed slightly, it looked like there was no life left in her limbs.

  "Holy freakin' cannoli." Gia shook me from my shock.

  I knelt and felt the woman's wrist for a pulse.

  The bell on the salon door sounded.

  "What's going on?" Ivy ran around the side of the car. She stopped in her stilettos and gasped. "Oh my God. Did you attack my client?"

  Oblivious to Ivy, Amy looked at me with eyes that loomed large behind her lenses. "She fainted, right?"

  My eyes were no less distressed as I dropped the woman's wrist. "She's dead."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Cyanide poisoning." The medical examiner snapped her latex glove as she removed it from her hand, adding an acoustic exclamation point to her stunning statement.

  Amy, Gia, and I started from our seats on the curb in front of the salon entrance, and I shot a questioning look at Detective Lester Marshall, who was standing in the street behind the victim's SUV.

  Did this mean murder?

  The detective, who was not known for his empathy—or his ethic—seemed indifferent to the news. Expressionless, he scribbled the license plate information into a notebook and then, squinting as he scratched his eyebrow, stepped onto the sidewalk. "Is that your final determination, Catherine?"

  The corner of her mouth twitched. "Dr. Cooper," she corrected in a keep-your-professional-distance tone. "I'll have to perform an autopsy, of course. But the bitter almond odor coming off the corpse and the cherry red skin are dead giveaways."

  Amy leaned so close I could feel her breath on my ear. "Is a medical examiner supposed to say 'dead giveaways'?"

  I didn't reply. The reference to cherry red skin had brought my mind speeding back to a bad place like a runaway train wreck—the bright blue body of Margaret Appleby when she had been found unresponsive at The Clip and Sip fourteen months before. Not that I thought her death was related to Ivy's client's, but a possible murder at the only other salon in Danger Cove was an unsettling development, to say the least.

  Dr. Cooper closed her black case and brushed away a lock of hair that had escaped her businesslike bun. "My guys are about to take the body to the morgue. If everything goes as I expect, I'll have the results sometime tomorrow." She paused and grimaced as though she'd swallowed cyanide. "Good day."

  Detective Marshall's mouth set in a hard line as he watched her walk away, and then his gaze landed on Ivy like a judge's gavel.

  She stood at attention—with wine in hand—next to the Athena statue. "Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't poison my client."

  The detective's eyes darkened to match his black suit. "No one has accused you of anything, Ms. Li. At least…not yet."

  Ivy's jaw dropped, and she clutched her wineglass like the warrior goddess did her spear. "So, you've already made up your mind about me, is that it?"

  He moved from the doorway to allow a crime scene responder to exit. "Last time I checked, I was in charge of the questioning."

  "You think that," Gia interjected in a knowing tone. "But if you're not careful, she'll open her own police station and shut yours down."

  Detective Marshall silenced Gia with a livid look, and then he shrugged his shoulders to straighten his ill-fitting jacket. "Now, is the deceased a relative of yours, Ms. Li?"

  "Oh, right," she said dryly. "Because all Asians are related."

  The frown on the detective's face spread to his eyes. "Answer the question, ma'am."

  She swirled her wine, revealing her inner storm. "I'm Chinese, she's Vietnamese. So no, we're not related, even though we apparently look alike to you."

  The detective didn't say a word, but his scowl spoke volumes. He didn't like Ivy. And for once, he and I were in agreement.

  He gestured toward the salon. "According to your sign, you're closed on Sundays. What were you doing here with the deceased?"

  "Her name was Jade—Jade Liu." Ivy's tone made it clear she was adverse to the term "deceased." She took a slug of wine. "Bree Milford at Ocean View Bed & Breakfast called me last night and asked me to give Jade a manicure. She said she'd come to town for a special occasion."

  The detective cocked his head. "Did Ms. Milford tell you what this occasion was?"

  "All she said was that Jade had to meet someone." She flipped her hair. "I assumed it was a man since she was having her nails done."

  The detective wrote a note on his pad. "During the appointment, did Ms. Liu mention her meeting or the reason she was in Danger Cove?"

  Ivy shook her head. "She came in, thanked me for the appointment, and then I made her a drink—"

  "Yeah," Amy interrupted, "peach liqueur from Ca—"

  I elbowed her in the side, and she slumped like Jade had done in her front seat. "From California," I added with a nod. "It's the top producer of peaches in the country."

  Ivy avoided my eyes, but Detective Marshall stared at Amy and me straight
on. I was sure he suspected something.

  "Interesting factoid, Ms. Conti," he drawled. "Let's refrain from any more of those." He turned to Ivy. "Go on."

  She glanced at her glass. "When I started the manicure, Jade made it clear she wasn't interested in chitchat. She wanted a relaxing spa experience, so that's what I gave her."

  Gia snorted. "So relaxing she died."

  The detective pursed his lips and put a hand on his hip, revealing a set of handcuffs underneath his jacket.

  Gia shrunk behind Amy, who looked so scared it seemed that her eyes might shoot from their sockets like bullets.

  "Anything else you recall about the appointment, Ms. Li?" he asked.

  "Her credit card was declined, so she paid with a check." She swallowed a sip of wine. "I'll bet it's going to bounce."

  I shifted on the sidewalk. Only Ivy would think of money at a time like this.

  Detective Marshall rubbed his unshaven chin. "It's interesting that you'd be doing a client's nails given that you're the salon owner."

  "If you're insinuating that I killed my client, stop." She held up her wineglass in protest. "I'm trying to attract business, not drive it away."

  He stiffened and straightened his tie. "I'll conduct my investigation how I see fit."

  "You do that. But write this in your notes." She tapped the detective's pad with a black coffin nail. "Jade Liu was fine when she left my salon." Ivy pointed a coffin nail at us. "She died after she ran into these three."

  Gia and Amy recoiled as though they'd been slapped, and I literally leapt to our defense. "But Ms. Liu was already sick when she came outside, Detective. We tried to save her."

  He arched a brow in need of tweezing. "And how, exactly, did you do that?"

  I paused to reflect on my response. He'd threatened to arrest me once before, and knowing his track record for jumping to conclusions on cases, I had to be careful. "After I saw her slump in her seat, I opened the car door and checked her pulse. But it was too late."

  The salon door blew open, and Donatello burst out, his buff chest bulging behind his regulation shirt. "We need you inside, Detective."

  Detective Marshall nodded and surveyed us with an icy stare. "You stay put, Ms. Li. You'll be coming down to the station with me."

  Ivy's lids lowered, and she tightened her grip on the wineglass.

  "As for you three," the detective growled at Amy, Gia, and me, "you're free to go. But I'll be in touch."

  Donatello held the door open, tensing his bicep for Gia's benefit. After Detective Marshall had entered the salon, Donatello blew Gia a kiss.

  Rather than see any more of the scene, I turned and trained my gaze on a cluster of pine trees across the street. Something moved, and I realized that a heavyset man was peering at the salon from behind a tree trunk. I squinted, and my stomach sank like a concrete sailboat.

  I recognized that comb-over.

  It was Clark Graham, the owner of Pirate's Hook Marine Services, the yacht sales and repair company where Zac worked.

  But what was he doing there? And why did he look so afraid?

  * * *

  The cold, lifeless lobster persecuted me from my plate.

  "Maybe dinner was a mistake." Zac gazed at me from over interwoven fingers.

  "I wanted to come," I said, trying to cancel the concern from his steel blue eyes. "But I keep seeing that poor woman…" I glanced at the red lobster shell and thought of Jade's red-lacquered nails. "…hanging."

  He reached across the table and stroked my forearm. "The flashbacks will go away. Give it time."

  "It's not that." I twisted the napkin in my lap. "The thing is—"

  "How about dessert?" Our waiter bobbed his head, making his lobster hat bounce. "We've got Death by Chocolate and Name Yer Poison Liqueur Cake."

  I flinched like I'd been pinched by a crustacean claw. The cake reminded me of my peach liqueur, and suddenly I was poisoned with doubt—like I'd swallowed cyanide.

  "We're done, thanks." Zac gave the waiter a credit card and took my hand in his. "Sorry about that. You were saying?"

  I shook off my suspicion. My anxiety was messing with me, as usual. "I guess I feel guilty."

  The lines on his forehead deepened. "Why? You tried to save Ivy's client."

  "That's not what I mean." I toyed with the stem of my wineglass. "I'm embarrassed to admit this, but a part of me hoped Ivy would get bored with Danger Cove and leave. Now I actually feel bad for her."

  He blinked and sat back in his chair. "Didn't you say she accused you, Gia, and Amy of killing her client?"

  Ivy's black coffin nail came to mind, but I shrugged that off too. "She was in shock. We all were."

  "Or maybe she's a good actress." He turned in his chair and slung his arm across the top. "She is from LA."

  I retracted my hand. The Zac I knew wasn't the type to rush to judgment, especially when someone's freedom lay in the balance. "What are you saying? You think she did it?"

  His jaw tensed, and he glanced over his shoulder. "I'm saying I wouldn't be so quick to give her the benefit of the doubt. She's done some pretty terrible things to you since she came to town, and you said yourself that she was alone with the woman."

  The Olcotts and two other couples passed by with the hostess, so I held my tongue. As soon as they were seated at their table, I shot Zac a pointed look. "None of that makes Ivy a killer. But in light of what's happened, even if she's innocent she could still lose her business."

  "Don't count her out yet. From what you've told me, she's shrewd." He pointed his beer bottle at me. "And look at you—you're still in business after what happened to Ms. Appleby."

  "Because the police proved no one from The Clip and Sip was responsible for her death," I said in a hushed tone.

  "Okay." He placed his bottle on the table with a thud. "If Ivy didn't do it, who did?"

  I picked up my fork and poked at my potato. "It looks bad for her, but I know from experience that looks can be deceiving. I wish there was something I could do for Iv—er, Jade Liu's family or friends." I almost said for Ivy, but I wasn't ready to commit to helping her yet.

  He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "You should stay out of this."

  "Are you telling me what to do?" My fork clattered to the plate.

  Olivia Olcott's shrill laugh pierced the air, raising the hair on my arms like the hackles on a dog. I cast an annoyed look in the direction of her table and caught her husband, Randall, staring at me. He was the rugged lone wolf type, and it took effort not to shrink from the predatory look in his hawk eyes.

  Zac put a finger beneath my chin and redirected my attention to him. "I'm telling you to let the police do their job. The last time you tried to help in a murder investigation, you almost ended up in Davy Jones' locker, remember?"

  I shuddered at the drowning euphemism and reached for my Prosecco as the waiter reappeared.

  "Come back and see us." He slid the tip tray onto the table. "That's s-e-a, not s-e-e." He gave a salute.

  I gulped from my glass.

  "That was out of line, and I apologize." Zac collected his credit card and inserted it into his wallet. "But I don't want a repeat of last year."

  "For your information, Mr. Taylor, I'm Texas tough. I can take care of myself." I crossed my arms and looked away, closing the conversation.

  "I don't doubt that." His eyes lowered, and he tossed his cloth napkin on the table. "Listen, I asked you here tonight because I have some good news."

  "Oh?" I stole a hopeful glance at him. A fight with Zac was the last thing I wanted, especially with all the bad things happening.

  "It's about the peso you found on Pirate's Hook." He picked at the Pike IPA label on his bottle. "I emailed pictures of it to an archaeology professor, and he's convinced it's one of the coins Bart Coffyn stole from Sir Francis Drake after deserting the Golden Hind."

  "What about the scratches on the back?"

  "He agrees with me that they're coordinates, possibly to the locatio
n of the rest of the stuff he stole." His eyes gleamed. "So, Clark has offered to finance the hunt for the treasure."

  "Clark Graham?" I pictured him peering around that pine.

  "None other." He flashed a giddy grin. "Not only that. If we find it, he's agreed to split the take with me sixty-forty."

  "Are you sure you can trust him?" I blurted.

  Zac recoiled as though I'd slapped him. "Why wouldn't I?"

  I couldn't tell him I'd seen Clark near the crime scene. After all, spying from behind a tree trunk wasn't all that unusual, was it? He could've been trying to avoid irking the ill-disposed Detective Marshall with his curiosity. "It's just such a big deal," I gushed. "But it is exciting."

  The tension in his face relaxed. "There's more where that came from." He paused. "Randall Olcott is interested in my yacht design."

  Without thinking, I glanced at Randall and was surprised to see him staring at me again. And his square jaw was set like he was angry.

  "Do you realize what this means?" Zac asked.

  I turned and saw that his eyes were no longer gleaming—they were glowing. And I knew why. But I shook my head, not wanting to ruin the pleasure he would derive from telling me.

  "Treasure or no," he said, clasping my hands, "I could buy back Pirate's Hook Marine Services for my mom."

  "Oh, Zac." I squeezed his fingers. "That's been your dream since your father died."

  He gave a small smile and kissed my palm. "Tomorrow I'm going to the Smugglers' Tavern to look at Bob Palmer's old maritime books. It wouldn't be right if you weren't a part of this. Will you come with me?"

  The emotion of the moment combined with the murder—and more than a couple of glasses of Prosecco—caught up with me. I nodded as tears welled in my eyes.

  "Come on." Zac stood and pushed in his chair. "Let's get you home."

  I placed my napkin on the table and rose to my feet while he retrieved my wrap from a coat rack beside the table. When I turned so that he could drape it across my shoulders, I caught a glimpse of Randall Olcott and froze. If looks could kill, then I would've been liquidated like Jade Liu.