Bree reached for the Bushmills and refilled her mug. "Why don't you let Champ run around for a while?"
"I suppose I could." Eddie hiked his underpants. "Guess I'll get on back to the free-range zone." He shoved open the employee door with his left shoulder and then grimaced. He placed his right hand under his elbow like he was carrying the weight of the world and not just his arm. He looked over his uninjured shoulder. "Old war wound."
"Where were you stationed?" I raised my mug to my lips.
Eddie's chest swelled like that of a soldier awaiting inspection. "'Nam."
My gaze dropped to my lap like a bomb.
Jade was Vietnamese. Could Eddie have been her Danger Cove connection?
And her killer?
* * *
"It figures Dick Marshall's a hunter." Gia stared at the photos on the detective's desk. "When he gets here, let's sic him on Eddie."
I glanced around the open-style office at the Danger Cove Police Department to see if any officers had heard her. "Could you please not call him the d word?"
"What's wrong with it?" She sounded as innocent as an ex-con at an interrogation. "It's slang for detective, as in Dick Tracy."
Of course, I knew otherwise, but given the hundred or so "Dick Tracys" on my conscience in light of my uncle's Viagra dealing, I pretended to believe her. "Okay, but we don't have any evidence that Eddie killed Jade. And unlike Clark and Randall, he didn't act like he had anything to hide."
"That's because his knee wasn't the only thing that got hurt in 'Nam." She tapped her temple. "His noodle did too."
Her crack about Eddie's head reminded me of Robbie's "pool noodle," which made pasta a lot less appealing.
"Afternoon, Cassidi, Gia." Detective Bud Ohlsen approached the desk. "Detective Marshall's away on a call."
"Darn it." Gia slapped her thigh. "We were hoping he'd want to hang out."
He gave her a you'd-better-behave look and eased his heavyset frame into the chair. "I'm guessing you two are here about Jade Liu, so let me remind you that we can't discuss an ongoing investigation."
"We're here to report a threat." I slid the plastic bag across the desk.
He squinted at the note. Then his eyes widened. "Where did this come from?"
"My Aunt Magnolia found it taped to our back door last night." I pushed a piece of paper toward him. "And this is the last page of my uncle's Viagra client list. Apparently, the note writer's name is on it, and he doesn't want to end up in the Cove Chronicles like the others did."
His gaze bore into me like a bullet. "You turned in Vinnie's list months ago. How did this individual come across it?"
My eyes dropped to my lap. "We kept a copy."
Gia fired him a businesslike smile. "For our records."
Detective Ohlsen sat back and studied her. His wasn't the look of an officer sizing up a suspect, but of a man mulling over a mystery.
After a moment, he held the note to the light of a desk lamp and stroked the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. His eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" I scooted closer to the desk.
"A watermark." He pulled a pair of bifocals from his pocket and slipped them on. "The letters LP."
I squinted at the note. The mark was so faint we'd missed it in the evening light the night before. "They can't be the killer's initials. None of the names on that page start with an L or a P."
"Could be someone else's stationery." He removed his glasses and tapped the earpiece on his lip. "Or a company logo."
Gia's face lit up like the desk lamp. "Ha. Maybe it stands for limp pe—"
"Pee pistol," I shouted, using Aunt Magnolia's name for the male member. But as soon as I'd said it, I wished I'd gone with peter.
"Cute, cug." Gia gave me a satisfied slap on the back.
Detective Ohlsen looked from Gia to me. "I'll give these items to Detective Marshall for follow-up. He'll be as surprised as I am that this case is connected to your uncle, but the death threat won't come as a shock. The news of Vinnie's client list is causing quite a stir in the community."
I leaned back. "It is?"
Gia lurched forward. "How come?"
His face froze like he'd been caught off guard in a cross-examination. "Well… You see…" He tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt. "A man's, uh…"
Gia slammed her hand down on the desk. "This is about the null Montys."
I looked at her like she'd lost it. "Who are they?"
"Vinnie's Viagra victims."
"I think you mean full monty," I said. "Like the British film?"
Her mouth formed a hard line. "No, because the men in that movie were strippers. So, by profession, they weren't performing with Flaccido Domingo—if you get what I'm sayin'."
I did.
And so did Detective Ohlsen. From the way he was squirming in his seat, you would've thought he was doing a lap dance.
He cleared his throat to clear the air. "As I was saying, since the article came out, we've had our hands full. Our men have had to break up a domestic dispute, a couple of bar brawls, and a free-for-all at a church picnic."
"A church picnic?" Gia echoed with a holier-than-thou tone. "Sounds like compassion for one's fellow man doesn't extend to his manhood."
The detective swallowed like her quips were getting harder to stomach. Even though he was a veteran of the force, he wasn't equipped to deal with the force that was Gia.
"And that's not all." He glanced at his desk. "This morning we dismissed an officer from his duties."
An officer? Fired? It was my turn to swallow—actually, gulp. I'd been so consumed with my uncle's involvement in Jade's death that I hadn't thought about the ramifications for the men on his list. "That's terrible. I—"
He held up a hand. "It's not your doing, Cassidi. Nevertheless, I suggest the two of you be careful when you're out about town." His tone was firm but fatherly. "In the meantime, I'll assign a patrol officer to your home for the next few days."
Gia toyed with a lock of her hair. "Officer Stallone would make a good bodyguard."
"I'll pick the officer, young lady." The detective pointed a pen at her. "And he won't be there to watch your body."
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Some people take their authority too seriously."
"Um, we should get going." I started to stand but sat down again. There was one more question I needed to ask. "Detective, do you think whoever killed Jade killed my uncle?"
"Now that I know about this note, I think it's a possibility." He looked down at the desk. "But as I've said before, your uncle was involved in another activity that could've been a factor in his murder."
"Could you tell me what it was?" I asked.
The phone rang, ruining my chance of a reply.
"Excuse me, ladies." He raised the receiver to his ear. "Detective Ohlsen." The lines on his brow relaxed. "Ah, Dr. Cooper. One moment." He covered the receiver with his palm. "You two can see yourselves out."
Gia hopped to her high heels. "Sure can."
I gave her the eagle eye and rose to my feet. She was too eager to leave.
We exited through a doorway behind Detective Ohlsen, and Gia pulled me to the side in the hallway.
"That call's about Jade's case. C'mon." She dropped to a yoga squat and waddled beneath a nearby desk.
Although my instincts were threatening an insurrection, I dropped to the floor and crawled to her, hoping no one noticed the desk's glowing green feet.
"Cyanide." Detective Ohlsen pronounced the word as though it were a death sentence.
And it was.
Silence followed, and then the rolling rush of a metal file drawer opening.
"The nail polish?" he asked. "That'd be ironic, wouldn't it?"
He fell silent again, and I waited for his punch line.
"Because it's called Poison Poinsettia."
The line indeed packed a punch because the breath left my lungs as though I'd been belted, and Gia clutched her throat like Jade Liu had b
efore she collapsed in her car.
We had to leave, and fast.
I grabbed Gia by the arm, and we waddled to the door.
Once we hit the hallway, we sprung to our feet. As we rushed to the exit, the events of the day before flashed through my mind like pictures in a photo album—when I returned from the Cove Chronicles, when I realized that someone was in the salon, when I knocked over the vodka bottle.
Gia's nail polish and remover should have been beside the bottle.
But they weren't.
Because Ivy Li had taken them while she was in my salon, and she'd carried them out in her Birkin bag.
Then another snapshot appeared—when Ivy said she'd arrived at the salon and found the door wide open.
A pain pierced my chest like a coffin nail.
If she was telling the truth, then someone else had broken into The Clip and Sip on Sunday morning.
And that someone was the killer.
CHAPTER SIX
"I'm so fit to be tied I cain't decide whether to have me a conniption fit or a hissy fit." Magnolia paced in front of the living room fireplace, gripping the lapel of her Barry "Fanilow" flannel robe.
Gia eyed her from the bar where she was taking the Bottoms Up placard from the building's brothel era literally—at least, in the drinking sense of the phrase. She poured her third eggnog-flavored vodka. "Well, I'm so fit to be tied I'm tying one on."
I sunk deeper into the Victorian couch and looked at the time on my laptop, wishing Zac would pick me up early for the map meeting at the Smugglers' Tavern. With Magnolia manic and Gia juiced up, I wanted to be anywhere but there. "Both of you need to chill."
"Uh…" Gia sashayed to a stool. "I can freak if I feel like it since I'm the one going to prison, not her."
"Who's talking about the hoosegow?" My aunt yanked her belt tight. "I meant Mr. Manilow. Why, I'm so mad at that man I could stretch sheet iron. Every time I try to talk to him about the murder, all I get is 'Weekend in New England.'"
"It's like he's rubbing his vacation in your face." Gia raised her Happy Alcoholidays shot glass to her lips.
"He's too much of a gentleman to do that." Magnolia pressed a hand to her hive, and it crinkled like dry leaves. "Somethin's not right."
Gia's gaze bore into my aunt's head—and her hair. "I'll say."
"I reckon we're gonna have to take it to the Ouija board." Magnolia grabbed her cowhide saddlebag from the coffee table. "I'll run out to Carlene and fetch it."
I looked up from my laptop. "Why don't you wait until Zac comes? It's getting dark, and the killer could be out there."
"I'll be fine, ladybug. That strappin' young officer's outside."
"Some consolation," Gia said. "I mean, compared to Donatello, Richie Faria looks like a kid playing cops and robbers."
Magnolia opened her robe to reveal a bra holster—and a whole lot more. "With Gunther at my bosom, I've got more guts than you can hang on a fence. Now you two stay put, and I'll be back fast as double-struck lightnin'."
Gia watched my aunt leave the room. "She doesn't actually expect us to participate in this Ouija wackery, does she?"
"Just go along with it, okay?" I rested my head against the back of the couch, already over the conversation. "It's her way of coping."
"Well, it's not mine. Fun-flavored vodka is, and I'm the one with the nail polish noose around my neck."
I snapped my laptop shut. "Why do you keep saying that? We have a note proving you didn't kill Jade."
"Does it?" She hopped off her barstool with bottle in hand. "Anyone could have typed that thing, which is exactly what Detective Marshall's going to say. Because there are a lot of things that don't make sense about this killer, starting with why he killed Ivy's client instead of one of ours."
I drew my knees to my chest, Elf-on-the-Shelf style. "He didn't mean to kill anyone's client. He meant to kill me—or you. The nail polish was in our break room, not in the salon, so he probably thought one of us was going to use it. But Ivy stole it before we could."
Gia grabbed her glass and joined me on the couch. "Do you think she stole Vinnie's list too?"
I shook my head. "The Clip and Sip was no competition for Ivy. She had no reason to try to discredit us."
"Well, the killer didn't take it." She kicked up her heels on the coffee table. "I mean, why would a guy steal part of the list and send it to the Cove Chronicles if he wants to hide his ADD?"
"ADD?"
She broke into a sunny smile. "Ascension Deficit Disorder."
I gave her a frigid stare. The erectile dysfunction jokes were becoming a real downer.
Magnolia came huffing and puffing into the living room with a beat-up box under her arm. "We're good to go, girls." She sat in the antique armchair at the end of the coffee table and removed a teardrop-shaped piece of wood on wheeled casters from the box. "This is what they call the planchette. It's French for 'little plank.'"
Gia poured herself another shot. "Is there a big plank, by any chance? If so, I'd like to walk it."
I got in her face and willed her to read my thoughts like my aunt did Barry's. And what I told her with my glare was that I didn't want Zac to meet Aunt Magnolia while she was working a Ouija board. It was bad enough that I had a murdered, drug-dealer, philanderer uncle. I wasn't ready for him to find out that my aunt was a gun-toting Texan who treated her possessions like people and talked telepathically to a pop star when she had a problem.
My cousin must've gotten the message because she scooted away and put a Merry Elfin' Christmas pillow between us.
"Now put your fingertips on the planchette," Magnolia said, "and Barry'll guide our hands with his answers."
I did as I was told, but Gia held back. "I thought only dead people could talk to you through a Ouija board?"
Magnolia put a hand to her heart. "The instructions say 'spirits,' and Barry is a kind, loving spirit who wants to help his fans. He tells us so in the opening line of 'Could It Be Magic' when he sings 'Spirit move me.'"
Gia's mouth hung open, and it wasn't because of the eggnog vodka. "Um, technically, all musicians talk to their fans through their music."
"Yes, but some of us are better listeners than others." Magnolia gave Gia's fingers a slap. "Speaking of listening, Miss Prissy Siss, park those nails on the planchette."
Gia complied, and my aunt began her humming and swaying.
Not wanting to watch, I looked over her hive above the hearth at the photograph of Hope, Faith, and Charity—three nineteenth-century prostitutes on their backs with legs splayed in a V, clothed only in socks and shoes—originally, that is. To convince me to keep the picture, Gia had begun stapling panties on their privates. For the holidays, she'd replaced their Netflix and Chill underwear with thongs that said Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen.
The humming ceased.
"Barry, honey? It's Magnolia. You got a sec to chitchat?"
My eyes darted to the board. The planchette moved toward the upper-left corner, stopping on the word Yes.
I angled a glance at Gia, who angled a glance at me. Her eyes said the same thing mine did—it couldn't be magic, could it?
Magnolia looked at the gilt mirror on the ceiling—another relic from the brothel days. "Thank ya, Barry. Cause I tell ya, I cain't make head ner tails outta this 'Weekend in New England' business. Could you clue me in?"
The planchette jerked our hands to the right, stopping on the top row of letters at the L. Then it shot left to the bottom row and hovered over the letter P.
"LP? Like a record album?" Magnolia looked up at the mirror. "Okay, Barry. But which one?"
The planchette didn't move, and neither did Gia or I.
Because those were the same letters as the ones on the note.
* * *
The door to the Smugglers' Tavern opened, and Lilly Waters stood on the other side. Even though she'd been the assistant manager for some time, I still half-expected to see Hope Foster there, and even Bob Palmer, the former owner who'd left her
the tavern in his will.
"Come on in, Cassidi." Lilly ushered me inside. "Zac's already here."
I followed her to the bar. "It was nice of you to open the tavern for us, especially on your night off."
"Oh, Tara, Clara, and I promised Hope we'd come in to do some deep cleaning," she said, referring to the twins who ran the kitchen. "But I am dying to see if Bob's book collection can help you guys find the treasure Bart Coffyn stole from the Golden Hind."
I glanced at a table by the bar, where Zac scoured the antique tomes. "I'm glad Hope was able to get the books back from Bob's niece and nephew after he died."
Lilly began buffing the two-hundred-plus-year-old bar with a soft cloth. "She fought hard for them. Like she always says, those books belong here."
That sounded like Hope. For her and Bob, the Smugglers' Tavern had always been more than a restaurant and bar—it was a museum for the smuggling trade that had developed in Danger Cove following an 1807 embargo on British goods. And it showed. The place was decorated with nautical artifacts and smuggled relics like tea tins and medicine bottles that dated back to the Napoleonic Wars.
Lilly used her forearm to brush a lock of hair that I'd recently highlighted from her face. "Can I get you a drink? The Smugglers' Hurricane is one of our special can't-miss drinks."
"I'm good, thanks." I picked up a bowl of nuts on the bar.
"You know, nobody would blame you if you were stressed out." Her cheeks turned as red as the nose on her Rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer earrings. "I know what it's like to find—well, you know—a body." She shivered in the colorful sweater. "The rumor mill around here is alive and well. Did you actually witness that woman, Jade's, death?"
Tension gripped my shoulders like a vice. "Let me guess—Ivy Li told you."
"Not exactly." She shined the same spot on the bar until I was positive Rudolph could see his reflection.
I leaned forward and peered into her hazel eyes. "Then who, exactly?"
She moved to a new spot and avoided eye contact. "Donna Bocca."
Donna drove me crazy, but even I had to admire how hard she worked to live up to her Woman Mouth moniker. "Did she tell you about my Christmas decorations too?"
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