Kill 'Em with Cayenne

by Gail Oust

  “What’s your game, spice girl?” he snarled. “If it’s the same as your friend’s, you might want to rethink it. We both know how that ended.”

  “You killed Becca.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded flat, lifeless. In the dim glow of a distant streetlamp, I saw a toy-size pistol in his hand. How much damage could such a little gun inflict? I knew the answer without being told. Lots.

  Wally moved so close our bodies were only a hair’s breadth apart. “Damn right I killed that stupid broad. Did she think she’d get away blackmailing Vino Coccetti? The crazy woman demanded a small fortune to keep her trap shut.”

  “Becca recognized you from the television show.”

  “That ridiculous show picked the worst possible time to rehash the past. Just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie. I’ve spent years creating a new identity after leaving WitSec. Went as far as having laser surgery to remove that damn port-wine stain on my face. Trouble is they tend to reappear.”

  “I don’t want your money.” I squeezed the words past vocal cords that felt paralyzed.

  “Good.” He chuckled. “I wasn’t planning on giving you any.”

  “Then let me go.” Like a bolt of lightning, the actor’s name I’d been trying to remember dawned on me. It wasn’t Yul Brynner whom Wally reminded me of but Michael Chiklis, the star of a defunct TV show, The Shield. Chiklis could instill fear with a single glance. So could Wally.

  “’Fraid I can’t do that, doll. Can’t take a chance you might blab that Vino Coccetti is alive and well. My former associates have long memories. I’d be an easy target for some punk looking to make his bones. Word hits the street, I’d be dead within a week.”

  I attempted to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. “What do you intend to do?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s my Lincoln parked at the curb. As soon as the fireworks start you’re going to take a little nap—a permanent one—in the trunk of my car. With all the racket, I won’t even need to use a silencer.”

  Round and round I nervously twisted the bracelets on my wrist. Another one slipped off and wobbled down the sidewalk like a drunken sailor on shore leave. Wally didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care.

  “Tomorrow, after breakfast,” he continued, “I’ll dump your body on the way out of town. Disposing of the bodies used to be one of my specialties when I worked for the Mob.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when a loud bang signaled the beginning of the fireworks display. The night sky exploded with brilliant colors. Red, blue, and green stars shot into the heavens, then slowly drifted back to earth. Wally casually reached into his pants pocket and, using a fob, popped the trunk of a Lincoln parked at the curb. He stepped away and motioned with the barrel of his gun for me to move toward the car.

  For an instant I thought I saw a shadow creep along the building’s brick wall. I dismissed the notion as a trick played by a desperate mind. It was foolish to hope a white knight would ride to my rescue. But hope springs. “Tell me,” I said, stalling for time. “Did you kill Becca in her home, then try to make it look like a mugging?”

  “Get in the trunk,” he ordered. “I’d shoot you first, but I’d rather not get blood all over my clothes.”

  I hesitated, trying to delay the inevitable, wanting to find an escape. I could run only to be shot in the back. I could scream, but no one would hear it over the noise of the fireworks. That depleted my short list of options. A whistling and hissing sound directly overhead was followed by a cascade of yellow pinpricks. In the afterglow I glimpsed a figure flattened against a doorframe. My white knight, in the guise of Wyatt McBride, had arrived on the scene.

  Emboldened by his presence, I said, “I’m not budging an inch until you answer my question, Vino. Once and for all, did you, or did you not, murder Becca in her own kitchen?”

  Vino blew out a breath. “Guess there’s no harm granting a dying woman one last wish. The Dapkins bitch phoned, insisted I come over, claiming it was urgent. I didn’t go to her house intending to kill her. I wasn’t even packing that night. Don’t ask me how, but she recognized me after watching that stupid program on TV. She demanded money to keep quiet. I couldn’t let that happen. I used the only means at hand—a frozen beef brisket on the kitchen counter—to silence the broad. Call it a crime of opportunity if you will.” He shrugged. “Necessity is the mother of invention, or so they say.”

  I moistened dry lips with the tip of my tongue. “How did you get Becca to the square without being seen?”

  “I waited till the middle of the night, when I was sure everyone was sound asleep. Then I used a suitcase I found stashed in the attic to move the body. Let me tell you, I got quite a start when I glanced up and saw a figure in the upstairs window of your shop.”

  “Hormones,” I muttered. “I have trouble sleeping some nights.”

  “I was tempted to pop you the night I went back to check the Dapkins woman’s house and found you there instead. Hadn’t been for that neighbor showing up with her dog…”

  “Why did you go back?” I ventured. What the heck was taking McBride so long? Wasn’t it time for him to make his move? If he didn’t do something, and do it soon, it would be time for my “nap.”

  “It’s been years since I retired from the family. I wanted to double-check. Make sure I didn’t leave behind anything incriminating.”

  “Drop the gun, Coccetti,” McBride’s voice cut through the darkness.

  Wally spun toward the sound, his gun leveled at McBride’s chest. “How about you drop yours, McBride?” he said. “You won’t be the first lawman I iced. Your disappearance will coincide nicely with Ms. Busybody here. Guaranteed to set tongues wagging until I’ve cleared the state.”

  My gaze darted from one man to another. I felt like I was witnessing a standoff in an old-time Western. Neither man looked willing to back down. Overhead, a rocket zoomed skyward and rained down a shower of yellow and green. In that instant I glimpsed Wally Porter’s expression as his finger tightened on the trigger.

  More by instinct than design, I lashed out. My foot connected solidly with Porter’s kneecap. His gun fired as he crumpled to the ground clutching his leg and yowling in pain.

  Rushing over, McBride kicked the pistol out of reach while keeping his weapon trained on the writhing man. “Piper,” McBride said quietly. “I need a favor. Would you dig my cell phone out of my jeans and dial nine-one-one?”

  It was then I noticed he was bleeding.

  CHAPTER 37

  HUMMING TO MYSELF the next morning, I peeked into the oven and was pleased to find my quiche browning nicely. A chilled pitcher of Bloody Marys waited in the fridge. Reba Mae had called earlier to tell me she’d be late. Even though she never worked on Sundays, she was making a rare exception for this particular client.

  “Come in!” I called when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I assumed they belonged to my BFF, so I didn’t turn around . “You must’ve finished sooner than you thought. Brunch won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”

  A familiar-looking stranger with flaming red hair burst into my kitchen. “Hey, Piper. It’s me, Maybelle.”

  “Maybelle Humphries.” I laughed. “Why, I almost didn’t recognize you. You look amazing!” I stared in disbelief at the slender figure dressed in dark denim jeans and a Western-style shirt. A pair of Reba Mae’s chandelier earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders.

  “I feel like a new woman.” She pivoted so I could get a better look at the total package. Carefully applied makeup made her skin glow and her eyes sparkle.

  Reba Mae, beaming ear-to-ear, stuck her head in the door. “What do you think of our Miss Maybelle now? Isn’t she a knockout?”

  I nodded in agreement. “The transformation is remarkable. From church mouse to va-va-voom.”

  Maybelle fiddled with a pearl button on her shirt. “I’ve given the matter a lot of thought, Piper. I’m tired of the old me. I decided if the day ever came and I was no longer a murder suspect, I was go
ing to make some changes.”

  “Wait till you hear the rest,” Reba Mae said, nearly busting with excitement.

  “I quit my job at the Chamber,” Maybelle said in a rush.

  “And…,” Reba Mae prompted.

  “And”—Maybelle blushed—“Tex asked me to come with him on the barbecue circuit. He thinks we’d make a good team, seeing how we’re both good cooks. He swears we’ll win more trophies than we know what to do with.”

  My jaw dropped at hearing this. “Maybelle, are you sure this is what you want to do? Have you thought this through? It’s a big change.”

  “Change is what I’m looking for, honey.” She reached over and squeezed my arm. “Today is all we got, Piper. The past is dead and gone. There’s no guarantee about tomorrow. I’m grabbing today with both hands and making the most of it.”

  Reba Mae and I exchanged glances, then smiled.

  “I owe it all to you, Piper,” Maybelle confessed. “I’m ever so grateful for all your help. You risked your life trying to save mine. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  I blinked moisture from my eyes. I saw Reba Mae do the same. “Just be happy.”

  The three of us looked up when a horn beeped.

  “That’s Tex,” Maybelle said. “He’s waitin’ on me downstairs.”

  After promising to stay in touch, Maybelle gave each of us a bone-breaking hug and disappeared.

  “Well, well, well,” Reba Mae sighed. “Who would’ve thunk it?”

  “Who would’ve thunk it?” I echoed.

  Over spinach quiche and Bloody Marys, Reba Mae grilled me for all the gory details of what happened the previous night. By the time we’d finished, the King Ranch chicken casserole that I’d made earlier was ready to come out of the oven and the lasagna ready to pop in.

  “How’s McBride doin’, by the way?”

  “It took a dozen stitches to close the wound in his arm. The ER doc said the bullet tore through muscle, so it’ll take time to heal. Last I saw of him, McBride was grumbling because he had to wear a sling.”

  “Scared it’ll ruin his macho image?”

  I shrugged. “He claims things would’ve been worse if I hadn’t kicked Wally in the knee.”

  “It would’ve been worse, honeybun, if McBride hadn’t of shown up when he did.” She gave a dramatic shiver. “How did he find you anyway?”

  I held up my wrist and pointed to the bangle bracelets. “He came looking for me. When I was nowhere to be found, he spotted my bracelet where it had fallen and followed the trail.”

  “Who needs bread crumbs when a girl’s got jewelry?”

  I poured the rest of the Bloody Marys into Reba Mae’s glass. No more for me, because I had a little road trip planned for later on. “When it comes to injuries, Wally got the worst of it,” I said. “He’s going to need surgery to repair his ACL.”

  “ACL?” Reba Mae stirred her drink with a celery stalk. “Sugar, stop speakin’ Greek to a l’il ol’ country gal.”

  “Anterior cruciate ligament,” I elaborated. “It connects the femur to the shinbone.”

  “Okay,” she replied good-naturedly, “so I didn’t ace anatomy class. Then what happened?”

  Now it was my turn to grin. “McBride suggested I take up kickboxing. Said I’d be a natural.”

  “I meant what happened after my dream guy, Wally, was carted off? I can’t believe what I ever saw in the guy.”

  “Where Wally Porter was concerned, Maybelle Humphries was the perfect fall guy. Especially since she couldn’t prove her alibi.”

  Reba Mae glanced down, shamefaced. “It’s my fault her alibi got stolen. I let it slip to Wally that Maybelle had proof she was miles away the night in question.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. It all worked out in the end.” I put the plates we’d used in the dishwasher. “McBride says Wally Porter, aka Louie Vino Coccetti, has a record a mile long. And that’s only for the crimes where he was caught red-handed. Who knows how many people he whacked?”

  Reba Mae ran a finger down the side of her glass, making a path in the condensate. “Sure as shootin’ Becca picked the wrong guy to blackmail. What was she thinkin’?”

  “She saw dollar signs dance in her head,” I said, wiping down the counter. “Becca was never satisfied living in Brandywine Creek and working a job she hated just to make ends meet. She wanted bigger, better. More.”

  “And look where she ended up.” Reba Mae crunched down on a celery stick. “Planted facedown in an azalea bush.”

  Trying for a distraction, I looked into the oven at the lasagna that was just starting to bubble. I didn’t need a reminder I’d nearly disappeared without a trace. I didn’t doubt for a minute that Vino Coccetti could dispose of a body where it would never be found. “Let’s change the subject, shall we,” I said.

  “Fine by me.” Reba Mae leaned back contentedly and sipped her drink. “Clay mentioned Lindsey’s been seein’ a lot of Barbie Q’s video guy. Isn’t he a lot older than she is?”

  My kitchen spick-and-span, I draped the dishcloth over the faucet and sat down again. “I caught the two of them together last night—in the beer tent of all places.”

  “Lindsey…? Drinkin’…?”

  “Nothing more than a soda, but I let Mr. Carter Kincaid know in no uncertain terms that my daughter was only sixteen. He labored under the assumption that she was about to celebrate her nineteenth birthday.”

  “More like sixteen goin’ on twenty-five,” Reba Mae said. “Glad I had boys. If you ask me, boys are much easier to raise than girls.”

  “Lindsey and I had a come-to-Jesus meeting when I got home last night. I found her waiting up for me. Imagine!” I shook my head at the memory of the indignation on her face. “She didn’t like having the shoe on the other foot. When I explained what had happened, she told me I was the one in need of a curfew. She went as far as to accuse me of always being the one in trouble.”

  “You gotta admit the girl has a point.”

  “Next thing I knew, Lindsey jumped up and hugged me so tight she almost broke a rib. She refused to go to bed until I promised I’d take a self-defense class.”

  “If you sign up, I will, too.”

  I absently tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “Lindsey admitted Carter was too old for her. She realized that when she mentioned a rock group and he admitted he’d never heard of it. However, because of his influence, she’s now talking about going to film school. She has her sights set on being an editor or producer.”

  “I thought she wanted to be a vet like Doug.”

  I sighed. “That was last month.”

  “By the way, Dr. Doug’s one terrific dancer. Who knew? That man’s got moves. Did I show you the trophy we won for shag dancing?”

  “If you mean the trophy that’s prominently displayed on my kitchen counter, then, yes, you did. I think Doug’s even prouder—if possible—of winning a dance contest than having placed with his barbecue. From the little I was able to watch, I was duly impressed with his fancy footwork.”

  Restless, I jumped up and opened the cupboard over the sink. “Do you suppose bringing McBride chocolate-chip cookies along with the casseroles would be overkill?”

  “Nah.” Reba Mae wagged her head. “Man can’t live by casseroles alone.”

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when I traveled down the winding gravel drive leading to McBride’s small house. The first thing I noticed was the white Escalade parked beside his Ford F-150. Through the screened door I could make out McBride’s tall figure.

  And he had a handful.

  Barbie Quinlan was wound around him tighter than a kudzu vine. Clinging, climbing, coiling, and noxious. My first impulse was to get the heck out of Dodge, but it was too late thanks to Casey’s excited yipping. The couple broke apart as I got out of my car. McBride held the door open, and the two of them stepped out onto the porch. Even wearing a sling, he looked better than an invalid ought to.

&
nbsp; Casey scampered out, eager for a tummy rub from his favorite lawman. I followed more sedately, lugging a wicker hamper.

  “Look, Wyatt. Isn’t that sweet,” Barbie cooed. “Looks like Little Miss Homemaker is bringing you a basket of goodies to make you all better.”

  “Hello, Barbie.” I tried not to let my irritation show.

  Barbie, I noticed, didn’t bother to entice a man with baked goods. She opted for the more direct approach with formfitting white jeans and semi-sheer aquamarine blouse opened to reveal the lacey cups of her bra. Under Barbie’s watch, Victoria’s secret had just gone viral.

  McBride took the basket from me. “That looks heavy. Let me take it inside.”

  “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” I said, not the least bit apologetic.

  “You didn’t.” Barbie gave her platinum hair a toss. “Wyatt and I were just saying good-bye. I’m taking off for Memphis. Their festival should make for a great episode. It’s ten times the size of Brandywine Creek’s.”

  “Well, good luck.” And good riddance, I wanted to add, but didn’t. I was a better person than that.

  Barbie started down the porch steps, then turned back. “Sorry if I came across as … abrasive. I’m never at my best around other women—especially those who pose a threat of any sort.”

  Not knowing what to say in response to Barbie’s admission, I mustered a smile. “Drive safe.”

  McBride returned just then and we stood side by side on the porch while Barbie climbed into her SUV, executed a perfect three-point turn, and disappeared from sight.

  “Barbie’s had a tough time.” McBride slipped the hand of his uninjured arm into the pocket of his jeans. “Makes me feel good to see the success she’s making of her life.”

  Mimicking his actions, I stuck my hands into the pockets of my denim skirt. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”