Divas, Diamonds & Death

by Elizabeth Ashby

  I put it out of my mind for the time being, as Tino put on his signal and turned left into a short and wide driveway that led to a squat stucco building surrounded by a paved parking area.

  The front of the building was painted with the words Hogs' Last Chance Saloon and a ten-foot high piggy sitting astride a Harley and wearing biker leathers. Rosie would have swooned.

  Since I'd asked Paco all the pertinent questions and had gotten the best answers I believed I'd get, I'd lost my enthusiasm for spending the evening wining and dining him—plus I'd been saving just about every nickel I earned for the rest of my fall tuition and fees. Tino had offered to foot the bill for the night, but I'd turned him down. This had been my idea, my choice, and it was for Jimmy John. I also didn't want Tino to come up short on the money he contributed to his mother's household.

  Another thing that was putting a damper on my enthusiasm was the eighty or so hard-core Harley Davidsons in the parking lot and the absence of a single other four-wheeled vehicle.

  But we were committed, and Paco had indeed perked up quite a bit when we pulled up in front of the place, so we went in and gave Sabrina's nephew the break from her he'd said he so desperately needed.

  The double doors to the entrance had been thrown back leaving only the swinging saloon-style doors open to the night air. The noise coming from inside the place was raucous. Music! Laughter! Yelling!

  Paco hurried on ahead, while I took hold of Tino's hand and hung back. "Is this a good idea?" I asked. "I mean, are we likely to get beat up in there?"

  Tino laughed. "No. Of course not. It's just loud, that's all. I've been here before—I'm a nerd, and they didn't beat me up or toss me out on my ear. In fact, I had a pretty good time."

  Tino was no more a nerd than any handsome, strapping man from Central America, but I let that slide. "Well, we did offer to take him out. Guess this is as good a place as any." But I had my doubts.

  As it turned out, Tino was right. It was the perfect place for us to have taken Paco for a break from his regular routine.

  The music was a three-piece band that played classic rock covers. The laughter and yelling were all pretty much centered on the middle of the bar where a really big and burly guy was in the process of jamming food in his face. A banner behind them let us know we'd come the very night of the Hogs' Last Chance Slider Challenge.

  The crowd was counting down. "Eight. Seven. Six."

  The plate in front of the bearded guy still had a slider and a pile of onion rings on it while he was scarfing down the last couple of bites of another slider.

  "Five. Four. Three."

  He chewed furiously, swallowed, and picked up the last slider, managing to take one bite before, "Two. One." And a collective, "Aww."

  "What's that?" Paco asked, looking around, his eyes bright with excitement.

  A cocktail waitress walked by, balancing a tray on one hand. "It's the challenge. You down sixteen pork sliders and a half a pound of onion rings in forty minutes, and you get your picture on the wall and a T-shirt from Hogs' Last Chance Saloon."

  "Really?" Paco looked at Tino. "OMG, you up for it?"

  Tino shook his head. "I had a try at it last time. Pitiful showing. Couldn't even get to the last four before time ran out. I was sick for a couple of days after, just lying around moaning."

  Paco nodded. "I'm doing it," he said. "And I'm going to beat it."

  The waitress grabbed his hand and led him away. We followed. "Can he do it?" I asked Tino.

  He shrugged. "How do I know? It's a heckuva lot of food."

  Paco sat down at the table. Two waitresses wearing Hogs' Last Chance Saloon T-shirts that were at least two sizes too small and really tight, really short denim cut-offs ministered to Paco, helping him get settled at the table and tying an enormous bib around his neck.

  I leaned close to Tino's ear so he could hear me over the music and the crowd noise. "What did you say to him in the car, you know, after he told us about his mother's death?"

  He shrugged and put his mouth close to my ear. His breath was warm against my skin as he said softly, "I told him I knew he would always miss his mother but that now was the time for him to cherish his father."

  "That's beautiful," I said to him, in wonder at the kindness and common wisdom of this man I'd grown to love.

  My thoughts were interrupted as a muscly man came from behind the bar carrying a big platter with sliders stacked high with meat and piles upon piles of onion rings. The crowd went wild as he set it on the table in front of Paco.

  "Oh my," I said.

  "You can say that again," Tino said as Paco grinned, and with the applause of the crowd sounding around him, he dove in to the pile of sliders.

  "Oh my." I did repeat it then added, "I feel like the most important thing to do here is to be sure to advise Paco that whatever else he tells his aunt about tonight's activities, he should be sure not to mention that the sliders were pork."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After Paco had eaten all sixteen sliders and onion rings with four minutes to spare, dozens of bikers—all the way from the big ol' bearded boys with chains hanging off them to the skinny, hard-looking ones who hadn't looked as if their weight would balance one of those humongous Harleys—had all wanted to buy Paco and, by association, us beers.

  An excellent turn of events. Beer being one of both my and Tino's favorite beverages and apparently also one of Paco's, there had been plenty of toasting and plenty of chugging, and lots of music and noise and back-slapping and just about anything and everything else you could have asked for on a visit to a biker bar in coastal Washington. A skirmish had even broken out between two big guys about which one of them looked most handsome in the selfie they'd taken with Paco. I had my own opinion as to the more attractive of the two but kept it to myself while the two men rolled around on the barroom floor pulling hair and punching each other ineffectually like a couple of eight-year-olds in a school yard.

  While I'd had a few beers, I was only feeling slightly relaxed. As designated driver, Tino had only one beer and that with an order of onion rings, so he was essentially sober. But Paco had been the man of the hour, or at least the over-eater of the hour. Everyone insisted on buying him drinks, and he was pretty well oiled by the time we left.

  We arrived back at Ocean View Bed & Breakfast at about half past one in the morning. To make sure he made it upstairs safely, Tino walked Paco up to his room while I waited in the parlor.

  I was having a hard time not dozing off in the cozy room when the front door opened again and who should walk in but Evan, Sabrina's other employee and for want of a better label, keeper.

  He looked like he'd had sort of an interesting evening. His hair was pretty much standing straight up, and his clothes were all wrinkled. He'd hung his jacket over his shoulder on the crook of his index finger, and his shirttail hung outside his pants. He was humming "Crystal Blue Persuasion" as he walked by without noticing me, heading for the kitchen where I knew Bree always kept fresh fruit, nuts, pastries, and other snacks for her customers who might need a pick-me-up at the odd hour.

  I sat up straight, put my nose in the air, and inhaled deeply, catching the strong aroma I recognized instantly.

  It was only a minute or two before Tino came down the stairs, and we went back out to the car.

  When he got inside, before he started up, I laid my hand on his arm.

  "I just learned something about Sabrina I didn't know before."

  He looked at me from across the car, his dark eyes shining in the glow of the dash lights. "Something helpful?"

  I nodded. "I think so, anyway." I told him about Evan being so concerned and Johnny-on-the-spot to rush into Smugglers' Tavern when Sabrina had been overcome by all the Rum Runners—and how Carlos hadn't stood a chance against him that first afternoon when they'd tangled—and how he always seemed to be hovering around Sabrina.

  "Huh," Tino said. "I'll bite. What's so significant about that?"

  "It's signifi
cant because he just walked into the Ocean View at this late hour looking like he'd been sleeping in his clothes or maybe like he'd just gotten dressed in a hurry, and as he walked by I caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5. There was a full one-ounce bottle of that sexy stuff sitting on Sabrina's vanity in the motor coach the night she asked me to pig sit. Both she and her bedroom had been doused with it."

  I didn't say anything else, leaving Tino to put two and two, or in this case one and one, together.

  He was very good at math. "Ooh-la-la," he said. "A little hanky-panky in the RV between the diva and her bodyguard?"

  I smiled and nodded. "Yes, I think so, Sherlock. A little hanky-panky in the RV, and maybe a motive for murder to boot."

  * * *

  My phone rang at eight a.m. Tuesday morning, and I rolled over in bed with a few choice utterances for whoever was calling me.

  I hadn't finally hit the sack until after two thirty, and sleeping in had been my sincere intention. Evidently not everyone I knew was on board with the program. There was no specific ringtone, so I had no idea who it was.

  "Mmm?" I wasn't up to a hello, and as hosed over as I felt, I considered the caller lucky to have gotten that much but changed my mind the instant I heard the voice.

  "Lizzie?" It sounded more like Leesy. "Is Mamá Morales. How are you?"

  Tino's mother. I was suddenly wide-awake with a hundred terrible thoughts skittering through my mind all at the same time. "What's wrong?"

  "Nada. Nothing is wrong." Her voice rose in alarm. "What is wrong with you?"

  I relaxed. "No, Mamá Morales. I just thought…" Over the past few months I'd been dating Tino, she'd never called me before. "How are you?"

  "Good," she said. "I'm real good. I'm just thinking you should come to see me today."

  "Oh." I was surprised. "Okay," I said slowly. "What time do you get off work?"

  "Late. Why don't you come to see me on my break? Ten fifteen, before we get hit with lunch."

  "What's up, Mamá Morales? Is something wrong?"

  "You just come to me, Lizzie. Okay? We can talk then."

  "Sure." Suddenly nervous, I swung my legs from under the covers. "I'll be there."

  I showered, dressed, and walked and fed Vader.

  He stared at me forlornly as I picked up my helmet at the front door. He'd been alone a lot over the past few days, and from the sad look on his face, he was tired of it.

  Vader was a confident little guy and, as far as I knew, didn't suffer separation anxiety, but he wasn't crazy about being alone either.

  Isaac Jagger, my octogenarian upstairs neighbor, took him sometimes and had agreed to dog sit today. Ironic that, the dog sitter needing a dog sitter.

  Isaac was glad to have Vader's company. In fact, Isaac was glad for almost anyone's company. He didn't have any family in Danger Cove, and his health wasn't robust enough for him to participate in many of the senior activities in town. Jimmy John came by once a week if the weather was good and took him out on his boat, the Sweet Lizzie. On those mornings Isaac would don his Top-Siders and windbreaker and be outside waiting for Jimmy John at least half an hour before the scheduled pickup.

  Over the last couple of summer months, Tino and I had taken him out a few times—once downtown to the Deja View movie theater for John Wayne Week where they were showing some of the Duke's most iconic films. Isaac had a great time, but I could tell he was pretty much pooped out by the time the film was over and we'd driven back to Hazlitt Heights and helped him upstairs. He still talked about it whenever I saw him. We'd have to do that for him again sometime—sometime real soon. Just as soon as this murder was solved.

  I waited outside his apartment with Vader in my arms. It always took Isaac a little while to get to the door. He was a pretty shaky guy, but I couldn't have asked for a more solid friend.

  "Morning, Missy." He was in his robe and slippers, his white hair—what there was of it—stood straight up. He held out his arms, and Vader yipped and wagged his tail. Vader liked staying with Isaac. I suspected there were lots and lots of puppy cookies offered in apartment 3G. "Where you off to?"

  "I have something to tell Jimmy John, and then I'm going over to see Tino's mother." Vader yipped again, probably in a hurry to get inside and check out Isaac's stash of treats. I scruffed his ear—Vader's, not Isaac's. "Thanks for taking my boy," I said.

  "Any time, Missy," Isaac said. "Me and Vader, we get each other. Don't we, buddy?"

  Vader yipped again.

  "Say hi to Triple J," Isaac said. "If the weather holds, we're going out on the water tomorrow." His pale eyes lit up.

  I nodded. "He's down at the pier checking out the Sweet Lizzie this morning. Tomorrow's forecast is good. You two ought to have a nice day for a boat ride."

  I left Isaac and Vader, hopped on Jasper, and putt-putted over to the senior living complex, Coveside Retirement Resort, where Tino's mother worked in food service.

  When I got there, I called Mamá Morales's cell. She met me at the side entrance, carrying two big paper coffee cups with an imprint of the Coveside signature logo. Her arms spread wide, and she hugged me quite carefully so as not to spill the coffee. She was a few inches shorter than I, a little on the stout side, and just the right size for hugging, which she was very good at—her hugs weren't too hard, too long, or too intimate. Like Goldilocks, she'd figured physical contact out "just right."

  "The way you like it? Yes? Lots of cream and sugar," she said and handed one of the cups to me. Tino's mom was always trying to fatten me up. We made our way through the slick and modern residence past public rooms filled with geriatric residents in all stages of their lives—from those active, alert, and fit to others who sat in wheelchairs staring at TVs or out windows.

  "Yes. That's the way I like it."

  I thought of Isaac who insisted on living alone and independent rather than move to a multiple residence or assisted living facility—he would swear that watching out for his own self kept him "in there," and then he would point to his head. A few of Jimmy John's other friends lived here at the resort, and not only did they not complain, they thrived. It probably had a lot to do with their level of engagement and what they expected out of their retirement years. Lizzie's Rulebook, a recent entry: Life is what you make of it.

  Mamá Morales and I went through a pair of French doors out to the garden where we found a nice spot at a table on a paved patio area. A few older people with visitors sat near us. It was a beautiful spot.

  The landscaping at Coveside was (what I considered) unique for the Washington coastal area. Clusters of Mediterranean fan palms, screens of swaying bamboo, and lush colorful areas of fuchsia, gardenias, and geraniums thrived in our unpredictable weather under the constant eye of the well-paid landscapers.

  I waited while Mamá Morales took a sip of her coffee then took off the lid and blew softly on it. "Too hot," she said. "Cuidado, Lizzie." She took another sip then blinked her eyes in the bright mid-morning sunlight, her sweet round face creasing into a smile.

  "You look so pretty, Lizzie. Tino is very lucky to have a sweet and pretty girl like you." Her smile faded.

  I'd already asked her what was wrong twice without results, so I just sat and waited until she was ready to tell me why I'd been summoned.

  She wore a light blue uniform with Coveside embroidered on the pocket. Above it, she'd pinned a badge that read, Yolanda Morales, Food Service.

  The woman was an excellent cook, and it was highly likely the food at Coveside was darn good. On several occasions she'd even figured out how to prepare delicious and satisfying Salvadoran recipes for my vegetarian palate.

  She lifted her face to a slight breeze that caught a few dark hairs from under her hairnet. Unexpectedly, she laid her hand on mine.

  Uh-oh. Here it comes.

  "Tino, he loves you, Lizzie. I love you too." She patted my hand then pulled hers back. "But I love my son more. And these past days I am sad for him."

  "Sad?"

  She nodded
. "He worries that some day your work will carry you away from him."

  Oh, that. Not only did I get it from Jimmy John, Fran, and Tino, now Tino's mom was getting in on the act.

  "Augustine has never before spoken to me of wanting to spend his life with someone, of being afraid to give all of himself because that someone might leave and take his heart with her. Now he's said these words to me, and you are the someone he speaks of."

  I didn't know what to say. Yes, he'd been pressing me to let him know what my plans were, but he'd never put it to me the way his mother had. Was he withholding himself so I didn't move away and break his heart? And did he really want to spend his life with me? That truly sounded like love, the good old-fashioned, ever-after kind. What was it we used to say skipping rope on the playground? I mentally recited it, changing the names to: Tino and Lizzie sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Lizzie with a baby carriage.

  Was that what he wanted?

  I looked into Mrs. Morales's dark eyes. "Mamacita," I said softly, adopting Tino's pet name for his mother. "I guess I need to have a good long talk with Tino and figure things out."

  She nodded. "Sí." She paused and leaned forward, her forearms on the table, her gaze direct. "But first, I think you need to have a good long talk with Lizzie and figure things out with her."

  Her words went straight to my heart. She was right. I didn't need to figure out what Tino wanted. He evidently already knew. I needed to figure out what I wanted, what was most important to me. Could I have it all? Could I have a veterinary practice, and Tino, and children?

  I left Coveside and Mamá Morales when her break was over, thanking her for her thoughtfulness and honesty. No wonder Tino was such a good and decent man—he'd been raised by a wise, grounded, and loving woman.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  From Coveside, Jasper and I made our way through town to the pier where I found Jimmy John scrubbing the deck of the Sweet Lizzie. Next to my deceased grandma, Fran, and of course, me, the Sweet Lizzie was the love of his life. She was a '76 Mackinac twenty-three-foot cabin cruiser he'd brought back to life with several years' worth of sweat equity and TLC. He and I had been slicing the choppy waters around Danger Cove in her for years. He took Fran, Isaac, Bud Ohlsen, and other friends out whenever the urge struck him. If Jimmy John hadn't gone into television journalism, he would have been a heckuva sea captain. Maybe even a privateer. He certainly had the swashbuckle for it.