On the Lamb

by Tina Kashian

  Lucy knew the psychic must have electric and heating bills to pay, but for some reason it seemed strange to imagine her writing a check. “Did you see anything that night?”

  “I saw only one person—Eloisa Lubinski. She was walking on the beach. I assumed she was heading home from somewhere.”

  Eloisa had already confessed she’d walked home from one of her ladies’ nights out. It didn’t help her case that she’d told Detective Clemmons as well. But the detective couldn’t seriously consider the eightysomething woman a serious suspect, could he? Gilbert may have wanted to evict his aunt from her home, but Eloisa wouldn’t have killed him because of that.

  “Not less than half an hour after I saw Eloisa,” Madame Vega continued. “l heard the sirens and came outside to see the police Jeeps as they drove across the sand and stopped by the bonfire.”

  Lucy sat back, a bit disappointed. She’d been sure Madame would have seen something or someone other than Eloisa that night. “That’s all you saw?”

  “Yes,” she said, then hesitated as she played with the voluminous sleeves of her robe. “But there is another person who may have the information you seek,” Madame said.

  “Who?”

  “You should check out Tessa’s Tattoo Parlor. She was open late that night. A lot of bikers want body ink, and Tessa’s parlor has been a whirlwind.”

  “Good idea.” Lucy had already suspected the tattoo parlor would be busy. She’d lost count of how many tattooed motorcycle tourists she’d seen during her morning run. And Tessa had been working on the boardwalk for a long time. Not as long as Madame Vega had been reading palms and tarot cards, but the tattoo artist was renowned at the Jersey shore for her intricate skin artwork. If Lucy had known Tessa was open late the night of the bonfire, she would have spoken to her sooner.

  Suddenly anxious to follow up on this lead, Lucy stood and pulled a ten from the zippered pocket of her running shorts.

  Madame Vega held up a hand. “No payment for today.”

  “You sure?”

  “I didn’t summon you here for payment.” The woman’s mouth dipped into a frown, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. Pressing both palms on the velvet-draped table, she leaned forward. “There’s one more thing you must know. The murderer remains in town.”

  Lucy’s gaze snapped to hers. “How do you know that?”

  “I can sense it. There is an evil presence in Ocean Crest.”

  What the heck did that mean? A shiver of trepidation traveled down Lucy’s spine as she held the psychic’s stare. “How does that work exactly?”

  Madame shrugged again. “I cannot explain it, I just know. You be careful, Lucy. Your palm says you are good at unearthing answers, but you may not be so lucky to escape unscathed this time.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucy’s eyes adjusted to the morning sunlight from the dim psychic salon as she continued on her run. Madame’s warning kept slipping through her thoughts.

  There is an evil presence in Ocean Crest.

  Her warning had merit. There was a good chance the murderer remained in town.

  But how was Lucy to ferret him or her out?

  At least the psychic had given Lucy a lead. Tessa’s Tattoos was a short jog from Madame Vega’s. As soon as Lucy stepped inside the parlor, the loud buzzing of a tattoo machine sounded. Tessa was hard at work inking a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair. He had numerous tattoos on his arms and a snake that wound around his neck like a boa constrictor.

  Tessa wore blue gloves, the same kind a doctor might use while examining a patient. The man reclined in a black leather chair, and Tessa sat in a backless, wheeled chair that allowed her to easily access her clients from any angle. Lucy watched, fascinated, as the needles of the tattoo gun pierced the man’s skin at a superfast pace, and Tessa traced a design of a Celtic cross she’d drawn on the man’s chest.

  “Be right with you,” Tessa said without looking up or stopping her work.

  Lucy felt a bit queasy watching. She’d never had a high tolerance for pain and couldn’t imagine getting a tattoo. She dreaded the flu shot every year and squeezed her eyes shut until the nurse had finished. The first time she’d had her eyebrows waxed, she’d squirmed like a baby. When the cosmetologist suggested waxing her legs, or heaven help her, a Brazilian bikini wax, Lucy had sped from the beauty salon.

  Lucy turned away from the scene to scan the room. Pictures of Tessa’s artwork covered the walls—everything imaginable, from birds of prey, eagles with roses, skulls, and dragons and serpents. All the pictures were intricate works of varying colors that could be permanently tattooed on any body part.

  Tessa stood and snapped off her gloves. “You’ll have to come back to finish,” she instructed the man.

  The middle-aged man stood, his face a bit pale. Lucy wondered if he would pass out, but he made it out of the parlor on his own two feet.

  Tessa came over to Lucy. “Hello.”

  A slim, short woman in her early fifties, Tessa had shoulder-length blue hair and wore black army boots. She was dressed in a tank top and short skirt that showed off her tattooed arms and legs. A tongue-piercing was visible when she smiled.

  “Hi. My name is Lucy Berberian.”

  “I know who you are. You’re the owner of that Mediterranean restaurant. I ate there a couple of weeks ago and saw you.”

  “I’m not the owner. Just the manager.”

  “Hmm. You have the best hummus around. I’ve wanted to go back to your hummus bar ever since.”

  “Thanks.”

  She arched a brow, and Lucy noticed it was pierced as well. “Want a tattoo of hummus? I can draw whatever you like.”

  “No, I’m not here for a tattoo. I was wondering if you were open the night Gilbert Lubinski was killed on the beach, and if you saw anything.”

  “I was. I’ve been superbusy here since the first day the Bikers on the Beach festival began.”

  Lucy knew Tessa’s time was in high demand. Stan Slade had written an article about her. For all of Tessa’s appearance—blue hair, inked arms and legs, and piercings—she was a skilled artist and a master with the ink gun. People came from all over South Jersey for Tessa’s unique designs, or for one of her premade creations from her wall of ink, or to transform a bad tattoo with a new one. With all the bikers in town, Lucy imagined Tessa was in even higher demand.

  “Did you happen to hear anything?” Lucy asked.

  “The machines are loud, especially when you’re crouched over someone, working. Why are you asking?”

  “I was on the beach that night. I’m looking into a few things.”

  A sharp gleam lit her dark eyes. “I get it. Are you being accused? No, wait. It has to be a friend. Am I close?”

  Lucy stared. How could she tell?

  “I don’t just tattoo,” Tessa said. “I have to read people’s minds when they walk in here. Most have a vague idea of what they want, but rely on me to dig deep and really figure it out. At times, I feel like a shrink. Too bad I can’t bill myself out as one.”

  Lucy could see it. If she were going to get a tattoo, she’d have somewhat of an idea, but would have to rely on Tessa’s expertise to flesh out her design. It must be a very personal experience. Tessa wouldn’t only have to be a great artist, but a bit of a psychic as well. Madame Vega would have stiff competition.

  Just then, another man strolled in. A tall, blond man with a tattoo of barbed wire around his large biceps. In Lucy’s opinion, it was ugly and discolored, and Lucy wondered if he was here to have Tessa cover it up with a better tattoo.

  “Take a seat,” Tessa said. “I’ll be right with you.” She steered Lucy to the back of the parlor and away from her newest customer. Lucy spotted bottles of ink of varying colors and another tattoo gun on a table.

  “Do the police have any suspects?” Tessa asked.

  “They do, but I think they have the wrong people in mind,” Lucy said.

  “Ah, it is a friend, then.”

&
nbsp; Tessa was more perceptive than most people, probably more than the police. Before she could respond, another male voice sounded from the front of the parlor.

  “You got to be kidding me! You have nerve,” an angry male shouted.

  “Get over yourself.”

  “Shove it.”

  “Make me.”

  Lucy looked at Tessa, wide-eyed. “What’s going on?”

  Without answering, Tessa sprinted to the front to investigate. Lucy, hot on her heels, was shocked to discover one of the angry voices belonged to Pumpkin. His slightly long, dark hair was tied back, and a shadow of a beard darkened his square chin.

  “Pumpkin? What are you doing here?” Lucy asked.

  “Hey, Lucy. Getting a tattoo.” Pumpkin’s gaze traveled down Lucy’s arms and legs. “What about you? Are you getting your first one?”

  “What’s going on here?” Tessa demanded.

  “He has my appointment time.” Pumpkin’s brows slashed down and his jaw hardened as he pointed to the blond man he’d been fighting.

  The large, blond man’s face screwed into an identical angry expression, and he stood to face Pumpkin, his fists clenched at his sides. “Like hell. He has mine.”

  Truly? Lucy couldn’t fathom physically fighting over an appointment. The two men looked ready to tear each other apart. Their argument showed just how much Tessa’s time was valued.

  Tessa bravely stepped between the giants, rolling her eyes as if she were dealing with two oversize toddlers. She looked tiny and fierce as she glowered at both of them. “We’ll settle this nice, boys, or I won’t tattoo either of you. There’s been an obvious mix-up.”

  “Seriously, Tessa? You’re hard to get an appointment with and I made this one a long time ago,” the blond man said.

  “Me too,” Pumpkin countered.

  “One of you has to go, but I promise to squeeze you in later and spend extra time on your tattoo. I’ll give you a fifty-percent discount, too,” Tessa said.

  “Fine. I’ll go,” Pumpkin said.

  “Good boy. How about same time next Tuesday?”

  “I’ll be here.” Pumpkin left, and the blond man returned to the leather chair and sat.

  Once again, Tessa steered Lucy out of earshot of her customer.

  “I can’t believe they almost came to a fistfight over an appointment with you,” Lucy said.

  Tessa smirked. “Those two don’t like each other; something about a bar brawl years ago.”

  “I’ve only recently gotten to know Pumpkin, but I never imagined him losing his temper like that,” Lucy said.

  “They are both serious hotheads.”

  Lucy may not have learned about Gilbert’s murder, but Tessa’s statement reminded Lucy how little she knew about Pumpkin. He’d had a beef with Gilbert for unpaid landscaping bills and dug-up flowers, but a serious hothead? And over a tattoo appointment?

  “They both acted like asses, but you handled it well,” Lucy said.

  “What can I say? Tattoos can bring out high emotions.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy thought about all she’d discovered as she left the tattoo parlor and started jogging the boardwalk. Madame Vega and Tessa hadn’t seen or heard anything from the bonfire, but Lucy had learned something from each visit. She was still surprised at Pumpkin’s display of temper from a double-booked tattoo appointment. He wasn’t the only suspect, though, and others had stronger motives to want Gilbert dead, but it would take a while for Lucy to forget his anger.

  She needed to head to her jetty to think about what she knew so far and run through the list of suspects and their motives.

  She reached the middle of the boardwalk, and the blacklight minigolf came into view. Craig Smith stood outside. Dressed in a button-downed, short-sleeved shirt and khakis, he looked ready for a day in the office. He checked his watch, then walked inside. Lucy knew he wanted to buy the business and that he’d hired Max as his real estate broker. Maybe he was meeting Max this morning.

  Max hadn’t been pleased to find her in the minigolf last time, and he didn’t want her to interfere with a sale. She would keep going this time. She’d had her fill of boardwalk adventure already today.

  She was several yards away when she spotted Sophia Lubinski rush up the boardwalk ramp in four-inch heels and make a beeline for the entrance to the blacklight minigolf as fast as she could.

  Sophia’s appearance was so unexpected that Lucy tripped over the raised edge of a board and barely caught herself before falling flat on her face.

  What the heck was Sophia doing meeting with Craig in the minigolf?

  Curiosity rose hot within Lucy. Something not quite kosher was happening, and she wanted to find out what was going on. She made it to the minigolf entrance and glanced inside, but didn’t see either Craig or Sophia. It was too early; the minigolf didn’t open until eleven o’clock. No one was manning the front desk. Taking advantage of the situation, Lucy darted inside.

  Like the first time she’d been here, everything was cast in an eerie neon glow. She was grateful for her gray T-shirt and black shorts. Like the last time she was here, nothing glowed except for her shoelaces. She heard voices and headed deeper into the place.

  She spotted the two of them all the way in the back by the last display, the clown.

  She froze, her heart pumping at the sight of the pasty-white face and red hair. Why did they have to meet by the scary clown?

  Lucy ducked behind the sandcastle display and listened.

  “How fast can you get me the cash?” Sophia asked.

  Sophia’s white sundress glowed under the ultraviolet lights. Her pale blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. And even though the lighting made it impossible to tell, Lucy would bet every dollar in her running shorts that Sophia had a full face of makeup.

  Craig folded his arms across his chest and leaned on the clown. “Fast. I want those condos.”

  “I can’t believe Gilbert didn’t sell his share to you if the price was right,” Sophia said.

  “Oh, he planned to sell his share, just not to me. Gilbert wanted to screw me over and sell his half of the units to another investor. He knew how badly I wanted them.”

  Sophia scoffed. “Gilbert was cruel. He knew how badly I wanted a divorce and he was dragging it out so I would run out of money to pay my lawyer, and he hoped I would give in to his demands of measly alimony. That’s just the way he worked.”

  “Well, he won’t be getting his way now, will he?” Craig said.

  Lucy’s foot was growing numb, but she dared not move. A partnership between Craig and Sophia? Who would have suspected? Did she kill him to inherit her share of the condos and sell them to Craig for quick cash? Or did Craig kill his partner, knowing Sophia would sell Gilbert’s share of the condos to him? Craig had admitted to desperately wanting them.

  Sophia tapped her high heel. “I’ll sign the sale documents tomorrow if you have the money.”

  Craig shook his head and held up a hand. “Not so fast.”

  “Why not?” Sophia demanded.

  “As much as I want to say yes, we should wait at least a month. We can’t arouse suspicion.”

  Sophia’s face screwed into a disgusted expression. “Fine. I’ve waited years. One more month won’t kill me.”

  Sophia started to turn away when Craig placed a hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. I want to know something. What do you plan to do with the money?”

  “Ditch this little beach town. I’m headed for New York City. It’s where all the big modeling agencies are located. I plan to land a modeling deal.”

  Mac McCabe had said Sophia had talked about her modeling ambitions in New York. Had she taken it one step too far and killed her husband to pursue her dreams? Had Gilbert mocked her dreams and stood in her way? Had he held the purse strings and prevented Sophia from going to the city?

  Or had Craig killed his business partner over some condominiums?

  Or had they done it together?

  E
ither way, it was looking more and more like either Sophia or Craig were murderers.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lucy never made it to the jetty. By the time she’d updated Katie on all her boardwalk jogging adventures for the day, she’d had to work the rest of the evening.

  The following morning, Lucy had a different destination in mind, and she headed to Emma and Max’s home.

  Her ten-year-old niece, Niari, opened the door before Lucy had a chance to knock.

  “Hi, Mokour Lucy!”

  Lucy gave Niari a big hug. “Mokour” translated into “mother’s sister” in Armenian. Her niece was dressed in a red soccer jersey, black soccer shorts, and cleats. Her light brown hair was in a ponytail and she wore a red, glitter headband that read, “Strikers.”

  “Are you coming to my soccer game?” Niari asked.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Lucy said. “Where’s your mom?”

  “She’s getting ready. Sally is also meeting us at the game. My dad can’t come because he’s showing a house to a buyer.”

  “That’s okay. With the three of us cheering you on, you have to score,” Lucy said.

  “You bet!”

  A quick ride later in separate cars, Lucy, Emma, and Sally were standing on the town’s soccer field waiting for Niari’s team to warm up. The coach called out, and the girls began running around the field. Niari gave a jaunty wave on her way by.

  Sally smiled and waved at Niari’s coach.

  “Nice of you to come, too, Sally,” Lucy said.

  Sally pushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear as she gazed out onto the field. “I wouldn’t miss it. I try to come to a few of her games. I dated Coach Randal back in high school.”

  “Don’t distract the coach,” Emma admonished. “We need to win this game to advance to the next flight.”

  Lucy chuckled, but Sally ignored Emma. “I know a few people on the other team, too,” Sally said as she grinned at parents standing on the sidelines.

  Sally knew more than just a few. She was a local encyclopedia of townsfolk, and locals loved her at the restaurant. Sally would stroll around as she took orders, served meals, and talked up a storm with her customers. It was no wonder she knew parents from the opposing team, who’d traveled from a few towns over.