Sun Scream

by Barbara Silkstone

  Despite the kerchief knotted under her chin and the huge sunglasses, it was impossible to hide the high cheekbones, full lips, and Roman nose of one of the world’s great beauties.

  Sophia flashed a perfect white smile and stepped into the foyer, followed by Raelyn and Fabio. She reached out and hugged me. “Cara mia! So this was Isabella’s home? It is charming. Have you been cooking or doing auto repair? I smell garlic and the fumes from a car.”

  I noticed the aroma of last night’s pizza lingered—but I had forgotten our clothes from the night before. They were still in the washer with the lid down.

  She released me and moved to her portrait hanging over the foyer table. “I am flattered. Is this Isabella’s doing?”

  “Nonna was your most devoted fan. You’ll find your photos and portraits everywhere. I motioned toward the living room. “Let me introduce you to my friend. He’s paid me a surprise visit.”

  Sophia removed her sunglasses and kerchief, shaking her dark should-length hair to loosen the curls. With Raelyn and Fabio at her side she followed me into the living room.

  Digby stood, extending his hand. The look on his face registered no recognition. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who had any interest in films and probably couldn’t tell Cary Grant from Shirley Temple.

  “This is Digby. He raises bees—out in the country,” I said. “He was a dear friend of Nonna’s.”

  “A friend of Isabella is a friend of mine.” Sophia shook his hand. “Mr. Digby, this is Raelyn Smith and Fabio Santoro.”

  “Not mister. Just Digby.” He took Raelyn’s delicate hand. “You are a very pretty girl. Remind me of my first love.”

  “You, on the other hand, do not.” He shook Fabio’s hand, while everyone chuckled.

  “Why don’t I make myself useful since I sprung a surprise on you?” He reached behind him and lifted his cloth bag from the sofa. “What I got here are spaghetti squash blossoms. I used to fry them for Isabella. Olive will tell you how good they are. I can whip up a batch in the kitchen. If y’all haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

  My heart fell to my stomach. He wasn’t going to be frying in my kitchen. I sure didn’t want him to see my cold cream laboratory.

  “Fantastica!” Sophia said. “One of my favorite dishes but we have only a short time for our visit. Perhaps next time?”

  “Then take these with you. Fry them lightly in oil.” Digby passed the bag to Sophia. “I can bring more for Olive.”

  Digby’s gift of spaghetti squash blossoms was probably a first for Sophia who had received her share of awards, trophies, and priceless bling. Now she had a bag of friable blossoms.

  “Fabio, perhaps you have an interest in the keeping of bees?” Sophia gave her bodyguard a wink. “You and Digby might enjoy the view from the patio while you learn of his work.”

  “Yes. Please do tell me about your bees.” Fabio put his hand on Digby’s back and guided him to the sliding glass doors. As he opened the door, I scooped up Puff and slipped her into my bedroom just in case.

  “And now you must show me where you create Nonna’s wonderful creams,” Sophia said as I returned to the living room.

  “Our workshop is right here in the kitchen.”

  Sophia examined all the jars, pots, and ingredients. She fiddled with the mortar and pestle. “This is all well and good, but once I put my name behind your creams you must be able to fulfill the demand or we will both be stressed.” She touched a finger to the spot between my brows. “Stress will cause wrinkles. We cannot have that.”

  She leaned against the refrigerator and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. Raelyn took a seat on one of the chairs.

  “I like deadlines,” Sophia said. “They make people perform. Before the end of next week, we shall have a signed agreement for my endorsement. You will take the contract to your banker. It will be enough to secure a business loan.”

  My mouth fell open. She reached out and tucked me under the chin closing my gap.

  “I have given thought to this. You need a professional operation. You are no longer a —how you say—cottage industry. I took notice of the yard behind your shop. There is space to build a proper laboratory. Once the bank makes the loan, you must hire an architect and a builder. I won’t begin the endorsement until you have a suitable place to manufacture and perhaps five-thousand jars of the magical cream ready to ship.”

  Lizzy and I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Five thousand jars!

  “We have a deal.” Sophia extended her hand. “I must caution you. Please do nothing that will cause me embarrassment. Know that once I endorse your wonderful creams, the paparazzi will enter your lives. They are like the seagulls, swooping down and tearing at any crumb of gossip. You and Lizzy must be discreet. Try to avoid the solving of murders as your business will now be linked with my name.”

  “I believe Starfish Cove is fresh out of unsolved murders. We haven’t seen a dead body in months.”

  The smile on Sophia’s lips didn’t make it to her eyes. My humor was out of place. She was right. Anything mysterious would now be handed directly to Kal. At the time I actually believed it.

  As we shook hands over the deal, someone knocked frantically at my door. I excused myself—crossing my fingers—fearing embarrassment.

  I opened the door. Grams literally jumped into the foyer, her man-sized T-shirt drooping from one shoulder leaving her bra strap exposed. She waved her candlestick in one hand while using the other to push her Reporter-Armed Bodyguard fedora back on her head. Sweat dripped from her brow.

  Chapter 19

  Grams grabbed me by the arm, clobbering me lightly with the candlestick. She spun me around so her back was to Sophia. In an agitated whisper she said, “Chip is home. He had a surprise waiting for Jaimie.” She shivered, pulling her shirt in place covering her shoulder. “Jaimie wouldn’t let me stick around but I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Sophia remained in the kitchen doorway, her expression registered amusement. A smile played at the corners of Raelyn’s mouth as she stood at her boss’s side.

  I yanked free from Grams’ grip. “This isn’t a good time. Give me an hour and I’ll meet you at Jaimie’s.”

  “In an hour she might be dead!”

  Sophia’s expression didn’t change despite my handshake agreement not to get involved in solving any more murders.

  “What did Chip buy her? A woman-eating gorilla?” I asked.

  “Worse than that! A tanning bed!” She raised her voice a little too loudly.

  A snort escaped my nose. “Grams, relax. A tanning bed is fine. It may damage her skin but perhaps she wants to use it only during the rainy days of summer.”

  Grams didn’t relax. She was close to hyperventilating. “Jaimie plus vodka plus a tanning bed is not a good idea!”

  She had a point. I couldn’t let the dear lady back on the road alone, not in her jittery condition. A call to Kal because of the gift of a tanning bed would be silly. “Have a seat in the living room. I’ll follow you to Jaimie’s but you’ll have to wait. I have guests.”

  “We must be going,” Sophia said as I stepped back into the kitchen. She knotted her kerchief around her head and donned her dark glasses. “We have an agreement, then? My Miami solicitor will draw up a contract and send it to you. It would be wise to have a local lawyer review it on your behalf—just so there are no misunderstandings.” She gave me a stern look. “No more murder solving.”

  I nodded solemnly.

  We returned to the living room. Fabio and Digby had come in from the balcony.

  Evidently Sophia’s attendant was not that fascinated with beekeeping.

  Grams, seated on the sofa between the hunk and the beekeeper, was grinning like a girl at her first prom. The hunky bodyguard—not Grams, Fabio—appeared bored his eyes glazed over.

  “You didn’t tell me Fabio was here!” Grams chirped. “We were having a nice chat about bees and things.” Grams had gone from panic to pleasure in the course of minutes.
/>   Digby stood and took her hand. “I must be on my way to the airport. It was lovely meeting you Mrs. Dingler. If you are ever in Merryvale please do look me up. I would love to show you my hives.”

  “Ooo! Hives?” Grams fluttered her eyes as if stricken. “I love hives!”

  Digby said his goodbyes, holding Raelyn’s hand a bit longer than necessary. “You’ve brought back memories dear girl.” She returned his smile and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “Miss Sophia. If you’re ever in Merryvale please come to my farm. I’d love to show your son my bees.”

  “Fabio is not my son.” Sophia’s smile was clearly forced.

  Digby turned beet-red. “Oops! Sorry!” The beekeeper blushed and quickly headed out the door his foot firmly planted in his mouth.

  “I’ll just close up, then Grams and I will escort you to your car.” I secured the balcony door, then let Puff out of my bedroom. She scrambled into the living room to see what she had missed.

  Raelyn scooped my kitty into her arms holding her to her cheek. Puff nuzzled the young lady. “I love cats,” she said placing the furball on the armchair near the door.

  Grams pushed her fedora down over her noggin, feeling for the proper placement of her two labels. “Ready when you are,” she said. She lifted her candlestick.

  I grabbed my purse peeking inside to be sure I had my cell phone and a can of hairspray.

  We took the stairs down one flight as there were too many of us to fit the slow moving elevator. Fabio left to bring their car around while Sophia and Raelyn stood in the air-conditioned lobby.

  And then horror of horrors, the elevator doors opened and out stepped Ivy LaVine.

  My former friend and new competitor threw a tight-lipped smile at me and then cut her eyes to Sophia. Despite Sophia’s kerchief and sunglasses, Ivy recognized her. “You’re Sophia Napoli!”

  It was a stupid remark—one not worthy of a response. Of course Sophia knew she was Sophia.

  Fabio pulled the sedan to the entrance. Sophia and Raelyn slipped out the door and into the car. Grams and I followed bidding them goodbye and promising to see them in the next day or so.

  As the car pulled away, Ivy was at my elbow. “That was Sophia Napoli!” She looked longingly after the sedan. “Maybe she’d let the newspaper take a photo of her in my new shop? How do I get in touch with her?”

  I leaned over and whispered in Grams’ ear. “Gaslight her. Play along.”

  “You mean the actress?” I said, looking dumb.

  Grams considered Ivy and then me. “I think that’s who she means.”

  Ivy ran her hand through her hair and then hugged herself. With a slow disbelieving shake of her head, she persisted. “I know what I saw. You forget I babysat your shop while you visited her in Miami.” Her chin jutted out as she raised her eyebrows. “You owe me.”

  “You don’t look well. Are you running a fever?” I reached out as if to touch her forehead. “We have no idea what you’re talking about. Do we?”

  “Think you’re getting too much sun,” Grams squinted at her. “You need some of Olive and Lizzy’s cream—fix those brain wrinkles in no time.”

  “She was just here!” Ivy’s eyes bugged. “You must know where she’s staying!”

  “Come on. We’ve got places to go.” I grabbed Grams’ arm. “You’d best get out of the sun, Ivy.”

  We left my neighbor-competitor standing in the parking lot wearing a bewildered look while holding her palm against her brow.

  Grams and I dashed to my car. I held her candlestick as she slipped into the passenger seat. I made certain she buckled up and then got behind the wheel.

  “I should have just called you. It would have saved time.” Grams wrung her hands.

  “Here’s my phone. Try to call her.” I passed her my cell and then started the car.

  Anxiety pills were in order for Grams and me. “It’s only a tanning bed. I’m sure Chip had it properly installed. He’s there with her.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She was back on her Chick Chat soapbox.

  We arrived at the Toasts exactly twelve minutes later. There were no cars in the driveway, which meant either Chip, Jamie, or both were away. The patched garage door remained a blot on the neighborhood but at least the crime scene tape had been removed.

  Grams beat me up the front stairs, which didn’t say much for my physical condition.

  We rang the bell and banged on the door. No answer. I tried Jaimie on my cell phone. Nothing. I put my ear to the glass pane that ran alongside the door from top to bottom.

  I heard a faint sound like a muffled scream. There was no other choice. I grabbed Grams’ candlestick and bashed in the window. The alarm didn’t sound but Jaimie was definitely screaming.

  Chapter 20

  Using the candlestick, I pulverized every shard of glass then stepped through the opening I created. Grams wasn’t going to get hurt on my watch. I helped her through the broken window. She swayed a few times, stabilized, and snatched the candlestick from my hand.

  “Listen!” Grams screeched. “The gym. The tanning bed has her!”

  Grams and I raced toward the sounds of Jaimie’s primal scream.

  The clamshell-coffin of ultraviolet light sat away from the wall behind a collection of Medieval Inquisition fitness equipment. I bashed my hip against an iron monster and slid to a stop at the glowing bed.

  “Help! Help! Get me out of here!” Jaimie yowled.

  I tried to lift the lid. It didn’t budge. After a second failed attempt, I ran my hands over the canopy handle searching for a release button. Again, I came up empty. I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead. Grams thumped it with her candlestick barely missing my head.

  “Grams, I’ll handle this.”

  For once she listened and backed off. The near miss must have shaken her as much as it did me.

  “There should be a panic button in there!” I called to Jaimie.

  “Not working! Burning up!”

  A heavy cord ran from the tanning bed to the wall outlet six feet away. I yanked it. The plug popped out and the machine went dark. I tore back to the tanning bed and tried to lift the lid. It wouldn’t budge. I attacked it with all the force I could muster. The canopy refused open.

  “I’m losing my mind!” Jaimie cried. She let out a wail and began to thrash.

  “Calm down! You might break the glass,” I said, pretty sure it was high-impact plastic, but she might hurt herself if she went into a full-blown panic attack.

  The back of the clamshell lid had two hinged arms one at the head and one at the foot. I needed something to smash them, something much heavier than Grams’ candlestick.

  A rack near the weightlifting bench held sets of dumbbells. I hefted the largest one, marked with the number fifty, over my head with both hands and staggered back to the lid. I nearly dropped the thing on my noggin, regained my balance, and bashed it on the hinge near the foot of the bed. It cracked in two.

  Half way home. “Hang on Jaimie.” I looked at Grams. She was chewing on one fist, clutching her candlestick with the other, and thankfully not offering me any advice.

  When I broke the hinge near Jaimie’s head the canopy might come down on her. “Jaimie, put your hands on your face.”

  She cried, “Get me out of here. My hands are over my face. Go for it!”

  I jerked the stupidly heavy weight over my head, reeled backwards a few steps, planted a foot, lurched forward, and slammed it down on the second hinge. The canopy fell inward. The dumbbell slipped from my hands, grazing my shoe but missing my toe. I grabbed the battered lid, hot but not as hot as I expected and pushed it open.

  Jaimie rolled out wearing a yellow bikini and flopped to the floor. “Ouch!”

  Grams ran to her.

  “Don’t touch me! I hurt all over! I’m on fire!”

  She wasn’t lobster red—more like sand crab pink.

  “I’ll get you water,” I said.

  “Vod
ka! Big glass!” she staggered to her feet. “Hurry!”

  I dashed to the kitchen and ran a glass of chilled water from the refrigerator dispenser.

  When I returned, Jaimie was sitting on the edge of the weightlifting bench, her bikini bottom resting gingerly on the corner. “Thank goodness!” She reached for the glass of water, took a slug and spit it out. “It’s not vodka!”

  “Water now. Vodka later.” I studied her burns. They weren’t as bad as I feared.

  “We need to get you to the hospital just in case.”

  “No way! I’m going to get a reputation for being an accident-prone halfwit.”

  I didn’t bother to tell her that train had left the station.

  Grams stood behind Jaimie. She gave me a told-you-so look. “Where’s Chip?” she asked.

  “He’s at the marina. The dock master called him. Something happened to his sailboat.” Jaimie gave me a puppy dog look. “You can’t tell Chip about this!”

  “Why not?” Grams stepped to face the toasted Mrs. Toast putting her hands on her tiny hips.

  “Because he made me promise not to use the tanning bed when he wasn’t home.”

  As usual Jaimie didn’t think it through. She’d worn my patience thinner than her barbequed hide. “So why didn’t you listen to him? You’re famous for your ineptness with anything that plugs in. And how do you plan to keep it from him when you can’t be touched and you look like the main course at a weenie roast?”

  “I didn’t listen to him because I don’t listen to anybody, especially Chip, and it’s a new toy. How could I resist? Who knew how long he’d be fiddling with that stupid sailboat?”

  Jaimie cut her eyes to the tanning bed. It was a sorry mess with the canopy caved in. “We can’t tell him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Right. He won’t notice a thing. The big question is why wouldn’t the lid release?”

  I knelt beside the tanning bed and examined the handle carefully.

  With a nearly inaudible tink a tiny nail fell to the floor. It had been wedged in the handle. Would it have prevented the hatch from releasing?