A Purr-fect Storm

by Addison Moore

  Speaking of the door, in walks a tall, dark, and handsome bookie who I’ve been waiting to see.

  “Hang onto that thought, Till. I’ve got to say hello to someone.”

  “You do that. And don’t forget to change into that Cupid costume. Opal just told me the good news. Don’t be shy about it either. Legend has it that whoever dons that magical costume ends up having a magical night.”

  “Opal told me that Regina was Cupid for the last three years in a row. My guess is that magical night had something to do with sleeping with Shep.”

  “Then you’re in luck.” She gives a quick wink. “Oh, and try to shoot me and Dom, or me and Enzo, or me and the both of them with one of your arrows. It’s tradition that Cupid walks around the ballroom and taps potential lovers with his weaponry.”

  “I’m a her, and my aim isn’t so great, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  I take off for the entry and walk right into Justin Delforio in a freshly pressed suit.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say as I take a full step back. “Justin? Glad to see you’re here to support the girls.” I hitch a thumb toward the ring where Simone and Wendy are locked in a grunting match.

  “Actually, I am here to do just that. And in a strange way, I’m here to pay homage to Frisk, too.” He rocks back on his heels as he looks to the melee before us. “It’s been a wild ride with this crew, but much like Frisk, I think I’m going to have to pull back and think about retirement.” He glowers at the ring a moment. “I don’t know if you heard, but the sheriff’s department ransacked my place.”

  “You don’t say?” It takes everything in me not to mention the fact he shouldn’t leave his back door unlocked. Who knows what local girl gangs are liable to drop in?

  Okay, so I didn’t make the Hustlin’ Honeys cut, but that doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying. I may have scoffed at them in the beginning, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the deep-seated desire to belong. But as soon as I get in, we’re switching the name back to the Pink Ladies. Some childhood fantasies die hard.

  “Yup.” His chest grows twice its size with his next breath.

  “What were they looking for?”

  “Evidence that I killed Frisk, I suppose.”

  “Did they find it?”

  He shrugs. “They found some dirt. Nothing I’m proud of. But nothing that’s going to land me in a prison cell for murder one either. I didn’t kill Frisk. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve wanted to bash the guy’s head through a wall once or twice. He was living on the edge. He was practically dragging me down with him. Actually, the night he was killed that’s what I was talking to him about. Things got heated. I let him know I wasn’t going to play along with his foolish games anymore. I didn’t like it.”

  “What foolish games?” I ask.

  The betting? Certainly Justin benefited, so I’m not sure I see the problem here.

  The crowd lets out a hearty groan, and we both turn around to see Simone and Wendy spinning in a circle while they have one another in a headlock.

  “Excuse me, Bowie.” He shakes his head as he looks to the ring. “When this is legit, it’s a thing of beauty.” He takes off before I can shake some decent answers out of him.

  What does he mean by when this is legit?

  Meg and Mal belt out a primitive howl from the bar, and soon they’re charging the ring themselves. I’m about to set foot that way when I spot Opal glaring at me while nudging her head toward the mud room, and I know she means business.

  It takes less than ten minutes for me to change out of my black little dress and into a ridiculous and decidedly not sexy version of Cupid.

  Red spandex tights, check.

  Hot pink leotard, check.

  Oversized feathered wings—one of which is dangling like a broken arm, check.

  I can’t be certain, but I’m guessing Shep had a little to do with the kerfuffle with the feathers. Let’s just say I happen to know firsthand he has a penchant for a girl in costume.

  I grab my bow and arrow with its adorable heart-shaped tip and mosey on back to the ballroom where it looks as if the number of guests has doubled. The music is back to riotous levels, and instead of the showy Vegas wrestling squad in the ring, there’s a man and woman in there who look as if they need to get a room.

  I spot Wendy getting a drink at the bar with her dark hair swept back as if she just tossed it up into a ponytail. Her construction woman garb looks a little disheveled after her time in the ring, and I’m not even going to ask who won. I say they’re both winners for even stepping into the arena.

  My feet carry me in her direction, and people stare and point my way as I pass them.

  “Wendy,” I say. “How are you liking the announcer gig? You’re really a natural up there.”

  She bucks with a laugh. “I’m a baby up there. I hardly know what I’m doing. I should put some more personality into it, but then at some point in the night I’m letting Mal know that I’m quitting and she can take my position. I guess you could say it’s sort of a Valentine’s Day gift from me to her. I’m much more comfortable doing my thing in the ring. I’ll take a pay cut, but I’ll survive.”

  “It must be nice to know your financial future is secure.”

  “It wasn’t always. Just about a year ago, I was struggling to keep up with my bills. I ran into trouble with some debts I owed a few dicey people, so I had to do some fancy footwork to get back on my feet.”

  “I’m glad to hear everything worked out. Can I ask what kind of debts? I spent years as a shopaholic myself, and I ran up every credit card I could get my hands on.” True as gospel. It was my out of control shopping that gave the feds the edge they needed to dismantle the money laundering scheme of the Morettis and landed me in Starry Falls to being with.

  A warm laugh expels from her. “It was a little more severe than that. I had a nasty gambling problem.” She shrugs. “I was living in Vegas after all. So after my gigs, I’d stop by the casino and hit the blackjack tables. I’d win big once in a while, and let me tell you, it was a natural high and then some. But along with the wins came the losses, and the losses were much more plentiful. I kept telling myself I could win back the money if I just had another chance. And eventually, I chewed through my savings and was living on a wing and prayer, not to mention a few dirty loans.” She gives my feathered wing a quick pat. The broken one. “Anyway, now that’s all good and done.”

  “Well, you were amazing out there tonight.” Okay, so that was a guess on my part since I didn’t see much, but I figure I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of being right. “What’s your secret?”

  “I don’t have a secret.” She laughs. “But my motto is never give up. Speaking of giving up, how’s that boyfriend of yours doing with the big case?”

  “He got a warrant for Justin’s place the other night and seized his laptop among other things. I think he’s finally starting to make some progress.”

  “Justin’s house?” Her hand grips her throat. “So they found the killer?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. But they found something. Just between you and me, Meg was right. Justin was essentially a bookie.”

  Her mouth opens for a moment. “Wow. You think you know someone. I guess this means he probably took out Frisk.” She shrugs. “I mean, money was involved. Frisk may have lost his temper. And Justin has access to guns. Maybe he did it?”

  “Maybe he did, but I guess we’ll have to see what the sheriff’s department comes up with. But don’t worry. Whoever killed Frisk is going down. I predict we won’t get out of February without celebrating the fact the killer is behind bars.”

  She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “Well, I’m relieved. In fact, I think I’m going to get a breath of fresh air. It finally feels as if things are falling into place.” She glances over in Justin’s direction. “It’s all coming to an end,” she whispers as she heads for the back entry.

  Mal and Simone head this way, laughing their heads off.

  �
��Hey, Bowie,” Mal pants as those blue iridescent scales on her skimpy top catch my eye. Wait a minute. Scales from her top were found in the snow next to Frisk once he was shot. I saw them myself. Right along with that silver scarf of Simone’s he was clutching in his hands. I can’t help but frown at the two of them.

  “All right, girls, fess up.” It comes out a little too stern, the only way it can when your tights are riding up in places they’re not welcome. “Mal, why were pieces of your scaly top lying in the snow next to Frisk? Did you drop them while the two of you scuffled for the gun?”

  “What gun?” The blonde squints over at me. “Are you implying I shot Frisk?”

  “Why not?” Stephanie pops up beside me like a poltergeist. “You had the motive. He gave your position away. You’ve got bad knees, and you needed the money.”

  Okay, so it’s not quite how I would have phrased it, but she didn’t do so bad right out the gate.

  Mal gags as she looks to the two of us. “I’ll have you know my costume is sewn and glued together to withstand even the most brutal beating. I’m not sure how any of these scales ended up in the snow, but I’ll tell you right now, it would be rare for a single one of them to fall off, let alone a handful.”

  I squint over at her. “Are you saying you didn’t shed bits of your costume while trying to off the man who was going to bring you to your knees, literally?” I’m not sold on the analogy, but I’m in a pinch so I went with it.

  Mal frowns. “I’m saying whoever killed Frisk took pains to try to frame me. Just about everyone who performed that night had access to my outfit. We shared a communal dressing room.”

  I look over at Stephanie. “Plausible, I suppose.”

  Stephanie scowls at Simone. “And what about your scarf? Was he clutching it for dear life while you looked him in the eye and shot him?”

  Again not the road I would have traveled, but we can run with it.

  Simone scoffs. “Are you nuts? I didn’t kill him. We were arguing, yes. And that’s when he took the scarf off my neck, but like I told you Bowie, Frisk and I were interrupted by Justin.” She threads her arm through Mal’s. “Come on, let’s get a stiff one at the bar and call it a night.” They start to take off just as Meg comes our way and Mal backtracks as she looks to her friend. “You’d better shore up your alibi if you want to speak to these two. I have a feeling they’re going to accuse you of killing Frisk next.”

  They take off and Meg makes a face. At this point in the night, she looks sort of like a disheveled version of Wonder Woman. Meg Lemon isn’t someone you’d want to meet up with in an alley at night, let alone in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Give it your best shot.” Meg laughs as she takes us in. “I’m bulletproof.”

  “And I believe you,” I tell her. “Meg, I’m stumped. I thought for sure either Mal or Simone did it. I’m not ruling them out just yet, but they both did seem to have plausible alibis. Then there’s Justin, whose convinced he did nothing wrong. And according to the big wins we saw on his roster, Frisk was doing pretty good for himself.”

  Meg nods. “Too bad I couldn’t figure out a way to make some extra money for myself. And I guess it was easy money for him, too.”

  “I take it a wrestler couldn’t bet on the system?”

  She shrugs. “Technically, they could. Definitely not on themselves. But then again, if they did bet on themselves, it wouldn’t necessarily be easy money because they couldn’t guarantee a win.”

  My mouth falls open. “But they could guarantee a loss.”

  Meg shakes her head. “No way. We run by a strict code of ethics. We might look like divas who will win at any cost, but we fight fair. Not to mention the bookie would have to be in on it. They’d have to at least try to conceal her identity for her to win big from her so-called losses. The bookies I know are on the up and up.” She nods past us. “And there’s my favorite bookie now. I’d better say hello to Justin.”

  She takes off, and neither Stephanie nor I stop her.

  Stephanie grabs me by the shoulders and gives an aggressive shake.

  “She threw the game, didn’t she? But why kill Frisk? And just for the record, who is she?”

  I pull out my phone and bring up the file I emailed myself with a copy of Justin’s wrestling roster.

  “I don’t know who she is,” I say. “But I have a feeling Natalie Joseph is her cover.”

  “Who was she betting on when she was winning big?” Stephanie leans in, and we both spot the wrestler’s name at the very same time.

  “Wendy City Destruction. But they weren’t betting on Wendy’s wins, they were betting on her losses.”

  “Bingo,” Steph says. “I think we’ve got our killer.”

  “I’m not so sure,” I say. “But I say we hunt her down and try to find out.”

  Chapter 16

  “Natalie Joseph?” I shake my head at Stephanie as we do our best to scour the crowded ballroom at the Mortimer Manor. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  Mud and Tilly are in the ring, and the crowd is eating up all of their indelicate moves, not to mention the grunts and groans. And next to the ring, Tilly’s daughter, Jessie, is cheering the loudest.

  “We’re missing the good stuff,” Stephanie laments. “But you’re right. Something about Natalie Joseph sounds familiar.”

  “Let’s find the wrestler in question and find out why people—two people in particular—were betting big and winning off her losses.”

  We work our way around the room, and every third step a couple comes up and asks to take a picture with me in costume. I pretend to shoot them with my arrow and there’s laughter all around, but my mood is anything but jovial. There’s a killer on the loose, and if my suspicions are right, they’re about to be confronted for their hatred on this, the day the world chooses to venerate love.

  Stephanie and I head into the hallway, and the icy breeze directs our attention to the opened back door.

  “That’s right,” I say. “She mentioned something about needing some air.”

  Steph and I trot out into the snowy night as the moonlight’s blue cast lights up the woods that line the back of the manor like an enchanted dream.

  The din of voices grows increasingly louder as we drift to our left and we see the glint of Simone’s bronze costume as it reflects in the night, and she seems to be having a heated conversation with someone standing in the shadows of the building. Her ruby red lips look just as fiery as her tresses as she points an accusatory finger to whomever it is she’s speaking to.

  “I didn’t kill him,” she snips. “And no matter what you do to try to pin the blame on me, I won’t accept it. I didn’t control his mind. And I certainly didn’t control what he did with the plethora of women he was having his way with. He said he fell into some easy money and he was getting ready to retire. He was ready to live his best life right here in Starry Falls. That’s what he told me that night. And do you know what else he told me? That he was finally going to give us a chance, but he wanted me to step away from the circuit. That’s what we were arguing about.”

  Stephanie and I exchange a glance.

  The person next to her says something in return, but it’s softer, less agitated, and far less amplified. For sure it seems to be a woman.

  “You don’t get to sit here and threaten me,” Simone hisses. “Frisk might be dead, but that doesn’t give you the right to spew whatever you want about the two of us. You’re dead to me, just like Frisk. And if you don’t watch your back, you’ll be next. I’ll arrange for that myself.”

  “Your vision!” Stephanie whispers as she tugs me by the arm.

  “Yup,” I whisper right back. Here it is, playing out in all the ways I didn’t think it would. I really did believe Simone was a front-runner to be the killer—right up until a few moments ago. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll give us a surprise confession?”

  A cat could confess to the crime. Nothing would shock me anymore.

  Simone chortles to the
woman before her. “You’re not getting a confession from me.”

  “Drats,” I hiss.

  Simone lifts her head a notch, and she grows still as if she senses our presence.

  “I’m going inside,” she says. “I’m going to find Mal and tell her exactly why she wasn’t selected for the position. And then I’m going to find Justin, and I’m going to kill him.” She disappears into the manor as quick as a lightning bolt, and Steph gives my arm the death squeeze. I’m about to suggest we follow her in when out of the shadows steps an all too familiar construction worker looking mean and lean and ready to rumble.

  “Track Simone and call Shep,” I tell Stephanie. “I’m going to have a quick word with Wendy about those bets, and I’ll meet you inside.”

  Stephanie slinks off, and I head over toward Wendy whose face is turned toward the moon as if she were bathing in its light.

  “Wendy?” I call out, trying to sound a touch chipper and the pretty brunette spins my way. She’s holding herself in her skimpy flannel. She has to be freezing out here in those short shorts. Her saving grace must be those tan Timberlands she’s got on, and I glance down at the snow near her feet and my heart stops beating.

  The footprints from Simone’s boots have left an impression of a series of triangles within the outline of her boot as they lead back to the manor. But the tracks left in Wendy’s wake are striped with dots in the middle.

  My mind does its best to remember exactly what I witnessed right after I discovered the deceased, and it hits me like a boot to the face. I saw prints just like these that led from Frisk’s body all the way to the woods.

  “Oh wow, you changed your boots,” I pant out the words without meaning to.

  “Pardon?” She steps in a notch as she warms herself with her hands.

  “You changed your boots that night. You were wearing these boots in the ring. I remember because I was admiring them. And then after Frisk was killed, you came out with long black leather boots on.” A choking sound emits from me as I look to her. “You did it, didn’t you?” My chest pulsates like mad as my adrenaline surges. “You killed him? And you were trying to cover it up.” A sickly moan comes from me as I look to the wide-eyed woman. “Mallory has these boots on tonight, too.”