A Killer Tail

by Addison Moore

  “It’s as if all our dreams have come true.” She sighs. “Remember when we were little and we dreamt about double dating? I say we make the rest of our dreams come true tonight. What do you say, Bizzy?” She winces. “Let me answer that for you. The answer is yes. Wait, did you just say yes?” She lets out a riotous whoop. “Where should we go? Your choice. Whatever you guys decide, we’ll be up for.”

  “Emmie. The correct answer is we should go nowhere. You should go nowhere with him. Leo’s a notorious womanizer. I don’t like the thought of my best friend being womanized.”

  Emmie huffs, “Bizzy, he’s amazing. And he’s not womanizing me. We’re just getting to know one another.”

  “Please tell me you haven’t crossed any carnal lines with him.”

  Her lips invert and tell me everything I don’t want to know.

  A hard groan comes from me.

  “Bizzy”—she gives my arm a tug—“you have no idea what that man is capable of.”

  “Oh, I have some idea.”

  It’s Emmie who has no idea what he’s capable of—not in the telepathic sense anyway seeing that Leo is telesensual like me. It’s creepy knowing he has the ability to pry into her deepest thoughts. I can, too. But around me, Emmie pretty much says whatever she’s thinking.

  “Anyway.” She shrugs my way as she waves Cinnamon over. “Leo and I are getting pretty serious. And I really want you to like him—to like him and me together. I know Leo and Jasper had a falling-out, but I don’t want that to ruin anything. I always thought we’d be couple friends when we grew up. I really want this to work. So whatever differences you have, I need you to put them aside.” She gives a few solid blinks my way as if she were holding back her emotions. “Bizzy, I think he might be the one.”

  “The one what?” No sooner do the words stream from me than I gasp. “The one, one?”

  She gives a quick nod before Cinnamon trots over and she leashes him.

  “Hey there.” I bend over and dot a kiss to Cinnamon’s forehead. “Stop growing up so fast, would you?”

  Cinnamon lets out a small bark. Great news, Bizzy. I’m still a puppy. Emmie reminds me of that every day.

  Fish hops over to Cinnamon and claws at her playfully before bleating out a mewl. Come out more often. Gatsby won’t be with us forever, and I know you have an eye for him.

  Fish! Cinnamon barks gruffly.

  “Whoa.” Emmie reins her in. “What’s got you, girl? Fish isn’t going to hurt you.”

  “Huh,” I say as I give Cinnamon a quick scratch between the ears. “I think someone here has a crush on Gatsby.”

  Cinnamon lowers her head and covers her eyes. So embarrassing.

  “Aww!” Emmie coos. “Is that true, sweet girl? I can’t say I blame you. He is a handsome boy.” She looks my way. “What’s going to happen to the poor guy?”

  “I have no idea,” I say, looking back as Sherlock and Gatsby run in and out of the waves. “But I guess he’s mine for now. And I don’t mind one bit.”

  “You know who keeps saying he wants a dog?” Emmie has that mischievous look in her eye that makes me twitchy.

  “Who?”

  “Leo.”

  “No.” I can’t help but moan. “Emmie, you’re pulling us all farther into the Leo Granger vortex. I just don’t want him to break your heart, and not only would he break your heart, but he’d break your dog’s heart, too. And that’s more than my heart can handle.”

  “Don’t you worry about our hearts. I’ll run it by Leo.” She gives a little hop and a skip. “I’m so excited. I can’t wait to tell him the good news! Both pieces of good news!” She trots off with Cinnamon in tow.

  “There’s no good news,” I shout after her and she laughs like a woman possessed, like a woman in…

  I suck in a quick breath at the horrid revelation.

  No, no, no. Emmie cannot fall in love with Leo.

  Okay, fine. Leo is not that bad. But he’s unpredictable. And unpredictable is scary. Not only is he unpredictable, but he has a track record of loving and leaving ’em.

  It looks as if Jasper and I are about to have one interesting double date night.

  My phone pings and I glance down at the screen to see it’s a text from Georgie.

  Winner, winner, Stormy dinner.

  We got her.

  Chapter 10

  It turns out, Stormy Weston works at a needlepoint shop out on the pier in Whaler’s Cove.

  “Needlepoint.” I shake my head as Georgie, Juni, and I do what sounds like a little fox-trot across the wooden wharf. “I wouldn’t have pegged Stormy for someone who hangs out in a needlepoint shop.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it.” Juni dances her elbows from side to side as we indulge in a little speed walking. “A dollar is hard to come by these days. Ask me how I know.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Are you having a tough time finding work? I’m telling you, it’s an epidemic in this country as far as anyone who’s been incarcerated. Once a person serves their time, they have a right to rebuild their lives. You can work at the inn if you want. I’m sure I can find something for you to do.”

  “I don’t want anything to do.” Juni sounds affronted that I even assumed so much. “I’m talking about the men I’m seeing. They work all day and can’t even afford to take me out for a juicy steak in the evening. I’m sick and tired of dating men who can’t treat me to the lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to.”

  Georgie snorts. “And I’m sick and tired of hitting up mamby pamby joints like a needlepoint shop. What happened to the good old days of investigating, Bizzy? I want the grit and the grime. Give me a tattoo parlor or give me death.” She raises a fist to the sky, and I can’t help but avert my eyes.

  “Georgie and I went to a tattoo shop about nine months ago in Edison,” I say. “And if I remember right, Macy was with us. She scored a date with the bouncer, or whoever that beefy man was guarding the door. And neither of us got a tattoo.”

  “That’s because you don’t know how to have a good time.” She gives a little wink my way. “If that were me, I would have gotten a bright blue butterfly right on my keister.” Her forefinger flies through the air like a bee until it lands over her pink kaftan-covered bottom with a sizzle.

  “I know how to have a good time.” Juni is quick to alert us to her fun-loving status. “I’ve scored a date or two with a bouncer myself.”

  “And that’s exactly how you met Spike,” I point out. It’s true. Juni met Spike while we were undercover at the Pawn King. He took her on a cruise and everything, but apparently he doesn’t make enough to keep her in steaks, so things are on the rocks.

  “Ohh.” Juni bucks as if I shot her. “Speaking of Spike, he’s coming by the cove tonight and we’re doing s’mores by a bonfire.”

  “Aww,” I coo. “That sounds perfectly romantic.”

  She ticks her head. “Nine times out of ten, romantic is a cover for ain’t got two sweet nickels to rub together so I’m gonna rub you for free. If I wanted a man who was living paycheck to paycheck, I’d still be seeing my probation officer.”

  Before I can think of a comeback, Georgie lets out a menacing howl while slapping at her chest.

  “Oh my God, Georgie!” I howl right back as I try to grab her. “Are you having a heart attack?”

  “Yes, I’m having a heart attack,” she shouts. “The needlepoint shop is a tattoo parlor!” She points behind me, and I spin on my heels.

  Sure enough, there’s a giant sign in the shape of a needle, and written across it are the words Needlepoint Tattoos.

  “I sure hope butterflies are free,” Georgie shouts gleefully as she makes a run for the unsuspecting establishment. “Because I’m pinning one to my tiny hiney.”

  Juni snorts, but neither of us dares say a thing about Georgie’s questionable tiny hiney.

  A bell chimes as we step into the well air-conditioned shop and soak in the shiplap walls decorated with framed pictures of their craftsmanship etched onto
bums and boobs alike displayed for all to see.

  Good grief.

  In fact, there’s a picture of something muscular with a tattoo of a peacock on it, and I can’t for the life of me identify what part of the human anatomy it’s attached to.

  There’s a wide stainless steel counter and behind it is a pricing chart, a stern warning to wimps, and about a million little pictures of prospective artwork one can have etched into their flesh forever. The sound of rock music filters through the speakers and the slight scent of Chinese food lingers in the air.

  “Can I help you?” a female voice chirps from my left, and no sooner do I turn that way than I gasp so hard you’d think the devil himself had just popped up. It’s not that far from the truth.

  Before I answer or acknowledge the malfeasance before me, Georgie barrels forward as if she’s about to attack and demands a tat on her patoot—her words, not mine—and before we know it, a blonde named Veronica hauls both her and Juni to the back.

  I step forward with caution. Before me sits Stormy Weston, the dark-haired hippie, in a rainbow striped dress with a hoop earring in her left nostril. But it’s not Stormy that had me gasping; it’s the woman seated across from her currently getting what looks to be a henna tattoo from the hippie in question.

  “You want one, too?” Stormy asks me with a marked innocence. “I’ll be done in a minute with this one. It’s fifty bucks for both hands.”

  A dark smile curls at my lips. “I would love one.”

  I quickly plant myself in the seat right next to the woman who has stolen more of my peace than a bad haircut could ever hope to do.

  “Camila,” I say her name without an ounce of inflection. “What a surprise.”

  The buxom brunette huffs my way, “I’m not surprised.” She rolls her eyes to Stormy. “This is the woman I was telling you about.”

  Stormy’s mouth rounds out. “Oh my gosh, yes.” She clucks her tongue. “Ms. Ryder was trying to, like, describe you and stuff, but I couldn’t get a read on it. I guess I was too focused on the fact you had blood on your hands that night. You didn’t really kill Wyatt, did you?” Of course, I know better, but it’s prudent to ask. And probably prudent to hype up the bubble-headed teenager in me, too. I don’t want either of these women to know what I’m capable of.

  My mouth falls open. Could Stormy be the killer?

  I tip my head to the side and examine her for a moment. That unkempt hair, those large glassy eyes that give off the cue her brain has been chemically altered. Honestly, I wouldn’t have pegged her for the crime, but here we are.

  That was an admission of something, but homicide? Hopefully, I’m about to find out.

  “No,” I say. “I didn’t kill him. Did you?” I give a playful shrug, and Camila gags as if I shoved one of those long brushes Stormy is using down her throat.

  “Excuse Bizzy,” Camila says. “She’s a bit of a busybody. Her name basically serves as a warning.”

  Stormy chortles as she sets Camila’s hands underneath a small fan and rolls her stool my way and begins to prep me.

  “I’m no killer.” She winks directly at me when she says it. “And I’m no tattoo artist either. My boyfriend Dax is the guy you want to see if you’re looking for something permanent. He’s the one your friend is with.”

  A horrific howl comes from the back as if Georgie was affirming this.

  Stormy giggles. “He’ll go easy on her.” She begins to trace out a pattern over the top of my hands with the deft and speed of a NASCAR driver. “Sometimes I stop by to catch a little afternoon delight, but he’s fine with me turning a few bucks while I wait. Now, don’t worry. All of my dyes are nontoxic and should wear off after about two weeks.”

  Camila glowers my way. You’re here because you suspect her of killing Wyatt, aren’t you? She tosses an irritated glance out the window. Stormy didn’t do it. Her mouth falls open. Wait a minute. Do you think her boyfriend did it? I’ll tell you right now that’s doubtful. He’s got a lot going on for himself. Besides, according to Stormy, he’s only visited Killer Books a time or two. So you see, Dizzy Bizzy, I’m afraid all homicidal roads still lead back to you.

  I try my best not to acknowledge the fact I can read her mind. She might know I’m well capable of it, but it doesn’t mean I have to play along.

  “Sorry about the afternoon delight not working out for you. I’m engaged myself and I know how exciting it can be to steal a moment with your man.” A vindictive smile glides up my cheeks as I glance to Camila.

  I don’t mind rubbing my relationship with Jasper in her face one bit, especially not considering the fact she’s been working overtime to cast her net over him once again.

  Camila grunts, “That’s right. So when’s the wedding, Biz?”

  “Wait a minute.” Stormy pauses from applying a series of tangerine-colored dots along my wrist. “Are you the one that stole Camila’s fiancé away from her?”

  “What?” Now it’s my turn to scoff at the lying vixen to my right. “Camila and Jasper weren’t engaged, at least not when I met Jasper. He was a free agent. I don’t go around snatching men out of perfectly good relationships.”

  Stormy snarls right at me. Judgmental much?

  I turn to Stormy and gasp. “What? No. I wasn’t judging you at all.”

  Stormy blinks my way. Did I say that out loud?

  Shoot. I tap my hands to the table in frustration. Camila is completely throwing me off my investigative game. I’m sure there’s a rule about not insulting the suspect you’re trying to get a confession out of. I would never have said something so judgmental, although totally correct, had not the queen of mean been seated beside me.

  “I mean”—I clear my throat—“if you were seeing a man who was seemingly taken, I wouldn’t care. It’s not my business. I guess it’s not like he was married.”

  “Right?” She leans in and gives an aggressive nod. “Who the heck cares? It was just a few kisses and some heavy petting. It’s not like I showed up naked at his front door at midnight.” Although that was definitely on the list.

  I make a face at her without meaning to.

  “Anyway”—I take a moment to shoot Camila the stink eye for interrupting my investigation whether she meant to or not—“Stormy, what kind of a relationship did you have with Wyatt Sanders?”

  “He was my boss.” She gives an indifferent shrug. “Okay, fine. So we smooched a time or two. Who could blame us? That bookstore was killer boring. It’s not like we had anything else to do.”

  “Do you think his girlfriend found out?”

  Stormy’s cheeks heat a bright shade of pink. “She did.” A laugh that sounds like a train pulling out of the station sputters from her. “Let’s just say Molly wasn’t at all mollified by the sight. But that’s in the past. If you ask me, she’s got bigger problems to deal with.”

  An ear-piercing howl erupts from the back, and I half-expect to see Georgie running out the door with her tiny hiney exposed.

  I lean in as Stormy spastically dots my left hand. I’ll admit, it’s already looking like a work of art.

  “Stormy, what kind of problems does Molly have?”

  She shoots a quick glance to Camila. “The woman is a train wreck. She was obsessed with Wyatt. Like psycho obsessed.” She looks to Camila and snorts. “Remember Earl Frye? He was totally obsessed with you. I thought he was going to follow you home and hack you to pieces.”

  Camila twitches. “Precisely why I moved.”

  “I thought you just renovated your kitchen?” At least that was the lie she spewed to me in order to get closer to Jasper while shacking up at my inn. Thank God she’s moved to whatever hole she’s hiding in. There are plenty of things I don’t want to know about Camila, and that’s one of them. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

  Camila scowls before her affect changes on a dime as she reverts her attention to Stormy. “I haven’t heard from Earl lately.”

  Stormy shrugs. “Rumor has it, he’s in priso
n. He probably hacked someone else up instead.”

  “Don’t worry, Camila,” I say. “There’s still hope for a hacking spree in your future.”

  Stormy belts out a laugh. “Hey, you’re funny!”

  “Thanks, it comes easy when I’m around Ms. Ryder.” I take a deep breath. “So that’s it regarding Molly? Her obsession?”

  “Well, yeah, she’ll have to find someone else to terrorize. I’m sure all that pent-up frustration is killing her. But she’s not grieving Wyatt. She didn’t love the guy. He was more or less an object to her. A possession.”

  “Who do you think had a motive to kill Wyatt then? I mean, Molly would have been obvious. She was a scorned woman.”

  Stormy shrugs. “Then why not kill me?” She shivers. “I can’t believe I said those words.” She pulls a small dried sprig from underneath the table and begins to wave it through the air. “Sage. It cleanses the bad juju.” She tosses it over her shoulder before getting back to work. “Anyway, Thomas had some beef with Wyatt. Things were getting heated.”

  That’s exactly what Molly said.

  Huh. Things aren’t looking so good for Thomas.

  “What do you think they were arguing over?” I point to a spot she missed near my thumb and she quickly fills it in with an intricate pattern. Oddities aside, this girl is fantastic at what she does. My hands officially qualify as works of art.

  “I don’t know. But I think Wyatt had something on him. It was almost like he was controlling him with it.” She blows slowly over my finger to get a bubble of ink to dry quicker. Her eyes meet with mine and there’s a note of panic in them. “I just realized what they could have been fighting about.”

  “What?” Camila leans in as if she cared.

  Stormy takes a breath. “Wyatt had some pricey book in a glass case.”

  “The Agatha Christie first print run?” I can’t believe I’ve forgotten all about it.

  “That’s the one.” Stormy’s brows knit. I can’t believe she knows about it. She shakes her head. Why they heck did I bring it up? The last thing I need is the cops crawling around sniffing for information. “Anyway. I don’t want to talk about it. Thomas is a scary guy. There were rumors that he had a dark past.”