Killer Eyeshadow and a Cold Espresso (A Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery)

by Traci Andrighetti

  "Where did this happen?"

  "The family is originally from Boston, but in London. They've lived there for years."

  The British Mafia crack I'd made to Gia no longer seemed funny. From what Alex was telling me, George could be in danger, and so could she. Even more unsettling, George might hold the key to Jesse's murder—and to my uncle's.

  * * *

  Amy stood at the library circulation desk, scanning books from the overnight drop. "I feel terrific, Cass. But I suppose someone could've poisoned Jesse's hors d'oeuvres."

  "That someone could've been Katrina since she took a plate to him."

  "In all fairness, we don't know if anyone had access to the plate after she brought it to him."

  "True." Regardless, I needed to drop by the Smugglers' Tavern to ask Lilly's forgiveness for suggesting she might have used toxic food. "Have you had a chance to do any Mafia research?"

  "Between Lester Marshall and Ben, I haven't had a minute."

  "That's all right. Gia's on it." I glanced at my cousin, who was working at a microfiche machine. For a non-reader, she was putting her fake tortoiseshells to use. "What did Detective Marshall say?"

  Amy ran the scanner over another book. "He wanted to know if I had poisoning symptoms and if I'd noticed anything unusual at the Rothman's. The answer was no to both."

  "What's up with Ben?"

  "He's making me do some genealogy on top of my other duties."

  "Huh? Why?"

  "Well, you know I've been researching my two main family lines for years." Her face beamed, and her voice boomed. "And I've traced the Spannagels and the Finagles to the fourteenth century."

  "Sh. You're being too loud."

  "Right. Our patrons." She covered her mouth. "They've been so scarce since Harriet started her tours that I sometimes forget about them."

  Actually, I was thinking of my cousin. If she heard those two names together, the jokes would abound. "Does Ben have you looking into his ancestor, Boone?"

  "No, Harriet's."

  "I'm still confused."

  She loaded the books onto a cart. "He wants to find out if she has any seedy chapters in her family history that we can use to stop her."

  The heaviness I'd been carrying in my chest lifted a little. "Ben's a genius. Have you found anything?"

  "Not yet, but I only started this morning."

  "Keep digging. Until you strike gold."

  She cast a glance over her shoulder at the closed office door. "I don't want Ben to hear this, but while I was on ancestry.com, I did a quick search on Jesse Rothman's family."

  "What did you find?"

  "His mother was Irish, so he could've been a gangster. The Irish Mafia is the oldest organized crime group in the United States."

  I tilted my head. "An Irish mother doesn't make him a mobster, Amy."

  "Not even if she was born and raised in Atlantic City?"

  I straightened. "It could be a coincidence, but if not, Gia will find something. She's got her research on." I removed my bag from my shoulder. "You've never heard of a British mob, have you? Or an English one?"

  "The football hooligans."

  Somehow I didn't believe soccer was behind Jesse's death. "How do I access the library research database?"

  "On any of those computers next to the microfiche machines." She pushed the cart toward the stacks. "Whisper if you need my help."

  I went to the computer table and pulled a notepad from my bag. Amy's genealogy research had given me an idea. I wanted to find out George's parents' names so I could research whether the crimes they'd committed had made the news in England.

  The first thing I googled was George Fontaine and London. I found a salesman on LinkedIn, but not our George. I searched for him in Danger Cove, and two articles came up about Some Enchanted Florist. But none of them mentioned his mother or father, nor did the flower shop's website. Somehow I would have to get their names from George.

  At a standstill, I glanced at my cousin. "Anything incriminating?"

  She didn't look up. Her library look was doing the trick, and so were a pair of earbuds.

  While I waited for her to finish, I did a search for British Mafia. The first page that appeared said homegrown organized criminal groups in the United Kingdom were called "British firms." I researched their business activities, hoping to find gambling, and I gasped. The so-called British firms did operate casinos, but their main crime was stealing fine art, as much as three hundred million pounds worth per year. And their number one heist was paintings.

  Was that why George was interested in the landscape? Because he thought it was stolen? If so, why did Rhys look at the painting after he recognized George?

  A door slammed, and Ben stormed toward the library entrance. His pale, slender frame was taut, and his bowtie had been loosened. It looked like he was angling for a skirmish, or at least a spat.

  "Next up, prospectors, the Danger Cove Library." Harriet McCudgeon's bullhorned voice projected through the brick walls.

  Gia didn't seem to hear her, and I kept her in the dark. I wanted the Mafia research, and I didn't want a confrontation.

  "One of the great ironies of the gold rush," Harriet crowed, "has to do with Head Librarian Ben Bardsley's great-great-grandfather Boone. He was a book burner, but not for religious reasons. For him, books were kindling for his stills. And he took his bootlegged liquor to his nightly visits to The Clip and Sip. Oops! I mean, the LaSalle brothel."

  So much for avoiding confrontation—it was on. My frame, which wasn't as slender as Ben's but was every bit as taut, rose from the computer table and marched into the street.

  Harriet let out a holler, but it had nothing to do with me.

  Ben had turned the water hose on her.

  She dropped the bullhorn, and her arms flailed.

  Fearing she would go overboard, I wrested the hose from Ben. The stream jerked upward and blew the bowler from her head, and I bent the hose in half to stop the water.

  Amy ran outside and grabbed her boss by the suspenders. "Ben, think of the library. You've got to get ahold of yourself."

  "There's only one person I want to get ahold of." His Mister Rogers' voice trembled, and he extended his arms. "Harriet McCudgeon."

  "I'm feeling ya, dude." Gia stood in the doorway, studying the scene.

  Amy spun Ben around and looked in his eyes. "Then think of the budget and the waste. Water costs money, and it's a precious resource."

  Harriet picked up the bullhorn. "It's too late for the budget. I've got a tour bus full of witnesses, and I'm going to sue. But first I'm pressing charges against you, Ben. And you too, Cassidi."

  I sunk onto a bench. With all the problems my cousin and I had, we couldn't afford a lawsuit.

  Gia shook her fist. "My cousin tried to help you, McCurmudgeon."

  "No one knocks my hat off and gets away with it." She stomped her foot on the bus roof. "Driver, to the police station."

  The hairy guy behind the wheel gave an oh-brother head roll and stepped on the gas.

  Ben's shoulders slouched. "I'm a criminal, like my ancestor."

  "Maybe Harriet will cool off." Amy led him to the door. "You did give her a good dousing."

  Gia turned off the faucet and tossed the hose into the hedges. "Come on, cug." She used the abbreviation of cugina, Italian for cousin, to show affection. "Let's get our stuff and get back to the salon. It's time to call another Operation Goldfinger meeting."

  I appreciated her concern and her support, but we had research to do. "Forget Harriet. What did you find out about the mob?"

  "They were big into Atlantic City when gambling was legalized there in the seventies. But since then the New Jersey Casino Control Commission has clamped down on them. One article said the situation is like 'disorganized crime' because there were only twenty mobsters left in the city, and nine were in prison."

  "Was Sonny Torlone one of the eleven?"

  "I couldn't find any names, but I know who can."
<
br />   "I do too. Aunt Carla." If there were an international competition in keeping tabs on sons, Italian mothers would take the title. Those women not only knew what their own sons were doing, they kept an eye on everyone else's. They operated within a vast organization that held meetings at Catholic churches, beauty salons, deli counters, and various other locations to make sure their boys were eating enough, dating respectable Italian girls, and not turning into criminals.

  "She'll tap into 'the network' and have those names in no time."

  Gia had read my mind. "We should call her, anyway, and let her know what happened."

  "Ugh." She dropped onto the bench. "I'm not in the mood for more drama."

  I didn't bother to tell her that we'd be immersed in it for a while. "You've got some time to prepare. I need to stop by the Smugglers' Tavern on the way home." I rose from the bench, and sudden movement caught my attention.

  Katrina had been watching us from around the side of the building. She saw me and pulled back.

  "Hey, that was Schwarzenegger." Gia ran down the sidewalk, and I ran after her. We made it to the parking lot as Katrina pulled out in a yellow Dodge Charger.

  "Figures she'd have a muscle car." Gia put her hands on her plaid-tighted hips. "What was she doing at the library?"

  "She was holding a book. Maybe she came to turn in the poetry book Amy brought to Elise."

  "The day after her boss was offed?"

  "Yeah, too soon." I headed back to the library so we could get our things.

  "I'll bet she saw us come outside when Harriet showed up and she hid to eavesdrop."

  I had to agree. What I didn't know was what she'd hoped to hear. A confession from Gia or me? Or was Katrina afraid we suspected her?

  CHAPTER SIX

  From my seat beside Gia at the centuries-old bar of the Smugglers' Tavern, I took a remorseful breath. The scent of polished wood and fried catfish filled my nose. "I wanted to apologize again for what I said about your hors d'oeuvres at the Rothmans'."

  Lilly stood on a stepladder, in a peasant blouse and Capri pants, dusting a shelf of relics smuggled into Danger Cove after Napoleon's British embargo. "No worries, Cassidi. I get it. Food is always the first thing people suspect in a case of poisoning." She grinned. "I'd have jumped to the same conclusion myself."

  I exhaled my relief. Lilly was a friend and regular client for a cut and highlights, and I wanted to keep her as both.

  She returned an old tea tin to the shelf and picked up a medicine bottle. "My curiosity makes me wonder why Chef Paul wasn't available to do the food for the ceremony. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if he had."

  "Whoever killed Jesse would've done so regardless. And we don't know that he was poisoned by the food."

  Gia's elbow in my rib cage said he was.

  I took a slug of the Caribbean lemonade that Lilly had insisted we sample. The lemon-lime rum drink dulled the pain of our predicament and in my side. "By the way, who's Chef Paul?"

  "He's the Rothmans' cook."

  She'd mentioned a chef when I helped her carry the crab puff platter to the kitchen. "Do you know why he wasn't there that day?"

  "He'd just come back from a vacation, and I think he had to work his other job at the Lobster Pot."

  The restaurant was a favorite of Zac's and mine, but I'd never heard of Paul. "Is he new?"

  "He's been there for a while, but I heard he only cooks on weekend days."

  That explained it. Zac and I went on Saturday nights, but given the high prices, only for the most special of occasions.

  A waitress with fiery red hair approached in a cute off-the-shoulder sweater. "Did you ladies want to order?"

  Gia handed her the menu. "Two of the linguine with marinara."

  It was almost lunchtime, but the only thing I wanted was more of my drink. "Make that one."

  "Do you really want to call Carla on an empty stomach? Or even worse, on one that hasn't been nourished with something Italian?"

  Gia was right. A plate of pasta would go a long way toward lessening the drama—and the effects of my drink. "Okay, two. My aunt is convinced that we don't eat."

  Lilly descended the stepladder. "That's on the house, Mandi."

  "We'll throw in garlic bread to make your aunt extra happy." Mandi tore the order from her pad. "I'll go turn this in to Tara and Clara."

  "You didn't have to buy us lunch, Lilly. We'd be happy to pay for it." The truth was that a restaurant meal wasn't in the budget. And with our business under siege from Harriet and the Cove Chronicles, neither was a meal at home.

  "I wanted to treat you guys. Consider it me balancing the universal scales for the way I reacted at the Rothmans'." She cleared a couple of empty hurricane glasses. "I just wish I knew what happened."

  That made all of us. "Did you glean anything from Detective Marshall?"

  "Not really." She wiped the bar counter. "But he did ask a lot of questions about Katrina."

  Gia's lids lowered like those of her detective nemesis. "I told you that muscle manager's no Kindergarten Cop Schwarzenegger. She's totally Schwarzenegger from The Terminator."

  Lilly's eyes widened, emphasizing their gold flecks.

  I gave a never-mind-her headshake. "What did he ask, specifically?"

  "If she helped me make the food, if I watched her make Jesse's plate or take it in to him. That kind of thing."

  It occurred to me that Lilly hadn't been in the kitchen when Katrina made Jesse's plate. "And what did you tell him?"

  "That I'd watched my top-notch chefs make the hors d'oeuvres with fresh, quality ingredients at the tavern. And I was here getting cherry tomatoes when Katrina served Jesse and Amy, so I couldn't have seen anything."

  Mandi returned to the bar, her lips retracted in a sheepish look. "I forgot to put the tomatoes on two of the platters, so it was my fault Lilly had to come back. But I don't believe Katrina would've poisoned Jesse."

  I was so used to Gia suspecting Katrina that I was surprised to hear Mandi defending her. "Why? Do you know her?"

  "Just from our chats when she comes here. But I gathered that she and Elise are super close. She said she used to train her at Hard Bodies until Elise lured her away from the gym to train her and Jesse at home."

  And manage the estate, an unlikely job for a personal trainer.

  "Yo." Gia gave me a thwack in the ribs. "That's the place where I hired the buff guys for our Queen of the Nile and Reverse Christmas events, remember?"

  Not even a gallon of Caribbean lemonade could erase the memory of orange bodybuilders wearing Egyptian eyeliner and wraparound skirts, not to mention lifting weights in Speedos. "Do you know anything else about Katrina?"

  Mandi shrugged. "Not much. She comes in fairly often, sometimes with Elise but mostly with different dates."

  Lilly leaned onto the counter. "I've seen her here with men too. I think she meets them online, because there have been a few times where I could tell they didn't recognize each other."

  Gia gave an annoyed hair flip. "As surly as she is, I can't imagine who would date her."

  I shot her a let-me-talk look. "Did you recognize any of these men?"

  "Only the one late last night." Mandi looked at Lilly, who nodded. "George Fontaine."

  I gripped the sides of my barstool to keep from keeling over.

  "That no good mascalzone." Gia pounded her fist on the bar. "He's dating Alex Jordan."

  I hadn't told her what Alex said about her and George being friends. Nevertheless I agreed with the cheat label.

  "Oh, I didn't see them being intimate or anything. But they did sit in the back booth, and they were having a private conversation."

  Gia whipped off her glasses. "We're going to need more information."

  "You know, they were leaning in close, talking low, looking around. And every time I brought something to their table, they went radio silent." Mandi pulled up the neckline of her sweater. "I figured they were talking about Jesse being killed."

  A logical
assumption. But why would George and Katrina need to talk about the murder in private?

  * * *

  The Ferrari's engine ran as smooth as burrata, a buttery Italian cheese, but my nerves were so shot that I might as well have been on a road with potholes. "Let's not mention the George and Katrina meet-up to Alex."

  Gia spun in the passenger seat. "How are we going to face her if we keep it quiet?"

  "It'll be easy because I don't think George and Katrina were on a date. She's the mansion manager, so he probably met with her to get information about Jesse. Until the police know the source of the poison, he's a murder suspect like the rest of us."

  "And a cheating suspect too."

  I sighed and pulled up to a stoplight. "I'm sure he was trying to figure out who, if anyone, force-fed Jesse a calla lily or hydrangea. And for all we know, Alex was aware of their meeting."

  "He might want to be careful about who he meets, because if anyone force-fed Jesse a flower, it was Katrina."

  She was on my list, but so was Rhys. "That could be why he met her in public."

  My phone rang on the console.

  Gia looked at the display. "It's Carla. I'll break the Jesse news." She answered and pressed Speaker. "Hey, it's Gi—"

  "Why didn't you girls cawl me when Jesse Rothman was whacked?"

  "We were—"

  "I saw it in the papuh. I've been in such a state I left the house without my scarf. And I promised to make a brajole for Teo's grandson's baptism, so Frank will kill me if I get a colpo d'aria."

  The light turned green, and I smirked and pressed the gas. A "hit of air" referred to exposure to a fluctuation in temperature, a dreaded experience that somehow inflicted ailments only on Italians. If a paesan went from warm to cold without the appropriate clothing, they could contract any number of maladies, ranging from a stiff neck to pneumonia.

  "Are you inside now?" Gia, who believed in the ominous air hits, sounded worried.

  "I'm in the car with Angelina at Dino's Bakery. We came outside so we wouldn't attract unwanted attention."

  I held my breath to keep from snorting. Like my Aunt Magnolia, Aunt Carla had a Cadillac that was anything but inconspicuous. Instead of Mary Kay pink with longhorns on the hood, Carla's was metallic gold with an Italian flag.