Tequila Trouble - Nicole Leiren

by Danger Cove

  My search continued as I responded to him. "Okay, fair enough. I might have seen the dirt on the floor and wondered if there was more to the story."

  "Based on a little mess, you decided to go digging through my herbs to see if you could find something? That sounds less believable than some of the stories I've told over the years to get myself out of trouble."

  There it was—official notification that I was in trouble. I'd suspected it all along, but something about having it confirmed by the big man standing between you and safety brought it all home. "I didn't dig through all the pots, just the ones that looked like they had misplaced dirt."

  "Well, aren't you a little Nancy Drew? Too bad the Hardy Boys aren't nearby to rescue you."

  "Who?" I knew who they were, but figured playing dumb could be in my best interest at the moment.

  Drake shook his head. Guess I figured wrong, as my pretending to not know upset him even more. I decided I needed to keep fishing. I had enough edges around my puzzle to start moving a few other pieces into place. While I talked, I slid my hand into my purse to retrieve the screwdriver. It wasn't much of a weapon but would be far more effective than my tube of Chap Stick. It also happened to be small enough for me to conceal in my palm.

  "You mentioned The Pelican Bar earlier. I feel a little betrayed. Was the bartender over there better than me? Based on what you said earlier, it can't be the alcohol."

  At the mention of alcohol, my brain honed in on a favorite of both Agnes and Drake: tequila! Drake had a bottle in here earlier. He was supposed to have taken it home, but I'd be willing to bet Mandi being on the other team in Trivial Pursuit that he hadn't done so yet. Before he could answer, I continued, "Speaking of alcohol, any chance you failed to follow my instructions and take the bottle you had here home? I could use a shot of it about now."

  Drake laughed as his gaze darted—for just a second—to the bottle of tequila on the shelf behind me and to the right. I followed his gaze and noticed not one but two bottles of the stuff on his shelf. One bottle was the cheap brand I'd found the other day during my impromptu tour. The other…

  A bottle of Tsunatka tequila.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I remembered Agnes had sworn she'd just put a new bottle on her dining room table the afternoon Rico had died. Coincidence? I didn't think so. I decided to poke the bear a bit. I pointed to the first bottle. "I thought we agreed you'd take that home, not bring more in."

  Drake moved closer. Not good. "Maybe I have a drinking problem. Too bad for you that little detail didn't show up on my background report."

  Fear—real fear—started to tiptoe up my spine. Even the centipedes had fled. Not a good sign. Best-case scenario—Drake had had the misfortune of being at Rico's house when everything went down, and this was a crime of opportunity, where he stole the ring and his favorite adult beverage. Worst-case scenario—he was there because he was the killer.

  Time for a distraction. I reached down deep into my humor reserves and dredged up the best possible chuckle I could muster. "Either your mom sent you one heck of a birthday gift, or I'm paying you too much if you can afford a bottle of Tsunatka tequila."

  Drake was standing right in front of me now. Important bodily functions like heartbeats and breaths suspended as I waited to see what he would do. He reached around me to grab the cheap bottle. Opening it, he retrieved two shot glasses. Pouring a generous measure, he handed it to me. "Sorry, not willing to part with the good stuff for you. I'm saving that to celebrate."

  I downed the shot. Hey, cheap, nasty-tasting liquid courage was better than going solo at this point. "Celebrate what?"

  He stepped back and returned some of my personal space. My relief was short-lived, though, as a folding chair from the other corner was retrieved along with a pack of zip ties. I didn't care what scenario you were looking at, this was not a winning combination. At least not for the person who would have to…

  "Sit in the chair."

  Yeah, that was what I was afraid he was going to say.

  I plastered a smile—totally fake—on my face and backed away a couple steps. My fingers closed even tighter around the screwdriver. I totally could use a Mary Poppins purse about now—or one like Hermione Granger had in Harry Potter to secure a bigger, better weapon. But at a time like this, I'd have to work with what I had. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not tired. Besides, I need to get back inside."

  He chuckled. "I'm sure you would, but I think I prefer your company right now. You have a great team. They'll be fine without you."

  I wish he'd added for a bit or some other indicator that I could get out of here sooner rather than later. My palms were a little sweaty, but I made fists with both hands and prayed he didn't make me open them. Otherwise, my only advantage—the screwdriver—would be lost.

  Once seated, he made quick work of securing my wrists together behind my back. Since I wasn't sure what his plans were with me—though I couldn't imagine how they could be good—I opted to play twenty questions. I planned on doing the asking and hoped he would oblige me with answers. It was the least he could do since he'd ensured my continued presence in this unfolding nightmare.

  I started by repeating my last question. "What are we celebrating?"

  Drake poured himself another shot of tequila and downed it in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and then offered a triumphant smile. "I'm about to get rich. Not so rich to draw unnecessary attention, but enough to keep me in a manner to which I'd like to become accustomed."

  Pretty big words and dreams for someone who could barely show up to work on time. Time to call his bluff—just a bit. He did still hold all the cards and the penknife necessary to release these zip ties. "So what number are we talking about? Ten grand?"

  Drake laughed and retrieved another chair so he could sit down in front of me. "Ten thousand is chump change. That's the kind of number you ask for when you have someone who has to gain access to money that isn't theirs."

  "Like Rico?" I figured, at this point, that Drake's plans for me weren't going to end well. My only hope was to stall him long enough for someone to start to wonder where I was and come looking for me. It was doubtful I could stall him long enough until the police arrived for the sting operation, but that was my goal if help didn't arrive sooner.

  He stretched out in the chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Totally comfortable and relaxed. "Rico and I grew up in the same area of town. I tried to be a friend to him, but he was always too busy dreaming up his next big con. After a time, I no longer admired him. I was jealous of him. I worked hard to perfect my cons so that one day I would be better than him."

  "Why were you arrested?"

  The muscle in his jaw clenched. I must've hit a nerve somewhere. Good. He had all my nerves doing a dance. Seemed only fair he experienced a little turmoil as well. "I'd selected a perfect target for my next mark and had been working her all evening when he moved in on my territory."

  "And you fought back."

  "You bet your best bottle of tequila I did. We both ended up in the same cell overnight for a drunk and disorderly charge. After that, I switched tactics." He grinned a satisfied smile. "Blackmail offers a quicker return on my investment."

  More puzzle pieces started to fit together. "You saw Rico and knew he was running a con on Agnes." Not that everyone who had been around any length of time didn't suspect that all was not on the up-and-up for the newlyweds. Didn't take a criminal to figure that out.

  "Exactly. I decided time to recoup some of my losses from cons he'd beat me out of in the past. Ten grand every other week. Didn't want to be too greedy. This was more about revenge than restitution. I wanted to make his new wife nervous about the sums he was withdrawing from her account."

  Not always about the money. Ms. Ashby had been one hundred percent on target with that advice. "So you went to pick up the blackmail money and what—you argued and it got physical?"

  He dragged his long fingers through the
black waves of his hair. "I didn't plan to kill him." He paused, brows furrowed. Maybe he was weighing how much to tell me. "Why are you asking me these questions? You have to know if I tell you, there's no way I can let you go."

  He made a very good point. "It sounds like it was an accident. I've had a lot of dealings with the police. Maybe if I know everything, I can help you frame the story the best way so the police understand it was an accident too."

  Drake laughed. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

  Honestly, what was with everyone making that a go-to comment? I didn't like being called an idiot. I wasn't going to call anyone else that either—especially not someone who held all the power at the present moment.

  Before I could respond, he continued. "You live about as far from reality as one can get and still function in this world, don't you?"

  I shrugged. "Not the first time I've heard that. So why don't you tell me the rest of what happened that morning? I believe you when you said you didn't plan to kill him. You wanted to make him suffer and show him you had the power." Drake had wanted to knock Rico a couple rungs down on that power ladder.

  Drake downed another shot of tequila. Maybe if help didn't arrive soon, he'd be too drunk to kill me.

  "I went to pick up the first blackmail payment. When I arrived, Rico was slumped in his chair, unconscious. I'm guessing the fumes were to blame. Agnes couldn't even get the solution right. If she would've followed my instructions, he would have suffered, but no one would've died."

  "You're her DIY friend?" It hadn't seemed important at the time to ask Agnes about that detail, as we were dealing with so much other trauma. "I didn't even realize you two knew each other."

  "We're not the best of friends, but we ran into each other at The Pelican Bar. Alcohol there isn't as fancy, but it's a good place to fade into the background. She and I are both big fans of tequila, as you know. We like that the bartenders there aren't as nosey."

  If I weren't already in danger, I'd be offended. "Must be terrible to have someone care about you." When scared, I spoke fluent sarcasm.

  He ignored my comment. "Agnes was whining about Rico and how she was sure he only married her for the money. Of course, she was right, but I wasn't going to confirm it since I wanted him to keep paying me. I suggested adding a little extra ammonia to her cleaning solution to make him suffer a bit if she suspected he wasn't being honest with her. Of course, she didn't mention that she already knew the ring was a fake. Probably how she knew he was a fake too."

  Drake was probably right, but he wasn't going to hear that from me. I managed to hold any comments so he would continue.

  "I saw the ring in the glass, not realizing yet it was a fake, and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. I'd no sooner grabbed the ring, than the jerk woke up. He saw I had the ring and lunged for me."

  "He had to know the ring was fake though. Why would he attack you over that? He could've let you go and told her the ring was stolen while he was unconscious."

  "Because that son of a…"

  He paused and shot me a quick grin as he stopped before cursing. "…called me a loser and said he didn't mind paying 'cause he'd found someone new to con in addition to Agnes, so money wasn't going to be a problem."

  "Did he tell you who?" Or maybe that was why Drake had killed Rico—for withholding that valuable information.

  His smirk caused the muscles in my gut to tighten another notch or two. How had I not seen his nefarious nature before?

  He leaned forward. "Of course he didn't. But I'm smarter than he gave me credit for. Since he's no longer around to execute the blackmail, I'm going to do it instead."

  I remembered Allyson catching the use of tenses in my conversation with her and decided to apply that same logic to Drake's statement. I was pretty sure—now—he was the one blackmailing Agnes, so that was past tense. His word choice was going to. In my mind that meant he hadn't done it yet. There was only one person that I knew—with a secret and money to pay the blackmail—that Rico, Drake, and I all knew. Another puzzle piece clicked into place. "Chef Jonathan."

  Drake's smile added another rock to the pile growing in my stomach. "Pretty smart for a bartender."

  I knew I'd discovered Chef Jonathan's secret from having to taste his food, but to my knowledge Drake hadn't partaken and the food Rico ate had actually been prepared by Clara and Tara. "How did Rico find out? How did you find out, for that matter?"

  "I'm guessing Rico learned from one of his sources. He made lots of money from his cons and paid well for tips. He ran in circles you and I only dream about. I'm sure one of them tipped him off."

  "And you?"

  "Sweet, sweet Clara mentioned her suspicions to me while she was sharing her despair over the possibility of Tara leaving. I assured her everything would turn out just fine and to have faith." His expression hardened. "Of course, I have no idea how life will turn out for her. She'll live. The information she provided prompted me to reach out to my contacts. It cost me a pretty penny to learn that the good chef has not only lost his ability to taste, but thanks to nasal polyps, his sense of smell is dwindling too. That will give me the leverage I need to finally break into the big time. No more working for pennies at a bar. No offense."

  Gee, how could I take offense to that? Rather than squabble with him over his pay, I wanted to learn what had happened that day at Agnes's. The clock inside my head reasoned that surely someone had missed me by now and had called the police—or at least would come to look for me. I wanted answers before the cavalry arrived. "No offense taken. So after Rico's confession about the new con, you fought. You were angry. I can understand that, but then what happened? The coroner said he hadn't hit his head on the table."

  Drake's gaze traveled to the bottle of Tsunatka tequila. "He didn't. I introduced his thick skull to a brand new bottle of tequila, which his wife had so graciously left on the table. Seems fitting in a way. Agnes hated him. She loved tequila. Love triumphs over evil once again."

  My eyes widened. Talk about illogical. Time to wrap up this nightmare. "Once Agnes pays, you're done with her, right? I assume the money Chef Jonathan will pay for your silence will be more than enough to accommodate your new lifestyle."

  "I haven't decided yet. I did let her off easy with the amount demanded. No sense leaving money on the table. Her initial payment will get me away from here and settled in a nice place. I may be able to find a way to get her to pay some more. The money from the tasteless chef will provide steady income. He'll make a fortune from his restaurant empire—I plan on sharing in the wealth with him."

  Time to bring Drake down a rung or two on the ladder. "Sounds like a great plan, but only one problem."

  He leaned forward, invading my personal space more than the aliens in Independence Day. "Oh, and what's that?"

  "Agnes isn't going to pay the blackmail."

  His tanned skin turned a bright Angry Bird red. Tequila-tainted breath washed across my senses as he spoke in a low, threatening tone. "Why wouldn't she pay? I saw her go into the bank earlier."

  Time to see if my storytelling would pass a creative writing class. "She reached out to me earlier and said the police called with the cause of death. Neither her fumes nor the table in her house were the murder weapon. She's confident she won't be found guilty—especially since she didn't do it."

  I expected surprise, anger, something more than the wide smile that spread across his face. He pointed to the tequila bottle again—the expensive one. "Weren't you wondering why I kept the murder weapon?"

  In all fairness, the thought had crossed my mind. He'd buried the ring but left the proverbial smoking gun barely camouflaged behind some potted plants. I shrugged. "Maybe a little curious, but then again, criminals aren't always the sharpest knives in the drawer, if you know what I mean."

  "Well, this criminal happens to be sharper than your average utensil. Sit tight. I'll be right back."

  With his back to me, I allowed the fear I'd been holding in check under my
sarcastic veneer to seep through my mask. Honestly, where was everyone? I knew they were a well-oiled machine, but I had to have been gone minimally for thirty minutes. You'd think at least Tanner would have noticed my absence.

  All too soon, Drake returned, and I had to transform back into my reckless, confident self. Fake it till you make it, right? Hopefully, I made it out alive…He didn't return empty handed. His latex-gloved hands held the beautiful—and deadly—monkshood flower. This turn of events hadn't factored into any plan I'd envisioned. Certainly not in the plan of how I would die.

  "Remember how much you loved this plant?"

  I swallowed the peach pit–sized lump in my throat and nodded. "I also remember how dangerous you said it was."

  He set the flower down on the floor and pulled off some petals with his protected fingers. "Only dangerous if you touch it to bare skin. Like this…"

  My fear rocketed skyward as I felt the satin-smooth petals trail down my arms and onto my bound hands. Almost immediately, a tingling sensation followed in its wake. Not the good kind of tingling either. This was the gut-wrenching, fear-inducing I'm-going-to-die tingling. "Why are you doing this?"

  Once he'd covered my upper extremities sufficiently, he reached into my back pocket and retrieved my phone. "What's the passcode?"

  It was hard to concentrate while the knowledge that poison was flooding my body filled every conscious thought. I couldn't process his request. My delay angered him, and I watched in horror as he plucked another poison petal from the plant.

  "No, wait! Give me a second to think."

  He moved the petal in front of my face like a pendulum counting down the time I had left to answer his question. Not helpful. I managed to dig through my terror-laden memory banks and retrieve my four-digit PIN number. "Two four two three."