by Diane Kelly
Seeming to forget his role as Kiki’s model, Marlon lowered his arms and took my chin in his warm hand. But rather than chuck my chin this time, he cupped it, gently forcing me to look up at him. “I’ve talked to the officers scheduled to work the holding cell the next couple of days. They’ll notify me the second Damien is released, and I’ll call you right away.”
It was reassuring to know Marlon was looking out for me, doing what he could to keep me safe. But he had other duties. He couldn’t keep watch 24/7, even if he wanted to.
As he let go of my chin, Kiki pointed her charcoal pencil in my direction. “You and Smoky can come stay with me.”
“Don’t you and Max have plans?” Saturday was normally date night for the two of them.
“We did,” she said. “But I texted him earlier and canceled. In fact, you should live with me until the case is resolved. The killer will never know to look for you at my place.”
My voice quavered when I spoke. “But he’ll know to look for me here.”
“Don’t you worry,” Marlon said. “I’ll make sure a patrol comes by regularly while you’re at the shop, and I’ll be here every night at closing.”
“I can’t ask that of you, Marlon.”
“You didn’t ask,” Marlon said. “I offered. I’m not taking no for an answer, either, so you might as well not waste any time arguing with me.”
I looked up into his amber eyes. “How can I ever thank you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you could cook me a nice dinner.”
Kiki snickered. “No, she can’t. Trust me on that.”
I grimaced. “It’s true. I’m a terrible cook.”
“The worst,” Kiki clarified. “Unless you’re a fan of charred oatmeal.”
“Yuck.” Marlon cocked his head. “You can take me out for a nice dinner, then.”
I couldn’t help but smile. He’d asked me on a date, hadn’t he? Or asked me to take him on one? “Dinner out it is.”
Kiki raised her pencil again. “Point of order. Will this dinner have to wait until the murder case is solved?”
I was glad she’d asked. I’d been wondering the same thing.
“It will,” Marlon said, much to my disappointment. “An officer spending personal time with a witness isn’t a good idea. A criminal defense attorney could make it an issue, claim some type of undue influence or bias, especially since I responded to O’Keefe’s complaint against Hattie’s grandpa.”
I admired Marlon’s dedication to his job. At the same time, though, I found myself with a new reason for wanting Cormac’s killer found quick. It had been a long time since I’d gone to dinner with a guy as attractive and engaging as Marlon. Heck, I’d never gone to dinner with a guy as attractive and engaging as Marlon. The thought set my toes wiggling inside my sneakers.
Marlon brought the cards and games inside for me and stood sentry at the front door as I set about my closing routine. Lock the front door. Turn off the outdoor lights. Turn the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED. Clear the cash from the register and lock it in the safe to be deposited later. Turn off the lights in the shop. Set the alarm.
Kiki, Marlon, and I slipped out the back door and I closed it behind us. The alarm armed with a reassuring beep-beep-beep. As Kiki climbed into her car, she raised a hand and called, “Bye, copper! See you at my place in a little bit, Hattie!”
“Thanks for helping out!” I called back.
Marlon circled around to the passenger side of my van and took hold of the handle. “How about you give me a ride around the building to my car?”
“Gladly.”
I pressed the button on the fob to unlock the doors and we climbed in. As I closed my door, I realized that this was the first time Marlon and I had been alone since the first time we’d met.
Marlon looked up and down the alley as I backed up, his expression pensive. “It wouldn’t be hard for a car to block each end of this alley and trap you back here. Or for someone to turn the garbage dumpsters crossways and create a roadblock.”
My nerves, which had just settled, began to prickle again. “Great. Now I’ve got to something else to worry about. What would you suggest I do, replace my van with a Sherman tank?”
“Shoot, yeah, if it were possible. Short of that, I’d suggest you move your car from the back alley to a spot out front before sundown. You’ll have to feed the meter, but I suspect that would be deductible as a business expense. Besides, a few dollars is a small price to pay for safety.”
True, but a few dollars a day could add up over time into big money. If this murder investigation dragged on, my piggy bank could soon be empty. Heck, I rarely even sprang for fancy coffee due to the price. I settled for preparing my own coffee at home in my granny’s ancient stainless-steel stovetop percolator circa 1948. The Moonshine Shack was doing okay for a brand-new business, but it wasn’t yet bringing in anything close to a livable income.
I turned the corner, circled the end of the business strip, and drove up to Marlon’s SUV, braking to a stop behind it. “Thanks again, Marlon. You’re a dedicated cop.”
“Maybe.” He cocked his head, a roguish gleam in his gaze. “Or maybe I’m just a hopeless flirt.”
My nose issued an amused yet involuntary snort. “If warning me that a killer might trap me in an alley is flirtation, then you’re a really bad flirt.”
“Point taken. Let’s stick with ‘dedicated cop’ then.” He sent me a soft, sideways smile and slid out of my van, leaving me feeling prickly once more, but this time in a good way.
Chapter Ten
I woke mid-Sunday morning on the fold-out couch in the spare bedroom of Kiki’s condo. Her unit was on the fourth floor of a high-rise building that had been built a half century ago in the neighborhood now referred to as North Chattanooga. While the space had been updated multiple times over the years by its previous owners, none of the updates had encompassed the entire unit. Thus, while her master bedroom and bath sported pink-and-blue floral wallpaper and gold-plated light fixtures circa 1980, the shower in the guest bath was formed by the type of clear glass blocks popular a decade later. The kitchen had been updated in the mid-2000s with stainless-steel appliances and dark woods. On her balcony, which faced downtown and gave her a great view of the skyline, sat two vintage metal lawn chairs she’d rescued from a curb years ago. She’d hammered out the dents, sanded off the rust, and painted them an eye-catching turquoise color. Kiki didn’t mind the clash of decades and décor styles in her place. In fact, she liked the idea that just by walking about her condo, she could essentially walk back and forth through time.
Seeing that my eyes were open, Smoky issued a whisker-twitching chirrup that told me I’d better get him his breakfast right away or he’d cough up a gooey hairball on my sneakers in retaliation.
I reached over and ruffled his ears. “Okay, boy. At your service.” Smoky trotted along beside me as I padded to the kitchen to round up a can of food and a can opener.
Kiki sat at the dinette set. Her two rescue cats, Kahlo and van Gogh, lounged on the tabletop in front of her, lazily engaged in their morning ablutions. Kahlo, named after the famous artist Frida Kahlo, sported white fur and a black unibrow, much like her namesake. Van Gogh was an orange tabby with only one intact ear. Where the other ear had gone to was anyone’s guess. It had already been lost in feral cat warfare or some type of accident before he’d been rounded up by animal control, carted to the city shelter, and put up for adoption.
Kiki raised her steaming mug of English breakfast tea in salute. “Fancy a cup?”
“I’d love one. Thanks. Just don’t try to feed me beans on toast.”
She tsked. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
While I set about feeding my cat, Kiki set about heating her teakettle. A few minutes later, we were seated at her table, sipping from dainty, delightfully mismatched teacups and ea
ting toasted English muffins slathered with jam.
The two of us had been exhausted by the time I’d arrived at her condo the night before. We’d gone right to bed. Now that we’d had a full night’s sleep and were feeling refreshed, she picked up where we left off. “So. Dinner with the copper, eh?” She wagged her brows.
“Once the killer is caught.” All the more reason to help move things along. I’d be keeping my eyes and ears open for any opportunities to assist the authorities in the investigation.
Smoky finished his breakfast and sat back on the floor, licking his whiskers. He’d left a few bites in his bowl. Van Gogh noticed and hopped down from the dinette to see if he might sample the leftovers. Smoky froze mid-lick before issuing a warning hiss that said Stay away from my bowl or risk your other ear!
“Smoky!” I scolded, reaching down to grab him. “That’s no way to treat your hosts.”
Smoky wriggled in my arms, but I held on tight. Van Gogh flicked his tail in a manner that said Nyaa-nyaa. Try to stop me now! He helped himself to the rest of Smoky’s food while Smoky struggled and spat.
Kiki stood and walked over to the easel that stood in front of the glass doors to her balcony. She rounded up two long oil painting brushes, one with a pointed tip, the other with a fan tip. She held them up. “Let’s take these brushes with us today. They could be used as improvised weapons.”
“How?” I said. “Are we going to tickle the killer to death with the bristles?”
“No.” She shifted them in her hands, holding them like daggers. “The handle end could put an eye out.”
I shuddered, envisioning an eyeball shish-kabobbed on a paintbrush and the disembodied eye envisioning me in return. As much as I disliked the thought of getting attacked by a would-be killer, the thought of poking someone’s eye out held nearly as little appeal. “Why would we need to poke their eye out? Wouldn’t we have already sealed their eyes shut with your adhesive spray?”
“It can’t hurt to have options,” Kiki replied. “Have you considered getting a gun?”
“Guns make me nervous. For it to be of any use, I’d have to keep it loaded and carry it on me. With as much as I move about the shop, I’m likely to shoot myself in the butt when I crouch down to stock a lower shelf.”
“Get a stun gun, then. The worst you could do is accidentally perform electrolysis on yourself.”
“I’ll think about it.” Problem was, I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think that I, or anyone else at my store, could be in so much danger that we’d need to defend ourselves with a deadly weapon. I preferred to focus on happy things like the launch of my own moonshine line and the positive feedback I’d received, not to mention a certain attractive copper.
“Maybe it’s a moot point,” Kiki said, a hopeful lilt in her voice. “Maybe they solved the case while we were sleeping.” She bit into her English muffin and held it between her teeth as she picked up her phone and used her thumbs to type in a search. When she finished scrolling and skimming, she removed the muffin, less a large bite, from her mouth. After quickly chewing and swallowing, she said, “Nothing new is being reported.”
I heaved a sigh. “Too bad Damien Sirakov didn’t confess.” I’d feel much better knowing for certain that the killer was in custody. So far, Sirakov was merely a person of interest. If they didn’t find something more to link him to the crime, he could be released shortly.
After breakfast, Kiki and I got ready to head to my shop. With it being Sunday, the store would be open only from noon to five today, so it would be a short shift. After spending the day home alone yesterday, Smoky decided he wanted to come with me today. He followed me to Kiki’s door as we prepared to leave and issued his demand. Mrrow! Lest I come back to find that Smoky had shredded Kiki’s couch, I loaded him into his carrier and lugged him down the hall to the elevator.
Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the Moonshine Shack. Kiki and I kept a careful eye on the alley as we hurried from our cars to the back door and into my shop. The alarm issued another beep-beep-beep, warning me that I had fifteen seconds to disarm it or it would emit an all-out wail. I punched in the code and the small light changed from red to green. Having handled that pressing matter, I bent down to release Smoky from his carrier. He’d already grown impatient and started jiggling the metal door with his paw.
My cat led the way from the back room into the shop and promptly hopped up to claim his favorite spot in the front window, the spot from which he’d witnessed Cormac’s murder. Through the glass, I saw that the cordon tape had been removed from Limericks, but the notice advising no one to enter without first contacting Ace remained. Three cars were parked in front of the bar. The first was Ace’s Impala. The other was Marlon’s SUV. The third was a small red Mitsubishi Mirage sedan.
Kiki stepped up next to me. “They’re putting the thumb screws to someone over there.”
While it was doubtful any torture techniques were in use, it appeared that Ace was conducting witness interviews at the bar and that she’d brought Marlon along, presumably to ensure her personal safety. The only question now was, who was being questioned and had the interrogation proved fruitful?
I wasn’t left to wonder long. A few minutes later, as I was setting out the dominoes, playing cards, and chessboard in front of my shop, the front door of the bar opened to reveal Ace. She held the door ajar and out stepped Ashlynn. Dressed in a flowing pink sundress with her golden hair pulled back in a big white bow, she looked as sweet and innocent as Little Bo Peep. All she needed was a couple of sheep. But I’d seen the woman in action, attacking her coworker on the sidewalk. This vixen had a vicious streak. Had she unleashed it on Cormac O’Keefe after he’d left the bar Saturday morning?
Maybe she’d determined to kill him the night she caught him cheating, but returned to work for the week so that it would appear as if she’d forgiven him and moved on. Or maybe she’d come back to work so that she’d have an opportunity to get close to him, keep an eye on him and look for an opportune moment to commit the dirty deed. But, as Cormac’s employee, wouldn’t she have already been familiar with his routines? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for her to at least pretend to have been nowhere in the area if she planned to ambush him after he left the bar for the night? Killing Cormac, on a night when she’d worked the late shift, put her at the crime scene only shortly before he’d been attacked. She’d have to know she’d be implicated by the circumstances. But maybe that was her plan. Maybe she was clever enough to do things that a killer shouldn’t do. Maybe her excuse would be that no killer would be that stupid. It was a convoluted theory, but it had a warped logic to it.
To my surprise, once the door closed behind her, Ashlynn stepped off the curb and aimed straight for the Moonshine Shack. Uh-oh. I clutched the heavy wooden chessboard. If she tried to attack me like she’d attacked Miranda, I’d whack her upside the head with it. Checkmate!
The skin around Ashlynn’s eyes crinkled ever so slightly as she walked up, as if she were assessing me. She wore the pretty shimmery pink lipstick again. I was tempted to ask about it, but I realized again that now was not the time. Instead, I gave her a nod of acknowledgment and said, “Hi.”
“You remember me, right?” she said. “From Limericks?”
Not sure whether acknowledging that I recognized her was a good idea, I hedged my bets. “I think so. I mean, we were never formally introduced, but I believe I saw you at the bar once.”
“You did,” she insisted, the crinkles deepening around her eyes as they narrowed further. “The day you tried to deliver moonshine and Cormac turned you away.”
Still unsure where this conversation might be going, I merely echoed her, in paraphrased form. “He placed an order at my grand opening, but he changed his mind.”
“Guess you heard he got himself killed.”
Got himself killed. She was blaming the victim. But it was uncertain wh
ether she was doing it to assuage her guilt or because she, like Mack Clayton, thought karma had finally caught up to Cormac. “You don’t think it could have been a random mugging?”
“No,” she said. “Cormac gave a lot of people a lot of reasons to want him dead.”
Including you.
She stared at me as she hiked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate Limericks. “The police called me in for questioning.”
There seemed to be an accusation in her statement. I raised a casual shoulder. “Standard procedure, probably.”
Still staring me down, she angled her head. “Any idea why they’d ask if I’d bought your moonshine?”
“My moonshine?” Rather than lie outright, I responded with a vague phrase that was subject to interpretation. “I couldn’t say.” Luckily, she didn’t press me to elaborate on whether I couldn’t say because I didn’t know or because I’d been ordered to keep my mouth shut. I forced a smile. “If you’d like to try some of my moonshine, I’d be happy to pour samples for you.”
“Not today,” she said. “I’ve got a job interview.”
“Good luck,” I said. “I hope you get it.”
Her mouth curled up in a smile not reflected in her eyes. With that, she turned, walked back across the street, and climbed into the Mitsubishi.
Exhaling in relief, I set the chessboard down on the table and entered my shop. Kiki stood just inside the door, crouched like a ninja, wielding her spray sealant in one hand and the pointed paintbrush in the other. As always, she’d had my back.
“One false move,” she said, “and that girl would’ve gotten it good.”
I was glad there’d been no need for Kiki to defend me. Enough blood had been shed in front of my shop.
