Dirty Money

by Liliana Hart

  “It’s me,” Kate said. “I can hear you breathing.”

  I opened the door and came face to face with Kate McClean. She’d been my best friend for as long as I could remember, and we were about as opposite as two people could get, but it seemed to work for us. She was a couple of inches over five feet and cute as a button. She looked a little like Meg Ryan before Meg had made so many poor plastic surgery choices, and her blonde hair came just below her chin and was slightly tousled.

  Kate was one of the most no-nonsense people I’d ever known. She said what she meant and meant what she said, and you could always count on her for loyalty and the truth. It’s how she’d made such a success out of the agency after she’d quit being a cop after a couple of years.

  “Could you really hear me breathing?” I asked.

  “No, but your van is still parked out front, and there’s fresh cinnamon rolls in the break room. I know you can’t smell them from in here, so I figured you were in here hiding.”

  “That’s good detective work.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  As soon as I stepped into the hallway the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls assaulted my senses and my mouth began to water.

  “That’s just cruel,” I said. “I’m supposed to get married on Friday. They’re going to have to roll me down the aisle.”

  Kate arched her brow and didn’t say anything.

  “I’m still going to have one,” I clarified. “I just want you to know it’s cruel.”

  “Duly noted,” she said. “Cute bag. You off to do wedding stuff?”

  “Sure,” I lied. “I’m also hoping to catch Matt Martin and his nooner. It’s not always easy to find parking for the van, so I want to give myself plenty of time.”

  “Good thinking,” Kate said, but she seemed distracted.

  I followed her down the hallway to the conference room and had an out-of-body experience the second I could see who was waiting for me. Even though my brain hadn’t quite registered what I was seeing, my body kept moving until I was inside the room and it was too late to escape.

  “What fresh hell is this?” I hissed at Kate.

  “This is what’s called a necessary evil. And as your maid of honor, it’s my job to make sure things get done. No arguments. We’re going to kick this wedding’s ass.”

  “You’re fired,” I said, panic starting to take hold of me. I felt the pressure in my chest again and was sure this time my heart was really about to explode.

  “You can’t fire me,” she said, entirely too smug. “But this needs to be done. You have work and I’m stuck testifying in court most of the week. Everyone else is working overtime so you can take the next two weeks for your honeymoon, so suck it up. What you’re about to witness here is my genius, so sit down in that chair and let’s get this over with.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? None of us might escape here alive.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, giving me a shove toward the giant conference table. “I’ve got my taser if things go downhill.”

  “You think a taser is going to stop them?”

  “What’s all that whispering about?” Aunt Scarlet yelled from her place at the head of the table. “I don’t have all day. The police are on my tail and I could die at any moment. I’m an old lady.”

  “Demons never die,” my mother said under her breath.

  This was my own personal hell. My family managed to coexist by never being in the same room at the same time. It had worked that way for generations. The Holmeses were avoiders. If there was a conflict or disagreement, we were pros at burying it deep inside so we could gripe about it to someone who didn’t share blood at a later time.

  “I’m not going to lie,” Kate whispered. “I’ve never experienced this kind of terror.”

  “That’s very helpful. And this is all your fault. God’s going to punish you.”

  “You don’t think standing in this room is punishment enough? I’m not even related.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  The conference room was where we had our weekly case briefings, and also where we brought clients we didn’t feel a hundred percent comfortable with. It was hooked up with cameras and audio. Just in case.

  There was a marble fireplace against one wall, and a fire crackled soothingly in the hearth. The cinnamon rolls sat untouched in the middle of the huge rectangular conference table. Twelve plush chairs sat around it. Three of the chairs were occupied by my family—my mother, sister, and Aunt Scarlet.

  Scarlet sat at the head of the table like a general. I personally liked Aunt Scarlet, but she was best had in small doses. I’d shut down a black market organ harvesting ring the week before, and Aunt Scarlet had helped in a big way. I was also almost positive that she’d murdered the man who’d masterminded the whole thing. Ugly Mo had been a crime boss for more than two decades in Savannah, and even the police hadn’t been able to touch him. But I was proud to say that with my training and a whole lot of dumb luck, we’d cracked the case.

  It didn’t change the fact that the police wanted to talk to Scarlet since she was a person of interest. But the last I’d heard, she’d skipped town and was heading back to the cruise ship she lived on for a good part of the year. I was pretty surprised to see her.

  She’d changed her hair over the weekend. Gone was the white helmet of curls that had sat so rigidly on her scalp. She’d at least had the appearance of looking like anyone’s eccentric grandma with that hair. But now her hair was a cross between Blac Chyna and Bette Davis in Watcher in the Woods.

  She had it pulled up into an artful ponytail that trailed halfway down her back. Little wisps of hair framed her wizened face, and the white seemed brighter than normal. The bulk of it was almost half the size she was. I didn’t know how she was holding up her head.

  My mother sat to Scarlet’s right. I was pretty much the spitting image of my mother, which was good news for me because my mom was aging well. Her hair was dark like mine and pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her eyes were dark and the only signs of aging were the small lines around her eyes.

  Mom was in her mid-fifties and starting a new life. She’d recently gotten married to my dad’s old partner, Vince Walker, and they seemed very happy. She’d also started to come into her own a little. I hadn’t realized how repressed she’d been during her marriage to my dad. It was nice to see her blooming, but also terrifying at times. My mom no longer had a filter. I hoped Kate had her taser on high stun.

  Mom had started going to pottery classes and naked yoga, and she’d set a bonfire in the backyard to burn all her pantyhose and suits from her days as a CPA. She mostly did people’s taxes now in yoga pants or overalls. I was still getting used to it.

  A fourth chair was occupied by Rosemarie Valentine. She was my other bridesmaid and had a giant binder sitting in front of her. She looked terrified and was pale as a piece of paper.

  “I guess the newspaper article is true,” Scarlet said, looking me up and down and then zeroing in on my middle. “I guess we’re getting another seven-month baby in this family.”

  I sucked in my stomach and narrowed my eyes. “I’m not pregnant. It’s winter. Layers make everyone look heavier.”

  Scarlet hmmphed and shook her head. “That’s the problem with people nowadays. Their scandals are boring. Nobody cares about seven-month babies. Your great-great-uncle sired half the babies in Whiskey Bayou back in his day, but it was his wife that made headlines.” Her eyes were animated and she clicked her tongue in approval. “Maudine had enough of his tomcattin’ around and cut his doo-dad right off. Stuck it in a jar of vinegar on her windowsill like some lumpy potato. I saw it for myself when I was a kid. She watched him bleed out while she ironed the rest of his shirts, bless her soul. Of course, she was a Holmes too, and Holmes women don’t handle being cuckolded well. Just look at you and how you ran over that fiancé of yours. I was real proud of you. I read about i
t in the newspaper on my cruise ship.”

  I opened my mouth to deny any wrongdoing. It’s not like I ran over him on purpose. But my sister Phoebe’s gasp drew everyone’s attention.

  “Wait a second,” she said. “How could our great-great-uncle’s wife be a Holmes too? Are you saying they were related?”

  Everyone scrunched up their noses in disgust, and Rosemarie took the opportunity to reach for a cinnamon roll.

  I hadn’t seen Phoebe in a few months. She was an artist, so she tended to not put down roots in any one place for very long. She was a few inches shorter than me, had long blonde hair with turquoise streaks, and a diamond stud in her nose. She was wearing a black skinsuit that looked like it was made of rubber and a pair of biker boots that came up to her knees.

  “Third cousins, so it hardly counts,” Scarlet said. “And they didn’t have any children. Probably for the best since they were both batshit crazy. The population was a lot smaller then, and men weren’t easy to come by. Fortunately, they also didn’t live as long so no one had to suffer for too long.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” my mother said. She had a to-go cup of something in front of her, and I was guessing it wasn’t hot coffee, because she took a long drink and looked a lot more relaxed when she put the cup down. She glanced at Rosemarie’s half-eaten cinnamon roll and reached for her own.

  “I’m not pregnant,” I repeated to get things back on track. “Nick is just tired of waiting. We want to get this done as quick as possible with as little hassle.”

  “Hmmph,” Scarlet said. “That’s just what your mother said before she and your father got married.”

  My mom rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you that I got pregnant on our honeymoon. We didn’t have to get married. Phoebe just came two months early.”

  “So you said at the hospital when you were trying to explain to anyone who would listen how a seven-month baby could weigh nine pounds.”

  “Damn,” Kate whispered. “Burn.”

  “You changed your hair,” I said to Scarlet, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to diffuse the tension between her and my mother.

  “I got extensions,” she said. “Costs a fortune and they’re heavy as hell. But Chermaine told me long hair is back in style, and you know how I’m always on top of the trends.”

  Chermaine was Scarlet’s very expensive stylist. She was…unique.

  “Can you believe women half my age are dyeing their hair white on purpose? People are idiots.”

  My mother snorted. “The women half your age still have white hair naturally,” my mother said. “You’re older than dirt.”

  “The musket ball in my hip may slow me down some, but my hearing’s as good as ever, Phyllis. If you weren’t family I’d have ripped out that forked tongue of yours decades ago.”

  I knew things were escalating fast and that I should probably step in before punches were thrown, but I was still stuck on what Aunt Scarlet said about long hair being in style.

  “Wait a second,” I said, touching the fringe of my new pixie cut. “A week ago you told me I needed a change and Chermaine said short hair was all the rage. I had long hair. Why would you do that to me?”

  I wasn’t an irrational person. I didn’t overreact. Well, maybe sometimes I did, but only when there was a good reason. But I could feel my blood pressure spike and my eyes bulge out of my head. It was wedding stress. It had to be. I was turning into Bridezilla.

  Scarlet shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m programmed to eliminate the competition. I thought I had a shot with that hottie, and I could tell he was into you.”

  “Of course he’s into me,” I yelled. “We’re getting married.” I marched over to the table and grabbed a cinnamon roll. To hell with wedding diets.

  “Not that one,” Scarlet said, waving her hand dismissively. “The other one. With all the muscles and the cute butt. Looks dumber than he is. I was always a sucker for a jock with a brain. How’s his package?”

  I shoved the cinnamon roll in my mouth so I didn’t have to answer.

  Phoebe laughed and knuckle-bumped Aunt Scarlet. “You’ve got good taste. That man is hot. I thought about giving him a spin myself, but I don’t poach. And I don’t think he was interested. I can always tell when a man is interested.”

  “Maybe he’s gay,” Scarlet said. “Or maybe he has one of those micro-penises and he’s too embarrassed to get naked. I read all about micro-penises in Cosmo. Apparently, it’s much more common now because of all the hormones that get pumped into our foods.”

  “Kill me now,” my mother said.

  Rosemarie hadn’t said a word, but she was eyeing a third cinnamon roll like it was the Holy Grail and she was the last Templar knight.

  Scarlet reached down and plopped her giant Louis Vuitton handbag on the table. She dug around inside and pulled out her checkbook.

  “That settles it,” Scarlet said. “I’m hiring this agency. Addison, it’s your duty to find out if he has a micro-penis. It’s dishonest for him to present himself as an eligible bachelor if he can’t perform in the bedroom.”

  “Available to whom?” my mother asked. “You think your fake hair is going to make you look sixty years younger? One look at you naked would probably turn him off sex forever.”

  “You’ve always been jealous, Phyllis,” Scarlet said, shaking her head. “I’ve got the best body money can buy. Addison and Rosemarie can attest to that. We spent all week at that nudist colony. I was fighting men off like flies. Hell, Addison and I are practically twins. She’s the spitting image of me.”

  “I want to die,” I said, and Kate patted me on the back soothingly.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  My mother shot me a look that somehow managed to look horrified and disappointed in my life choices at the same time.

  “It was for a case,” I said, defending myself.

  Between the nudist colony and being kidnapped and almost having my organs harvested, I figured it was best to keep things on the down-low until life got back to normal. Mom tended to worry. I had no idea why.

  “Aunt Scarlet’s been here two weeks and look at what an influence she’s had on you,” my mother said, her voice getting higher as she spoke. “You’re not Mata Hari, Addison Holmes. For all we know, all those stories about being a spy and dead husbands and musket balls are complete hogwash. There’s no proof of anything other than the fact that she got shipped off to France for being a whore.”

  We all gasped and I nudged Kate in the side. “Do something. This is your fault. Get out your taser.”

  “I might have underestimated the outcome of this meeting.”

  “I’ll take the case,” I blurted out, hoping it would distract everyone and prevent an all-out brawl. “I’ll find out if he has a micro-penis and put in a good word for you if he’s…healthy,” I said for lack of a better word.

  I already knew Savage didn’t have a micro-penis. We’d kissed a time or two when Nick and I were in our off-again stage, but that’s as far as it had gone. The thing about kissing is it does things to a man’s body that’s hard to miss, and I could say with certainty that Savage most definitely did not have a micro-penis.

  Someone knocked, but the door was open, so it was only for formality. Everyone at the table got unusually still and Rosemarie choked on her cinnamon roll to the point my mother had to slap her on the back a few times.

  “Is this a bad time?” Savage asked.

  I closed my eyes and wished I could sink into the floor. There was no way he hadn’t heard part of that conversation.

  “Speak of the devil,” Scarlet said, giving him a wink.

  Savage moved in next to me and squeezed my shoulder, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I was so tense I was surprised I didn’t snap in two.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I came about a case, but figured I’d stay for the sideshow.”

  “Get your money’s worth?”

&n
bsp; I could practically feel his grin.

  “More than,” he said. “And it’s not even noon yet.”

  “We’re having a meeting about the wedding,” Scarlet told him. “She’s getting married Friday. Do you have a date?”

  “I always go to weddings alone,” Savage said. “I like to keep my options open.”

  “Good thinking,” Scarlet said. “Options are important. I’ve always said that just because you get married doesn’t mean you’re dead. Lordy, I’ve been through five husbands. You’ve always got to be on the lookout for the next one because husbands have a tendency to die or get shot or pushed off balconies. They’re very fragile.”

  I snuck a look at Savage and his grin grew wider. My mom took another drink from her to-go cup, and Rosemarie took another cinnamon roll. We all dealt with stress in different ways.

  “Speaking of the wedding,” Savage said. “The NAD Squad would like to know where to send their gift.”

  I sucked in my cheeks. Before I moved in with Nick I was the owner of a cute little white house on an older street in Savannah. It turned out that Savage was my across the street neighbor, which he’d failed to mention to me when he’d suggested I buy it.

  My neighbors had been an eclectic mix of races and ages, and they could give Whiskey Bayou a run for its money in the nosey department. They’d also formed a neighborhood watch group called the NAD Squad. I’d been confused at first until they’d told me NAD stood for Neighbors Against Delinquency.

  I couldn’t even imagine what a gift from the NAD Squad might be, so I said, “Tell them no gifts, but they’re all welcome to attend.”

  His eyebrows raised at that. “Lesser of two evils, huh?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “What are you drinking, Mom?”

  “Orange juice,” she said primly.

  Phoebe snorted. “I watched her put a teaspoon of orange juice into that vodka this morning.”

  “Narc,” my mother said, and I raised my brows. I felt nothing but sympathy for my mother. For the first time in my entire life she seemed happy, then she finds out Aunt Scarlet is back in town and her daughter is getting married all in the same weekend.