by Lori Woods
“Well,” Clary said, raising her eyebrows, “that’s a different story from what she told me, but I’ll keep an open mind.”
“I wouldn’t say I was innocent either,” Erica shrugged. “I did try and steal some of my clients back, and in some cases I did. Look, I know Salome. She has a very twisted sense of justice. She’ll excuse herself of any blame and put it all on me. Then she’ll claim that justice was served. But it’s her brand of justice. It’s not fair, it just suits her own needs. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started that fire. That’s why I don’t have any faith in Sanchez. If that’s how his daughter turned out, then what’s his sense of justice?”
“I don’t know Salome,” Clary said carefully, “and I don’t know what exactly happened between the two of you. But I do know Sanchez. He’s a grouch, and he’s not always pleasant. But he’s always fair. I’ve worked on cases with him before, and he’s always done the right thing. I believe he’ll treat Salome like any other suspect.”
“If you say so,” Erica said disbelievingly.
“Look, I’m sorry to do this, but I have to ask. What were you doing last night?”
“I was at a bar,” Erica said immediately. “It was Friday night, so I was out with my friends. You can ask my friend Tammy-Lynn. She came over and stayed the night.”
“Why didn’t you hear the alert from the fire alarm?” Clary asked. “You should’ve been there before anyone else.”
“I had just come back from a bar,” Erica snapped. “What do you think? I never expected my salon to burn down. I was just out for the night with my friends. You’d know what that’s like if you just loosened up a bit and had some fun.”
“I’m helping,” Clary reminded her in an annoyed tone. Erica shut her mouth and nodded contritely.
“Do you know who they found? The body, I mean.”
“Yeah, Sanchez told me in the interrogation room. His name is Spooky, he’s our resident gangster.”
“A gangster?” Clary asked with a laugh. “In our little town?”
“Yeah, he sells weed to teenagers and is a bookie or something. Although I’ve heard that he started selling harder stuff recently. There’s not much of a market here, but he’s making one. Look, he had a lot of enemies, and he probably would’ve ended up dead soon enough. It’s not a surprise. I think whoever killed him probably saw the fire and thought it was their chance to get rid of the body. Sanchez said Spooky wasn’t in the salon when it was burning. If the fire department had been late, then he would’ve been in the fire.”
“That’s a relief,” Clary admitted. “I didn’t like thinking that he was in the fire.”
“Me neither,” Erica shuddered. “It’s so weird. I went to school with Casper, that’s Spooky. He was such a loser, it’s no wonder he turned out like this. His poor mother’s probably beside herself right now. I guess that’s what you get when you live like that.”
“That’s the same thing Salome said about you,” Clary reminded her. Erica gave her a filthy look, but Clary just shrugged. She didn’t lie. It was true. They were all so caught up in a cycle of denouncing tragedy just because they felt that the person was on a bad course. None of them knew the whole truth, but they weaseled their way out of responsibility for their actions by making everyone else seem worse. It didn’t work. Eventually it escalated, and salons were burned down, and people were murdered.
It wouldn’t surprise her if when they found the murderer, they pointed a finger at someone else.
“Where’s Sanchez?” A big burly man demanded, walking in and glaring at everyone.
“Hey, Kurt,” Clary said in a friendly tone. “What happened?”
“This,” the owner of the local butchery announced, shoving a flyer in Clary’s face. Her heart sank as she recognized the same blinding pink paper and font. The Secret Keeper wasn’t done with their paper route. Clary shared an anxious glance with Logan who had put his phone away when Kurt stormed in.
“I’m sure this was just a prank,” Logan said soothingly, “just some teenager who wants in on all the excitement. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“That’s what I thought,” Kurt barked, “but then I found out that everyone on Main Street got one.” He slammed his fist down on the receptionist’s desk, causing her to jump back in fright. “Where’s Sanchez?”
“He’s with a suspect right now,” she squeaked, looking around for help.
“Come on, Kurt,” Erica said, stepping forward, “you’re overreacting. Just sit with us and wait until Sanchez is done, then we can talk about it. You never know, he might be with the culprit right now. You don’t want to distract him from that, do you?”
“How long has he been with his suspect?” Kurt demanded angrily.
“About half an hour,” Clary shrugged, “not long.”
“This came ten minutes ago,” Kurt growled. “whoever’s in there with him didn’t have time to do this. He’s got the wrong guy. Sanchez! Get out here! You’ve got work to do!”
“Ten minutes ago?” Logan echoed, looking at Clary in alarm. “Whoever did this must have their own printer. I’m the only place in town that makes prints, and I’ve never seen these flyers before.”
“How are they doing it?” Clary asked in exasperation. “This is Main Street we’re talking about. It’s busy! How did no one see them do it?”
“I’ll tell you how,” Kurt growled. “We’ve got a professional on our hands. That’s why Spooky was hit. He’s a mafia guy, and now the mafia’s in town and we’re all going to pay for his mistakes. You were probably in on it too,” he glared at Erica. “What? Were you business partners?”
“Spooky and I weren’t business partners.”
“What’s going on out here?” Sanchez demanded, closing the door as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, Kurt still got a look at who was in the interrogation room.
“Wow,” Kurt scoffed, “bad time for a family reunion, Chief.”
“What do you want?” Sanchez demanded, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at Kurt.
“You’ve got to do something about this,” Kurt demanded, shoving the flyer toward him.
One down, six to go.
Which one of you will be next?
None are safe, and all will burn.
Chapter 6
“This place is a mess, someone should clean it up,” Erica suggested, dropping her handbag on Clary’s counter and plopping down onto her favorite chair.
“Are you volunteering?” Marie asked as she stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of marinated ribs. Clary gave her friend a warning look which she immediately dismissed. Loki immediately showed up, winding himself between Marie’s legs and looking up at her with an innocent gaze. “You only like me when I have food,” she accused.
“Where’s Karen?” Erica asked, looking around suspiciously.
“I’m right here,” Karen said immediately, walking out from behind a bookshelf.
“We need to get things organized,” Erica decided. “Call the insurance company and tell them to get someone out here to investigate.”
“There’s just one thing,” Karen started, but Erica cut her off.
“The more people we have on the case, the quicker we’ll get that insurance money and put Salome out of business.”
“I need to tell you something,” Karen tried again, but Erica ranted on, effectively cutting her assistant off.
“You’re going to love this marinade,” Marie promised. “Do you think Logan will want to join us for dinner? Or is he busy?”
“I told you, we’re not having ribs for dinner tonight,” Clary said resolutely, giving Marie a stern look. “It’s not appropriate. Erica just lost her livelihood; how would you feel if it were you?”
“We can invite her to join us,” Marie offered charitably, shooing Loki away from where he was watching the marinating ribs with a calculating expression. He responded by giving her a haughty look and sauntering off.
“That’s not what I meant,” Clary said in amus
ement.
She tried her best to minimize the extent of Marie’s insensitivity, but she often failed. When Marie set her mind to something, it was impossible to get her to change it. Clary often thought that they were such good friends because the two of them were alike. On the other hand, she saw Marie’s personality reflected almost perfectly in Loki, and the two couldn’t stand each other.
She didn’t know how it worked, but she and Marie were a good influence on each other. It was as though each one balanced the other out. Marie busied herself with basting her ribs again, and Clary smiled to herself. Life wouldn’t be the same without her trusty chef and closest friend.
As Erica prattled on, and Karen tried to get a word in, Clary realized how grateful she was to have a friend like Marie.
“Erica,” Clary said suddenly, “I think Karen is trying to say something.”
“Oh,” Erica waved dismissively, “I’m sure I already know what she’s going to say.”
“Let’s test that,” Clary suggested. “Karen, what did you want to say?”
“I was just going to say that I saw Philip by the salon a few minutes ago. I’m not sure what he was trying to do.”
“Speaking of the salon,” Clary realized, “I never really got a chance to apologize about this morning. I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have assumed your brother was guilty, just because we were paranoid. Please tell him how sorry I am too.”
“Your brother was here?” Erica asked in surprise. “What did you guys do to him?”
It didn’t take long for Karen to tell Erica the story, and by the time she was finished, Erica was red from laughing so hard. Clary glared at her while she chortled gleefully.
“I’m sorry, but that’s brilliant. You tackled her poor brother. What’s wrong with you?”
“I didn’t know he was just trying to help, he looked suspicious!”
“And you say I’m the bad person?”
“To be fair,” Karen piped up, “he does look suspicious. I keep telling him to act normal, but it’s hard for him, you know?”
“Wait,” Erica held up an incredulous hand, “how is that a good thing to say? If I said that then you’d be on my case for being insensitive. Seriously, what’s wrong with you people? He’s mentally disabled. Show a little respect, why don’t you?”
“Poor you,” Marie pouted comically, “always the victim. Are you people staying for ribs?”
“I’m not a victim,” Erica said furiously. She locked Marie into an intense stare-off. Or at least, she tried to. Marie didn’t seem all that interested in winning the fierce competition, and just shrugged.
“Is that a no to the ribs?”
“No,” Erica said sullenly.
“No ribs?”
“No, we want ribs,” Erica said, frowning as she confused herself.
“Who’s Philip?” Clary interrupted quickly before Marie said something else. From her own experience, she knew that Erica didn’t like feeling like an idiot and that Marie enjoyed making Erica angry.
“He’s Erica’s ex,” Karen said helpfully.
“Hey!” Erica rounded on Karen with a furious look. “Have you called the insurance company yet?”
“No?” Karen squeaked, looking terrified.
“Then do that!”
Karen nodded manically and scampered to go outside. Her eyes welled with tears and she looked at the floor, letting her hair fall over her red cheeks as she walked as quickly as she could.
“That was harsh,” Clary said angrily, crossing her arms and glaring at Erica.
“Say what you want,” Erica responded sullenly, “I don’t care.”
“It seems to me that someone doesn’t want to talk about Philip,” Marie commented, leaning forward on her elbows as she gazed intently at Erica.
Marie wasn’t the nicest person around. She wasn’t the worst either. She had a mischievous streak that stretched a mile wide, but she would never pick on someone who couldn’t defend themselves. This meant that she couldn’t stand bullies.
“Did it end badly?”
“That’s none of your business, Clary.”
“Then there’s no reason for you to be here,” Marie pointed out. “Clean up your mess and leave.”
“There’s no point in talking about him,” she said finally, wringing her hands until they went white.
Clary turned her back on Erica in annoyance, feeling tired from all the theatrics. That’s when she noticed a man painting on the burned-out wall of the salon. He was wearing blue overalls, but the splatters of red paint made it look darker.
Before she could really think about what she was doing, she was out of the door and walking across the street. The closer she got the clearer the message on the wall became.
“Justice for Eri…”
“Nice message,” she commented.
The man turned around, obviously startled by the sound of her voice. As he turned, the red paint went flying. The paint left a rounded pattern on the ground that ended on Clary’s shoes.
“Sorry,” he muttered, putting the paintbrush down hurriedly and rubbing his hands on his overalls.
He was handsome, Clary decided. But in a way that made you feel ashamed for finding him attractive. It wasn’t anything specific. His stubble was growing out slightly, and his hair was only partially greasy. It wasn’t something anyone could put their finger on. It was more of an undefinable quality that made your cringe.
“I think Erica might like it,” Clary said honestly.
“You think so?”
The hope that lit up his eyes was painful to see. If Erica wasn’t excited to see him, then it meant that his feelings weren’t reciprocated. And if he hadn’t given up, then it meant that it had turned into an unhealthy obsession.
“Yeah…”
“I’m not even finished yet,” he said excitedly. “I’m going to tell her how much I love her. She’s going to flip. You birds like this romantic stuff, right?”
“Birds?” Clary echoed faintly. She wished that she hadn’t come out to talk to him.
“You know, chicks. Birds, women, girls.”
“Right,” Clary said slowly. “Have you been seeing each other for long?”
“Yeah, we’ve been on and off for a couple of years. You know how it goes. One second, she’s into it, and the next she’s all about reevaluating her life and stuff. But I think this time she’s ready for a steady relationship.”
“You never know,” Clary shrugged. “This was a traumatic experience, she might need time to reevaluate things further.”
“Nah, trust me. I know her. She always comes running when she feels vulnerable. She needs a man to protect her. I’ll just show her that it’s okay.”
“This would make her feel vulnerable,” Clary agreed, trying not to look at him suspiciously.
He turned back to the wall with a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“Is this all for Erica?” Karen asked, walking up to them and putting her phone in her pocket.
“Yeah, what do you think?” He spread his arms out proudly, having finally finished Erica’s name with a messy flourish.
“This is so romantic,” Karen gushed, holding her hands up to her heart. “She’s going to love it. I wish someone would do something like this for me.”
“So, are you a friend of Erica’s or something?” he asked, squinting thoughtfully at Clary. “I’ve never seen the two of you hang out or anything.”
“No way,” Karen giggled. “They hate each other. Clary’s just helping Erica find out who did this. She’s like a detective or something. She’s even letting us put up shop in her store. It’s right over there.”
“That’s right,” Philip snapped his fingers in Clary’s direction. “You’re the chick with the bookstore. How’s it going and all? I know people don’t really read much around here. You must be wicked smart.”
“Not really,” Clary said stiffly, wondering how she had gotten herself into this conversation. “Book sales have actually risen in the
past few years. Millennials love books.”
“Cool,” Philip said unenthusiastically, his eyes turning dull. “So, like, what’s up with the whole mystery-solving thing? Do you have any suspects yet? I mean, things are pretty intense around here.”
“I thought I did,” she admitted hesitantly, “but then someone sent those flyers to everyone.”
“Oh yeah,” Philip nodded, “I saw that. It was intense.”
“You saw that? Did you see who gave those flyers out?”
“No,” he said quickly, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll finish this up later. Tell Erica that my door’s open any time.”
“That was weird,” Clary commented, watching him rush off without cleaning up his mess.
“I don’t think so,” Karen sniffed. “He’s so sweet. I still can’t believe Erica broke up with him. But it looks like he’s going to give her a second shot. She’s so lucky. No one would ever do something like this for me.”
“Count yourself lucky.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Erica seethed, standing in front of the window and glaring daggers at the bright red message.
“He paints like a five-year-old,” Marie commented, nibbling on a biscuit.
“What did he say?” Erica demanded as soon as Clary walked through the door.
“It’s supposed to be a declaration of love,” Clary winced, bracing herself for a massive blow-up. Instead, much to her surprise, Erica sank down onto a couch with a disturbed expression on her face.
“It would be so cute if you two got back together!” Karen squeaked, clapping her hands together excitedly.
“We’re not,” Erica gulped, “going to do that.”
“Why not?”
