Lock, Stock, and Feral

by Addison Moore

  Mackenzie retches from the next table over and about six different people run for cover.

  Emmie nods my way. “I’ll take Mack for a walk along the waterline. Cooling off her feet might help.”

  “Why did you have to say feet?” Mackenzie grumbles as the two of them stagger toward the sand.

  “I’m not nude in those pictures. I’m covering my nipples with my arm,” Mom protests in an effort to maintain her integrity.

  Little does she know that went out the back along with her derrière.

  Hux points a finger her way. “Delete those. The last thing we need is him threatening to sell them.”

  “Romero would never do that.” She hugs her phone to her chest. “You don’t know him the way I do.”

  Hux takes a breath. “I know him enough to realize he’s going to need more money.”

  “And so what if I give it?” Mom tosses up a hand. “It’s my life. And by the way, no—I don’t plan on sending him another dime, or another picture.”

  Macy nods. “At this point, any more photo inspections might be a liability on your part. Good thinking using your hands as a bra. That can give the girls just the right lift to make them look as perky as ever.”

  Mom ticks her head to the side. “Well, I wasn’t born yesterday. There’s a reason I chose that pose.”

  “Mom”—I tap my fork to my plate—“do you have a picture of this man?”

  “I sure do.” She fiddles with her phone and flashes it our way and the entire table is stunted into silence.

  “Holy guacamole,” Georgie pants. “I gotta get myself on that dating app.”

  “Holy power stick, Batman.” Macy’s jaw unhinges and I think she just drooled. “He’s freaking hot.”

  She’s not wrong. Staring back at us is a picture of a shirtless muscle man with tan and oiled abs that glisten in the sun as he relaxes under a palm tree.

  “What?” Mom balks once again as she powers down her phone. “You don’t think I’m capable of landing a man half my age and twice as good looking, do you?”

  Hux shakes his head. “Mom, it’s not that. It’s just—that’s obviously a fake picture. It’s a stock photo. I’ll be able to prove it in a hot minute.”

  Mom rises in a huff and grabs her purse in haste. “I’m leaving now. You know it’s funny how nobody batted a lash when your father brought home an entire parade of bikini-wearing twenty-somethings—Bambi, Barbie, and Betty Boop to name a few. I’ll just let you chew on that.”

  She takes off and we let out a collective breath.

  “How do you like that?” I say. “Mom just served up a side of guilt to go with that lobster pie.”

  Hux knocks out that last bite on his plate before swallowing it down. “It doesn’t change the fact she’s being taken for a ride. Keep me posted, would you? Thanks for dinner, Biz. I’d better get Mack home and try to get some dinner in her, too.” He gives my sister and me a quick embrace, lands a kiss to Georgie’s cheek that leaves her swooning, and then takes off for the sand.

  “Well, ladies”—Macy says, gathering her purse—“I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a hot date out in Edison tonight.”

  Edison is the sleazy town adjacent to Cider Cove where nothing but toil and trouble happens. It’s wicked, vile, and full of thugs.

  “There’s no way I’m letting you go to Edison tonight,” I tell her. “It’s bad enough I have to worry about our mother.”

  “Oh really? And here I thought you’d offer to drive. That hot date is with James Foreman at a club called The Right Stuff.”

  I gasp as I quickly grab my own purse. “If we hurry, I’ll get one last suspect to quiz before Jasper closes out the case.”

  “Yeehaw!” Georgie hitches her thumb to the sky. “If all goes well tonight, I might land me a man of my own who’ll need me once he loses his wallet.”

  I nod her way. “Something tells me the odds are in your favor.”

  Macy bleeds a dark smile. “And if all goes well for me tonight, I’ll be driving a power stick back to my place.”

  Something tells me we’ll all find what we’re looking for over in that wicked, vile town full of thugs and one shiny new suspect.

  Edison, here we come.

  Chapter 10

  The address James Foreman gave my sister leads us to the downtown district of Edison, straight into a lux high-rise hotel called the Royal Regency.

  “The penthouse?” I muse as the elevator spits us out onto polished marble floors and we find a couple of bodyguards standing outside of a gilded door while a mob of beautiful women all clamor to get inside. And now those guards will have to contend with Macy, Georgie, Juni, and me as well.

  “That’s right.” Macy blows on her fingernails before buffing them over her chest. “Nothing but the best. This guy is the real deal. He’s got some serious change rolling around in his pocket, and he’s a looker. We’re talking Wolf of Wall Street material.”

  “If my memory serves correctly, he was dressed more like the guy who does the taxes of those wolves.” It’s true. He was tall, lanky, and cozy in a sweater. Devan said he has some position at the publishing house Patterson Higgins was running. She said they were arguing over something business-related, and that’s as good as a motive for me.

  Georgie chuckles. “If Jasper asks what you did tonight, just tell him you were running with the wolves.”

  Juni sucks in a breath as she looks to the woman who bore her. “There’s a full moon tonight, Mama. How about when we finish up here we head out and run with the pack just like the old days?”

  Macy scoffs. “You can run in the woods. I’ll be running wild in the bedroom.”

  “And this is why I drove,” I say. “And don’t worry, Georgie. I won’t need an alibi when it comes to my husband. If Devan and her magic mushrooms turn out to be a dead end—pun intended—then I’ll be one step ahead of the game. Besides, I’m not investigating. I’m merely making sure my sister doesn’t get ravished by a wild animal.” I blink a smile her way. “Now get us through that door.”

  We scuttle onward with Macy as our fearless leader. Macy, Juni, and I have all donned the requisite little black dress—as have the masses congregating around those beefy security guards. And Georgie has stayed true to herself, wearing a lime green kaftan with white paw prints all over it.

  Macy elbows her way to the front of the line and gives one of the bald walls of muscle her name, and soon the gilded door is opened and she’s escorted inside.

  Georgie, Juni, and I go to follow, but the door is promptly shut in our faces.

  “Sorry, ladies.” The wall of muscles gives a consolatory smile. “Feel free to join the kitty collective.” He nods to the mob of women behind us. “If there’s an opening, we’ll let you know.”

  “What?” I pull out my phone to text my flaky sister when the gilded door opens once again and Macy stands there like a queen with yet another security guard by her side. “Great,” I mutter. “They’re giving her the boot already.”

  Juni groans. “That’s too bad because I smell men and money, two of my favorite flavors, and I was really starting to get a bad craving for both.”

  “Eh.” Georgie shrugs. “I’ve got a couple of men on a pint of ice cream in the freezer. Come on over and we’ll drop a quarter in it and make it taste like money for you.”

  “Just like the good old days, Ma,” Juni muses.

  Macy points in our direction, and soon Mr. Muscles navigates us inside and shuts the door behind us.

  “How do you like that?” I muse. “And here I thought they were showing you to the door,” I say to Macy as we step into the palatial penthouse suite. Marble floors, brass hardware, crystal chandeliers. It looks like a hotel within a hotel. Classical music floats through the air, and the scent of something sweet layered with copious amounts of cologne takes over our senses. The foyer opens to a grand room to our right with a plethora of round tables set out. Each one is covered with green felt and has at least ten men seated
around it playing a game of cards.

  Chips rise like mini mountains in front of a few of them, short crystal tumblers bearing dark brown liquor are staggered about, and I can see a bona fide bar to the right. A small army of women in short black dresses and tiny white aprons run to and fro with trays full of cocktails, and a handful of women are scattered among the men at the tables.

  “Is this some illegal gambling outfit?” I hiss Macy’s way just as a tall redhead with one of those tiny white frilly aprons tied around her waist comes our way.

  “It’s high stakes poker. It’s not illegal.” She winks over at me. “And you’re late.” She quickly hands Georgie, Juni, and me an apron, but Macy outright refuses.

  “I’m here on a date,” Macy says, pointing toward the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that look like a glassy black wall at this time of night. “I see James over there. I’d better rub up against him. I hear it brings good luck into the world.” She winks my way as she takes off.

  “I hear it brings babies into the world, too,” I call after her, but she just waves me off.

  My sister is no stranger to dating one of my suspects. She’s always been one to live on the edge. Not even the time she was almost hacked to death by a killer has managed to deter her. Macy is the Unsinkable Molly Brown version of the dating world. Only I think her nickname would be the Unkillable Macy Baker. It doesn’t have nearly the same ring to it, but she’s still alive, so there’s that.

  “It won’t bring babies into the world for me, Toots.” Georgie balls up her apron and hands it right back. “I’m here to play with the big boys and not a babe will come of it.” She’s about to take off then backtracks and looks at the redhead. “Hey, you got any kids?”

  The redhead looks momentarily perplexed—an expression that she’ll grow quite familiar with by the end of the night now that the Cider Cove Circus has arrived. And yes, I know, I’ve included myself in that menagerie.

  “I got three,” she says. “One in high school and two in college. Why do you think I took on this gig?”

  “Good.” She slips her a business card. “My Rent-a-Grandma rates are half off this month only, so you’d better act fast.”

  “Aww,” the woman coos down at the card. “I really miss my grandma. This is wonderful. Would you mind if I took you to breakfast and afterwards we went garage saling? Those were the days, I tell you.”

  “I just had Saturday morning open up. You’re a lucky one, Red. Ring me and we’ll have the time of our lives. But for now, I drink champagne and roll my chips with the best of ’em,” Georgie says as she ducks into the next room.

  “Go get ’em, Grandma!” Red shouts and Juni and I exchange a look.

  There’s a frenetic energy buzzing in the air, something electric that lets you know something exciting is happening here tonight, that much I can’t deny.

  “All right, girl, chop-chop.” The redhead motions for us to get with it, so I quickly tie my apron around my waist, but Juni looks as if she needs a little more convincing.

  Juni snorts. “Why do they get the men and champs, and I get stuck serving bubbly?”

  The redhead chuckles. “You girls are serving dessert. I don’t let newbies serve the good stuff. But lucky for you, the banana pudding is good stuff, too.” She shuttles us into the kitchen in the back where an entire infantry of chefs look as if they’re losing their minds. And soon, Juni and I are each handed a tray with dozens of Mason jars filled with banana pudding—Nilla Wafers pressed up against the glass with luscious layers of vanilla pudding topped with whipped cream and colored sprinkles as if this were going out to a bunch of eight year olds at a birthday party. Each one has a silver spoon spiked in it, ready and rearing to land in some lucky man—or woman’s mouth. There might only be six women here, but I’m sure as heck going to make sure they indulge in this sweet treat, too.

  Juni and I head back onto the floor and offload as many of the sweet treats as we can. I don’t come across a single rejection and lose nearly half my inventory as I make my way toward that dark row of windows where I see Macy all but crawling into James Foreman’s lap. There he is, looking as tall and lanky as ever, but tonight he’s traded that sweater for a three-piece suit and looks every bit that wolf that Macy warned us about.

  “Evening,” I say as I come to the table, and each of the men quickly snaps up one of my desserts. “Macy?” I hand one her way and she wrinkles her nose at it.

  “No thanks,” she’s quick to be the first to reject it. I would kill to dive into a vat of that right now. But the last thing I need to do is clue James in on the fact I eat. I have a strict no noshing on dates policy I need to adhere to. I haven’t broken it in thirteen years, and I’m not going to start tonight.

  I make a face as I hand one to James, and he blindly accepts before sorting through his cards once again. He’s handsome more or less, definitely the body of a basketball player with his long arms and frail neck. His dark hair swoops to the side, and he’s doused himself with enough cologne to become a human blowtorch if so much as a spark hits him.

  “And one for you, Macy.” I plop one in front of her. “Extra sprinkles, just the way you like it.”

  A hard moan comes from her as she eyes it.

  “Oh, what the hell.” She plucks the spoon out, and no sooner does she shovel in a bite than she expels a hearty moan.

  James quirks a brow her way. Now there’s some music to my ears. I might have to take a monetary loss and cut out early. It’ll be worth it just to hear her sing like that in my bedroom. I wonder what I’ve gotta do to make that happen?

  “Not a lot,” I mutter. “You’ll never have an easier time getting lucky.”

  “What’s that?” He glances up my way.

  “Oh, I said there’s not a lot of dessert left, so you’re one of the lucky ones.”

  “Ah,” he says as someone shouts something from the head of the table, and soon everyone is tossing their cards into the middle, and a man to my right is raking all the chips his way. “I’m diabetic, I can’t have it. Sorry. Maybe see if there are any other takers.”

  A few of the men get up and stretch their legs, and as soon as the seat next to him grows vacant, I fall into it.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Maybe I’ll just take a bite myself. It looks that good. “Diabetic, huh? I’m sorry about that. It must be tough to be around sweet treats all the time.”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “The sugar-free stuff is just as good. It’s the liquor I miss.”

  “No liquor?”

  “Nope. Not a drop. I haven’t touched the stuff in years. But that was purely my choice. If I knew how to handle my liquor, I could partake a little here and there, but I’m an all-in kind of a guy so I’ve made a promise to myself to stay away from the stuff. It takes discipline, but it can be done.” He picks up a crystal goblet and hoists it my way. “Diet soda.” He winks as he takes a sip. “Keeping my wits about me is what keeps me winning.”

  Macy moans again as she takes another bite. “Mmmwatisinheremm?” she garbles out the word and I simply shoot her a short-lived smile.

  “I’m Macy’s sister,” I fess up. “I work clubs like this once in a while because the tips are so good.” The lie spills from me effortlessly.

  “Oh, here.” He leans over and quickly produces a wad of bills. “That was rude of me. Thank you.” He shoves the money into my hand before I can protest.

  “Wow, thank you,” I say as I tuck the small wad into the pocket of my apron.

  “Take this, too.” He slides the banana pudding my way.

  “I’m pretty sure the kitchen staff will toss it,” I say. “The kitchen has a strict no regifting food policy.” That would be the kitchen at the Country Cottage Café, but James doesn’t need to know that.

  “In that case, why don’t you help yourself? I hate to see food go to waste. I grew up with a single mom and she taught us waste not, want not.”

  “Well, if you insist,” I say, digging the spoon a notch deep
er before indulging in a bite myself and oh my—

  I see stars—heck, I can hear “The Star-Spangled Banner” playing in my head.

  “Oh, geez!” I give a hard moan. “This is fantastic.” I look over at Macy and she gives a frenetic nod. “I’m going to have to get the recipe.” I glance over at James. “I work at the Country Cottage Inn as well. They’re pretty much known for their delicious desserts.”

  “The inn over in Cider Cove?” He straightens in his seat. “You weren’t there the night of the book signing last week, were you?”

  “The night that man dropped dead?” I tip my ear his way. “Sure was. How about you?” I wouldn’t have left it so open-ended if I thought he might try to lie about it, but there’s an inherent honesty about him.

  I should lie. He frowns down at the table. “Yup. I was there. That was my boss, the man who passed away.”

  “Patterson Higgins?” I feign shock. “I mean, he had such a memorable name, I couldn’t forget it.”

  “That was him.” His chest puffs up a moment. “He was decent guy. Had some quirks. Had a publishing house, that’s where I’m at right now.” Lord knows I should cut and run, but I’d hate to leave the place in disarray. I should have cut and run a long time ago.

  “What’s going to happen to the publishing house?”

  “I have no idea. I’m in talks with the city to see if they can help me figure out what to do. It might take a court order and some legal counsel, but I think the authors can receive what funds are due to them and I’m assuming they’ll get their publishing rights back.” Not that there’s anything due to those poor schmucks.

  Did he just call the authors poor schmucks?

  “Was Patterson a successful publisher?” I shake my head as if I already know the answer.

  He winces. “He was. If you count his profit as a marker for success, you could say he was a very successful publisher. The authors didn’t fare so well, but as Patterson used to say, ‘It’s just the luck of the draw.’” And a slim to nothing advertising budget.