Death of a Hot Chick

by Norma Huss

  Death of a Hot Chick

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Death of a Hot Chick

  A Cyd Denlinger Mystery

  by Norma Huss

  Copyright 2011 Norma Jean Huss

  Smashwords Edition

  Praise for Death of a Hot Chick

  “Hot review for a hot chick!

  “This who-dunnit will keep you amused and interested all the way through. It has a paranormal touch, as well as a strong, independent and likable heroine who is torn in many directions as she tries to figure things out. If people would just leave her alone, it would be so much easier, but there’s her ex-boyfriend, her sister, her mother, her father, a nosy neighbor...and lots of info about boating that maybe you didn’t know. I didn’t! All in all–a fun read!”

  Joan C. Afman, author of The Last Time We Were Here

  “The opening truly grabbed me.

  By paragraph two I was hooked.”

  “I LOVE the cover--your book is beautiful and wonderful, too”

  “Reading a novel that takes place in a

  marina was new to me and very interesting!”

  “Your writing (Voice of Cyd) is so

  flip and fresh--lots of fun to read.”

  Death of a Hot Chick by Norma Huss

  Editor: Joan C. Afman

  Editor: Sharon Roat

  Editor: Ramona DeFelice Long

  Cover: Donna Hedricks

  Format: Donna Hedricks

  All rights reserved

  Smashwords Edition licensing notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my husband Dick, who makes everything possible.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my writing communities of Pennwriters, Inc. And Sisters in Crime, especially the Guppy Chapter. Thanks also go to my beta reader, Charmie Gomaa. Special thanks go to my daughter, Donna Hedricks, for the cover, format, and a bit of nudging encouragement, and my daughter Sharon Roat, for editing, critiquing, and more encouragement. Thanks to the professionals: Editors Joan C. Afman and Ramona DeFelice Long. Thanks to Dr. D. P. Lyle, who answered my medical questions and Leslie Budewitz, who answered my legal questions. Any errors of fact are mine alone.

  However, before all the rest, Katie Morin allowed me to set my mystery on the boat I fell in love with, Snapdragon, belonging to her and her husband John. She only requested one condition. Perhaps she should have asked for more!

  Chapter 1

  The boat needed a lot of work, which was good. I needed to scrub, wax, polish and definitely not think. First on my agenda: get serious with a stiff brush.

  And get serious with myself. Okay, I was a widow at twenty-eight. I’d done all the grieving when Al left me, months before he managed to accidently kill himself. I was completely over my former life. Settled all the debts he left, started fresh and new. With nothing.

  “Recovery,” was the word they’d used. As in recover your equilibrium for God’s sake. Survive the sorrow and look for a bright tomorrow. Like I was some kind of war orphan who’d lost everything—including the shirt on her back.

  So not me.

  “Work,” was my word. Work and think of anything else. Think of the steaming July heat. I stood on the cabin roof, aimed the hose at my bare toes. Water drained in streaks as it gushed overboard and left dried bird stains. I splashed my knees, then my arms. Think of my T-shirt, sweaty and dirty. I lifted the hose, doused my shirt front, and shuddered as the dampness seeped through.

  “Exorcism,” was an even better word. I stood tall, shook my fist, and hollered, “Begone, Al. I hope you’re in hell.”

  Which was not the best time to see someone headed my way.

  Nicole Joline flounced toward me. My boss. And owner of Snapdragon, a 31-footer berthed at Smith Harbor Marina on Chesapeake Bay. Looking just like the girl Al ditched me for. Younger, blonder, and way richer than me. All that Nicole was. Which wasn’t her fault.

  She ignored my outburst and said, “Cyd. What’s your problem? And why couldn’t you just tell me over the phone?”

  I swallowed my first impulse of, “You want a list?” Her almost white-blond hair, her skin-tight jeans, and that shimmering silk blouse made me aware that I looked and smelled like a wet rat. However, I hopped down to face her eye-to-eye.

  “As of now I’m dead broke. I can’t keep working on your boat if you don’t pay me something up front.”

  “That’s it?” Nicole asked. “Just send me a bill. You know I’m good for it.”

  “So you keep telling me.” Not for the first time, I wondered why I’d ever agreed to work for the owner of a lobster trawler on a bay known for blue crabs and not a single lobster. Didn’t help a bit that the boat was rigged out as a cruiser instead of a working boat. I said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I spent fifty-two dollars on cleaning supplies and parts this morning. I can’t eat soap.”

  “I didn’t realize you were working for food money,” Nicole said, like that wasn’t a reasonable goal. She dug into the back pocket of her designer jeans and pulled out a few bills. “I can give you twenty, no, twenty-two dollars this minute.” She hesitated before adding, “Staying here, on the boat, that helps you with expenses, doesn’t it?”

  Twenty-two dollars? That wasn’t even gas money for her Porsche. I took a deep breath. I would stay calm. Reasonable. “That two thousand dollars we agreed on was for my time. Parts and supplies are extra. You can pay me the two thousand when the job is done, but I can’t do the job without the supplies. You need to pay for those. Now.”

  Nicole widened her eyes, and put on a smile that practically blinded me. “Of course. It’s just that...I’m a little short of cash right now. I’m rather highly leveraged at the moment, and....”

  The door was behind me. I turned and stepped inside. I would not blow up. I’d better calm down. Big time. But—her excuses? She’d just had a new dinghy delivered and managed to pay for that somehow.

  Nicole came after me and grabbed my arm. “Look, I’ll get you the money when I sell the boat. Two months max. Promise.”

  I turned, shaking off her arm. “Snapdragon won’t sell in two months. Not with this economy.”

  Nicole stepped back, then stroked her hair for a moment before her eyes lit up. “How about this? I’ll make you part owner. I’ll add your name to the
title on the boat, and when it sells, you’ll get your money. Plus a nice bonus. How does that sound?”

  “Ah... like overkill?”

  “We can do it right now. I have the title.” She pulled a plastic bag out of her other hip pocket, unzipped it, and grabbed my pen from the counter. “But we’ll need a witness. That man I saw working on a boat. What’s his name?”

  “That’s probably Wes, the marina manager. But this is....”

  Nicole turned, darted out the door, and took off down the dock.

  This was too weird. Was she seriously going to sign half a boat over to me? “I’d really rather have the money now,” I yelled after her.

  Nicole didn’t stop. She’d found Wes who was applying non-skid paint to a racing sailboat deck. When I caught up to her, she was signing the title in front of Wes. With my pen, which she thrust toward me, pointing to a blank line on the back of the title.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, but I signed and even put the time. Wes shrugged and signed to prove he’d witnessed our signatures.

  Nicole folded the paper. “See how easy that was?” she said. “I’ll take it to my lawyer tomorrow.”

  I had no idea what the lawyer would do with the thing, and honestly, I didn’t care. At the moment I was only thinking as far as my next meal. “I’m still out thirty bucks.”

  “Oh. Right.” Nicole pressed a finger to her lips. She nodded, and added, “I’ll get another thirty dollars and return tonight after nine.”

  I wasn’t one hundred percent sure the nod meant anything.

  Nicole flashed that killer grin in all directions. “This is a brilliant idea. The wording on the title makes either you or me the owner. Or, both of us together. This will absolutely work!”

  Wes shook his head and went back to his painting.

  “Cyd, I’ll see you tonight,” Nicole said as she handed me my pen. She zipped the title back into the plastic bag and slid it into her left hip pocket.

  “Thanks, I guess.” Did I trust her? But, what were my options?

  Nicole took my hand, looked into my eyes intently, and said, “You will be paid.”

  I hesitated. She pulled a chain from her neck and lifted the pendant. “This is a friendship ring.” Her eyes misted as she stared at the small, twisted ring in her hand. “My best friend Michelle died of leukemia when we were kids. Our two rings fit together as perfectly as our love for each other. It’s my dearest possession. Believe me, I don’t say this lightly. I promise, on this ring, that I will take care of everything.” She tucked the ring inside her blouse and smiled with way too much confidence.

  Her soft voice rocked with sincerity. Was that why she was successful in her business? I guess that’s why I started working for her in the first place. I needed a job, my sister Kaye knew and trusted her and, I trusted Kaye. But—Nicole didn’t understand my need for money any more than I understood her disregard of it.

  “I’ll be back after nine,” she said.

  “I know,” I said, impulsively matching her tone. “That money will help. It will be dark when you come back, so I’ll watch for you.”

  Did I believe that Nicole meant well or not? She was definitely clueless when it came to boats. And the unrich. But she owned a sweet little boat that needed a huge dose of TLC. Okay, once she was out of sight, I wondered if I’d been taken. And, like, how hokey was her promise?

  I almost gave up on any more cleaning for the day. Finally, I hauled my stuff back on top of the cabin, dipped my brush into the bucket of water and grabbed the soap.

  ~ ~

  A couple of hours later, I’d moved to the bow with the cleaning bucket when I heard, “Hey, Cyd. You’re looking good.”

  My friend Teddy stood on the finger pier right next to Snapdragon. She had to be kidding. “Hardly true.” I sat back on my bare heels and dumped the rag into the bucket. “Did you ever see so much dirt?” I meant the boat, but that could have included me.

  “Sure. Yesterday when I stopped by. Where were you?”

  “Finishing up a job at Bayside Marina. You were here two days in a row? I suspect something’s up.”

  “You are so right.” She stepped on deck, then, before disappearing inside the cabin, added, “Coming?”

  She must have something good. I scurried aft, grabbed a mostly dry towel, wiped muddy water from my elbows and feet, then ducked through the open hatch. “Okay, out with it.”

  “I have a column. All my own. ‘Teddy Tonight.’ I’ll reveal the seamy underbelly of Smith Harbor—the highs and lows of a culture that is never seen under the brightly shining sun. The column starts tomorrow, so I’m out researching tonight.”

  “You’re talking Smith Harbor?” I ran water over my arms at the galley sink.

  “Okay, so it’s not Baltimore or Philadelphia. But there is night life in our small town. Think of the fishing boats coming in from Chesapeake Bay, unloading at Harris Fishery. Think of those workers, toiling through the night. Think of nightclubs, of—”

  “Nightclubs? Smith Harbor has nightclubs?”

  Teddy kept talking. “Think of a garage band with budding musicians practicing to hit the big time.”

  Yeah, right.” I threw my towel at her head, but she ducked.

  “You heard it here,” Teddy said. “Read The Orbit tomorrow to learn all about the latest midnight news.”

  I grabbed my towel off the cabin sole, folded it once, and laid it on the settee before I sat down on top of it. “So, you stopped by yesterday. What do you think of Snapdragon? Cleaner? Charming little lobster trawler that I’ll be able to shine up adequately so the owner can sell her?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Pretend you’ve just written a Nobel-winning best seller and you want a small boat. Now, look again. With the whole surface a sparkling white, a nifty sky-blue awning covering the entire open deck in the rear, and all those metal handrails shimmering, what more do you want?”

  “How about a Pulitzer? I can see it now. First Pulitzer given for a stunning portrayal of a garage band!”

  Before I could find something else to throw at her, Grand Central Snapdragon had another visitor. A hand with a fragrant bag came through the hatch, followed by my sister Kaye.

  Teddy jumped up. “An answer to my prayer. I’m starving and Kaye brings something good to eat. What is it?”

  “A new recipe. Date filled cookies. I’m testing likely candidates to include with my Christmas recipes,” Kaye said. “It’s so good to see you, Teddy.”

  Uh, huh. Like she hadn’t seen Teddy in ages, or hadn’t arranged an “accidental” meeting to check on my mental stability. She’s been taking this whole “younger sister is a widow” thing entirely too personally. As I tore off three paper towels and poured three cups of water, I knew what the rest of the conversation would be like. All sweetness and light. Cookies and absolutely no memories of anything longer than a month ago. No mention of Al, the deceased skunk. Except, as I turned back, I discovered I was wrong.

  “Too bad Doug isn’t here,” Teddy said. “We could have a meeting of our Lime Street Detective Agency. Remember that?”

  “He insists we call him Officer Yarnell,” Kaye said. “Can you believe that, after all the years we’ve known him? I suppose that’s because he just made detective.”

  They’d skipped the last twenty years and gone back to grade school, which had to be a new low in the cheer-up-Cyd campaign.

  Since they’d decided to go ahead with ancient history, I chimed in with a zinger. “Our great summer of sleuthing—back when Teddy had this humongous crush on Doug, and Kaye was negotiating purchase of a beginner bra. Yeah, I remember.”

  Kaye did the rolled-eye bit.

  Teddy said, “Too bad Doug and I grew up to hate each other.” She winked, which told me either she’d like to alter that “hate” sentiment, or—I was right. This accidental meeting was absolutely another of Kaye’s plans to Help Cyd.

  I didn’t need it. They pushed happy too far. I’d get over it by
myself—with a few murderous fantasies. Being the deserted widow was not so different from being the deserted wife. I bit into my cookie and with each move of my jaw, planned another alternative death for Al—if he hadn’t been dead already.

  “Cyd, that’s right, isn’t it?”

  I looked up in time to catch the glance Kaye exchanged with Teddy.

  So I hadn’t kept up with the conversation. “Sorry,” I said.

  Kaye said, “I’m not surprised Nicole wants this boat cleaned up. It needs it. She is a bit of a perfectionist, but she will pay you well.”

  “So she says.”

  “That sounds a bit negative. Why?”

  I didn’t need an argument, so I shrugged it off. “Nothing, really.”

  Maybe Teddy wasn’t completely on board with Kaye. She said, “I sense a bit of something behind that ‘nothing.’ Cyd, you have to be careful with wealthy people. They got that way with sharp deals. Nicole could be the same.”

  “There will be no problems,” Kaye said. “Cyd, you can depend on Nicole.”

  I tried to ignore her comment, but, I couldn’t. “It’s just the cleaning supplies. I got the impression there were plenty on board. I had to buy them, and I need to be paid in full.”

  “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, she’ll handle it. I’ve never seen such a young woman with her grasp of business. Now, what about my cookies. Up to holiday standards?”

  “Definitely,” I said and grabbed another one. Kaye was in no more of a mood for a disagreement than I was. I took two more cookies. Definitely improve my evening meal.

  ~ ~

  After a satisfying afternoon of mindlessly cleaning scum, and supper of a PB and J sandwich, I sat on the deck with my class book waiting for Nicole. Actually, the waiting part was an excuse to quit work and read. Even better than cleaning boats, was catching up with requirements for my former livelihood. I’d been a commercial boat captain before marriage. I should say, before Al, because he was the one who didn’t want a wife working on the water. If I’d been a waitress, would he have objected?