Deadly Dirty Martinis

by Nicole Leiren

  If Mandi told me they'd checked out and left town, I'm not sure what I'd do. Fear squeezed my heartstrings tighter, cutting off airflow to the vital organ. I tried not to think about the strings around Donny Z's neck.

  Mandi nodded. "The police showed up this morning and brought her in for questioning in Donny's murder case."

  A plethora of thoughts skittered across my brain. If I hadn't gone to the police about Harmony yet, who had? Was there other evidence they found to point in her direction? Had her alibi been a lie? One distinct possibility came to mind. "Maybe Freddie went to the police. I wouldn't blame him if he did. I was going today, to make good on my promise, but I am a day late."

  Mandi lifted her hand to chew on a sacrificial nail as I waited for her to weigh in on my observation. Finally, she shrugged. "I don't think he would do that. Not without talking to you first. But he has been upset since…well, you know."

  Upset didn't seem to capture Freddie's mood swings the past forty-eight hours or so, but I'd go with that for now. "I need to get dressed and get down to the police station. Would you mind calling Attorney Pohoke for me and let him know what's going on while I grab a quick shower?"

  "Sure. Mind if I make some tea? Bree's calls did wake me up." Mandi smiled.

  I gave her a quick hug. "Of course you can. My tea is your tea." Right before I shut the door to the bathroom, I looked back over my shoulder and teased, "It's not my fault you're a light sleeper." I managed to close the door before the throw pillow connected with my head.

  Thirty minutes later, Mandi and I headed downstairs and out of the apartment complex. She mounted her red Huffy bike while I slid onto the blue one Hope had given me shortly after starting to work for her. Though mine appeared to be a more juvenile bike since it had a basket on the front and back, the storage space had come in handy on multiple occasions. "Call me once you have a chance to talk to Bree. I'm going to head to the police station."

  Mandi nodded and headed left on Cliffside Drive. My destination was to the right. I'd just started to pedal out of the parking lot when a black Cadillac with tinted windows pulled in front of me, blocking the exit. What the… "Excuse me." I'd start with politeness. Maybe they didn't realize I was trying to leave. They'd have to be pretty stupid to not realize that, but who am I to judge?

  The vehicle continued to idle. Not wanting to entertain whoever it was any longer, I turned my bike a bit and started to head around them. The vehicle immediately backed up and blocked my path. This was getting annoying. Enough was enough. I hiked my leg over the bar and seat and put the kickstand down. About that time, the door opened and out stepped Michael Mahoney. Crap. Not who I wanted to see right now.

  "Annoying when someone is blocking your path, isn't it?" He crossed his arms and leaned against the vehicle. Not really threatening, but somehow it still managed to be intimidating. I did a quick visual check for evidence of an Uzi or any other weapon on his person but couldn't readily identify anything. That didn't mean it wasn't there, just not visible to me.

  His question, though easily answered, felt loaded and full of accusation. "Can I help you with something?" I'd try the confused, friendly approach—see where it got me.

  He smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. More of a sarcastic smirk. "Oh, so now you want to be helpful?"

  If he only knew how bad I was at word games, he'd just come straight out with whatever was bothering him. This back and forth was getting on my nerves. I had places to go and people to see. "I sense you're not entirely happy with me. Maybe we should go for direct and to the point. If you recall, that's the kind of girl I am."

  He moved away from the car, taking steps in my direction. The glower on his face forced me to take steps in retreat to keep some space between us. "I think you're only direct when it suits your purpose."

  He may have a point. Not one that I would concede to him but valid. I kept my mouth shut. Not sure sarcasm or snark would be appropriate in this instance. Especially since I still hadn't ruled out the possibility of a weapon on his person.

  At my silence, he continued. "I directly asked you if anyone had an altercation with Donald before he was killed."

  I opened my mouth, but a shaking of his head along with a laser-like stare from his dark eyes sealed my lips right back up again. "He may be Donny Z to all of you, but to me and the family, he is…was…Donald." His arms crossed again. "You failed to mention the run-in your mother had with him just hours before he was killed."

  There was no point in denying it. He obviously already knew the truth. I dug deep for a little bravado. Despite the way it appeared, I really didn't like confrontation. "Can you blame me? Or maybe you would turn on your own mother."

  This time he was the one who opened and then closed his mouth before the corners of his lips turned up in a hint of a smile. "Actually, I happen to love my mother very much. I would do anything to protect her."

  Whew, that was a close one. "As would I, even if I only met her for the first time a couple days ago." Thoughts of parents and relationships made me think about his earlier comments about Freddie. "Just like you've worked hard to protect Freddie."

  The smile faded. "Miss Waters, I thought I'd made myself clear this subject is closed."

  He had. I just had trouble knowing when to stop, especially when it concerned one of my friends. I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "You were crystal clear. Can I just say one thing?"

  Michael crossed his arms. "I'm not sure it's in your ability to only say one thing."

  Again, he had a point, but I decided to risk it. Mandi had prompted me to give my parents a chance. I wanted to pay it forward and try to help Michael and Freddie. "I know things aren't good between you and Freddie right now. Having been in the same situation as he is, I just wanted to let you know that no matter how angry we are, there's a part of us that wants a good relationship with our parents."

  He dragged his fingers through his shiny black hair—so much like Freddie's. "Our situation is a little different, and he's very angry."

  I scrunched my face up. "What makes you think I'm not angry? Just because I don't walk out of work or slam things around." Or hang out with tattooed troublemakers… "I went to talk to my parents last night. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. We have to start somewhere, right?" Remembering what he did, I frowned. "Of course, things have come to a halt with us since my mother has been detained. You wouldn't have any ideas on how that happened, would you?"

  He returned to the door of his car, all signs of humor dissipated. "During my questioning of the band members, the detail surfaced. I told you I was going to see that justice was done." He opened the door and slid inside. The window lowered. I could almost see a hint of regret in the depths of his eyes. His mouth, though, remained set in a firm line as he confessed. "If that sends your mother away to prison, then so be it. She should've thought about that before she killed one of our own."

  The window closed, and he pulled away. Sorry, Freddie. I tried. Michael might be convinced of my mother's guilt, but I still believed in my heart she didn't do it. All that was left? To prove it.

  No better way to accomplish that goal than start with a conversation with the accused, right? Well, if the actual guilty party would head over to the police station and confess, that would be helpful as well. Since the likelihood of that happening was doubtful, I resumed my position on my bike and headed to town. During the ride, I tried to understand the dynamics of the band. I'd told Freddie right after Donny Z was killed that we looked out for our own. If the band did that, why not point the police toward Abe rather than Harmony? Or did they not consider her a part of the family even after all these years?

  The centipedes that liked to hang out on my spine started a nervous skitter the closer I got to the police station. My memories of this place, the few times I'd been in there, weren't pleasant. The outside was standard brick, with concrete steps leading up to the entrance. I tried not to think about what it felt like to be brought in the back to where
the holding cells and interrogation room were housed. Yeah, definitely didn't want to remember that night.

  A middle-aged woman smiled at me as I walked up to the reception area. Her bright green eyes were hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. The bun on top of her head did its best to contain a mass of red curls. The result of her up-do added several inches to her height. Her nameplate read Agnes Thermopolis. "Good morning, Ms. Thermopolis. Have visiting hours started yet?"

  She waved my greeting off. "Oh heavens, no one calls me Ms. Thermopolis. Agnes suits me just fine." Agnes glanced at the clock on her desk. "Visiting hours start in ten minutes if you'd like to have a seat. There are some magazines on the table." She blushed as she continued, "Though I think they're fairly dated. Probably not anything someone your age would be interested in."

  I shrugged off her concern and smiled. "No worries." I held up my phone. "I bring my entertainment with me wherever I go."

  Agnes shook her head. "You kids and your phones. Why, I remember the days when all we had was rotary phones. You've probably never used one of those before, have you?"

  I laughed. "No, ma'am, I haven't."

  She mimicked dialing the old-fashioned phone. "I never wanted to call home because the last four digits of my number were eight-zero-nine-zero. Talk about taking forever to let mother know I was going to be late."

  Visions of me buffing my nails or making a sandwich waiting for the dial to return to the start position entertained me more than my smartphone. "You're right. That wouldn't be good. Hope you didn't get into too much trouble because of it."

  "Nothing I couldn't talk my way out of. Maybe that's why they put me up front and at dispatch. I can talk circles around other people."

  Based on the amount of conversation she and I'd had already, I believed it. "I don't doubt that for a second. Just let me know when it's okay to go in."

  Agnes nodded. "Let me get the paperwork started. Who are you here to see?" Fun aside, she was all business now as she started typing into her computer.

  "Harmony Waters."

  She peered over the top rim of her glasses, the smile disappearing off her freckled, cherub-like face. "I see." She performed several keystrokes before continuing. "Relation?"

  I exhaled slowly. "I'm her daughter." Felt odd to say, especially since I could remember uttering those words very few times in my life.

  Agnes stopped typing and crossed her arms, resting them on the desk as she leaned forward. "Your momma is in a lot of trouble."

  Tell me something I didn't know. "Which is why I need to see her."

  She made a noise something akin to a harrumph and returned her gaze to the keyboard. "I'll need to see some identification."

  "Excuse me? Like what kind of ID?"

  "A driver's license will work."

  I'm sure it would, but since I don't own a car—never had—no sense in getting a license. I did have a state ID, but it stayed in my little lockbox at home. I opened my clutch and peered through it for something that would prove I was who I claimed to be. I'd never had credit cards but did have a debit card. I held up two rectangles of laminated plastic. "No driver's license, but will a debit card and/or a library card work?"

  Her eyes widened. "Seriously?"

  I shrugged. "I don't own a car. My state ID is at home. This is all I have."

  My breath held fast in my chest as she contemplated my meager offerings. Finally, she grabbed the plastic from my hand. "I'll let it pass this time, but next time make sure you have a state-issued piece of identification."

  Dear God, I hoped there wouldn't be a next time. "Yes, ma'am."

  She finished the paperwork then picked up the phone to ask that the suspect be brought up to a visiting area. Once finished, she unhooked the large key ring from her belt and escorted me to the back. Turns out the visiting area was also the interrogation room. I knew this since I'd been in here before. Long story.

  "She'll be brought up in a minute."

  While I waited, I noted nothing had been done to brighten the room. Still the same. Small, dim, and in desperate need of a new and brighter coat of paint. The two-way mirror could stand to be cleaned too, but I wouldn't point that out.

  Minutes later, the door opened and Officer Faria led my mother in. Orange may be the new black, but this color did nothing for Harmony's pale complexion. At first I thought the dark circles under her eyes were from lack of sleep, but a second look told me she needed to invest in waterproof mascara.

  He nodded in my direction. "Fifteen minutes, Miss Lilly."

  I nodded and waited for him to shut the door. Once we were alone, I took her hands in mine. "Are you okay? Have they charged you?"

  Harmony briefly smiled before twisting her mouth into a grimace. "You shouldn't be here, baby. This is no place for you."

  Wanting to lighten the mood, I smiled and shrugged. "Not my first trip to the interrogation rodeo. I've been brought here by the Danger Cove dispensers of justice before. Don't worry though. They incorrectly assumed my guilt too." Our gazes met, hers framed in surprise, mine in suspicion. "You aren't guilty, are you?"

  She released my hands and leaned back in the metal, folding chair. "I guess I can't blame you for asking. You barely know me. I get angry but never violent." She offered a wistful smile. "You know Gram would've hunted me down and cured me of any of those notions. Rebellion, she didn't like, but tolerated. Violence—never."

  I knew she spoke the truth. I got many of my pacifist ways from Gram. She was a gentle soul and respected everything and everyone. That was what she taught me. I assume that was what she also taught my mother. I nodded. "I believe you."

  Moisture threatened in her blue eyes. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much that means to me."

  "How are we going to prove it though? You did fight with Donny. Did you fight with him once you left the bar?"

  "No. I know you said you heard someone arguing, but I swear it wasn't me. I was still upset with Brock, so I went back to my room, took a hot shower, and went to bed."

  "Can he give you an alibi?"

  Her expression darkened as she crossed her arms. "No. I was asleep long before he decided to drag his sorry butt home."

  I wanted to ask if he was with Liza but didn't want to upset Harmony even more. "Okay, I'll talk to Brock. We're supposed to meet at ten anyway. Has he been here yet?"

  "No, they had rehearsal this morning."

  The venom with which she spewed out the words told me that the "they" in this circumstance most likely meant Brock and Liza. Definitely wasn't going to go there with her. "I'll talk to him. See if I can find out anything that will help your case. They haven't charged you yet, have they?"

  She shook her head. "No, but informed me they can hold me up to thirty-six hours on this serious of a charge before they have to process my release. Attorney Pohoke has been in here to meet with me. Nice man. He promised me he'd watch the clock closely. Thank you for arranging for him to represent me. Our lawyer is in Florida. He doesn't really handle criminal-related activities though."

  Speaking of the clock, my time was almost up. "Before they make me leave, is there anything you can tell me that might be useful?"

  She paused. I could almost see the gears grinding behind her smooth forehead. Absently, I hoped I would age as well as she had. Even with life on the road, her youthful appearance would make it difficult to believe she was mother to a twenty-four-year-old. A flicker of light appeared in her gaze. "Tommy, you remember meeting him? He plays guitar in the band. He and I did run into each other in the front room at the B&B. He was grabbing some leftover pastries from breakfast."

  Remembering Bree telling me that her guests were eating her out of house and home made me wonder at her statement that there'd been leftovers, but it was worth checking out. "I'll talk to him too."

  Harmony chewed on her bottom lip. There appeared to be an internal debate raging inside of her. Finally, she whispered, "Brock fired Donny Z as the band's manager after our last show. They got into a hug
e fight, and I heard your father say if Donny didn't go quietly, he'd make him wish he was dead."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I stopped in the bathroom in the police station before heading out. A quick double check of my mascara revealed a waterproof version would need to be on my next shopping list as well. I'd held it together until Harmony hugged me before they escorted her back to the holding cell. A stern talking to myself would be on the schedule for tonight, as there was no reason to get used to parental hugs. Once Harmony was released, she and Brock would be out on the road again, free as birds.

  Speaking of Brock, I needed to start pedaling up Cliffside Drive to make our meeting. Anger at him choosing to rehearse his music over visiting Harmony fueled my muscles. The music had always come first. My mother had accepted that, even embraced it, when she chose to stay with him and leave me behind. I had to be honest and admit I didn't understand it. Most likely never would. By the time I made it to Ocean View Bed & Breakfast, the lactic acid buildup in my thighs and calves was making me regret getting emotional over him.

  The burning sensation in my legs traveled north and heated my face when I saw him sitting on the front porch swing with none other than Liza. Ugh, that woman had a way of inserting herself between Brock and—well—everyone. She sure as heck had come between him and my mother.

  Not wanting to let her know she got under my skin more than the amount of ink under hers, I smiled as I approached them. "How'd rehearsal go?"

  Liza slid her arm through his, completely for my benefit, I'm sure. The red tips of her fingernails (which matched the blood red lipstick on her pouty lips) did a walk up Brock's bicep. "Tell her how amazing we are together."

  He nodded but extricated himself from her grip. "Harmonies didn't suck." He then smiled at her. "Bass was tight."

  Know what else was tight? The hold his words had around my gag reflex. I might be sick. Harmony was rotting in jail, and the sperm donor responsible for the other half of my existence was making googly eyes at another woman. Though violence wasn't an option, the next time he stopped in for a drink at Smugglers' Tavern, I might have to give him an extra-special drink. One that would ensure he spent the next several hours in the restroom. Yeah, that would make him miss one of his precious rehearsals.