Deadly Dirty Martinis

by Nicole Leiren

  Ignoring their little display, I offered up my best smile. "You did offer to feed me and have quality father-daughter time, remember?"

  He somehow managed to tear his gaze away from Liza and turned his effervescent smile on me. Nice try, Daddy-O, but not going to work on me. "Let me grab the keys. I rented a car when I was in Seattle last night. The guys finished off the pastries, but we'll head into town. You have a preference?"

  I shrugged. Since I worked most every day, no time for breakfast in town. "The Cinnamon Sugar Bakery works." Besides, those chocolate croissants melted in your mouth. I could use some sugary goodness about now. Though after watching Brock and Liza, the added sweetness could send me into a diabetic coma if I wasn't careful.

  Brock stood to head inside. I noticed his gaze move to the far end of the house. He lifted his hand in greeting to Tommy. The wave wasn't returned, and Tommy's arms remained crossed. He did at least nod in acknowledgement. Tommy sported the same faded jeans, blue T-shirt, and blue jean vest and jacket I'd seen him in that first night at the tavern. Maybe it was his brand? I'd heard stars and wanna-be stars tried to find a look that would be associated with them—brand recognition. At least he looked comfortable, even if he didn't seem happy.

  While Brock went inside, I started toward Tommy. I might as well ask him about being a potential alibi for Harmony while we were both standing around waiting. Though, I wasn't sure what or who he was waiting for.

  I leaned against the house, mimicking his stance. I wanted to appear nonchalant as we talked. "Hey."

  His head nodded in my direction. "Hey."

  I noticed the absence of Vick's VapoRub aroma. "Feeling better?"

  Tommy squinted his eyes as he looked at me but then shrugged. "I'm fine. You need something?"

  Right. Alibi verification. "That first night after you guys left the bar, did you run into my mom in the common area at the B&B?"

  He lifted his hand to support and cradle his chin. Maybe that was necessary for heavy thinking? After entirely too long for what should be a simple answer, he shook his head. "No, I don't think I did."

  "She said you were grabbing some leftovers from breakfast. Some tasty treats?" I prompted him in hopes he would remember.

  Tommy pushed away from the structure. "Sorry, kid. I was beat. We've been touring hard the last few months. This is the first break we've had in a while." He grinned. "The beds here are nice."

  Good to know, but not helpful. "Okay, thanks. Had to ask."

  He nodded. "I understand. Have fun with your old man."

  Tommy headed inside, nodding to Liza the same way he did to me. Maybe it was a band thing? Brock came out and headed to a dark blue Camry, not exactly what I'd think of for rocker celebrity, but it should be comfortable.

  Thumping music with guitars that reminded me of screeching cats blasted through the radio. "Do you mind?"

  He grinned and worked his thumb over his phone. I'm assuming he must've had the player on the phone connected to the car via Bluetooth or something. A moment later, The Piano Guys' music filled the car. This was much better. "How did you know?"

  "I'm more than just a pretty face."

  I don't know why, but his response made me laugh. I didn't want to laugh. I wanted to be mad at him. He really was good at being charming and funny. "We'll see about that."

  The rest of the way we simply listened to the music. As the group fused contemporary music with classics, a part of me understood why Brock might enjoy it as well. Though I hadn't listened to his kind of music since I was a young, curious child, he obviously appreciated all aspects of music. Meshing music from two different eras and genres intrigued me, so I'm sure it would have a similar effect on someone who respected the talent it took to pull it off as effortlessly as The Piano Guys made it appear.

  The Cinnamon Sugar Bakery was situated on a corner of Main Street. They only had a small space for people to sit and enjoy the pastries, as a large portion of their business was carry-out or delivery. The dark-brown-and-ivory checkered floor was offset by shimmering blue walls. They reminded me of the ocean on a sunny day. The ivory lace curtains only added to the ambiance of the establishment.

  Once we had our breakfast, I enjoyed multiple bites of the warm croissant and tea before diving into potentially hazardous waters. "Are you going to see Harmony after this?"

  Brock rubbed his face. I hadn't noticed the red in his eyes before. Maybe because Liza's red nails distracted me. "I'm not good with prisons."

  My eye widened, and I had to refrain from spewing out, No, shitzu, Sherlock. No one is. Instead I forced my voice to remain calm. "You think she is?"

  He shook his head. "You don't understand. I had some run-ins with the law when I was younger. I spent some overnights and weekends in jail for drunk and disorderly." He smiled as if he remembered those wild days fondly. "I loved the bad-boy part, but being confined to a small space…" His body shuddered. "I need the open road."

  "Look, I get it. Believe it or not, I've had a run-in with the law too. Not for drunk and disorderly, mind you. Your aversion to police stations and small spaces are noted, but if I could set that aside for my mother—who, by the way, has been away from me all these years so she could be with you—don't you think you owe it to her to go visit her? Unless…"

  He leaned forward, intense blue eyes trained completely on me. "Unless what?"

  "Unless the rumors are true and you plan on leaving her and the band to ride off into the duet sunset with Liza."

  Brock's coughing fit drew the attention of the other patrons in the shop. A woman, a few inches taller and hair similar in color to mine but much shorter, ran over to us with a glass of water. "Are you alright?" The tag pinned to her T-shirt read Maura.

  He took a sip and nodded. Once he'd recovered, he smiled at her—yeah, one of those make-a-woman-melt smiles I'd seen him use several times since arriving in town—and she blushed. "Thank you. I appreciate the water."

  "Anytime. Do you… Umm… Never mind." She turned to walk away.

  "Once I'm done with my breakfast, I'll be happy to provide an autograph and a selfie with you. If that's what you're asking."

  The blush covered her entire face. "That would be so great. Thank you."

  She returned to her other customers, and Brock's focus returned to me. I shook my head as I shared my aggravation. "Wow, you just can't turn it off, can you?" Everyone around him worshiped the ground he walked on. Not this girl.

  Brock shrugged and ingested more gulps of his coffee. Black. Extra hot. Ugh. But to each their own, I guess. Finally, he spoke. "Let me set you straight on a few things."

  Oh, I couldn't wait to hear this. I'm surprised he didn't finish his statement with little girl. "Please do."

  "First, I flirt with all the women, ages eighteen to one hundred eighteen. You wanna know why?"

  I did not, but instead of saying that I just shrugged like I didn't care.

  "Because those women are the ones buying my music. They are the ones telling their girlfriends about me and flocking to the concerts. They buy the merchandise. They pay the bills." He lifted his hand to gesture in my direction. "They helped support you."

  My mouth gaped. They had helped Gram with support. Would've been nice if someone had kept me in the loop with the fact that they cared. Somehow I managed to close my mouth and gestured for him to continue.

  "So, yes, I will continue to be nice, flirt, and smile at my fans, as they are who helped me achieve whatever success I might have. Next, I have no intention of leaving the band, and no way in hell am I leaving your mother. She is the reason I get up and breathe every morning."

  He sounded like something out of a greeting card. "Does Liza know that?" My arms crossed to more prominently display my irritation. Actions spoke louder than words. His actions had been telling me a whole different story than the words slipping out of his mouth.

  He chuckled. "You are so much like your mother."

  "Then I'm sure she'd still be waiting for an answer fr
om you on the Liza issue. And she would expect you to come visit her today once you and I are finished with breakfast."

  Brock leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face. His gaze darted left and right. Guess he wanted to be sure no one was around who would care what he shared with me next. "First, I will go see your mother. I'm not crazy about jail, but I am crazy about her. Second, Liza has a lot of raw talent but has been trouble since the day she joined the band. She's had a tough life. I'm trying to mentor her."

  "She's using you."

  His serious expression turned into a half grin. "And I'm using her. I've been wanting to take the band to the next level. Liza can help us do that. She's got the look, the talent, and the ambition. The guys and I are getting old. If we don't hit it soon, it's never gonna happen."

  "Why were you going to fire Donny?" Thought I'd offer a test to see if he'd be truthful with me.

  "Not going to. Did. After our gig in Seattle. We agreed to wait to tell everyone until we got back to Chicago. His attention had become diverted between us and his family business. Something changed in the last year or so. He was no longer totally invested in the band. I needed him to be working for us one hundred ten percent."

  Score one truth for Brock. His version of when he fired Donny matched Harmony's. The notion that it could've been his family business that got him killed was not a new concept. One I'd entertained myself. Still, I needed to verify all the facts. "You didn't fight with or threaten to kill him?"

  He slugged down the rest of his coffee and stood. Guess breakfast and quality father-daughter time was over. At least I could console myself with the fact he was going to see Harmony next. Brock stopped over at the counter and delivered on the autograph and photo he promised. Once outside, he opened the car door for me, but I didn't get inside. "I'm waiting." This might be where his and Harmony's story start to differ.

  Brock exhaled slowly and ran his long, calloused fingers through his hair. "It wasn't me who threatened him. It was Liza."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Once Brock dropped me at the Ocean View, he headed off to see Harmony. I thought about calling Tan or Mandi to talk everything out but decided time to clear my head was needed. Someone was lying to me. Either my father or my mother—or both since Harmony said Brock threatened Donny and Brock said it was Liza. Regardless of which one it was, my stomach twisted into a knot. I understood the need to cast blame in someone else's direction. Self-preservation was an incredibly strong instinct, perhaps the strongest of them all. Other than the drummer, Johnny Jones, every member of the band had in one way or the other pointed fingers at each other. Or, as Mandi liked to say, they threw each other under the bus. Maybe Johnny was the key to finding out who was really telling the truth.

  I pedaled down Cliffside Drive, inhaling the cool winter air. I could hear the waves pounding against the cliff walls just to my left. The rhythmic sound helped calm my mind. There had to be an answer for all the deception and misdirection. Of course, that meant I needed to ask the right questions.

  I decided to stop at the park. I stood in front of the marker placed at the entrance. Giving back to the community who gave so much to us. The Waters Family. I let my fingertips drift across the raised letters. The edges of the metal felt sharp against the smooth skin, reminding me of how the band members' fingertips were calloused. If I'd tried to strangle someone with guitar strings, the marks and cuts would be evident on my hands. The guitar players in the band would be able to execute—oh, not a good choice of words there—a strangulation with very little impact to their hands. Or the killer could've worn gloves.

  Harmony was wearing bandages on her fingers the morning after Donny's death. She said it was from learning to play the guitar. What if it wasn't? What if it was from guitar strings used in a different way? I didn't want to acknowledge my mother's possible lies about seeing Tommy at the B&B and Brock threatening Donny coupled with the bandages added up to disturbing circumstantial evidence.

  The swing set called to me. As a young child, Gram would take me to the park near our house. We'd spend hours playing while she taught me about nature. She would always give in to my pleas to push me on the swing. Moisture gathered in my eyes, making it hard to see as I used my toes to push myself slowly back and forth. Movement on my left caught my attention. I blinked away the tears to determine who intruded on my private moment. Never mind that this was a public park. It was November. No one should be here. No one but me, that is.

  The dark hooded sweatshirt and neon green Converse shoes captured my attention. Same outfit someone was wearing Sunday night when they ran away from my apartment complex. The same night the ant colony laid siege to my homestead by way of my front door. Another memory flashed. The night the chain was off my bike. I'd seen the same streak of green out of the corner of my eye. My gut told me this was the person who had been terrorizing—okay, that was a strong word—pranking me.

  Wanting to confront the person and find out what this was all about, I shouted, "Hey! I want to talk to you."

  The figure dashed out of the park and turned left toward town. I gave chase. Everything else in my life might be out of control, but this…this I could do something about. For only a moment, I considered using the valuable time it would cost to get my bike but decided against it. Finally, all that endurance training from my years running track in high school would come in handy.

  Putting emotions aside, I focused on my breathing and pace, never letting the neon nemesis out of my sight. A small smile quirked on my lips at the nickname, Neon Nemesis. Catchy if I did say so myself. The bright green shoes took a left turn, and I lost sight of him or her until I could make the same turn down Main Street. Visibility was restored just in time to see them take a right two blocks down. Once I made that turn I ran smack into Charlie, my old boss.

  "Lilly? What in the name of holy hades are you doing?"

  Standing behind Charlie's large frame was none other than Neon Nemesis. I held up the index finger of one hand as I bent over and put my other hand on my knee. I'd done well in track, but my graduation date was six years ago. I felt each and every one of those years as my lungs burned in their need for oxygen. When I could speak again, I pointed at the young woman. "I am trying to have a conversation with her. That's what I'm doing."

  His chubby hands went to his ever-widening hips. Seriously, the man needed to stop sampling all his own cooking. "Since when do you want to have a conversation with my niece, Julie?"

  My edit function kicked in and prevented me from mentioning Julie was his ex-wife's niece. The detail wasn't critical to the conversation, so I let it go. "Since she's been pranking me." She also got my job and my apartment when she came to town. Truthfully, all of that had worked out for the best, so if anything, I was thankful for those circumstances.

  My accusation brought her front and center, though she could still dash behind Charlie at a moment's notice. She was fast. The sunlight streaming in from above clearly reflected the hurt in her eyes. "Why do you think I would do something like that to you? I barely know you. I barely know anyone here." The last part was mumbled and quiet.

  Yup. You guessed it. The slicing sting of guilt cut through the layers of my aggravation with her. I remembered what it was like to be the new kid in town. I was lucky to have found Tan, Mandi, and all the other employees at the tavern I now considered friends. I pointed to her shoes. "At least twice when I've been pranked, I noticed someone leaving the scene with shoes that color."

  Her face morphed into disbelief. "You can't seriously think I'm the only person with this color of shoes."

  My tastes might be vintage sixties, which was a little on the odd side, but lime green/neon shoes? I couldn't fathom how that could be popular and sought out by too many. "The only person I've seen."

  Both she and Charlie just stared at me. I couldn't help it. I shook my head and chuckled. "Okay, your point is made."

  "Why would you think I'd prank you?"

  "Honestly, I can't think
of a reason why anyone would prank me. I try to get along with most people." Admittedly, there'd been a few who had been challenging, but they were bad guys who happened to be in jail now, so they didn't really count, did they?

  Julie crossed her arms and shrugged. "Not sure what to tell you, other than promise I haven't done anything to you."

  The possibility existed she was lying to me. Seemed a lot of people were doing that lately. Innocent until proven guilty. Though the justice system didn't work like that one hundred percent of the time, I'd follow that mandate. If I invited her to come around to the tavern and something else happened, circumstantial evidence would at least start to add up. "Does Charlie ever give you a day off?"

  Julie regarded me warily but answered, "Tuesday and Thursday."

  "Why don't you come by the tavern tomorrow? I'll be working. I'll treat you to a Hurricane." I glanced at Charlie and clarified, "A virgin mix, of course."

  The small-town grapevine had helped me learn that Julie was only eighteen or nineteen, so she'd have to wait for the real thing. I continued, "I'll introduce you other people around your age. Maybe you can join us for pizza one Friday night after work."

  Julie tried to play it cool, but the way her whole body vibrated with excitement gave her away. "Yeah, that'd be great. I'll think about it. Thanks."

  I nodded to both her and Charlie. "Great. Sorry again about the mix-up. If you see anyone else around town with that color shoes, I'd appreciate your letting me know."

  They both nodded and headed down the street. Charlie stopped and turned to face me. "Will you see Abe today?"

  "I'm not sure, why?" There was no reason for me to see Abe, but I wouldn't mind doing a favor for Charlie. Guilt ranked right behind self-preservation in personal motivators.