On Tour

by Christina A. Burke

  "I'm used to it."

  I elbowed him. "What do you think of Carol's makeover?

  Mark started when Carol turned to give him a good look at herself. She didn't look that bad. Especially at a distance. "Looks like it worked," he said recovering. "Ted seemed interested."

  "He did, didn't he?" Carol said, holding her glasses up and looking back at the stage again. "I'm ready for a drink."

  "What the heck did you do to her?" Mark whispered as we followed Carol to the bar.

  "I think she looks good. It's just her eye makeup got smudged, that's all."

  "She looks like Rocky Raccoon. And why isn't she wearing her glasses?" he asked.

  I sighed. Men didn't understand anything.

  Woody did a double-take when Carol ordered another drink, but wisely said nothing. We ordered sandwiches and chatted about Mark's new project and the renovations at the building complex where Greene's was housed.

  "Do we have a move date yet for Greene's?" Carol asked. "I don't know when I'm supposed to find the time to go looking for a temporary location, let alone pack and move."

  "Late November or early December. I'm still waiting on permits from the city. Good news is we signed Hunter Jack's to a long-term lease right before I headed down to see Diana in Florida."

  Carol gasped. "I love that store! How cool is that Diana? We're going to be neighbors with Hunter Jack's."

  I wasn't a huge fan of the over-priced specialty store, but I was proud of Mark. Renovating the downtown waterfront block that housed Greene's Staffing and was owned by his Uncle Ed Greene, was the largest redevelopment project he'd managed. Unfortunately, the project meant temporarily relocating Greene's Staffing for six months or longer.

  "I think we need to hire a local realtor and put the move in the hands of an expert. We just don't have the time right now."

  Mark nodded. "Got to let go of some of the details, Carol."

  "I'll call Nancy at Annapolis Realty on Monday. She always uses us when she needs an office temp. I'm just worried about being able to find something we can afford downtown," Carol fretted.

  Just then Ted did a mike check and broke into Blake Shelton's "Sure Be Cool If You Did" about a guy running into a girl at a bar.

  I glanced over at Mark. He raised his eyebrows.

  "Carol," I leaned over and whispered, "he's singing this song to you."

  "Oh, no," she said dismissively. "Not a chance."

  Each time he sang about "falling," I giggled. Mark started laughing too. "Guy's got a sense of humor."

  "Hush you two. I'm trying to listen."

  "Yeah, good thing her ears are working 'cause she can't see a thing." Mark laughed into his beer, spraying foam everywhere.

  The song ended, and the small audience clapped wildly. "This song is for the lovely lady who knocked me to my knees over by the bathroom." He pointed towards the bar.

  The audience hooted. I yelled, "Woohoo!"

  Carol blushed. "If I'd known a little makeup could have this effect on men, I'd have been wearing it years ago."

  She turned toward me, and I got a good look at her smeared eye makeup. Yikes! "Uh-maybe we should do a little touch up before Ted takes a break."

  * * *

  We ended up staying to see most of Ted's show. I had limited success with Carol's eye makeup, but Ted didn't seem to notice. He bought her a drink and chatted about his former life as the owner of an Eastern Shore residential trash company. He'd sold his fleet of ten trucks that serviced six thousand customers for enough to retire at fifty and play music.

  "Who would've thought that the trash business would be such a good investment," Carol said dreamily.

  Ted shrugged. "It wasn't. Don't get me wrong; I made a decent living, but there's no way I could've retired like this. One day out of the blue I got a call from a big corporate guy with an offer to buy everything. They were expanding their market share and wanted my route."

  "Amazing," she said, and I swear I saw her bat her eyes at him.

  "Just goes to show that life's full of surprises. You never know what or who—" He smiled at Carol. "—is around the corner."

  Mark rolled his eyes at that one and gave me a nudge.

  It was close to eleven as we walked back to my condo. It was a good fifteen minute walk at a brisk pace, but the night was so crisp and quiet that we took our time holding hands and talking amicably.

  As we turned up my walk, I pointed out Max looking down from my window. His fluffy white tail wagged when he saw us.

  "He never wags his tail," I said. "Must be you he's wagging at."

  "At least my presence is appreciated by someone."

  "It's because you feed him bacon."

  "Probably right about that."

  We glanced back up at the window.

  And this time saw two faces staring down at us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Andre and Marsha met us at my door.

  "You know your neighbor is crazy, right?" Marsha asked as soon as we walked in.

  "Hadn't noticed," I said. "What are you two doing here?"

  Marsha hooked a long red talon at Andre. "His bright idea. We're being hounded by the press, and he's worried about you." The red talon pointed in my direction.

  Mrs. Kester's door opened. "I'm going to call the police if you don't keep it down up there," she shouted.

  Max barked at her.

  Marsha leaned out the door. "Don't make me come back down there, old woman. It's not going to be pretty," she yelled back like a fishmonger's wife.

  "Like that harlot hair of yours!" Mrs. Kester shouted back.

  I giggled. For once I was feeling very neighborly. Andre pulled Marsha away from the doorway.

  "Have you heard of a thing called a phone?" Mark asked, shutting the door behind us.

  "I wanted to call from the airport, but Marsha's paranoia has gone nuclear." Andre said.

  She glared at him. Her face was tanned to a golden brown with light freckles. Even being marooned on an island looked good on her. We all moved into the living room. Marsha sat down in my recliner.

  "I didn't want to take any chances and lead them right to your doorstep." She addressed Mark. So far, she'd barely acknowledged my presence. Max had wormed his way onto her lap and was enjoying the stroking of her sharp talons. Traitor.

  "But why come here?" I turned to Andre.

  "We're going to head up the coast for a few days. Marsha has a job to check on, and I'm going to tag along and see the sights. We just wanted to make sure you're doing alright." I could tell Andre was beating around the bush.

  "You break into my house unannounced at eleven at night. That doesn't sound like a social visit to me."

  Marsha jumped in, "Look, I think there may be more than one Spider out there."

  "What!" I gasped.

  "Frankly, I don't see it," Andre added. "They've got a confession and solid evidence that puts Sal Bonanno on the scene of a couple of the attempts."

  "What's bothering you, Marsha?" Mark asked seriously.

  She shrugged. "I don't know. Pretty much everything. It's just too neat. And what about the scrapbook notes? We still don't know where those came from."

  Mark nodded. "One thing that's bothered me from the start was that the detective noted Bonanno never mentioned the messages. When he was confronted with them, he acted confused."

  "Maybe they're from someone on the inside of the organization trying to help me," I interjected.

  "Sounds like a nice idea, but highly improbable. These kinds of people don't help people," Marsha replied. She glanced over at me. "Got any red wine?"

  Like I was a servant. I glared at her and pointed to the kitchen counter. She sighed—guess you can't get good help these days, her face said—and flounced off to the kitchen. She waved the bottle in our direction. "Any takers?"

  We all said no. She shrugged and carried the bottle back with her.

  Andre nodded. "So you've had no problems since getting back?"

&nbs
p; "Nothing," I said. "I've finally stopped looking over my shoulder. Until now."

  Mark patted my leg, saying, "I don't think you have anything to worry about anymore from The Spider at least. But he obviously had more help. I still think there had to be someone on the road crew involved. It's going to take some time to track everyone down. We have to stay vigilant until then."

  I wasn't feeling 100% better, but I was confident that if Mark really thought I was in danger, he'd be hauling me to a safe house right now.

  "I agree," added Andre. "There are more layers to this. You need to keep an eye out until they find out who was sending the scrapbook letters."

  I had been staring at the empty fireplace, thinking about what Marsha had said about these not being the kind of people who would send me a warning. Unless…

  "What if someone was trying to make The Spider look bad? Foil the hit so he fails?" I blurted out.

  Everyone stared at me. Mark pointed his finger at me. "Now there's a theory."

  "But why?" Andre asked, leaning over and taking a sip of Marsha's wine. A move that I thought very intimate.

  Marsha snatched her glass back. "Professional rivalry among hitmen? I'll buy that." She waved her wine glass and pointed at me. "You're better at this spy stuff than I gave you credit for, and you've got the damnedest luck. You avoid three attempts on your life—that we know of—and as soon as I body double for you I almost get blown up."

  Wow, compliments from Marsha. It must've been the wine talking.

  "A little bomb never scared you before, Marsha," Mark teased

  Marsha glared at him. "Shut up, Mark. You're the reason I almost got blown up. I believe you called me for help, remember?"

  Andre held up a hand, saying in a grim voice, "I hope you're wrong, Diana. Because that could mean the rival will pick up where Sal Bonanno left off."

  Mark and Marsha nodded in unison. "I think I'll have that wine now," I said with a catch in my voice.

  Mark gave me a reassuring smile. "I'll pass the theory along and see what the investigators think. Let's not panic yet."

  Marsha had made quick work of the bottle of red, so I opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and brought out a couple of additional wine glasses and bowl of trail mix. I took a calming gulp of wine and decided to change the subject. "So what really happened on that island?" I asked, looking over at Andre.

  Marsha and Andre made eye contact; she looked away first.

  Mark said, "What are you saving it for, the tabloids? Come on you two, give us some details."

  Marsha sighed and poured herself more wine. "Fine. It's not that interesting of a story. We were snorkeling away from the boat when it blew up."

  "You're leaving out all the good parts, Marsha," Mark complained and turned to Andre. "Now tell me how you managed to get her to go snorkeling."

  Andre smiled. "Who said it was my idea?"

  So Andre was protecting Marsha now. Something had definitely happened on that island.

  Marsha jumped in. "I lost a bet. That was it."

  "What was the bet about?" I asked.

  "Nothing important."

  Yeah, sure. "So you're off the boat snorkeling, and?" Mark prompted.

  "We were following a school of clown fish and ended up a lot farther away than we realized. Then there was a sound like a gun shot and the boat blew up. Probably some kind of timed device, because there was no one around for miles. Hadn't run into anyone for almost four hours when we went snorkeling."

  "So you're out there in the middle of the ocean in your bathing suits with snorkel gear and nothing else?" I shuddered. I couldn't imagine how that would feel.

  "Something like that," said Andre with a grin.

  I looked from one to the other.

  "Oh, just tell them already!" Marsha snarled.

  Andre shrugged and made a throwing away the key gesture with his fingers.

  "We were naked," Marsha blurted out.

  Mark started to laugh. "No way!"

  "Yes, way. The snorkeling wasn't the bet. Skinny dipping was." Marsha blushed like only a real red head could, from the neck of her shirt to the roots of her red hair.

  "I guess the whole decorating question has been answered," I observed wryly.

  Andre nodded. "Definitely."

  "So let me get this straight," I said, leaning forward, "you get off the boat to go snorkeling naked and then it blows up. You have to swim to a deserted island and run around for two days naked?"

  "Awkward, huh?" Marsha rolled her eyes.

  "I guess. What did you do? Make clothes out of palm fronds?" I asked.

  "You've watched too many episodes of Gilligan's Island. Palm fronds are sharp and pointy. You can't make clothes out of them. And no I couldn't wear coconuts as a bra, so don't even ask."

  Mark was bent over laughing. "You got marooned on an island—naked! Oh, Marsha, I can't wait to read your report."

  "Yeah, neither can anyone else at work. The only reason it isn't front page news is because the fishermen who found us sold the story to People. They were actually on their cell phones negotiating the deal on our way back from the island."

  "She wanted to throw them overboard and take their boat." Andre motioned to Marsha; they shared a secretive smile.

  "Yeah, but he pointed out we wouldn't be able to explain their disappearance."

  "So what did you eat and drink?" I asked, fascinated by the whole island adventure.

  "There wasn't any source of fresh water, but it rained a couple of times, and we got a little to drink that way. Having the fins and snorkel gear helped with catching a couple of fish."

  Marsha added ruefully, "I'll never eat sushi again."

  "Well, you're welcome to stay here tonight if you don't mind an air mattress."

  Andre shrugged. "Not a bad idea. We could head out first thing in the morning."

  "I'm not driving anywhere," Marsha said with a yawn. "So it's your call. Looks like I've got my snuggle buddy for the night," she cooed at Max. Max flipped over on his back and wriggled in delight. Oh, brother.

  * * *

  Andre and Marsha were gone first thing Sunday morning. Their relationship was still an enigma to me. Although they'd slept together on the inflatable mattress, I doubted there'd been any funny business. Not that a blow up bed was good for funny business. They seemed like a couple, but they didn't act like a couple. No kissing, touching, nothing. Max scored better than Andre had. He'd snuggled between the two all night.

  Mark and I headed downtown for a late breakfast at Shacks. We were attempting to have an assassin-free day and had agreed to table the discussion until Mark received more information. We were, of course, on high alert. The previous night's discussion had me jumping at shadows again.

  While we sipped coffee and ate sticky monkey bread, I suggested we get pedicures to relax.

  Mark looked up at me. "You're kidding, right?"

  "No, seriously. We could go to Nails2Go and get pedicures. I could really use a manicure too. My nails are a mess from all the guitar playing I've done."

  "I've never had a pedicure before."

  "I find that hard to believe. You look like the kind of guy who'd do a little self-pampering."

  Mark frowned. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

  "All I'm saying is that you look like you take good care of yourself."

  "I've had massages before," he hedged.

  "But no pedicures? Why?"

  He sighed. "Okay. My feet are really ticklish. I don't know if I could take it."

  "They don't tickle your feet, silly. They massage them."

  "Well, I guess I could give it a try." He sounded like he was agreeing to walk the plank.

  Nails2Go was next door to Greene's Staffing. We were ushered into big cushy chairs with foot tubs by the tiny Philippine owner, Maggie.

  "Haven't seen you for a long time," she said. "You still work for Carol? She here every week like clockwork."

  I nodded, hoping we weren't going to play twenty
questions through the whole service. Looked like she'd missed all the news about my recent escapades.

  "This your boyfriend?" She pointed to Mark, who was rolling up his pant legs. He yipped as he put one big foot into the steaming water. "He cute."

  She barked some orders in her native language, and a young girl came from a back room carrying a tray of pedicure implements. She set the tray next to Mark. He peered at them like they were instruments of torture.

  "What's all that for?" he asked me.

  I leaned forward. "Clippers, cuticle trimmers, pumice stone, files. All the normal stuff."

  Mark looked doubtful. "They use all that?"

  "It's his first pedicure," I explained to Maggie.

  She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, he a pedicure virgin." She cackled, and all the girls around her joined in.

  Mark glared at me.

  "Yeah, and his feet are ticklish."

  More laughter. More glares from Mark.

  Maggie leaned over and tickled Mark's foot. "Tickle, tickle," she teased as Mark howled.

  "I thought this was supposed to be enjoyable," he growled at me.

  "I'm having a great time." I gave him a big smile and wiggled my toes in the hot, bubbling water.

  The ladies got down to work, and soon I had manicured nails and toes in soft coral. Mark survived; although the pumice stone almost did him in.

  "I can't believe I just paid for torture," he griped as we left the shop.

  I hit his arm. "Don't be such a wuss. It wasn't that bad, and now you have nice soft feet. No more stabbing me with your talons."

  "Hey, shouldn't we pick something up for your aura while we're here?" He indicated the door to Spellbound, the Wiccan specialty store on the opposite side of Greene's.

  He was teasing, but I decided it couldn't hurt. Last time I'd been in was right before I went on tour. Maybe my aura needed a tune-up.

  It was a slow Sunday. Sybil, the owner, gave us a smile as we walked in. A lady in a long, black dress and bare feet glanced up and then fled down an aisle. A couple of potheads were admiring a bong in the shape of skull. The smell of incense and patchouli soap hung heavy in the air.