“You took the words right out of my mouth,” he growled, and then proceeded to distract the breath right out of me.
***
“Granny Gert, you look fabulous,” Raoulle down at Pump up the Volume Hair Salon and Spa said on Friday morning.
The spa was a contradiction with its eighties theme big hair day style like Tracy the owner still wore, with cans of Final Net hair spray to boot. Yet the place oozed comfort and class like a modern day oasis, painted with relaxing blues and greens, complimenting Raoulle’s style.
Trays of cucumber water and lemon water and finger sandwiches were being passed around. Soothing sounds of nature played in the background. Therapeutic smells enticed the senses. And trays full of modern entertainment magazines covered coffee tables and end tables, while guests who were waiting sat in overstuffed comfy furniture.
I smiled at Raoulle in appreciation, and he shot me a conspiratorial wink. He had a way of making all the ladies feel special, but he especially took a shine to my grandmother.
“Boys oh day, do you really think so?” Granny patted her set and styled hair to perfection, looking at her reflection both left and right.
“Honey, I know so. I have clients who pay big money to make their hair shine like your snowy white do. That’s God-given, right there, and anyone who knows anything about hair knows you can’t imitate God-given color.”
“And anyone who knows anything about hair knows color is only half the battle,” Fiona said in the next chair over, admiring her perfectly colored red hair and chic, modern cut. “We all know you’re the star around here.”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Fiona.” Raoulle fussed over her as well. “You’re just as stunning. You lovely ladies are going to be the envy of the Fall Harvest Party.”
“Raoulle, honey, you wouldn’t be trying to get more of a tip out of these two lovely ladies, would you?” Jo asked from a chair next to Fiona. He was taking care of all three women at once.
Raoulle let out a gasp worthy of Broadway. “Why, Mrs. West. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He squinted his eyes and studied her closely, then let a beaming smile spread across his face. “And might I say you are simply glowing. Your skin tone is amazing. What’s your secret?”
Jo’s face flushed, and she was unable to stop the goofy grin from spreading across her glowing cheeks. “Oh, healthy eating, I reckin’. Guess we all can’t be bandits forever. Gotta grow up someday, right?” She trilled out a giggle.
Reckin’? Bandits? Giggling? Oh, my. My jaw fell open, and I gaped at her, feeling like I was on an episode of Smokey Jo and the Bandit gone horribly wrong.
“Oh, he’s good,” Zoe said, just shaking her head.
“He’s something, all right,” I responded. Tracy the salon owner had already finished with Zoe and me an hour ago. She’d done a great job, but she was all about efficiency. Raoulle, on the other hand, was all about the money.
“Hey, how did your latest fad work out? Did you ever get anyone to buy your idea for those Puffed Up Jeans?” Raoulle asked Granny.
“No.” She pouted. “I thought for sure they would bite. I mean so many jeans are too tight they make you look wrinkled because they suck the air right out of you. We pump air into air mattresses so why not jeans? Puffed Up Jeans would have taken years off a woman’s face, making her look smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
“Well I can tell you right now, they might take years off your face, but I’m thinking the extra air might add pounds onto your nether regions. Last I checked babies’ bottoms were plump. As much as I want you to succeed with one of your ideas, doll face, I know for a fact all of my clients would take the wrinkles over the pounds every time.”
“Oh fiddle dee dee, that’s what they said. And I say that’s what wrong with the world today. Whatever happened to models like Marilynn Monroe? And look at the women in paintings from years ago. They were all full-figured, wrinkle-free, beauties. We need more of that in this crazy world we live in.”
“Here here, Granny. Ain’t that the truth? There’s a difference between rolls and curves,” Jo said on a snort, and I could tell she was thinking of Theresa McFarland’s unfortunate comment. “I’d toast you if I could,” she added.
“Any other news?” Fiona asked, obviously eager to change the subject since she was like my mother … one of those other clients who would take wrinkles over pounds, and for once, I was glad of her interference.
“Well, Lulubelle was in here this morning.” Raoulle glanced around as though what he had to say was top secret.
Granny, Fiona, and Jo leaned in while Zoe and I rolled our eyes.
Raoulle continued. “She said poor Linda Theodore is having a rough time of it. She doesn’t want to sell, but she might have to. Except now there’s some crazy rumor about some treasure hunting going on. It’s all the buzz. Mark my words, people are going to hear about that and come running. People do crazy things when money’s involved.”
I hadn’t thought about small town gossip and how fast rumors spread. The last thing Divinity needed was a bunch of treasure hunters storming the town, wreaking more havoc than there already was with the murder investigation going on. My stomach churned. I had a bad feeling about this, and that was never a good thing.
“Oh, the poor dear,” Granny said with a sympathetic tsk, bringing me back to the conversation at hand.
“I just can’t imagine losing your husband,” Fiona said.
Zoe and I locked eyes, knowing Linda wasn’t that broken up about losing her husband because she had a secret lover. But we also knew that was something no one else knew except Joanne, and we hoped to keep it that way. It just irked me that everyone pitied the poor widow when she might possibly still be the killer.
“And finding out your husband’s accountant lost all your money,” Jo said, joining in, obviously still under Raoulle’s spell. What was she doing spilling secrets willy nilly, especially while the investigation was still going on? My mother’s future was on the line.
“That’s just terrible.” Fiona sounded shocked.
“Oh, my, I should bake her some cookies,” Granny added.
“I agree it’s a downright shame,” Raoulle said. “The last thing the poor dear needs is that tax guy poking around the inn. She already lost the life insurance she took out on Peirce. What more does this blood sucker want from her?”
I bit back a gasp over how much Raoulle knew about the case. It shouldn’t surprise me that in a town as small as Divinity, gossip spread like wild fire, yet the speed of the gossip spreading still did shock me. Although, he did just help me and not even realize it. What exactly did the tax guy want with Linda? I’d have to find out. In the meantime, I needed to put a cork in Smokey Jo the Bandit’s mouth.
“Maybe he—” Jo started to say.
“Was trying to help her sort out this whole mess.” Zoe cut her off and shot me a look that said, No worries, I’ve got your back, and yes, she’s done lost her mind.
“Well, whatever he wanted, I’m sure the police will figure it out,” I chimed in, shooting a Shut up now! look at Jo.
She jerked as if the I’m-having-a-baby-and-can’t-think-straight goggles had finally, blessedly, thankfully been lifted.
“Everyone looks great, Raoulle,” Zoe chimed in. “I think we’re done here, Sunny, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” I knew exactly what I was going to do with the rest of my day. I was going to pay a certain accountant a little visit. Presuming I could find him, that is. He’d been laying low lately, but I was a resourceful psychic. How hard could it be?
Chapter 16
Okay, so it was harder to find Brice than I thought. It didn’t matter that Divinity was a small town, and being psychic was no help when I didn’t have anything of Brice’s to read. So basically I had driven all over the place, trying to catch sight of him without much luck: he wasn’t at work, he wasn’t at home, he wasn’t around town. I’d checked the library, the grocery store, the hardware store, the auto bo
dy shop, I’d even checked the hospital. It was foggy and dreary and just plain spooky out today.
Not a very good omen in my book.
I remembered him acting afraid and preferring jail to dealing with the thugs who had roughed up Peirce because of the bad investment. Where would I go if I were afraid and needing help and wanting to be safe from bad guys? I knew he hadn’t gone to the police because Mitch would have told me. Going on instinct and a hunch, I took a shot. It was a long shot, but at this point, I didn’t have anything to lose.
Moments later, I pulled my bug into Sacred Heart Church and cut the engine. Sacred Heart was a small quaint church with rows of pristine white pews and gorgeous stained-glass windows gracing the sidewalls, and Father Moody was the resident priest. I was catholic and I had actually been confirmed, I just never seemed to have time to go anymore. Granny always went, and my mother forced me to when she was in town, but willingly going on my own terrified me. I always felt like I was being judged somehow.
It was Friday afternoon. Church wasn’t in session, but it was always open for those needing a place to pray or someone to talk to or simply a safe haven. I walked through the doors and paused for a moment in the lobby. A nervous giggle slipped out when I realized I was waiting for a lightning bolt to strike me dead or the roof to collapse or something. I took a deep breath, knowing I was being silly.
Making my way inside, I glanced around. No one was there, but then I saw a solitary figure in the middle pew with his head bent in prayer. I crept forward and let out a sigh of relief when I recognized the man.
Brice Benedict.
Finally, something was going my way. I might not go to church very much, but I did know a thing about common decency and respect. I waited for him to finish whatever prayer he had been reciting and lift his head. Only then did I make my way to his pew and quietly slide onto the bench beside him.
He turned to look at me and jerked, seeming startled. “M-Miss Meadows, you’re the last person I expected to see here.”
Darn gossip mongers, I thought.
The resident Mad Hatter church going ladies still thought I was the devil’s spawn just because I was psychic, though they loved my parents. Probably because they pitied them for having a fortune-teller like me as their only child, since they were such prominent, upstanding citizens. Needless to say my parents loved the attention. Me, not so much, especially coming from hypocrites like them who went to church all the time yet lived their daily lives in an unchristian like manner. It made me crazy, but I wasn’t here to dwell on that. I was here to get to the truth.
“You and me both, Mr. Benedict,” I replied honestly. “But trust me, I have enough sins of my own to confess.”
“Who says I’m confessing sins?” He pushed his glasses up his beak-like nose and squirmed in the pew.
“No one. I’m just assuming you’re in here because you have a lot on your mind.” I patted his hand. “Or you’re hiding out from the bad guys,” I added sympathetically.
“Maybe a little of both,” he admitted, looking too exhausted to keep up the charade. He also looked like he didn’t have a friend in the world, which was something I could relate to. Things were great now in the friend department, but not long ago I knew exactly how he felt. I could empathize, and something told me he could sense that.
“How did you get out of jail so quickly, if you don’t mind my asking?” I studied his face to gauge his reaction.
“I got out on bail,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, wow, I heard it was set pretty steep. You must have had a lot of money saved.” That would explain the expensive items in his office. Because the deal he had made with Peirce Theodore’s money had gone south, so there was no way he could have made money off of that. Which made me wonder again how he had such nice things. Maybe he had a rich relative who had left him some money.
As if reading my mind, he said, “I can see those wheels in your brain turning, Miss Meadows. You’re nothing if not thorough, I’ll give you that.” He smiled a smile of admiration, if I wasn’t mistaken. “I had an anonymous benefactor who posted my bail. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
“I’d rather not, but I’m pretty certain you’re not going to tell me who it was. Does it have something to do with the thugs from the shady deal you were involved in with Mr. Theodore’s money?” At his shocked expression, I explained, “I am dating Detective Stone, and I am a consultant to the Divinity Police Department. There’s not much about this case that I don’t already know.” I looked at him with genuine concern. For him. For Linda. For us all. “Are you afraid they will come after you now that Peirce is dead?”
“I plead the fifth, for your protection as well as my own, but I will say your powers of observation are uncanny.” And that was all I needed to hear to know the truth. The thugs were still after money, still out there, and still very much a threat to many people of Divinity. Whoever ran them obviously had Brice in their pocket. Poor man. I truly believed he was a good guy who had made a bad decision but now was stuck with no way out.
Then again, maybe there was a way. “If you would just talk to the police, I know they would help. They could put you someplace safe for your testimony, I promise.” I hoped he could hear the sincerity in my voice.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally responded. “I just don’t want to put anyone else in harm’s way. I really did like Peirce Theodore, and I would give anything to make things right for his widow.”
“Is that what you were doing with that tax guy and the bald man at the café the other day? Trying to make things right?”
He nodded. “I was talking to the IRS man—whose name is Drew Cummings—trying to find a way to help Linda save the inn. I know she lost her life-insurance policy, and I feel just awful about it. The man who was with us is a buyer—whose name I shall withhold as he wishes to remain anonymous for personal reasons until the deal is final. The important point is that he is interested in buying Divine Inspiration, even with the recent murder tainting its image. That’s hard to come by these days. I’m just trying to help her out any way I can.”
“Me too.” I thought of Peirce’s reading.
“I heard about the treasure map.” Brice’s comment had a funny tone to it.
I looked at him surprised, wondering if Raoulle’s prediction was about to come true. “You did? Gotta love small towns.”
“Yes, well, I’m not the only one who heard.” His face took on an anxious look. “Don’t be surprised if a lot of outsiders start showing up, wanting a piece of the action. Linda won’t be hurting for buyers then.”
“Is that what you’re worried about? That your buyer will be angry if she stalls the sale of the inn? Or that the thugs will show up and more murders will happen?”
“Like I said your powers of observation are uncanny.” He met my gaze, and I couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes. “I hope you’re prepared for the consequences of what you started.”
***
Saturday afternoon I still couldn’t stop thinking about what Brice had said. Was I prepared for the consequences of my actions? I’d had no idea when I set out to help Linda save the inn that we would find a treasure map and what that might mean for our conservative, old-fashioned town. I glanced around at the crowd who had shown up for the Fall Harvest Party in Mini Central Park. It was double the size we had expected.
Tons of outsiders had ascended upon the town, as predicted.
Granny and Fiona were in a tizzy, worrying about having enough food. While my mother’s face was puckered like a prune with disapproval. This party was supposed to be about her and helping with the predicament she was in, not about some silly treasure, as she had put it. At least the weather had held out, thank goodness, with the sun shining bright and the temperatures just warm enough to make the event pleasant. So far Morty was on his best behavior, but he was so unpredictable, no one ever knew what he had up his sleeve—or under his bowtie, as the case may be.
Crockpo
ts of chili sat steaming on the table, with bowls of shredded cheese and sour cream nearby. Loaves of warm Italian bread were sliced in baskets with napkins over the tops, and several antipasto salads were ready to be dished. And of course the cake was the centerpiece, as it should be.
It was a masterpiece.
It was a replica of a courtroom with a man on trial. The pews of spectators were packed, the jury full, the judge front and center, and my mother standing tall and proud in action. The detail was amazing. Cake Lady, Wendy Statham, had done a fabulous job once again. At least she would get more business after being stuck in our town. And the music was perfect. Jason Shank the DJ seemed to know exactly what his audience wanted, not to mention he was funny and entertaining. He was already a huge success back in the city, but winning my mother over was truly an accomplishment that would book him plenty of additional gigs.
My mother took the microphone and cleared her throat. “I want to thank everyone who was involved in planning this party. The cake looks incredible, which doesn’t surprise me.” She glanced at Wendy. “Cake Masters has a fabulous reputation, and you can bet I will tell all of my friends about this.”
Wendy was a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled and tipped her head in appreciation. Granny was a big fan and kept trying to get her to stay in Divinity so they could open a cake cookie shop together. I had to hand it to Wendy over being a good sport in putting up with the Dynamic Duo as well as my mother. The woman was a saint.
“And much to my shock, the music is surprisingly entertaining,” my mother went on with her usual back-handed compliments. “I will surely recommend your DJ services if any of my friends are ever in the need of a non-band or orchestra entertainer.”
Jason was about my age and looked to be used to tough customers. He bowed at the waist gallantly and then blew my mother a kiss. My mother blinked rapidly and flushed, Granny and Fiona giggled, and Jason shot them a wink.
Kari Lee Townsend - Sunny Meadows 04 - Perish in the Palm Page 13
