Poison Ivy

by Misty Simon

  After Bella explained to the newbie (namely me) that the full name for the establishment was the Bubbling Brook Bed and Breakfast, I paused, a little awestruck. Two things concerned me from this conversation. One: the guy was in the area during the murder and had now moved up to my number one suspect. Two: was this town unable to name anything without using a heavy hand with the alliteration?

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Bella teased and rat-tailed the woman’s hair, they talked and talked. But my mind was stuck on the whole client-being-in-town thing. The same client who had threatened Janice days ago had shown up not twenty-four hours before she was killed. Coincidence? I didn’t think so.

  I tuned back into the conversation in time to hear the woman praise Bella for her expertise with the comb and promise to make another appointment for the following week. Shortly after, she left the room and Bella and I were alone.

  “I really love these old ladies. Where would I be without their weekly appointments for a wash and set?” A beatific smile flashed across Bella’s face before it turned into a smirk, and then out-and-out laughter.

  “You are terrible.”

  “I’m not terrible, Ivy, I’m honest. These parties are hard for me to stomach but they always get me at least one new client, and it seems I’m handy with a comb.”

  We cleaned up the room, putting furniture back onto the grooves in the carpet and straightening the doilies on the end tables. We made a last check for anything we’d missed and walked down the short hallway to the front door. I waited there while Bella went and said goodbye to Mildred. My eyes were about to roll back in my head from staring at the entire Annie plate collection from the 1970s when finally Bella came out with a smile on her face and a swing in her hips.

  “We’re flush,” she said and stuffed a handful of bills in the neck of my shirt.

  “What?”

  “I said, we’re flush. Mildred and her friends all thought we were worth their time and money and tipped generously. Let’s go to the bar.”

  Ten minutes later, we were comfortably seated in the captain’s chairs, which I was becoming quite fond of, with drinks in hand. Now if Ben would only show up tonight and maybe sweep me off my feet again with his version of dancing. That is, if I could keep from falling head first into his lap.

  “You’re thinking about Ben again, aren’t you?”

  “How do you do that?” It was becoming a habit for Bella to read my expression, or was she really psychic? Psychic would definitely help me find my missing lingerie and get a bead on who did it.

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Know what I’m thinking.”

  “Oh, that. Well, part of it is from doing hair and seeing so many women and their different moods. The other part is I know you and you get this dreamy, disgusting look on your face whenever you are thinking about him or chocolate. And since you have a slice of Death by Chocolate in front of you and some smeared around your mouth, I figured it had to be Ben.”

  I quickly took a swipe at my mouth with a napkin. How embarrassing. “Are you sure you’re not psychic?”

  “I wish. If I could predict the numbers or see into the future or past or whatever it is they do, I’d be at the convenience store so fast your pretty head of highlights would spin.”

  “Would you give up the salon if you won the lottery?” I took a sip of my drink, Premium Plum, and waited for her answer. She took a very long time to decide.

  “I don’t think I’d want to give up the shop. It’s what I’ve done for so long I’d be lost without it. But would I hire some more people to do the actual cutting and stuff? Take a vacation at least once a month to some exotic place with tall fruity drinks and even taller, sexy cabana boys? You bet your ass I would.” She tossed off the rest of her watermelon shooter and chased it with beer, which I still hadn’t figured out how to do gracefully. The first time I’d tried, the night I met Ben (and I made a conscious effort not to get the fool smile on my face this time), I’d tried a shooter and ended up with more on my napkin bib than in my mouth. Yes, napkin bib. Bella knew me well enough even then.

  Music started on the jukebox, some old Western song. I had no idea what the person was singing, but I believe most of it was about dead or faithful dogs and lying or wayward women who done him wrong. Bella got up from her chair and started weaving around to the music. It looked like she was going to try to pull me with her, until a strong hand settled on my shoulder.

  “I could smell your fragrance from the door. Something about you draws me right to wherever you are.”

  I turned around to tell Ben what a line of bullshit that was and he kissed me. End of conversation.

  I walked home from Bella’s, thinking about the kiss from Ben and the way it had made my head swirl. He should be declared illegal and left at that. There was something about him and his smooth ways that made me want to swoon at his feet. But there was something about me, too. Maybe it was my newly forming backbone that made me feel I should resist him and all the sexual delights he could bring to the table, or, er, the bed. I didn’t know if I was ready for a table thing before I tried out the bed. I mean, would I be sexy laid out on the table like a Butterball turkey?

  Perhaps not. So we could start out in the bedroom, preferably with the lights off and the curtains shut against the moonlight. God, was I so conventional it even had to take place at night? Maybe my backbone wasn’t meant to include forays into the more adventurous side of sexual escapades.

  Sometimes I wished I could be more like Bella and go after what I wanted. But then I thought about the responsibility and the effort involved in doing what I wanted all the time, and shied away. I did not want to be “on” all the time.

  A shout and a thud turned my attention from my thoughts. A guy stood on a doorstep across the street and a police officer staggered back, almost falling off the stoop. The cop saved himself from the fall at the last possible second, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Suddenly it struck me that the guy still standing on the doorstep, his shoulders rising and falling in great heaving waves, was the same man as in last night’s dining experience at the restaurant. What the hell was going on?

  Against my better judgment I walked over to the other side of the street. I tried to look like your average walker and not give a hint I was eavesdropping as the cop yanked the other man’s hands behind his back and started leading him to the squad car sitting at the curb.

  “You’re an idiot! They’re mine, and I will have them,” the cuffed man screamed.

  “Well, you’re lucky you didn’t land a better punch, because I’m already pissed off enough to throw you in jail and leave you there to rot for assaulting an officer. Get in the car without a fuss and I might remember to let you eat sometime tomorrow.”

  “I demand you take me back to my cabin this instant. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Look, buddy, I’m the guy who’s hauling your ass to jail. You won’t be going back to your cabin, wherever it is, because you’re spending the night in jail, and maybe the remainder of the week if you don’t keep your trap shut.”

  I looked at the house again after the cop drove away with the guy in the back seat. I realized I was on the same street Bella said Janice had lived on. The front, with its raspberry gingerbread trim and moss green woodwork, looked exactly like the description Bella had given me when I asked her about it. And if this was Janice’s house, and a man who looked familiar to me had been standing on the stoop with a cop arguing about something of his, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts the guy was the infamous threatening client.

  Despite the fact I already had a suspect, kind of, in Mr. Jorgensen of the bloodstained cape, I still didn’t want it to be him. I’d be much more comfortable putting this murder on someone else. Someone I was already inclined not to like.

  Things were adding up in my head for the client to be the guilty party. He’d threatened Janice, threatened the lawyer, and now assaulted a policeman, all in the name of som
e files that were supposedly his. Ones no one would give to him. What in the files was so all-important? And if he wanted them so badly, would he kill for them?

  I ran the rest of the way home, hoping to clear my head of the two drinks I’d had at the bar, and slammed the front door behind me after whipping up the porch steps like someone was hot on my tail. I had a plan brewing in my head, but I’d need to change clothes before I started the execution.

  ****

  I felt like it was amateur night at a Goth club. I’d pulled my hair back and up into a black watch cap and donned black sweats and a dark blue windbreaker. I stopped short of putting black stripes under my eyes and instead ended up lining them with a kohl pencil. I am Barbarella, hear me roar.

  Not. More like Spazzarella.

  The Bubbling Brook Bed and Breakfast was far enough away from my house to use the car. Besides, I didn’t want to get caught wandering around town dressed all in black. Someone might think I was going on a burglarizing spree, or turning to the dark side.

  They wouldn’t be half wrong. I was planning on some burglary, just not a spree. Simply one room at ye old B&B. I hadn’t worked out how I was going to get in yet, but I figured now, when the client was down at the police station, would be the perfect time to see if there was anything worthy of attention in his room.

  I didn’t want to park right up in the half-moon drive in front of the B&B. No one was supposed to know I had even been here, so I certainly didn’t want to park my car out front for everyone to see. I found a little bald spot on the side of the road, surrounded by tall trees, directly after the three-story Victorian house that was the Bubbling Brook B & B. Pulling the car into the makeshift parking spot, I checked my flashlight and grabbed the only tool I’d found at home, a screwdriver. I crept away from the car and up to the imposing building. How was I even going to know what room the client was in? And how would I get up there without being heard? Okay, maybe I hadn’t planned this very well.

  Most of the downstairs lights were off, leaving the front lawn bathed only in moonlight. No clouds hung in the cold, clear sky. The scent of more wood smoke teased my nose, and an image of me in front of a roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book almost sent me running back to my car and my house.

  But my determination to find out who’d cut down Janice in her prime was stronger than my need for comfort right now. So I crept forward and prayed the stairs leading to the porch wouldn’t squeak.

  Of course they protested loudly. I tried hopping lightly from one foot to the other to maybe find a spot without a chorus to follow when a light popped on in what I assumed was a foyer of some kind.

  As I was about to turn tail and run, the porch light flickered. Caught. Shit. So much for my burglary skills. I’d have to stick with my day job.

  “Ivy? Ivy Morris is that you?” A quiet voice came out of the light and startled me into moving.

  “Ah, yes.” Hurry, hurry, need to find an excuse fast. “I was out for a, um, walk and was wondering if I could use your bathroom.” That had to be the most asinine thing I’d ever said. Surprisingly, it seemed to work, because the gray-haired lady, who I quickly remembered as Mrs. Nancy Harkham, led me to a small powder room under the stairs rising to the second floor.

  I really did have to go to the bathroom after that nerve-wracking encounter. Stalling for time, I finished washing my hands and tried to think up a way to find out which room the guy was staying in.

  While looking in the mirror at myself to check how wacky my makeup really looked, my brain made a connection I hadn’t thought of. When he was being hauled away, the guy made a comment about staying at a cabin and Ben had mentioned the B&B had a small freestanding building they called “The Cabin.” They used it as a honeymoon suite.

  My life got a little easier. I didn’t have to figure out how to sneak back into the B & B because the cottage was across the driveway and tucked into a group of trees. Things were finally going my way.

  With a fast wave and a heartfelt “thank you” to Mrs. Harkham, I hustled out the door like I was continuing some kind of after-midnight power walk and stopped at my car.

  I let ten minutes pass before I tried to get on the property again. Long enough for all the lights to turn off.

  Long enough for me to wonder what kind of town this was when a bathroom stop at your local hotel in the middle of the night didn’t even cause a person to blink. Seriously to my advantage, but bizarre.

  The moon was still shining brightly in the sky, but a cloud hovered to its left. I waited another minute and was rewarded when the cloud moved across the bright globe and dimmed the light. I walked slowly, so as not to make a lot of rustling, and approached the gravel drive. Staying on the grass, I carefully made my way to the cabin and found all the lights off. This was good. No way had the police taken the client guy into custody and already released him. I was safe for the moment.

  My plan was to get in and get out as quickly as possible. I had no idea what I was actually looking for but figured I would know it when I saw it.

  The front door faced away from the bed and breakfast. Privacy was also good. Now no one would be able to see me trying to open the door, which could be a little difficult considering I hadn’t thought about the fact that it was probably locked.

  Banging my head on the wall in frustration was out of the question, so I settled on a few moments of vivid cursing under my breath.

  How could I be so stupid? Did I think I was going to waltz up to the door and it would magically be unlocked, ready for me to walk right in and look around? Dammit.

  I was about to turn around and go back to the car to look for something to help me pop the lock, since the screwdriver jammed in my back pocket would be useless, when I heard a sound off to my left. Thick trees stood in a large line like a barrier to the forest beyond, and the sound had originated from that direction. Maybe.

  I stuck to the shadows on the porch of the cabin and waited for whomever or, gulp, whatever had made the sound to either go away or show itself. I voted for go away, and kept a sharp ear out for any other noise indicating the person or thing was moving back into the shelter of the forest.

  No sound came, and I felt a sigh of relief swelling in my chest right before a hand clamped over my mouth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The hand clamped down a little harder as I refilled my lungs to scream. Even if it came out muffled, I decided I’d try to let loose a noise that would wake the whole neighborhood and possibly the dead. Then I heard a familiar voice speak in my ear.

  “Don’t scream, Ivy. Let’s save that for the bedroom.”

  I whirled around and punched Ben in the stomach. A muffled “umph” came from those delicious lips as he doubled over. “You idiot,” I hissed. “You nearly scared the pee out of me. What the hell is your problem?”

  But Ben still seemed beyond speech as he looked at me with hurting eyes. I’d give him hurting eyes. He’d better just be happy I didn’t aim lower and with my knee.

  He straightened a little and looked like an aerobics instructor trying to work out the kinks. “What was that for?” he said, trying to pull the whole wounded-person thing.

  “I told you what it was for. Never, never, creep up on me and scare me like that again. You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your balls.” His eyes widened, and I clamped my hand over my mouth. I had not, in any way, shape, or form, meant to say that out loud.

  Maybe the backbone was growing a little faster than I had originally thought. I’d never said balls to an actual man before. Sure, I’d said it in the office restroom after some idiot talked down to me or one of the male assistants decided to make some kind of snide remark about my weight or lack of a boyfriend. But never to someone’s face before. Was I supposed to apologize now? No, I didn’t think I wanted to. What I needed to do was change the subject.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

  “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  “Well, I ask
ed you first. And don’t try arguing with me right now. What are you doing here?”

  In the same hushed voice that sent shivers up my spine, he said, “Oh, all right. I came over because I heard the police had picked up the client guy on assault charges and I knew he wouldn’t be here for a while. I thought I’d do a little bit of investigating on my own. Now you?”

  “What, did you finally finish your online class and decide to break in your new private investigator license?”

  The one cloud in the sky shifted and the full round moon shone down on Ben’s face. It looked like he was actually blushing. Blushing? That was too rich. “You did, didn’t you? You got your license and wanted to try it out, so you what? Listened to the police scanner that everyone seems to have in this town and came down here to see what the guy was up to yourself?”

  “I don’t hear you answering my question.”

  I snickered. “You’re not going to hear me answer your question until you tell me whether or not this foray into investigating was brought on by you receiving your new license.”

  “Okay, okay. Yes, I got my new license this afternoon. It’s actually a temporary one for right now. And yes, I did hear the cops saying they’d picked up Mr. Samuel Hedlund, also known as ‘that client guy,’ trying to get into Janice’s house. I heard he threw a punch at Dennis, which is never a good idea. I went to high school with Dennis, and he has a jaw of iron. There was this kid he fought once, and the kid actually broke his hand when it connected with Dennis’s jawbone, and Dennis didn’t even stagger. Of course, I could always take him down when we were in wrestling together. It didn’t take much to get him in a headlock.”