Killer Holiday

by Amy Korman

  “You’re better off without Scooter,” Joe told Eula, surprising me with this relatively sympathetic response. I was even more shocked when he grabbed the bottle of wine he’d ordered for us, lit up one of the Colketts’ Marlboro Silvers—which isn’t legal to smoke inside, but it didn’t seem like Channing and Jessica were enforcing Clean Indoor Air Act laws tonight—and plunked himself down between Tom and Tim and next to Eula.

  “I guess so,” agreed Eula, pouring herself more wine. “I really thought Scooter was perfect for me,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin, “but he was kind of secretive.”

  “He checked your Samsonite rollerboard to Miami, doll,” Tim Colkett told her. “That’s more than secretive.”

  Meanwhile Sophie was watching, mouth agape, as Joe listened to Eula’s tale of love gone wrong.

  “Are you freaking kiddin’ me?” she finally exploded. “Joe, how dare you sit with Eula on my big night? And, no offense, Eula, but you’re wearing a gold Roberto Cavalli lace minidress, and everyone knows metallics are my signature color!”

  “Sophie, have a drink with me,” said Pierre Lemieux, approaching our table with soulful eyes gazing at the newly minted cabaret star. “I get you a bottle of champagne. You are ten times more beautiful than Eula here! She has nothing on Sophie Shields!”

  “Thanks, Pierre,” Sophie said gratefully. “Sure, top off my glass. And let’s do a shot of Patrón. What the heck!”

  Holly and I exchanged worried glances, since Sophie isn’t a big drinker.

  “We’re going to take Sophie home, Pierre, but thanks,” Holly told him, quickly extricating Sophie from the jeweler and steering her toward the exit. “You’re so thoughtful, though!”

  “What about Joe?” I whispered, as we inserted Sophie into her coat. “Shouldn’t we drive him home? He looks kind of tipsy.”

  “I’m gonna go say good-bye to the Colketts and Jessica,” Sophie told us, heading for the bar, which had turned into an illegal smokers’ area.

  “Stay away from Pierre!” Holly ordered her. “Do not leave the bar area and disappear with a thirty-year-old French jeweler!”

  “Look!” said Bootsie. Eula and Joe had their heads together, and suddenly the unlikely pair got up and headed for the door.

  “It’s weird that Joe’s leaving with Eula, but she doesn’t seem drunk, so I guess it’s okay for her to be driving,” I said. “Luckily, Sophie didn’t see them go off together. She’s over there puffing on a cigarette, which is also strange, because Sophie doesn’t smoke.”

  “Oh my gosh, Joe is gonna get some Eula lovin’!” exploded Bootsie. “This goes against every instinct he’s ever had!”

  “Shhhh!” I told her. “Sophie can’t know about Joe leaving with Eula! Pipe down, or she’ll hear you. Luckily, she and the Colketts are singing ‘One for My Baby,’ which isn’t a good idea, because that song is depressing. Uh-oh, now she’s singing and smoking at the same time.”

  Sophie started coughing, and while the Colketts grabbed her Marlboro Silver and stubbed it out while they patted her on the back, Sophie suddenly appeared to sober up and pointed to a back corner of Gianni’s main dining room.

  “Hey, wait a minute. I recognize that white button-down shirt, the navy blue sweater, the shaggy hair, and the sneakers,” shrieked Sophie. “That’s the evil Santa who shot at me and drove the getaway car for the guy who threatened Chip!”

  The guy in the white shirt looked scared, scrambled to his feet, and made for the exit at a dead run, but he was too late.

  “Come on, Gerda, let’s get him!” yelled Bootsie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Where’s my brother?” demanded Bootsie, after she and Gerda had escorted the erstwhile Santa back to his table. “And what are you doing here, anyway, and what’s your name? Are you a cabaret fan?”

  “I’m not supposed to say anything!” the guy told her. We all glared at him, and I was surprised to notice he looked about seventeen years old. “My name’s Dave. This is just a part-time job for me. I don’t know much, honestly!”

  “You know what?” Bootsie told him. “I’m getting angry now.” She jumped up and lunged at the terrified Dave, seizing him by the top of his ear and twisting the soft, tender flesh in a Delaney family signature move.

  “Ow!” screamed Dave. “Ouch! Make it stop!” He started dancing around in pain with Bootsie hanging on to his ear. “Your brother’s in Florida! He’s supposed to be paying back some businessmen on a fake resort scam. I mean, from what I hear, there’s an actual hotel called L’Etoile, but it’s nothing like what they sold investors on.”

  Bootsie ordered Dave to sit and she let go of his ear, which he rubbed at energetically.

  “I don’t think your brother really knew what he was getting into, and was supposed to find more people to scam with the deal, but instead he backed out. I work part-time as a driver for a group of businessmen in Jersey who have a less-than-legal construction business, as well as run some gambling and tobacco operations on the side.

  “Anyway, I listen while I drive,” admitted Dave. “Last week, I was driving this guy Pete Penworthy around Trenton when he came up from Florida for some meetings. Pete said a friend of his wanted to scare his ex-wife and wanted to arrange a drive-by shooting, but just to hit, like, her front steps or a shrub. I wasn’t supposed to actually shoot that close to you, Mrs. Shields, but I was so nervous that my hand shook and I got your purse by mistake!” he told Sophie apologetically. “You’re okay, though, right?”

  “I’m okay, but my handbag isn’t!” she informed him.

  “You not too good at this line of work,” Gerda told Dave. “Maybe you need to look for different job.”

  “Listen, lady, I’m saving up to finish up my college degree, and this pays better than jobs at the mall and the gas station. What am I supposed to do?”

  “So what happened with the threatening note tied to a golf club and thrown into Chip’s truck?” I asked him.

  “Mr. Penworthy called from Florida and told me to drive one of his henchmen to shake up Chip,” the guy told us. “I didn’t mess that job up,” he added, looking around with some pride.

  “How dare you scare my brother!” Bootsie said, straightening up into her full height and looming over Dave, looking as menacing as a country-club tennis champ who’s skilled at noogies can—which seemed to have the desired effect, as he shrank into his seat.

  “Listen, lady, I don’t do actual hurting of people,” protested Dave. “Anyway, today I drove another friend of Mr. Penworthy’s to do some outlet shopping in Delaware and then to the airport. I think he’s got something to do with the money that Chip owes Mr. P.”

  “I knew Scooter was in on this!” screamed Bootsie. “That guy stole a ton of valuables from a friend of ours. Well, not a friend, because we don’t like her. Anyway, then he stole this stuff back from us.”

  “I heard about that,” Dave told her. “That guy Scooter bragged to me that he pretended to be asleep when you grabbed the suitcase from the house he was staying in. But he followed you people back to some dinky antiques store with the lights off on his BMW, and stuck a credit card between the doorframe and the doorknob and walked right in. He said the lock was older than dirt, and provided zero security.”

  “I told you to get better locks!” Bootsie yelled at me.

  “It wasn’t my idea to hide ridiculously valuable items behind my mops and Windex!” I told her.

  “Unfortunately, Scooter dented his pricey rental car on the way back from the antiques store to the house where he was staying, because he’d had a lot of Scotch, so he had to get the BMW towed back to Avis,” Dave continued. “Which is how I ended up waiting outside while he robbed that jewelry store today dressed as Krampus.

  “Oops!” Dave added. “I wasn’t supposed to mention that to anyone. And then I had to drive him to Delaware and to the airport today.” He paused. “What was in that suitcase, anyway? He was real secretive about it.”

  “Shut u
p,” Bootsie ordered him.

  “How old are you?” asked Gerda. “You look like you not completely through puberty yet.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” Dave said proudly. “Legally able to hit the bars and liquor stores.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t drink,” said Gerda grimly. “You might not be finished growing yet, and alcohol gonna stunt you. Plus, you aren’t good at your job already. Drinking gonna make you even worse.”

  “Maybe it’ll make him better at being a goombah,” offered Bootsie. “Loosen him up a little.”

  It seemed like Bootsie was now defending the guy who’d shot her brother’s delivery truck, and I sensed it was time to head home.

  “One thing I should tell you, Mrs. Shields,” Dave said, preparing to leave and lowering his voice as he headed for the door. “I hear your ex is still in love with you, but he just invited his girlfriend Diana-Maria to move into your old house with him. I just thought you should know!”

  “That makes me super-mad!” shrieked Sophie. “We haven’t even finished up negotiating the divorce terms!”

  Diana-Maria was the ex-inamorata of a guy named Lobster Phil LaMonte, a crony of Sophie and Barclay from their Jersey days. Like most women, Sophie wasn’t okay with her ex dating, even though she had been the one who walked out on Barclay.

  “So why did you come to this restaurant tonight?” asked Gerda. “You supposed to be shooting someone again, or what?”

  Dave paused, embarrassed. “I heard Mrs. Shields was doing a show here,” he mumbled. “And I have a little crush on her.”

  “Aw!” said Sophie. “That’s real sweet. I forgive you about the purse!”

  “That’s cute,” Bootsie told Dave. “And guess what? We’re all heading to Florida tomorrow to find Chip, and you’re coming with us. In fact, we can offer you in exchange for Chip,” she added, inspired.

  “I’ve never been to Florida!” said Dave, excited. “But I don’t think they’ll swap me for Chip. I’m pretty sure I’m fired over the purse-shooting incident.”

  “Well, you’re going anyway,” said Bootsie. “I’m sending you back to Sophie’s house. Gerda here will watch over you all night until you get on the plane with us tomorrow morning. What’s your last name?” she asked, whipping out her phone to buy him a ticket.

  “It’s Conover,” Dave told her, looking alarmed at the thought of being guarded by Gerda.

  “My mom’s expecting me home by twelve-thirty tonight, and I live an hour away, way up by Rumson, and I don’t have any clothes with me!”

  “Too bad,” Bootsie told him. “Tell your mom you got a new job that’s taking you out of town for a couple days. We’ll get you some shorts and polos in the Miami airport tomorrow.”

  “And some loafers,” added Gerda. “Those high-top sneakers are not suitable for a man aged twenty-one.”

  “Hand over your phone, Dave,” Bootsie told him. “You’ll get it back when we’re done in Florida. Welcome to the Delaney-McElvoy family, kid. You’re working for me now!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next day, 11:30 a.m. saw us cruising south on U.S. Route 1 toward Swan Key, Florida. We’d gotten the 8 a.m. flight out of Philly, landed in Miami at 10:25, and Sophie and Holly had quickly hit the airport Thomas Pink, Ron Jon, and Johnston & Murphy stores for some clothes for Dave. Then we’d gone to the rental car pickup, where Joe, who’s a self-proclaimed expert at getting the best and coolest cars from rental clerks at rock-bottom prices, had reserved a special tricked-out Cadillac SUV that seated seven, which would allow all of us, plus Chip if we successfully rescued him, to roam South Florida in roomy comfort.

  Unfortunately, the clerk told us, a crew from the Today Show en route to an interview with Pitbull had gotten there ten minutes earlier and rented the giant Cadillac.

  We were shown to a dented minivan, where a hungover Joe took the wheel as we passed margarita bars, surfboard shops, and bikini barns. I called Martha and heard that Waffles had enjoyed some scrambled eggs, wandered around Holly’s yard for ten minutes, and was now asleep on a cozy cashmere blanket.

  “The dog is having a better day than we are,” said Joe, looking completely depressed despite the festive scenery and palm trees we were passing. Before falling asleep on the plane, he’d confessed to Holly and me to waking up at 5 a.m. in Eula’s bed, but said that he’d been on top of Eula’s crisp new bedding, and that his shirt had been rumpled and untucked, but he’d been fully dressed.

  Luckily, he’d packed for Florida before the cabaret, and his duffel had been duly loaded into Bootsie’s car before we swung by Eula’s house to pick him up 5:15 a.m. and headed for the airport. It was rare to see Joe unshaven—although the bloodshot eyes and slightly shaky hands weren’t all that uncommon after a big night, I thought to myself.

  Anyway, as he drove south, Joe was starting to look a lot better. Unfortunately, Sophie had figured out where Joe had spent the night, even though we’d picked her, Gerda, and Dave up last on the airport run. Needless to say, Sophie was devastated, and was mopping up tears with a Starbucks napkin she’d found in her purse.

  Bootsie was next to Joe in the front seat, with Holly and Gerda in the second row; Sophie, Dave and I were in the back seating area, since Sophie said she wanted to be as far away as possible from Joe, and that since he’d had some kind of sexy interlude with Eula, she’d start dating again now, too. Today, if possible.

  “I brought Chip’s hotel prospectus with me,” said Bootsie. “Kristin’s seen it, but for the rest of you need to know that L’Etoile is supposed to have a Meditation Pool, Tranquility Cabanas, and a nightclub, plus a steakhouse, a sushi bar, and a bar that has all the walls covered in glittering Swarovski crystals. There are spa concierges, cocktail consultants, and golf butlers!” Bootsie read aloud.

  “Is a golf butler the same as a caddy?” Joe asked.

  “This place sounds awesome!” shrieked Sophie, cheering up a little. “How much are those shares again?”

  “The shares are fake,” Bootsie reminded her. “You’ll be buying into what Dave said is probably, like, a motel on the side of a highway.”

  “Speaking of hotels, what’s this place Holly booked us into again for tonight?” Joe asked. “Because it sounds horrible.”

  “Le Vert Epinard Spa and Hotel is going to be great,” said Holly. “It’s on a gorgeous island right across from where Chip’s fake hotel is supposed to be located. Tons of movie stars, models, and HGTV hosts have stayed at Le Vert, as insiders call it.”

  “Wait, I took French in high school—I know that word,” Joe mused. “Epinard, it’s a vegetable. It’s green . . . and it’s healthy . . . I’m pretty sure it’s something I don’t like.”

  “You don’t like Eula, but that didn’t stop ya from fooling around with her!” screamed Sophie.

  “I’m seventy-eight percent sure nothing naked happened between me and Eula,” groaned Joe. “I do remember her showing me a lot of pictures of the Palace of the Seas, and of her and Scooter, and I think she might have sobbed on my shoulder. I think I’d know if I’d made out with Eula, and I don’t feel any different. That must mean something, right?”

  “Le Vert Epinard means green spinach,” Gerda informed us. “I work in French restaurant one summer as a teenager and one of my duties was vegetable prep. I wash, like, seven thousand bunches of epinard, and this is the reason I now prefer kale and chard.”

  “They named the hotel for spinach?” asked Dave. “That’s real weird.”

  “Isn’t all spinach green?” asked Bootsie. “Do they have other colors now, the way there are purple potatoes and white asparagus? Which, by the way, I don’t get. Why would you want vegetables to be another color?”

  “Colored veggies are a chef thing,” Holly told her. “Channing told me once that they have to look at the same vegetables every day, and if they don’t get some variety, it gets super-boring. I’m thinking most men feel the same way about their significant others, which is why I got Howard that moonshine st
ill, which I thought would distract him from the possible monotony of being married to me. Of course, my plan didn’t work out, and I’m hoping that thing isn’t going to explode in the garage of whoever stole it.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to get bored of John yet,” I said mournfully. “Since he’s always out of town in places like California.”

  “Le Vert Whatever grows all their own food on-site!” read Sophie, who was consulting Le Vert Epinard’s Web site on her phone. “And make their own cashew cheese. Huh, I didn’t know that was a food.”

  “Please don’t say the words ‘cashew cheese,’” Joe told her. “Anyway, why are we staying at this spinach place, other than the movie stars? Shouldn’t we be staying right where L’Etoile and hopefully Chip are?”

  “Gerda and I paid for wi-fi on the plane, and we read in the Miami newspaper that a leading society matron, one Mrs. Pete Penworthy, is a frequent guest at Le Vert Epinard,” Holly informed him. “She’s the wife of the guy that Dave here said is the mastermind of this hotel scam. So we called when we landed and pretended to have a message from a hair salon about Mrs. Penworthy’s appointment time for next week, and the hotel confirmed she’s there. So the plan is that we befriend Mrs. Penworthy at Le Vert Epinard, pump her for information about Chip, and solve everything.”

  “That plan sounds okay, but I sense a day of starvation and anger coming my way,” Joe told her. “And what if you’ve got a bun in the oven? You can’t sustain your future baby with a sprig of organic greens. Did you take the pregnancy test yet?”

  “We need to rescue Chip first,” Holly informed him. “This isn’t the time for a run into the nearest Walgreens. I need to be in the right mental place to find out that kind of monumental news, and an interstate in Florida isn’t it. So back off!” she screamed at Joe.