A Poison Manicure & Peach Liqueur

by Traci Andrighetti

  Unaware of Randall's rage, Zac led me from the restaurant.

  But I couldn't get over that glare. I'd never had any dealings with Randall—or Olivia, for that matter—so I assumed he was still upset about Santa's sex sleigh.

  What other reason would he have had to look at me like that?

  * * *

  As the taillights of Zac's Jeep disappeared into the darkness, I opened the back door and dropped my keys into my purse. When I stepped into the break room, my foot slid out from under me, and I grabbed the door handle. "Whoa. What the heck?"

  I looked down and saw a thick, red liquid splattered across the wood floor.

  The blood drained from my face as I realized that blood was precisely what I'd slipped on, and a spine-chilling scream spurted from my lips.

  "Don't mess with Texas," Magnolia shouted from the second floor. "Or Gunther's gonna gitcha."

  A stampede ensued on the stairwell, and then my aunt and Gia stormed the room in SWAT stances with a .45 caliber pistol and a curling iron.

  But that wasn't the scary part.

  Their faces were smeared with blue and green goo, and they were both camouflaged in black and white footie pajamas. Magnolia was in cow print and Gia was in cheetah, representing the ranch and the grasslands, respectively.

  "Be forewarned." Gia brandished the curling iron like a cattle prod. "This baby's hot."

  I flattened against the door. "Who are you talking to? This Gunther guy?"

  "Gunther's your aunt's gun." She put a hand on her hip. "I was talking to Jade's killer."

  I looked from side to side. "The killer's here?"

  Magnolia straightened and lowered Gunther. "Well, isn't that why you were hollerin'?"

  "I was hollerin' about the floor." I pointed to the gore.

  "It's all right, Gunther," Magnolia muttered, talking to her gun like she did Barry. Then she decocked it and slipped it into the holster strapped to her thigh. "I know your generation doesn't cook, Cassidi Lee, but don't tell me you've never seen cow's blood before."

  Relief filled my limbs—but rage replaced it. "Okay, Thelma and Louise, does one of you want to tell me what's going on, starting with the weaponry and the war paint?"

  "One sec." Gia started up the stairs. "There's something you need to see."

  Magnolia put her hand on my back and steered me to the table. "Don't panic, now."

  I flopped into a chair. "I think I already have."

  "It all started after Gia and I put on our hydratin' masks." She fidgeted with the hot pink hairnet covering her hive. "I came downstairs to put the brisket on the grill. And when I opened the door, I dropped it."

  "Why didn't you clean up the mess?" I stared at the scene of the supposed slaughter.

  "We had a communication." My aunt was as serious as the business end of her .45. "From Jade's killer."

  My head spun around like Linda Blair's in The Exorcist. "What? When?"

  "A few minutes ago." Gia entered the room. "When Magnolia opened the door, she found this note." She passed me a clear plastic bag containing a pale gray piece of paper with a printed message.

  I read the words, but I couldn't process them.

  This is what happens when you don't let sleeping dogs lie. Release my name, and the next salon murder will be yours.

  The next salon murder? Me? My arm fell to my side like a dropped brisket. "What does this mean?" I croaked, my throat sore from the scream. "How are we involved in this?"

  "Beats me, Sweet Pea." Magnolia clucked. "I tried to contact Barry about it, but he's not making any sense."

  "Imagine that." Gia shot me a stressed look.

  I couldn't tell whether she was tense about the note or about Barry, but I had a feeling it was the latter.

  My aunt gave a sad shake of her hived head. "Normally Barry doesn't beat around the bush, but this time I cain't make hide ner hair of what he's sayin'. He just keeps mentioning his 1976 hit 'Weekend in New England.'"

  "Well it is Hanukkah," Gia reminded in a droll tone. "And Barry's Jewish. Maybe he's trying to tell you he's on vacation."

  In no mood for jokes, I glanced again at the note. "But what does Jade's death have to do with us? And what's this part about releasing a name?"

  Gia exchanged a look with Magnolia. "We were talking about that when you came in, and the only thing we could come up with are the six names on that page of Vinnie's client list." She produced a sheet of white copy paper and pushed it toward me. "The one the thief left behind."

  I stared at her, stunned. If the note was genuine, then the person who'd sabotaged the sleigh and stole the client list from Gia's closet was Jade Liu's killer. And the killer was one of my uncle's Viagra clients, not Ivy Li.

  But why would the killer go after one of Ivy's clients instead of one of mine? Or me, for that matter?

  Magnolia stood and rubbed my back, and I read the names on the list.

  But I couldn't get past the first two.

  Clark Graham and Randall Olcott.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Reverend Vickers takes Viagra?" Amy's voice projected across the pier like a foghorn.

  "Shh." I shoved my hand onto her mouth and shot a look over my shoulder. Luckily, it was seven o'clock in the morning and cold, so ours was the only occupied table in the outdoor seating area at Carolyn's Coffee and Creamery, unless you counted the one next to us with the two scavenging seagulls. "I told you, the names on that list are confidential."

  "Mut my mould me moo mat?" Amy asked against my palm.

  Gia gave me an is-she-for-real glance. "Uh, because his steeple's 180 degrees shy of heaven?"

  Amy broke free of my grip. "A good carpenter could take care of that. I was talking about his—"

  This time I covered both of their mouths—Gia's to prevent a possible Jesus joke, and Amy's to stifle a reference to The Reverend's…steeple. "Enough, both of you. Understand?"

  They nodded, and I let their lips loose. "Amy, we need your help with some library research."

  "Hold on." Her head flicked from Gia and me like those of the seagulls waiting for crumbs from our croissants. "Does this mean you're not going to tell me the other names?"

  Because I knew she used to be a Boy Scout—until she squatted instead of stood during a bathroom break at a wilderness survival camp—and she still took the oath as seriously as swearing on a Bible in court, I said, "Only if you promise not to repeat them to anyone."

  Her face assumed the dutiful look of a soldier as she held up the three fingers of her left hand. "Scout's honor."

  I glanced from side to side to make sure the coast was quite literally clear. "Besides Clark, Randall, and The Reverend, there's Santiago Beltràn—"

  "Your Cuban Latin Lover client?" she shouted.

  I took a moment to massage my temples. "Don't repeat their names, nicknames, nothing. Okay?"

  She devoured a bite of her croissant with the same gusto as she had each juicy tidbit I'd tossed her. "All right, all right. Who else?"

  "Bree Milford's Caucasian Casanova uncle, Eddie," Gia gushed, giddy with gossip.

  "No!" Amy slammed her hands onto the weather-beaten table, making our coffee cups clatter. "I can't believe it."

  "Why not?" Gia ran her fingers through a lock of her hair. "Both men are in their seventies, so they're bound to be, shall we say, disappointing Miss Daisy?" She leaned in with a lascivious look. "But check this out—the last name on the list? Robbie the pool guy."

  Amy's eyes grew as round as lifesavers. "He's in his early twenties."

  "And he's already got a wet noodle." Gia's brow rose like a divining rod. "Probably from taking a dip in a few too many pools, if you get my drift."

  It took a moment, but a gurgle erupted from Amy's throat, and then she and Gia began to giggle. The seagulls squawked as though they were laughing too.

  "This isn't funny," I protested. "One of those men is a killer."

  The laughter drained from their eyes like water from a Jacuzzi.

  "
Right." Amy pushed up her glasses to show she was serious. "What did you need me to do?"

  I took a sip of my triple espresso. "Could you research cyanide while you're at work today? Or would you get in trouble with Ben?"

  "I brought my lunch." She pointed to a sack in her bike basket. "So I could do it on my break."

  "Thanks." I drained my espresso. "I need fatal dosages, how it's administered, and anything else you think is relevant."

  She swallowed the last of her croissant. "Does Zac know you're doing some Nancy Drewing into Jade's death? Because he won't like it."

  Of course, Zac had told me to leave the investigating to the police, and part of me knew it was sound advice. But that was before—before I'd received a threatening note, before I'd found out two men associated with Zac were potential killers, and before I'd learned Jade's murder was connected to my Uncle Vinnie.

  "What Zac doesn't know won't hurt him." I looked daggers to let her know that what he did know would hurt her.

  She pulled back and stared at her watchless wrist. "It's so late." She stood and grabbed the handlebars of her bicycle. "Off to work."

  As I watched her mount her bike, I caught sight of Pirate's Hook Marine Services in the distance. "One more thing. When you're looking up cyanide's uses, could you see if there's anything related to boating or working at a marina?"

  "Whatever you say." She raised the kickstand with her foot and set off. "Come by my place tonight, and I'll let you know what I find out."

  "Will do," I called.

  "Let's get going," Gia grumbled. "Otherwise, I'm going to turn into a tub of Carolyn's ice cream."

  "Yeah, the spumoni." I scrunched my nose at her brown, pink, and green getup.

  I rose to my feet and turned to take my cup to the bus tub by the takeout hut. Then I froze, and it wasn't because of the winter weather.

  Clark Graham was at the order window.

  And he was staring straight at me.

  * * *

  "This doesn't feel right." My knee was bouncing so hard I gripped the cushion of the overstuffed couch at the Ocean View Bed & Breakfast to keep from vibrating off it. "Bree's one of our best clients."

  Gia's green stilettos glowed as she prance-paced the length of the lobby. "If we tell her the truth, she won't tell us the truth." She added an arm flourish for emphasis. "We have to do this."

  A how-many-times-do-I-have-to-say-this sigh escaped my lips. "What we have to do is take the note to the police."

  "Here's the thing." Gia squared her hands to frame the scenario. "The last time we went to the cops, one of your employees went to jail. And while I look fabulous in orange, it's not the new black." She smoothed her skintight leopard shirt over her skintighter pink latex pants. "That would be animal print."

  Because animal print was considered a color in New Jersey, I didn't bother to correct her. "But we need protection."

  "Yeah. From Detective Marshall." She grabbed a leather-bound book from the coffee table. "Now that we know the murder is tied to Vinnie, the dastardly detective's not getting any evidence from us until we arm ourselves with information. About Jade and Eddie."

  I scrutinized my fully Frostyless fingernails when she mentioned Eddie Milford. I had never met Bree's uncle, but I'd gathered during her frequent trips to The Clip and Sip that he was a lot like my Uncle Vinnie. Only instead of wine, women, and song, Eddie was into tequila, trysts, and tall tales. But I still didn't think it was right to question Bree about him without telling her he was a suspect in a murder.

  "Hey, Jade signed this Welcome book yesterday." Gia looked up. "It says she was from Seattle."

  "That's it? No street address?"

  "No phone or email either." She tapped a neon green nail on the page. "Curious, isn't it?"

  A door marked Employees Only burst open, and an attractive redhead emerged with a tray of whipped cream coffee drinks and a bottle of Bushmills. "Sorry about the wait." Bree placed the tray on the table. "I whipped us up something whiskey."

  It was only eight a.m., but my nerves needed a nip. I helped myself to a cup and took a sip. The alcohol shot straight to my sinuses, making me wince.

  "Irish coffee, heavy on the Irish." Bree took a slug from her mug. "In case you haven't heard, the woman who died at Styles and Spirits yesterday was one of our guests. So, I could use something stiff."

  I started to tell her that we already knew about Jade, but the word stiff soured the cream I'd licked off my lip.

  "And the police were here half the night, so I could use the caffeine too. But enough sad news." Bree settled onto the couch beside me. "What's the reason for the visit? Are you girls doing another promotion you'd like me to push?"

  "Now that you mention it…" Gia's eyes flashed as the marketing machine fired up in her mind. "We are doing a reverse Christm—"

  "We came to talk to you about your guest," I interrupted. "Jade Liu."

  Bree's brow shot up like sales of the National Enquirer after Tom and Katie's split. "Did you know her?"

  I glanced at my cousin. "We witnessed her, uh, passing."

  "And Ivy fingered us to the cops." Gia sounded like a suspect in a hard-boiled crime novel.

  "You two?" She threw her head back and cast a dear-Lord look at the heavens. "That woman has been making enemies since she showed up in town."

  "There's a shocker." Gia gave a hair flip to go with her flip tone. "Like who?"

  Bree's expression turned bitter, like coffee without whiskey. "My Uncle Eddie, for one."

  My eyes met Gia's over our mugs.

  "He took a lady friend to Styles and Spirits to get a short-style perm, but Ivy refused her service." She puckered her lips as though telling the story left a bad taste in her mouth. "Apparently, Ivy told her that if she wanted to look like Mike Brady, she'd have to go to The Clip and Sip."

  I coughed up some of my coffee.

  Gia strutted over and slapped my back. "Breathe, cug. The good news is that karma kicked Ivy to the curb." She turned to Bree. "Did your uncle have any other run-ins with Ivy?"

  "Not that he told me, but it isn't really like him to come down here to dish." Her head tilted, but it could have been because of the Bushmills. "Why?"

  "Oh, she was just wondering." Guilt seeped into my skin like the warmth from the mug. "Listen, did Jade happen to leave a billing address?"

  Bree swallowed a swig. "She was supposed to, but she asked me to make the nail appointment as soon as she arrived. I asked for her credit card and said we could settle the details later."

  I remembered Ivy mentioning that Jade's charge didn't go through. "Did you run the card, by any chance?"

  "For incidentals. It was declined though. I was going to talk to her about it when she came back from the salon." She looked down at her mug. "But she never did."

  We sipped our drinks in silence. Murder was a real conversation killer.

  I wondered again what Jade's death had to do with my uncle, and then it occurred to me that she might have had some other connection in Danger Cove. "Bree, did Jade specifically ask for Ivy or Styles and Spirits?"

  She glanced at my chipped nails. "No, she requested an upscale salon."

  The comment hit me like hot Irish coffee, and I recoiled against the couch.

  "Not that The Clip and Sip isn't nice, sweetie." She touched my arm. "You know I go there myself. It's just that it's not, well, Styles and Spirits."

  Gia stood in a wide stance with hands on hips, looking like a spumoni-suited superhero. "If you mean Rodeo Drive ritzy, no. We're Fletcher Way fabulous."

  "Of course you are." Bree averted her eyes and took a gulp of her drink.

  To ease her embarrassment, I decided to change the subject. "When Ivy was talking to Detective Marshall, she mentioned you telling her that Jade wanted her nails done because she had to meet someone. Do you know who?"

  "I didn't ask, but I think it was a man. And I don't mean a proper date." She raised her forehead to raise a red flag. "Jade looked kind of jaded, if yo
u know what I mean."

  Gia collapsed onto the arm of the couch. "You think she was a sciaquadell'?"

  Bree's head snapped around. "A shockwa what?"

  "A streetwalker," I translated, putting it politely.

  "Oh, who knows?" She made a fly-shooing motion. "We've had a few at the B&B before, like last year when the Washington Curling Association had their tournament here, and she certainly looked the part."

  My fingers sunk into the arm of the couch. I didn't know what was more unsettling—the thought of my uncle with a possible prostitute or the knowledge that sex workers congregated around curlers. As athletes went, they seemed so squeaky-clean with their brooms on the ice.

  "And there's something else." Bree brushed a stray lock from her face. "Jade didn't look good when she got here. At first I thought she was tired, but when she was checking in she stopped talking all of the sudden and stumbled. Then she stuck her hand in the M&M dish and shoved a fistful into her mouth."

  "So?" Gia looked confused. "That's how you eat M&Ms."

  "True." Bree did a been-there-done-that nod. "But this was insulin shock. So I told Detective Marshall she could've died from diabetes."

  Hope wanted to fill my chest, but Dr. Cooper's cyanide theory and a threatening note held it down in the pit of my stomach.

  "Champ!"

  The gruff shout shook me from my thoughts, and I looked toward the employee door. A black Chihuahua had burst through it with a seventy-something male in pursuit.

  "Uncle Eddie." Bree's voice was breathless, as though she were the one chasing the dog. "I have company."

  "Sorry, pumpkin." He pulled his Marines T-shirt down enough to cover his belly—but not his boxers. "Excuse my attire, ladies. Gotta get my little buddy here. Then I'll be out o' your hair." He lunged low for the dog, and his underwear lunged low too.

  At the sight of her uncle's backside, Bree's pale skin turned porcelain.

  "At least they're boxers, not briefs." Gia's tone held more cheek than Eddie's unfortunate undies.