Harriet removed a candy cane–striped scarf from her chubby neck but left a holly-adorned bowler hat on her head. "How'd she land the lead?"
"She bought it." Mallory's tone was as tight as her yoga pants. "When she found out that Reverend Vickers had commissioned Elizabeth Ashby to write a script for the nativity, she and Randall made a lead-landing donation to the church."
"You know The Reverend." Harriet pulled a notebook and pen from her purse. "The only thing he loves more than almighty God is the almighty dollar."
And the almighty stage.
"Uh, excuse me."
I turned to see a waitress with small brown eyes and Princess Leia buns. She was standing behind the counter wielding a water pitcher in the same way my aunt had when she confronted Detective Marshall.
"Are you taking those two Seattle Dutch Babies home?" She snatched my glass and refilled it.
I was taking them to the pier as a peace offering to Zac since I'd backed out of the first day of the treasure hunt, but I didn't understand why she would ask and why she'd pointed out that I'd ordered two of them. "No, I'm not."
"Then I guess I'll have to get you some plasticware." She slammed the glass on the counter, raised her pointy nose, and strode away.
I watched her leave, bewildered. Princess Leia's service was less than stellar.
"So tell me," Harriet cajoled. "Do you believe Olivia's claim that her family has connections to the royals?"
Mallory snorted. "To the royal staff, maybe. Like her forbears, she struts around this town like the cock of the walk, but the one with the political connections was Randall's father, Jim. That man turned a simple fishing business into three canneries. And it was his connections to the cod fisheries in Maine that got Randall and Olivia invited to the Johnson-Koch wedding in Kennebunkport last week."
I didn't know who those people were, but from the sound of Harriet's scribbling, she sure did. I raised my glass to my lips.
"What can you tell me about Olivia's great-great grandfather, Harry Cockman?" Harriet asked.
I choked on my water. That name was still hard to swallow.
"He's no good for your tour," Mallory replied. "Apart from the fortune he made during the gold rush, the only thing interesting about him was his manly moniker."
The two dissolved into titters.
Princess Leia reappeared with a to-go bag and tossed it in front of me.
A cook's hairnetted head emerged from the pickup window. "Tiffany, you forgot a bag."
Then it clicked—the beady eyes and the pointy nose, not to mention the hairdo that resembled animal ears.
Princess Leia was Donatello's ex, Tiffany Ferres. The Ferret.
And something else clicked too. She'd been ferreting for information when she asked about my to-go food.
"Breakfast for two." Tiffany sounded like a smirk looked. "Tell your cousin I'll be seeing her soon," she said, shoving the bag at me.
That was alarming, because they were far from friends. "Do you have an appointment at The Clip and Sip?"
The Ferret laughed like a hyena and touched a bun. "Uh, I go to Seattle for hair and makeup?"
If seventies Star Wars styles was what their salons had to offer, I didn't have to worry about clients returning to the Cove. "Then could you tell me what you meant? You did ask—actually, tell—me to deliver the message."
"Glad to." She leaned in on one hand. "She'll see me when I come and take back my man."
My head retracted so far that it was practically in the booth with Mallory and Harriet.
Tiffany seized the moment to sashay away.
Mallory's malicious laugh shook me from my shock. "Olivia's grandfather, William, was the Vinnie Conti of his day."
I squeezed the to-go bags until I heard Styrofoam crack and took another look from behind my hood.
"He really lived up to the Cockman name." Mallory cocked a brow in keeping with the theme. "And I don't mean he raised roosters."
"Hung out in the henhouse, did he?" Harriet clucked.
"He all but took up roost at the LaSalle House," Mallory said, wallowing in the wordplay. "And do you know why?"
"I'm listening," Harriet prodded. "Oh boy am I listening."
So was I. Olivia's grandfather, William, could have been at the brothel at the same time as Jade's grandmother, Mei.
"William was doing the cock-a-doodle-doo with Dominique LaSalle, Sabine's mother."
Harriet wrote so furiously that both her double chin and her holly berries bounced. And if I'd been wearing her hat, I would've tipped it to Mallory. I knew she was a gossip, but I didn't know she spread it with such gusto.
Satisfied with her notes, Harriet sat back and tapped the pen on her padded chin. "That's a delicious detail, but I heard that most of the townsmen frequented The Clip and Sip—I mean, the LaSalle House—back in the day."
I grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from plucking the holly from her hat and planting it in her throat.
"That's true, but there was one small, scandalous difference," Mallory said as syrupy sweet as antifreeze.
Harriet swallowed, anticipating the tasty tidbit.
"The other townsmen didn't have a son with Dominique."
Olivia had a LaSalle in the family tree?
Harriet leaned so far across the table that she lay on it. "Did William and Dominique get married?"
"Certainly not." Mallory harrumphed. "His father, Peter, paid her off and adopted the boy. They named him Richard."
Peter and Dick Cockman? What was this family's deal?
"Where is Dick now?" Harriet asked, hungry for more.
"He bought the farm ages ago, but his memory lives on in his daughter." Mallory smiled like the cat that ate the canary—and the cock. "Olivia."
"Olivia's father, Dick Cockman, was a LaSalle?" Harriet bowed her head and put her palms on the table. "You're giving me gold. Solid gold."
For me it was lead—a big ball of it in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know how Mallory had come by her information, but I knew Olivia would give her eyeteeth (Mallory's, not her own) to keep her risqué roots from becoming common knowledge. Because if she was a LaSalle, then she as well as Randall could've been connected to Jade's death.
And Olivia's connection to the brothel was another reason for the Olcotts to want to silence me. Once and for all.
* * *
"Is Zac around?" I stood at the service counter of the Pirates' Hook Marine Services showroom, trying not to stare at the salesman's tattoo of the '80s hair band Poison.
Was there nowhere to hide from my poisoned liqueur predicament?
"He's in Mr. Graham's office, down the hallway to the back." He pointed, and his tattoo flexed, adding insult to injurious ink.
I headed for the hallway even though I had no plans to enter Clark's office. Despite what I'd discovered about the Olcotts, I still believed that he had some connection to Jade Liu. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been spying on the crime scene from behind a tree.
I stopped to get a drink from a fountain next to the women's restroom. For obvious reasons, I hadn't touched my water after The Ferret had refilled it.
The door at the end of the hall opened, and Zac came out looking like a cross between a sailor and a GQ model, with his Dockers and modified quiff hairstyle. "Hey, babe."
I raised the to-go bags but promptly lowered them when I remembered the squeeze I'd given the Styrofoam. "I brought your favorite."
"You sure did." He grabbed me by the waist and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. "You."
Over his shoulder, I saw Clark exit from the same door Zac had, and I pulled back. "I was talking about these Seattle Dutch Babies."
He kissed my forehead. "I'll take those too."
"Morning, Cassidi." Clark smiled and walked by, but there was no friendliness on his face.
For Zac's sake, I behaved as normally as possible. After the incident at the Lobster Pot, I didn't want to let on that I didn't trust his beloved boss.
"We're
about to head out. Come see me off." Zac took the food and led me by the hand from the showroom.
Outside the sun was shining, but the salty air was sharp. We walked in silence across the pier, listening to the flapping of maritime flags and the clinking of steel sail cables against the masts.
We stopped at a pilothouse boat in the first slip of the Marine's private dock.
I read the name painted on the hull. The Rodfather?
"It's a nod to Clark's father," Zac said. "He started out as a fisherman and built a fishing empire."
It made sense in context, but if I were Clark and knew my name was on my uncle's Viagra list, I'd rechristen The Rodfather, and fast.
Zac touched my arm. "Hang on while I put this food on the boat."
He leapt onto the bow and stepped into the cockpit. When he entered the cabin, I realized that not only was Clark inside but that he'd been staring at me.
What I had to find out was why.
Was he simply embarrassed about Duncan Pickles' exposé? Or was he, as I suspected, involved in some way with Jade Liu?
Zac returned to the bow and pulled a life vest from a storage compartment. "Looks like we're ready to shove off."
My eyes landed on a black suitcase in the compartment. "You're not fleeing the country on me, are you?"
"What?" He followed my gaze. "Oh. That's a professional-grade metal detector." His blue eyes seemed especially bright. "It has a tablet PC with 3-D software, so it can locate items in dirt, water, and caves as deep as eighteen meters."
Like a true engineer, he focused on the technology, but all I heard was "caves."
"Is that where you're going to start?" I asked. "In the smugglers' caves?"
"After we scan the shoreline of Two Mile Beach."
I imitated his trademark stare—the beneath-the-lash look. "I don't like the idea of you crawling around in those caverns."
"Don't worry. Clark and I have been brushing up on caving safety." He gestured to equipment in the storage compartment. "We're going to wear hard hats, carry three sources of light, and use a rope lead."
"What if you're still inside when the tide comes in?"
"We'll be long gone by then." He jumped onto the dock. "But if you're so worried about me, maybe you should come along."
I was worried, especially about him being alone with Clark. "I told you last night. I have a client." I fibbed. Although it was true if you counted trimming my aunt's hair. And I didn't need to add the part about looking into Jade's murder to keep myself out of jail. "I can't afford to cancel, not with business as bad as it is."
He took my hands in his. "Cass, if you need money—"
"You're sweet to offer, but I don't." If I felt bad about fibbing to him before, I felt awful about it then. I wanted to tell him about my peach liqueur, but because of the nautical setting, I kept thinking about the expression "loose lips sink ships." And I certainly didn't want that before he went on The Rodfather.
Clark stuck his head from the cabin. "Time to get going, Zac."
Zac glanced at Clark, who pretended to be preoccupied with his comb-over. "Be right there." He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. "I'll call you tonight with an update."
"Hopefully, it includes treasure," I joked.
But Zac didn't smile. Instead, he gave me a long kiss, and the motor started—which was entirely appropriate under the circumstances. He pulled back and sighed. "Now I don't want to go."
"Your treasure awaits." I pushed him toward the boat. "And I'll be here when you get back."
He cast me a wry smile and climbed aboard. After he'd put on the life vest and unfastened the dock lines from the cleats, Clark backed the boat from the slip. Then it turned and headed into open water.
"Fair winds and following seas," I called. But what I wanted to say was, Be wary of your boss.
Zac waved and smiled as bright as Sir Francis Drake's silver pesos.
I watched them motor away until they passed a group of sea lions sunning themselves on the last dock, and I turned to leave.
Then I got a better idea.
I strode across the pier and entered the showroom.
The salesman flipped his shoulder-length hair. "Forget something?"
"Ladies' room." I headed for the hall.
I blew past the bathroom and made a beeline for Clark's office. With a glance over my shoulder, I slipped inside. Apart from a desk, there was nothing about the room that resembled a workspace. It looked like a classic fisherman's lodge with wood-paneled walls covered in fishing equipment, plaques, and photographs.
The trash bin was empty, but an inspection of the desk produced an array of office supplies, a membership card to the Danger Cove Cod Club, and enough freeze-dried worms to catch half the fish in the bay.
At least, that's what I hoped the worms were for.
I turned my attention to the pictures behind the desk. Most were of Clark showing off his catch, but there was also a yellowed Cove Chronicles clipping of a man holding a giant key with the caption, The King of Cod becomes the King of the Cove with the key to the city.
The mention of cod made me think of Randall Olcott's father, but the article referenced John Graham, who had to be Clark's dad, aka "The Rodfather."
Thinking the search was a bust, I took one last look around the room. My gaze landed on a tiny red light like that of a laser pointer, shining from behind a potted plant. Brushing the leaves to the side, I realized the light was coming from a jammed paper shredder.
But what would Clark need to shred? Because it didn't seem like he worked.
The papers had gone in at an angle, and about an inch was exposed. I grasped the bundle and pulled. The blades wouldn't budge. I removed the lid and looked at the underside, but there was nothing to grab. So, I placed the lid between my knees and jerked at the jammed paper again. I lost my grip, and my elbow hit a rubber fish on a wall plaque marked "Calvin the Cod."
Calvin lifted his head and turned to look at me. Then he began to sing "Take Me to the River" by the Talking Heads.
My veins ran cold and then hot, as if they'd been freeze-dried like those worms. I grabbed the crooning cod's lower lip and closed its mouth.
But Calvin kept singing.
And beating his tail to the tune.
I jabbed at his rubbery body, trying to find an off switch.
The cod continued to croon.
"Sorry, buddy, but it's time to fish or cut bait." I punched him in the jaw.
He fell silent and stared at me, openmouthed.
I shook out my hand and yanked the papers again.
They came free.
Without wasting another second, I fled the office and ducked into the bathroom to examine the scraps. All were blank except for one.
And its title confirmed what I'd suspected.
Background Screening Report for Jade Liu.
* * *
"If we've learned anything this morning, it's that Clark's 'rodfather' had the brains in the family." Gia climbed from my salon chair and pushed up the sleeves of her giraffe print jacket. "Otherwise, Clark would've changed the name of that boat to The Codfather."
I gave her the fisheye. "Forget his boat. We need to figure out why he had a background check done on Jade." I deposited a box of my homemade liqueurs on my station counter. "Do you think he's her half uncle?"
She pulled on a plastic glove. "If he is, why have her investigated?"
"Maybe he only recently found out they were related." I reached for a bottle of arancello. "He could've been trying to find out what kind of person she was."
"Or maybe she was applying for a job." She clutched her giant G necklace. "Have you considered that?"
"At a boat store?"
"Rich men buy yachts from that boat store, and Jade needed money." Gia pulled limoncello from the box. "You should ask Zac if Clark was hiring."
"I plan to." I poured the orange liqueur down the drain and hoped she was right about Jade. I would've felt a lot better about Zac treasur
e hunting with Clark if my fears about him were unfounded.
Magnolia shuffled into the salon in her flannel Barry Fanilow robe and slippers. "I'm ready for my trim, honey bee." She tapped the pink towel serving as a stand-in for her hive. "Let me git my coffee."
"I'm sorry, Aunt M. But after the news about my peach liqueur, I had Gia throw out everything in the kitchen. We're finishing up with the salon drinks now."
She gave my arm a reassuring rub. "Then I'll run out to Carlene and fetch us some Folgers."
Gia watched my aunt leave. "I told you that trunk is a Target."
"I wish." I stared at my unpolished nails through the clear plastic gloves and wondered whether I'd ever want a manicure again. "We could use some free stuff right now. The killer didn't just take Jade's life—he took our livelihood too."
"We can still turn this around, cug." She took another bottle from the box.
"Can we?" My pitch was panicked. "We've lost almost three thousand dollars' worth of products, food, and drinks, not to mention all of our clients."
"Don't worry because I've got—"
The cowbell clanked.
"Sh." I picked up another bottle. "Not a word to my aunt."
Magnolia appeared in the break room doorway. "By the way, Miss Prissy Siss." She shook a coffee can at Gia. "I know I ain't your mama, but three a.m.'s no time for a young lady to come home from a date."
Gia put a hand to her black tube top. "Who had a date? Donatello canceled."
My aunt narrowed her eyes like a gunslinger at a faceoff. "When I got up to git me a bite o' brisket, I saw you flippin' your hair out by the garage."
"Then you must have been hitting the Shiner Bock because…" Gia's neck elongated, complementing her giraffe jacket. "It was Ivy." Her lips thinned to a slit. "I'll bet that snake came here to plant evidence."
"Why would she do that?" I asked. "She already told Detective Marshall that the murder weapon was mine."
"But Ohlsen stopped Marshall from arresting you, which means she could still go to the slammer." Gia paced the floor so fast that her red patent leather high tops practically left a trail of rubber. "Don't forget that she was the one who gave Jade your liqueur."
A Poison Manicure & Peach Liqueur Page 10
