The Barry balls on the salon tree smiled in my mind.
"Now let's settle down because this is Sabine's street." Magnolia flipped on her turn signal and inserted a CD into the stereo. As she turned right, a horn version of "Feliz Navidad" blared through the speakers.
And then she laid on the car horn.
Carlene jolted to a stop.
A station wagon had pulled in front of us, and it was still going. The driver hooked a left and sped by, and the sight of his face shook me up more than the near accident.
"Reverend Vickers," I said.
"Oh, Lordy. Hit the floorboards." Magnolia ducked.
Gia frowned down at her. "We're in a pink Cadillac with Longhorns and Texas plates, and we're blasting Mariachi music. Do you really think we can hide?"
My aunt wasn't the only one who'd tried to hide. The Reverend had tried, as well. He'd pulled the brim of his black driving cap to his brow and his scarf over his chin.
But why didn't he want to be seen?
Had he come to Seattle to spy on us?
Or did he have personal business of his own with Sabine?
* * *
The muscled male maid placed a savory platter in front of the Victorian fainting chaise where my aunt, Gia, and I sat. "Can I get you anything else while you wait for Ms. Cockman?"
My aunt, who'd likened Sabine's parlor to "Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke's boudoir," clutched her purse like the maid wanted to steal it—or rub his midsection on it—and gave a stiff shake of her head.
Gia swallowed a gulp of her Pink Lady and tapped the platter of sweets. "We're good on drinks, Rico, but we could use some more of these sticky guns." She covered her mouth at the bicep slip. "I mean, buns."
He flexed for her benefit and glanced at the doorway behind us. "I'm sorry, madam. This is—"
"Skip the introductions," a sultry voice said. "We know who we are."
I turned on the fainting chaise and almost fainted. Thanks to extensive nipping, tucking, freezing, and filling, Sabine looked fifty rather than eighty. And like her assumed name, she was scarlet—her silk dressing gown with matching fur at the cuffs and hem, her Burlesque-style makeup, and even her wig, a Peg Bundy bouffant that added six inches to her petite five feet.
Rico poured her a Pink Lady and garnished it with a cherry.
She took the drink and settled into a gilded French canopy chair that looked like a low-rent throne fit for a fallen monarch. Or a former madam. Then she opened her mouth.
Rico reached for a parfait glass and spoon-fed her a bite of red pudding.
Then my aunt's mouth opened. But not for pudding.
"Gag me with a spoon," Gia whispered. "But not that spoon."
I elbowed her to keep her quiet.
Sabine nodded at Rico, who made a hasty exit. "When you inherited your uncle's salon, I knew you'd make your way to me."
The madam didn't mess around, so I decided to follow her example—but only in that one respect. "Because you were his business partner?"
"I was a lot of things to Vincent Conti, but never his partner. His pimp, his dealer." She popped the cherry between her silicone-injected lips. "His lover."
Gia choked on a cream puff, and my aunt let out a low whine.
But I was so accustomed to stories of my uncle's equal-opportunity approach to sex that I didn't bother to blink. "Then you were his counterfeit Viagra connection."
"I wanted to help him build his gigolo business. He was juggling so many johnettes that he started having trouble with his erector set."
Magnolia's whine became a whinny.
Sabine's gaze darted to my aunt, and the beauty mark above her lip lifted. "Then as his clientele grew, so did his legend. Local men started asking how he was able to keep up, so to speak, and that's when he approached me about dealing to his male salon clients on the side."
Gia reached for a ladyfinger. "Based on the occupancy of the Coveside Retirement Resort alone, I'd say the side gig was lucrative, no?"
"Depends on your perspective," she replied. "The week before Vinnie died, he had eight hundred grand stashed."
A collective gasp came from the fainting couch that should've sucked the wig from Sabine's head.
And then my aunt whimpered.
Or possibly Gia.
To keep my hands from trembling, I clinched them in my lap. "Why did you say 'stashed'?"
"Because I told that oaf to send his money overseas, but he insisted on keeping it in his house." She threw up her hands in a what're-you-gonna-do gesture. "I trust you've found it?"
Surprised that Gia hadn't jumped up to fist pump, I turned to make sure she was okay. She'd put the couch to proper use by keeling over behind my aunt, but because she was breathing, we silently agreed to leave her that way. "Not yet. My cousin's on it, though."
She pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at me. "You get to looking too. That money needs to get spent. Your uncle worked his tail off for it."
Apparently. "Of course," I said. "But you should know that my uncle's not the only reason we're here." I reached into my bag and pulled out Mei's grammar book.
"How'd you get that?" Sabine's scarlet lashes had lowered, and so had her voice.
As I'd suspected, I didn't need to inform her of the murder. "Jade Liu had it. Did you know her?"
"Only what I've read in the newspapers. But I knew her grandmother, Mei, and her mother, Annabelle." A faint crease appeared on her Botoxed brow. "I gave that book and the rest of Mei's possessions to Annabelle's parents."
My aunt's brow creased too, or rather, grooved. "Her papa and his missus?"
Sabine's lips twerked, perhaps in an attempt to curl. "Annabelle's biological father never came forward. When I left Danger Cove, I brought her to an orphanage here in Seattle, and a year or so later she was adopted by a Chinese couple in San Francisco."
"If my research is right, her real father could've been John Graham, Jim Olcott, or Joe Vickers." I lingered on Olcott, since Sabine was Olivia's aunt, and on Vickers, because I wanted to know whether The Reverend had paid her a visit. But her plastic face was impossible to read.
"Mei entertained those men," she said after a pause. "But she refused to tell me who Annabelle's father was at his explicit request. And I didn't press the issue because client confidentiality was a must back then."
It was a relief to have my suspicions confirmed about Clark, Randall, and The Reverend's fathers, but it didn't help me much. The madam was my best shot at cracking Jade's case, and it seemed like I'd arrived at a dead end.
"While we're talkin' about that Reverend, his holiness almost crashed into my Caddy out here on your street." Magnolia gestured with her shoulder, keeping a firm grip on her purse. "I don't suppose he was here to powwow with you?"
Sabine's face twitched like it was trying to tense. "I haven't had any dealings with the clergy since I quit the brothel business."
My aunt cocked a disbelieving brow, and Sabine tried to raise a defiant one but failed.
"Let's get back to Annabelle's father," I said to end the Magnolia-madam standoff.
Sabine's eyes drifted to a bordello painting above her fireplace of two half-nude women and their male clients playing a board game, and I couldn't help but wonder whether it was Uncle Wiggily.
"Mei did tell me one thing about the father." She twisted the stem of her martini glass. "He had a tattoo on his chest. A mermaid riding a seahorse, and not in a traveling sense."
That detail hadn't made the grammar book, but based on the description, it should have.
"What about the family that adopted her?" I asked. "Do you have their names or an old address?"
"Their last name was Chin, Chung, something like that." She waved a hand. "The orphanage told me a last name and a city, and that was all I was allowed to know."
Rico returned with Gia's sticky buns and a pitcher of Pink Ladies. He spooned more pudding into his madam's mouth. And she held up her glass.
"Honestly, I don't see why you'd waste time searching for Annabelle'
s adoptive parents," she said as the manly maid refilled her drink. "She was only with them for a few months."
Something told me I wasn't going to like what she said next. "Did the adoption fall through?"
She shook her head and took a long draw off her Pink Lady. "Annabelle died from that Asian flu pandemic when she was four."
My aunt and I exchanged a look. I saw my same confusion on her face, and then my fear.
Because if Annabelle had died as a child, then who was Jade Liu?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charlotte Vickers' eyes drilled into me from behind her husband's desk, and her gray bun hovered over her head like a thundercloud. "The Reverend is busy doing God's will, so he has asked me to deliver some news."
My body tensed in anticipation of the storm to come. Since I'd spotted him in Seattle the night before, I was sure I'd been summoned to the church to be fired from the living nativity gig.
"After careful spiritual reflection, he has deemed it necessary to make changes to Elizabeth Ashby's nativity script."
That was the news? I rubbed my lips together to disguise my surprise. The Reverend would've told his "Kitten" that he and I had crossed paths at Sabine's, so I couldn't understand why the Vickers would continue to retain my services. Either they had no choice but to use The Clip and Sip, or there was something sinister going on. "Um, what kind of changes?"
"I've prepared a revised contract." She slid a sheet of paper toward me. "It shows that we need hair and makeup for four more nativity roles."
"Cast of characters" would've been a better description. The new roles included an angel and an innkeeper, but also two morticians. "This is really late notice. Since the living nativity is tonight, it would be best for Gia and me if we stuck with Ms. Ashby's version."
The corners of her mouth sagged along with her neck. "Are you questioning The Reverend's authority to revise a religious play?"
Given the addition of those morticians, I was questioning his ability to write a decent manger scene, but I needed the job too badly to admit that. "Would it be possible to discuss these revisions with The Reverend?"
Charlotte flinched at my request. "My husband can't be disturbed by anyone, not even me. He has decided to grace us with his performance of Joseph, and he's communing with the Lord to get into character."
Logic told me that The Reverend had been planning to play Joseph all along—but only because he was too old to be the baby Jesus. "It's just that we only have two hours to do all ten cast members, and I'm afraid that won't be enough time."
"You'll get the job done." Her statement was an order, not a show of support. "Besides, The Reverend told the cast to arrive no later than six p.m., and some of them will get here early."
"Here? You mean at the salon?"
She snorted. "You can't expect us to send our parishioners to The Clip and Sip after your products were poisoned. For their safety's sake and ours, the church is providing the hair products in addition to the venue. I'll be deducting the cost of both from your commission."
"Both?" The word shot from my mouth like a bullet. "You're going to charge me to work in the church?"
"You're a contractor, and contractors have to rent space." She spoke like I was a doubting Thomas in a Sunday school class. "But I'm sure you'll recoup your expenses. Some of our parishioners will undoubtedly patronize your business when they see the church's faith in you."
I was starting to wonder whether Harriet was a member of The Reverend's congregation, because she and Charlotte sounded a lot alike.
Charlotte folded her hands on the desk. "Now, The Reverend has decided to move the nativity inside because there's snow in the forecast."
Based on the snow job I was getting in his office, I'd say we were better off taking our chances outside, especially since I was willing to wager what was left of my pay that The Reverend had moved the production to his stage so he could be in the spotlight. "Are there any other changes I should know about?"
"There is one, yes. Actually, two, if you want to get technical." She passed me a theater program that read Jesus and the Amazing Manger: The Nativity Live.
After I'd digested the title, I scanned the cast list. Aside from the four new people, there was nothing noteworthy—until I got to the three magi.
Then something compelled me to look at Charlotte.
Her gaze was fixed on me with laser focus, like a cat's on a mouse.
And I knew why.
She'd been waiting to see my reaction when I read that two of the magi had been replaced.
With Randall Olcott and Clark Graham.
* * *
"That Reverend's got horns holding up his halo." My aunt stood in the women's bathroom at the church, wielding a hair dryer like a gun. "You let me handle his hairstyle."
An image of The Reverend with a James Brown bouffant flashed through my mind. "Um, I'd like to take care of him myself. I do want you to know how much I appreciate you offering to help out, though. Gia might not be able to finish the makeup, but at least the hair will get done."
"No need to fret, doodlebug. I can do this beautician business all by my lonesome." She glanced at her reflection and smoothed her Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes, a yellow Jackie Kennedy–style dress suit minus the pillbox hat. "I've got some of my old wigs in Carlene's trunk, and they're perfect for this shindig. So you go on and help Gia with the men's makeup. When I'm done with the women, we'll switch."
Something about the word shindig triggered a flicker of doubt, but I didn't have time to dwell. I gave her a huge Texas hug. "You're a hairstyling heroine, Aunt M."
Her cheeks took on a rosy glow. "Oh, foo."
I hurried to the makeup station in the men's bathroom next door, and when I entered I almost tripped. Thanks to Chicken Fillets, a brand of silicone bra inserts, my cousin's breasts had grown three sizes too large. Equally unsettling, Clark and Randall were sitting side by side in front of the mirror.
"Uh, there's been a staffing change." My tone was casual, but I was clenching the door handle. "Could you join me in the hall?"
Gia's breasts exited the bathroom, and her body followed. "Can you believe they're the first ones here?"
"How are they acting?"
"The tension's so thick you could cut it with shears." She flipped her ponytail in frustration. "They haven't said jack to each other or me, which is making it weird. What should I do?"
"I'm going to help with the makeup, so maybe between the two of us we can get them talking."
"But what about the hair?"
"My aunt's going to do it. She said she has some wigs handy."
"As handy as a rope at a hangin'." Gia's eyes popped. "OMG, I speak Texan now, Cass." She grabbed my arm like a lifeline. "We've got to solve this murder and get your aunt on the road again."
I wrested myself from her grip. "We will." My voice was determined, because I was worried about that Texan too. "All we have to do is find out whose father has the mermaid tattoo that Sabine mentioned, and we can start with Randall and Clark."
"Okay, but don't forget the seahorse." Gia smiled like she had a secret—one I'd probably rather not know. "I've named him Silver, as in Hi Ho."
I pushed her back into the bathroom.
The two men were absorbed in their phones. Or that was what each wanted the other to think.
Because I had an idea for a conversation starter with Randall, I grabbed some pancake makeup from the counter and approached his chair. "Hi, Mr. Olcott. I'm helping Gia today."
"Fine." His gaze stayed on his cell display, and I couldn't tell whether it was because he had no interest in me or because he had something to hide.
I began sponging the tan-colored paste onto his forehead, careful to avoid his graying brown hair. "I ran into Mrs. Olcott at the library the other day." Of course, I had to make it sound like we'd had a friendly chat. "I heard you went to a society wedding in Kennebunkport?"
Randall scrolled on his phone. "Yeah, the Johnson-Koch merger."
&
nbsp; Interesting word for marriage. "She mentioned that one of the families knew your father?"
His irritation was as plain as the base on his face. "The bride's grandfather, Sam Johnson, was his business associate."
Not wanting to press him further, I widened my eyes at Gia, urging her to take over the questioning.
She smeared foundation onto Clark's cheek. "Your father was a fisherman, right?"
"Are you asking me or him?" Clark pointed a thumb at his fellow magi.
"Both of our fathers were fishermen." Randall's voice was even but firm, as though it were holding down anger.
Gia reached for a blush compact and grinned in the mirror. "Did they have any cool fishermen tattoos, like Killjoy Was Here?"
"It's Kilroy, and you're thinking of sailors." I'd adopted Randall's tone to let her know she was moving in for the kill, so to speak, way too fast.
She turned up her nose. "Or maybe I was thinking about you."
I pursed my lips and dabbed the makeup onto Randall's neck, wishing it was Gia's so I could wring it.
"My dad had a tattoo." Clark's eyes were closed, so he didn't see my head jerk.
Randall shoved his phone into his pants pocket. "Was it a corporate raider?"
Clark opened his eyes but only to mid-lid. "You can't let it go even at Christmas, can you?"
"I can't let it go especially at Christmas." Randall turned his head and gave Clark a long, cold stare. "It's a family holiday, remember? And it's a documented fact that your father sabotaged my family's business."
Following Gia's example, I continued to apply makeup despite the uncomfortable exchange.
Clark turned to Randall. "If you want to talk facts, then why not mention that Jim stole my dad's business plan and then tried to take his best clients, starting with Sam Johnson, the grandfather of that bride whose wedding you were just at?"
"My father didn't steal." Randall's anger was breaking through his composure. "That's the nature of business, and John couldn't handle the competition. So he ruined my dad, instead."
"You've made out all right, thanks to Olivia's inheritance. You haven't worked a day in your life."
A Poison Manicure & Peach Liqueur Page 13
