Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  I kept up a decent pace until finally reaching the van. I threw the door open and leapt in, startling Mac and Cass. “Sorry, kids,” I panted, completely out of breath. “No Mexican food today.”

  I fired up the VW and headed toward the freeway. I had no idea what to make of all I’d overheard, and worse yet, I kept worrying Pietro or George might come after me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I MADE IT BACK HOME almost an hour later because I drove the long way and kept checking my rearview mirrors, hoping neither thug was after me. If either one had ID’d me, I was sure they’d be showing up at the bar for a confrontation, and I needed to figure out some kind of story.

  I stopped off at In-N-Out Burger for lunch. The protein fix helped calm me, and I was almost back to normal when my cell phone rang, startling me.

  “Hello?” My voice shook and I belatedly wondered if I should have let the call go straight to voice mail.

  “Hey, Evie, listen.” It was Simone, of course. “I changed my mind, and I’m not taking a mental health day after all. You and I are going to have a spa day instead!” She sounded thrilled at the prospect. I, on the other hand, groaned inwardly.

  “Um, but it’s my day off.” Plus, a spa day after what I had just been through? No thanks.

  “Yeah, and that’s what you do on your day off. You go to the fucking spa and relax!”

  “Well, I can’t. I have plans.”

  “Really? What plans!?” Simone sounded heavily skeptical.

  “I was going to watch a movie and relax, maybe hang out by the pool with Cass and Mac.” Plus, I did want to do a bit more investigating and see if somehow I could figure out what George and Pietro’s were up to.

  “Lame. Look, get your ass over here and come with me to the spa.” She hung up.

  I sighed, staring at the phone in my hand. Honestly, I only had myself to blame if I continued to jump every time she asked me to. But I didn’t have the energy for a fight. Instead, I took Mac and Cass out of the van and into the house.

  “Sorry guys. I’ll be back later.” I filled their water bowls and headed out the front door.

  I groaned as I drove up to Simone’s house. A silver Bentley limo was parked out front, and I had no doubt it was meant for the two of us. I hated going anywhere in that thing. It always felt so over the top. Frankly, the whole spa day thing felt over the top. I’d never been to a spa before. Well, I guess that isn’t entirely true if you consider the “spa specials” my mom hosted on a monthly basis at her beauty salon. Something told me wherever we were going for the day would be nothing like my mother’s salon.

  I parked the van and went inside. As usual, Simone wasn’t downstairs. She was lounging in her massive hot pink and silver bedroom suite. In the middle of the room stood a huge canopy bed with black velvet drapes held back by silver cords. The quilt was hot pink. At one end of the room stood a large fireplace (and seriously, who needs a fireplace in L.A.?!) with a retro-looking, black leather sofa situated in front of it. Big glass vases were scattered elegantly throughout the room and filled with pink roses and white calla lilies. The bedroom looked like what might happen if 1930s chic met Katy Perry (or Simone, for that matter). It always made me think of cotton candy and bubble gum. Of course, George Clooney (the cat), lounged elegantly in the middle of the bed.

  Today, Simone was wearing a black kimono covered in pink flowers.

  “Look what my sister sent me from Hawaii.” She frowned down at the delicate robe. “Does she think I’m a fucking geisha?”

  No Hello, how are you, Evie? Seriously, why did I even bother?

  “She sent you one, too. It’s in my bathroom. Paid for them with my fucking credit card, of course.”

  “But I don’t need a kimono,” I laughed, nervously. The last thing I wanted to wear to a spa was a fancy kimono. I am strictly a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. It has to be a pretty special occasion to get me into anything else.

  “Oh, give me a break. Just put it on. You’ll hurt Brenda’s feelings if you don’t. And I promised her I’d send her a photo from your new iPhone.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Simone took a brand new iPhone off her dresser and handed it to me.

  “There. Now you can actually listen to music and text me and stuff. That old flip phone of yours was pitiful.” I started to thank her. She held up a hand. “My accountant said I needed more write-offs. Now hurry up. Our first treatment is in forty minutes and I want to have a glass of champagne in the limo.”

  I looked up from the shiny new phone. “First treatment? How many treatments are there!?”

  She sighed heavily. “Jesus, what part of day don’t you get? It’s a spa day!”

  “I need to be back by six though. I’m working at the bar tonight.”

  Hands on her hips, she shook her head and glared at me. “I don’t get you and that place. Nick is dead. Why do you want keep going there?”

  “To play my music.” Seriously, how many times were we going to have this conversation before she stopped asking?

  “Fine. I’ll have you back by six before you turn into a fucking pumpkin or whatever. Now hurry up!”

  I changed into the kimono. It was a pale, jade green with teal-colored leaves. Pretty, but I felt seriously underdressed. When I came out of Simone’s bathroom, which was almost as big as my parents’ house back in Brady, she clapped her hands like a schoolgirl and shrieked, “You look fabulous! Now let’s go. We are going to have so much fun.”

  I wasn’t holding my breath.

  Twenty minutes later, we were ushered into the VIP room of the ultra-chic Moda Spa, where we had our own splash pool, Jacuzzi, sauna, and treatment room.

  “This is for the special people.” Simone winked at me.

  I rolled my eyes. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t appreciate all of this. I did. But it felt so foreign and over-the-top, self-indulgent, I didn’t know how I was going to relax. George and Pietro’s conversation and the near run-in with them was still on my mind. God, I prayed Pietro hadn’t recognized me.

  I reclined in a padded lounge chair in front of the pool next to Simone who contentedly sipped the spa’s signature drink. The place actually had a full bar, which seemed like an oxymoron to me considering that spas were supposed to be all about health and wellness. I mean, why bother advertising all those detoxifying treatments if you were going to encourage your clientele to get liquored up? Also, a full bar plus personal hot tubs and wading pools were a lawsuit waiting to happen. But hey, what do I know?

  So here I was, me and my kimono, a captive audience for the next four hours with my on-again, off-again friend Simone. I decided now was as good a time as any to see what else I could learn about why Simone had contacted Nick. Her drink finished, I went in for the kill. “So, you and Dwight? What’s the deal?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What’s the deal?’” she asked.

  “I mean with you and him? He worships you.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  I knew better than to say, “not me.” “Good point, but I think he has a thing for you.”

  Simone sat up and swung her legs over the side of the lounge chair. “We’re screwing. That’s it. He takes care of certain basic needs for me.” She reached down and grabbed another fashion magazine.

  Okay, I knew Simone’s morals were questionable, but the casual way she said that took me by surprise. Where I come from, being sexually involved with another person wasn’t treated quite as casually as, say, scratching an itch. Of course, I’m not so naïve to think everyone in my hometown only had sex with their spouses and strictly for the sake of procreating. But even the most illicit of affairs (and they most certainly happened in Brady) were built on more than base sexual need. Not for the first time, I found myself feeling sorry for Simone and her obvious lack of emotional connection with most of the people around her.

  “Oh. So you don’t love him?”

  She laughed. “Are you kidding me? No. I don’t love him. Love is for people
like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nice people. You’re a nice person, the type of person all those sappy love songs I sing were written for. I’m a realist, and all I know is I have needs and love isn’t one of them.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t have a clue what to say to that.

  She frowned at me suddenly. “Why all the questions, Evie? About me and Dwight?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Bullshit. What are you digging around for?”

  I sighed. “Look, it’s been bothering me … what you said about Nick and how you called and threatened him. And how you want me to cover up for you.”

  She laughed. “You think I could have killed your bartender friend?”

  “No. But I think Dwight could have.” There. I said it. “I mean, I think the guy would do anything for you. Don’t you?”

  She didn’t respond right away. A handsome man popped his head into the room and said, “Miss Simone, we’re ready for your massage.”

  She turned her hundred-watt smile on him. “So am I, Hank.” She stood, letting her robe slip off into a silky puddle at her feet, revealing her naked body with a casualness I could never pull off. She turned back to me before leaving the room. “I think there are a lot of people who would kill for me, Evie. Including Dwight.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BY THE TIME WE LEFT the spa, I’d been plucked, rubbed, salted, waxed, and lymphatically drained. I had a very good idea how a car must feel going through one of those drive-thru car washes. As for Simone, by the time she’d finished with all her treatments, she was like Jell-O and could barely even say goodbye when the limo dropped us off at her house. Not that I knew what to say to her after our strange conversation in the private lounge. But truth be told, if someone murdered Nick on Simone’s behalf, it was feeling less and less as if she’d actually asked them to do it. Which meant I wasn’t any closer to finding out who had murdered Nick. But I sure looked like a million bucks!

  Back at Nick’s, I played a set and then served a round of drinks. Becky was cooking in the back again. Candace’s drink was the last one I poured. I slid it over to her and smiled.

  “This one’s on the house.” I looked down, feeling uncomfortable and a little guilty. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Candace reached over and patted my hand. “Oh honey, I’m the one who should be sorry. Thing is, I’m nothing more than a crazy drunk. You don’t owe me an apology.” She took a sip from her drink.

  Mumbles sat two seats over, per usual, and glanced up at me. “Sorry, Evie,” he mumbled.

  I waved a hand at him. “Neither of you have anything to be sorry about.”

  “Listen, sugar, do you want to know the story?” Candace asked. “The story about me and Nick and what happened?”

  I stared at her for a few seconds. This was certainly an about- face.

  “Sure. Of course.”

  She sighed, downed her drink, and shoved the glass back towards me, a sure sign she wanted me to make her another. Truth be told, I didn’t like feeding her addiction, but I also knew I couldn’t stop her from chasing her demons.

  “I met Nick on a set. This was back in the early eighties. He was getting ready to start shooting for a show about a group of young people attending a dance school. It was kind of a spin-off of Flashdance. Ever see it?”

  I nodded. “It’s one of the few I did see as a kid. My mom snuck me in.” I smiled at the memory.

  “Right. Anyway, I was auditioning for a part and we met. We fell madly in lust with each other.” She giggled and her face took on a glow that for once wasn’t fueled by alcohol. “Truth is, I loved him. It was … immediate, like being hit by a car or something. I thought he loved me, too. I think there was a part of him that did. Anyway, I pushed him to get married. He finally proposed. But all along, I had a feeling there was someone else in his life.” Tears sprung to her eyes.

  I wondered if she meant Becky. Poor Candace. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too. There was a party one night at Warren Verne’s place. You’ve met his son, Bradley. Bradley and Nick have known each other since they were kids. Anyway, we were all at this party and Roger, who was a friend of ours, was there. The party was actually for him. He had just been chosen as the new James Bond.” She took another sip of her drink. “Well, the bitch was there, too.”

  I lowered my voice. “Becky?”

  Candace nodded. “Yes. She was supposedly Roger’s date, but she was all over Nick and I became upset with him. Roger did too, because Nick seemed to be enjoying the attention.”

  The same Roger who had been found dead in Verne’s pool.

  “I went to bed drunk and stoned. We were all drunk and stoned. When I woke up, Nick was next to me, and Roger was in the pool, dead.”

  “But the article I read said you told police Nick had been with you all night. How do you know he was if you were passed out?”

  Candace stared mournfully down at her drink, shoulders slumped forward. “I didn’t know. I loved Nick, so I covered for him. But you want to know what I really think happened that night?”

  I nodded in encouragement.

  “I think Becky pushed Roger into that pool and the poor guy hit his head. I think Nick covered for her because she was the one Nick was screwing around with. I broke off the engagement, but I never stopped loving him.”

  “Is that why you come here?” And is that what I saw when I touched Nick’s shoulder before he died? I could see him looking at a drowned man in a pool. There was no Becky around, though. At least not in the brief flash I had seen. But by me simply receiving that small bit, I knew whatever had occurred that night had changed Nick forever.

  “Yes. It’s funny how things change. I didn’t see Nick for almost twenty years, and then my life took a turn for the worse.” She held up her drink. “Obviously. Four husbands. A daughter who won’t speak to me. You know the story. When I came in here the first time, I really didn’t know it was my Nick who owned it. Then I saw him, and strangely enough, we picked up as friends. We left the past behind, and we’ve never talked about it since.”

  “Never?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yep.”

  “So that’s why you hate Becky?”

  Candace regarded me wearily. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t like her.” She shrugged. “And I don’t trust her.” She shook a finger at me, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  I glanced up to see Bradley Verne walk in with his wife Raquela. I was eager to talk with him. If he had known Nick all of his life, or most of it, I was sure he might have some additional information to share. Maybe Raquela would as well. I didn’t know how long they had been married, but it seemed as if it had been a while and that Raquela had also known Nick from the comments Bradley had made at Nick’s wake.

  They came over to the bar. Bradley looked a bit concerned. Raquela was dressed to the nines and had the most amazing diamond earrings on I had ever seen.

  “Hi, how are things tonight?” Bradley asked.

  “Not bad. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m okay. I had to tell my dad today about Nick. It was pretty upsetting. My father loved him like a son, you know. Every Monday, Nick would go visit him out at the home he’s in.”

  “He did?” So that’s what he did on Mondays. Interesting.

  “Yes. My dad always looked forward to his visits.”

  “I’m sure.” Poor man must have been devastated.

  Raquela rubbed Bradley’s back. “We will get through this. All of us.” She sat down on one of the stools and ordered a glass of Cabernet. “How is business?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s picked up some, actually. I think all of the press and such has caused people with morbid curiosities to come in. But I’ve also noticed an increase in the college crowd. Word has gotten out about the cheap and delicious tacos.”

  Bradley rubbed his face tiredly and then d
ropped into a seat next to Candace. “Hey, can I get a gin and tonic?”

  “Sure thing.” I poured Raquela’s wine and made a drink for Bradley.

  Becky came out of the kitchen about that time and set a plate of tacos in front of Candace and Mumbles.

  “I didn’t order this,” Candace said, her voice surly.

  “I know you didn’t, but the two of you need to eat.” She glanced at me, and then Bradley and Raquela. “Hello. How are you?”

  He shrugged. “Told my dad today about Nick. Wasn’t easy.” “I suppose not,” she said.

  Becky was definitely not comfortable around Bradley or Raquela. Maybe it was because they seemed so far out of her league.

  “I also received a call from Nick’s attorney about this place,” Bradley said.

  “Oh?” Becky replied.

  Bradley now had all of our attention.

  “Yes. And there was a will. This place is designated to fall into the hands of a very specific person.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Everyone seemed to be listening intently.

  “Nick’s son.”

  “What?” I said. Everyone looked surprised. Everyone, that is, but Becky. “I didn’t know he had a son.”

  “Yes. His name is Joshua. Joshua Styles.” He looked at Becky.

  Of course! Becky’s last name was Styles.

  “I guess I have a phone call to make,” she said.

  Raquela set her wine glass down and looked pointedly at Becky. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

  I reached out to touch Becky’s arm and then pulled back, realizing there was no buffer between us. She was wearing short sleeves.